“Kind of your favourite what?” she inquired, wriggling backward to perch on his knees and study him. Her eyes roamed his face, looking for any sign of injury, any shadow that hadn’t been there before, any change. Delicately she slid a hand to the back of his neck, into the curls that might be a little longer than before. “Promise me you aren’t hurt,” she said, voice rough.
“My favorite everything,” he mumbled, hands coming to rest on her waist. “I think I’m completely healed. There might be a couple scars on my back that are still fading, but… I’m not in any pain anymore,” he promised, looking up at her and smiling softly.
“That’s not the kind of hurt I mean,” Summer said softly. She pulled her hand back along his cheek, resting her thumb over his mouth. “You said they tortured you.” Worry pulled her face into a sad frown and darkened her green eyes.