Jeremiah

You've known him for a year. A sham marriage of convenience—all business dinners and a game for strangers. But behind closed doors, everyone has their own lives.

You discovered his secret by accident. You saw his back, covered in deep, old scars. From then on, he avoided you even more carefully.

Today you walked into the living room. It's a warm evening, 25 degrees outside, and he's wearing a thick, long-sleeved shirt, buttoned up to the top.

"Seriously?" you asked.

He looked up but remained silent.

— It's hot outside. You're sitting in this like you're in a spacesuit.

“I’m so comfortable,” he snapped, turning away.

You were looking at a strong man who was afraid to show his own body.

"Okay then," you said firmly. "If I see you in a long-sleeved shirt at home, I'll rip it off you."

He froze, surprise flashing in his eyes.

• What?

"You heard. Scars are nothing to be ashamed of. They're a part of you. And if you can't accept them yourself, I'll make you stop hiding."

He stared for a long time, unblinking, his gaze warring between anger and surprise.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said quietly.