i wish i could hug a cow

Your fingers run along your skin, tracing everything you feel is out of place— a fine line here, a breakout there, multiple creases from the pillow that disappear slower as you age; all your imperfections weirdly coexisting with your favorite parts of the most animate part of your body. It's what pops up first in people's heads when they think of you—your face is essentially you.

And yes, of course there's so much more to you than just your face, or even your body. There's your special interests, about which you can talk for hours on end; your laugh, that never fails to brighten any space you're in; your whole personality, that has helped you forge friendships with like-minded people.

Still, today you look yourself in the eyes, and barely recognize the reflection. You know it's you, yet, it feels odd. Uncanny, even.

A groan gets past you as you bury your head down, resting your forehead on your forearms, half-laying on the vanity desk. You stay there frozen for longer than necessary, loathing the moment when you'll have to walk out and, for lack of a better word, face the day.

It's only when you feel a warm, large hand on your shoulder you move. You peek from between your arms to the left, and there he is, all in his morning glory—Goofy mug of freshly brewed black coffee in hand, easy, gentle smile on his perfect, tan face. You almost hate him for how effortlessly amazing he looks when he wakes up. But you could never feel this way towards him, no. Not when there's a coffee cup for you as well, placed next to you in your favorite mug.

"You good?" Rex asks, head tilted and voice still husky from short, interrupted sleep—middle of the night patrol will do that to a man. And you're not complaining about it. You gotta grab onto whatever's good this morning.

"Yeah," you sigh and straighten up, then take a sip of your coffee. "No," you add quickly, realizing he's not buying your lie.

"Can I do anything about it?"

"Not really," you mutter, your finger tracing the brim of the hot mug.

"You wanna vent?"

"No, it's just… It'll pass."

"I don't like the sound of that," he sits down on the edge of bed, brows furrowed over his sleepy, green eyes. "Come on, spill. But not the coffee, 'twas too expensive."

"I don't feel like myself." It comes out barely a whisper.

Worry flashes his tanned, handsome face. "What do you mean?"

"I look in the mirror, and yeah, it's me, but… I don't like what I'm seeing."

"Why?"

"Everyday I have to do something about my face, my body… I can't just get up, get dressed, and leave. Not like you."

"Babe, I'm the last person you should be comparing yourself to."

"But you're the person I see the most."

"And? Before I've met you, I didn't even know what a moisturizer was."

That earns him a chuckle. "Yeah, and you were offended when I told you you should wash your face with something else than a 5-in-1 shampoo."

"I still think it's a capitalist, consumerist trick to make you buy more shit."

"Yet you still looked better then than me whenever."

"Okay, cut it. I don't wanna hear it, okay? You're beautiful."

"I know you think that, but it's hard for me to believe."

"Babe, sweetheart," Rex gets up and puts away the coffee on the bedside table before kneeling in front of you, "the love of my miserable, fucked up life—" you open your mouth to protest, but his fingers curl tight around your thighs, grounding you, "—listen to me. You are the most divine being that has ever graced this shit hole called Earth."

Your lips press together in a thin line as the words wash over you in soft, warm waves. If he goes on like this, you won't be able to stop what would follow the trembling of your chin.

"And even if you feel like you need to do something about the way you look everyday," the redhead continues, his worried, emerald eyes dragging over your face and body, "then so be it. It's called self-care, and you're the absolute queen of it. You taught me that yourself."

"I did," you laugh wetly with the faintest smile.

"That's what I wanna see," Rex mirrors the expression, swiping his thumb under your eye. "That gorgeous smile. The spark in your eyes whenever I get back home in one piece. That small line you have when you laugh."

"Well, the lines are getting deeper and bigger with time," you mutter, suddenly finding the carpet below him very interesting.

"That's good!" Rex is up now, his calloused palms hugging your cheeks. "It means you got to see another day."

A sniffle barely stops the downpour ready to drop from you. You curl your fingers around his wrists, his skin warm to the touch, and close your eyes, letting him rest his forehead against yours.

"With me," he adds, quieter now, his breath ghosting your lips.

You hum, melting slowly from the tenderness of his large hands against your face, from the undying love pouring out his soul, soothing the ache in your chest, even if just a little. Rex plants a kiss on your temple, then turns both of you so you're facing the mirror again.

"Look at us," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. "What do you see?"

First, you focus on his reflection—the dark circles under his eyes, the always-present exhaustion glowing through his skin; and the sharp, hooked nose that makes him who he is. He's perfect in your eyes, and not because he's handsome—he is, of course—but because his imperfections along with his best features combine into this cohesive image. That's what makes Rex, Rex. And he's beautiful.

Then it dawns on you—this is how he perceives you. Gorgeous, radiant, stunning. If he ever tried to talk you out of seeing him as the most breathtaking thing on Earth, you'd fight him with your bare hands.

You smile wider now, your eyes joining, creasing in their corners as your lips lift up.

There's the way your hair frames your face, softening your features. There's this tiny scar from your childhood you don't remember getting. And then, there's the shape of your nose, standing out proudly, telling the world this is me. All of this making you unique, one of a kind—you.

"I see two striking people, madly in love."

"That's my girl," Rex smirks, but the expression is far from smug, or cocky. "Now, how 'bout I help you fall in love with your body again, hm?"

"And how would you that?" You tilt your head, smirking back at him, already knowing where this is going.

"By worshiping every single inch of you." His voice gets lower, thicker, and it's not with sleep anymore. Oh no, he's quite awake now. "In the shower."

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