Hastily you gather your first aid and pull him aside. There’s a gash along his arm, not all that deep but enough to tear through cloth and leave him bleeding. The first time you realize something is off is when you find him injured from a small accident.
You leave, not seeing the way he pulls down his sleeves and adjusts his collar to cover up as much skin as he can. Realizing where you are, you snap back to reality and babble out an apology. Stocke too is frozen in place, his eyes gauging you in a mysterious way. The sight surprises you enough that you don’t realize you’ve been staring for several seconds. Though scars are nothing new to you, the sheer number of them twists your stomach. Some you can barely make out because they’re so small, while others jump out at you immediately. Even under the dim lighting, it’s easy to pick out the scars scattered across his upper body. Pale, uneven blemishes mark the surface of Stocke’s skin. The lack of a shirt is what initially knocks you off guard-it’s rare to see Stocke in such a vulnerable position-but something else draws your attention. You catch him once by accident, freshly bathed and half-dressed. It’s not that you forget Stocke used to be a soldier, but it sneaks up on you every now and then.
0 kommentar(er)
