When Stars Align

I close my eyes as Declan’s fingers hover near my scarred cheek, my breath catching in my throat. I’ve felt this skin countless times—coarse, uneven, foreign—but no one else ever has. No one else has come this close. Not since everything changed.

“I need your words, Savvy.”

“Go ahead,” I murmur, though my voice barely rises above the wind.

The tips of Declan’s fingers brush the edge of my jaw, cautious, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away. I almost do. But I force myself to stay still, my heartbeat loud in my ears, my muscles taut. The rough texture of my skin, the way it puckers and pulls in places, feels more pronounced under someone else’s touch. It's not the same as when I touch it myself. That sensation is distant, almost numb, like it’s happening to someone else.

I hold my breath, waiting… for disgust, for pity in his eyes. But when I open mine and look at him, there’s no recoil, no revulsion. His expression is tender, his brows drawn together, not in pity, but in something deeper.

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pull back. Instead, his thumb traces along one of the ridges near my temple, slow and deliberate, as if he’s learning every inch of me. The scar tissue feels thick beneath his fingers, but his touch is soft—softer than I expected. A part of me wants to retreat, but another part… another part of me leans into it, craving the warmth.

I exhale shakily, letting my face tilt slightly into his palm. The contact, though faint, feels grounding. Declan’s hand is warm, steady, and I find myself pressing against him, rubbing the rough side of my cheek against his skin like a cat seeking comfort.

The scars don’t feel like fire anymore. They don’t burn or itch. They’re just… there. Tough. Hardened. But under his touch, something softens in me. My breath hitches, but this time, it’s not from fear.

Declan doesn’t stop. His eyes never leave mine, and in them, I don’t see the pity I feared. Instead, I see understanding. His thumb continues to sweep along the ridges, not lingering on the uneven patches, just moving gently. My heart swells with a feeling I haven’t let myself acknowledge in years. Trust.

I let out a shaky laugh. “It doesn’t feel like I thought it would,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper.

His brows lift, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “How does it feel?”

I close my eyes again, breathing him in. “Safe.”