#adaruruk

Content: Adar x y/n fluff, insecure Adar

Adar is sitting at the edge of the campfire, chest bare, one hand holding a cloth pressed against a fresh cut on his torso. The flickering flames catch his pale grey skin, highlighting the scars that run across his chest, arms, and shoulders. He shifts uncomfortably, shoulders tense, as if trying to shrink himself.

You approach slowly, careful not to startle him. "Adar… let me help you" you murmur softly.

He flinches, a hand tightening over his wound. "...I don’t need help y/n." he says quietly, voice clipped, cold. His grey eyes flick toward you, wary.

You kneel beside him anyway, just close enough that your presence is warm. "You’re hurt" you say gently. "And you’re cold. Please, let me help."

He hesitates, jaw tight, finally looking down at his hands. “I… don’t want you… seeing this.” he admits about his body, voice low, barely audible.

You glance at the scars running across his skin, the pale grey tone that makes him look almost otherworldly, and you smile softly. "Every scar, every mark, every shadow… it’s all part of you. Of your past, your present. And I like all of it."

He stiffens, shifting slightly, as if trying to hide his chest. "I’m… ugly" he mutters. "Grey skin, scars, this body… you shouldn’t…"

You reach out, letting your fingers brush gently over one of the older scars, careful around the fresh wound. "Adar… you’re not ugly" you say softly. "You’re… unique. And I love that about you. Every scar, every line, it’s your story."

He swallows, voice tight, barely above a whisper. "I… I’m not like you. You’re… light. Warm. People… like you."

"Even shadows need someone to care for them. And your children, they do love you." you reply, moving slightly closer.

His chest rises and falls, tension softening just a fraction. Slowly, he lets you take the cloth from his hand, your fingers brushing against his bare skin. He stiffens at first but doesn’t pull away.

"You… really mean that?" he asks, voice trembling, hesitant, almost afraid of your answer.

"I do " you whisper. "I like all of you. Every part, the parts you hide, the parts you’re proud of, the parts you’re scared of. All of you."

For a long moment, he studies your face, uncertain, as if trying to see if you truly mean it. Then, slowly, he rests his forehead lightly against your shoulder, careful, still cold and reserved on the outside, but letting himself feel the warmth you offer.