You mentioned asks were open. Maybe something about Thermite and his hands?
Jordan ran his hands over his scars, a frown etching deep lines into his face.
He wondered, briefly, if life would be any different without them. Not bad, just... different.
It hadn't been easy at first. The bandages didn't stay on and they snagged on things and slipped and now- now he knew how to wrap them tightly so they didn't fall off. Now he knew how to care for them so they didn't chafe and get irritated. Now he knew that- that they were a part of him, as much as his charm and quick, easy wit.
"Huh." He sighed and swept his gaze around the room, eyes landing on the bandages he kept on his nightstand. The insecurity had also got to him, in the beginning. People stared, even now that they weren't such an angry red. People asked questions.
Do your hands still work?
What did it matter? Jordan had begun, especially recently, to love his scars. It wasn't fair to be beaten down by the repetition of judgement and abrasive curiosity people threw at them.
The train of thought led him to the new guy. Ace. Håvard.
The Norwegian's first reaction upon seeing Jordan's scars was to eye them for a second before flicking his gaze back up to the Texan's eyes and flashing a lovely smile, before gesturing and asking if he wss alright.
It was nice. Rainbow never judged. Lera smiled and pointed to her own scar, the one on her face, Marowa wanted to know, genuinely, how they happened, Timur asked to sketch them (after a while of knowing Jordan) because he thought they were interesting, and Eliza always gave him reminders to make sure he was taking care of himself. Jordan didn't think he needed them, but he had taken this tongue-in-cheek and decided to humor her. His favorite memory, however, was when Maxim had lifted his shirt to reveal his own scars. Jordan had laughed for the first time in a long time, then.
Jordan smiled. Scars are like a map to where you've been, he figured. And his hands were a monument.
A knock sounded on his door, and before he could answer a heavily accented voice rang out from behind the wood.
"Jordan! It's Håvard! Alexsandr is taking us all for dinner, let's go!"
"Well, we're all going out." A pause. "If you need someone to stay with you, just ask."
Jordan got up and opened the door, offering the new operator a warm smile. "Nah, I just hope we don't go to Olive Garden."
Håvard looked genuinely distressed for a second. "What did Olive Garden do to you?"
author's note: thermite doesn't like olive garden cause they're way too fancy and he prefers like golden corral and dickey's.
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