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henqtic · 3 years

Text

our language- d.m.

- summary: finding a love language was a beautiful— even if that said language was showering the other.

- word count: 1.1k

- warnings: talks of insecurities/self hatred with scars, hip dips and, stretch marks. descriptions of blood, non sexual nudity, and that’s about it... please contact me if theres more !

- more works with black readers → Hat // “just one more hour” // Learning

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love language— a marvelous thing it was, varying from person to person, soul to soul. and it was all to express a deeper love.

the languages weren’t linear nor limited to the vowels humans could make, there were all sorts of different forms it’d come in. notes, words of affirmation, touch, and for you— well it took you some time to figure that out.

at first, it was pinky promises. because for some unknown reason, an eleven year old thought that was the best form of insured security, linking your finger with another’s.

then as you grew, it transformed into notes— if you’d count what was written on them as love. the pale boy from the other side of the classroom making eccentric shapes with parchment just so they could go unnoticed when flying to your desk. nothing special there, not even love— just innocent children who didn’t know any better, nothing about the future.

then it became something else, thirteen year olds becoming aware of their surroundings— crushes in a simpler sense. it seemed that he couldn’t go a week without getting hexed by some student who had had enough or someone who generally didn’t like him so there it came— bandaging the others wounds.

memories rushed through your mind of him sitting overly proud in a wooden chair as you cleaned him up, nose bleed, lip bleed, uncontrollable... puking once. you liked to think back to those days when he’d smile at you with nothing but adoration, a new love that wasn’t said but shone because what set of fifteen year olds are ready for that sort of advance, responsibility?

so for many years, you’d claim that as your love language, taking care of them to show them how much you cared but one day that changed.

no longer claiming it as anything, deep cuts and scars being a token of the day and at first you couldn’t handle seeing them without a feeling of dystopia raining over your spirits because there were too many bad memories linked.

the way he wept on the white mattress that professor snape had been earlier instructed to lay him on. he was attempting to keep his composure in front of the many other students in the hospital wing while he had just survived almost bleeding out.

and it wasn’t then when your disdain towards the markings grew but it was how you watched him go from a person who’d stopped an unreasonable amount just to catch a look at himself in the mirror— some sort of cheeky look directed at himself for added humor to someone who’d shy away from the reflective glass. ashamed of the new pale whites that painted his torso.

but that led you to finding a more solid love language— together this time. you couldn’t recall how you two discovered it but it all happened one day— showering, washing off the other.

and while it was an intimate time, it could never be considered anything sexual. it was an unspoken promise made between the two of you that first day in his private shower— just two people finding solace within each other.

it was how his hands traveled down the curve of your back and to the indent of where your hip bone decided to be placed a little higher than your femur, a dip forming as result.

and how his fingers would take their time delicately tracing the lines of a lighter shade riddled across your brown skin. thighs, lower stomach, upper arm, you name it— stretch marks.

they were deep rooted insecurities of yours for long amounts of time, sprouting at the prime age of puberty. thoughts of appreciation for the body you had never stood a chance against the ones of negativity and hatred. thoughts of that maybe shiver molded you had made a terrible mistake, or maybe that didn’t like you, held a hatred for the person you would become.

but that wasn’t true, not in the slightest.

you were built in your own way, not the same as anyways else but at the same, not out of the ordinary — imperfectly perfect.

that’s what he called them, draco— imperfectly perfect features because while you didn’t need anyone to validate or invalidate what you didn’t have the ability to, he wanted needed to make sure everything about you was perfect to him— there was no way it couldn’t be.

and it was how your hands touched on and soothed every aching muscle his body held as the water showered you both from above.

because as time grew on, past hogwarts and past the war, his scars were no longer a direct remnant of what happened in the bathroom and the cries that followed but an automatic thought to how much he went through and how you held nothing but love for the man standing in front of you.

“i think they’re beautiful,” you whispered to the man almost out of the blue. your eyes were trained to the spot where your hands had stopped on his bare chest.

“hm?” he hummed in question, looking down to you and inhaling the scent of coconut scented soap.

“your scars, they’re beautiful. I hated them at first, for what they did to you and made you feel.” your head tiled mid sentence to looking into his eyes, waterline starting to well with a liquid other than water.

the brick wall that he’d put up as sixteen year old was no longer there, having been chipped away ages ago.

“what changed?” he whispered with a small smirk, dying to know what caused you to think of them in such a way, in a way he didn’t think was possible for a long time.

a bubble formed after that, in a figurative sense— there was now a dome shaped bubble trapping you two closer together than you ever were. because it was two lovers showering with each other, praising the features that neither found to be the best or even do he wanted.

“i think it was my mindset that made all the difference. I used to think of them as some burden forced on you but not anymore. when i say i love you, i’m including them too.” you admitted causing the smirk on his face to grow.

“and when i say i love you, i mean it. i’ll love every single part of you until you do. and when that does happen, I’ll love them even more,” he professed, his hands now on your face, the pads of his thumbs now rested against your skin, wiping away any tears that had formed and fell.

his actions encourage you to do the same, contrasting arms over lapping each other as they wiped away the feeling of pain induced by stubborn insecurities until airy laughs sounded, a meet in the middle.

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