He loved his scars.

He would trace over them with his calloused fingers, following their injured lines, and sometimes, he would even let his lips do the discovering.

There were so many of them for him to be so young.

Short, jagged barbs across his mid-section.

A long strike along his right arm.

Wounds long-healed from Senbonzakura.

The small, barely-noticeable slice hidden just beneath the fall of hair on his forehead.

A gash across his chest from Zabimaru.

Badges of honor and pride.

Battle scars and love scars, scars of loyalty for saving someone who was a friend.

Ichigo was like that, just that kind of person. He was a guy who would rescue a woman he barely knew because he owed her something or even simply because she was already his dearest friend. If it had been Ishida or Orihime or even Chad himself, he knew for certain that Ichigo would storm any world and put his life on the line to bring them home.

It was one of the reasons Chad loved him.

The pads of his fingers traced over the scars, puckered bits of flesh, uneven pinkish marks that raced across his skin. Ichigo murmured something, still in his half-dazed and sleepy state, and Chad let a smile crack his face.

“You always do that,” the orange-haired boy muttered but not irritably. His eyes were closed. He was relaxed, and Chad’s fingers ghosted over the exposed flesh of his back.

The taller male watched as muscles flexed beneath tanned skin, rippling a very visible scar that streaked across from his shoulder to his spine. Outside, it was a moonless, cloudless night. Crickets chirped noisily to each other, but within the room, it was calm, comfortable...

“Why?”

“Because.”

Ichigo snorted. “That’s not a reason.”

But Chad remained silent, bending down to press his lips to the rough mark. Ichigo shivered slightly, a low sound of pleasure echoing deep in his chest.

“Do I have to have a reason?” Chad asked softly, his breath warm against the smaller male’s back.

Ichigo didn’t respond, but then again, he didn’t have to.

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