~The first time~
The first time you see his scars-
He pretends like nothing happened
But you can see the change in his deminor, his posture. Hear it in his voice.
Fear.
He pretends like he's okay- lies and says they're from an old rash or something
He tries to change the subject, but now he's hyper aware of them- yanking on his sleeves to make sure they're covered
The first time you fuck, he's keeping them out of your sight.
Wrists are always just out of view, holding your hands down way above your head
When your own hands wander to touch, he's yanking them away- hoping his lips and hips can distract you
The first time you see the highchairs- you don't say anything.
You don't let him notice your eyes immediately drawn to the buckles- old blood baked into the worn leather
Eventually you start putting everything together- anytime he mentions either of his parents
There's a hint of loss in his voice.
And not the usual loss people feel from the death of a parent
It's the lasting loss of years of having parents,
but no love
