[ continued from here / @riiese | ingvar + chess. ]
He'd seen it every time they'd spoken. It was hard to miss; the massive scar stretched down the entirety of Ingvar's cheek. This time, he let himself get a little too carried away, reaching out a gentle hand to learn more...kinesthetically: the depth of humanity's cruelty, forever etched into the giant's skin; a permanent reminder of what fear could drive a person to do.
There was an intense sorrow, almost suffocating, seeping into Chess's ribcage as his hand lightly traced the scar, undereye to beard. The skin was raised and bumpy, a height map of pain; compounded by the shift in color, pale and silvery across the darker-toned flesh. Something inside his chest twisted and squeezed at the sight, the same way it did every time—but this time was different, because he could feel it. Fingers ghosting over the trauma, like reaching into the past to feel the ghosts of time. Only a few seconds in, he processed Ingvar's startled reaction, and froze completely.
"Sorry." The word came out as a hoarse whisper, and he quickly pulled his hand back as if he'd been stung, gaze dropping to the ground. "It's just–" Chess shook his head, crossing his arms as though it would hold him back from reaching out once more. Too many boundaries crossed; he needed to get back to safe ground once and for all. After a tense few seconds, the silence tightening in his chest, he glanced up again, studying his reflection in Ingvar's eyes.
"...does it still hurt?"