.

Wherever you went you would see scarred flesh; the little marks peppered the bodies of everyone capable enough of speaking to tell lies. Almost every teenager spent their time with little trails of blood oozing across their skin, suddenly changing from almost pristine children to tainted creatures. Well, most of them - some children were not pristine or even close, some children lied like they feared the truth - some of them did.

Keith's skin was more scar tissue that untouched flesh - it wasn't uncommon - and he had long forgotten where 99% of the marks had come from. His brother had more marks than he did but a better memory of their origins - Takashi hadn't lied much as a child or even a teenager but he hit adulthood and suddenly the marks started to sprout as though there had been seeds planted all over his body. There was one right across the middle of his face, wide and forever sore, that Keith could remember watching slice itself into delicate skin.

"It's okay - I can do this,"

It was old but still looked as new as the day it appeared.

Keith loved to swim even if it meant that he was bearing most of his scars for people to see. It wasn't like he was any different from anyone else.

So Takashi took him swimming every Sunday. That day was no different.

They arrived at the swimming centre before noon and changed before the afternoon influx came rushing in. Together they walked to the pool side and were instantly met with hushed whispers and confused, possibly even fearful, eyes that all seemed to flit to the same place; a young man - likely Keith's age - sat by the poolside with his back to them. He was alone.

Keith wondered what the problem was, the man's narrow back was light brown and blemish-free - it wasn't strange to have parts of the body that the scars didn't touch. Then he stood and Keith could see the back of his legs - also blemish-free. Now that was odd. The backs of his arms were the same, as were his nimble pianist's hands. Then he glanced over his shoulder, his attractive, angular face was also blemish-free.

Keith watched, confused, as the muttering crowd began to make sense to him. The other man ignored it, like he was used to it. Keith supposed he would have to be.

Keith turned away from the strange man and jumped into the pool, swimming laps of front-crawl as though he were racing Takashi who instead opted for a leisurely breaststroke. The movement of the water and noise of splashing children drowned out the murmurs and he was glad it had. He stopped after the fifth lap and watched the swimmer in the lane next to him.

The man sped through the water like he was made to be in it, his long, smooth limbs cut through the water and propelled him at an incredible speed that Keith could only hope to match.

Smooth limbs.

Was it the man from before?

Keith got his answer when the swimmer came to a stop next to him, breathing slightly heavily as he held himself flush against the wall, feet far from capable of touching the floor beneath them. He calmed his breathing and turned to Keith with his perfect skin and smiled.

Not sure how else he could respond, Keith smiled back unsurely, feeling the movement tug slightly uncomfortably at the small scar that stretched between his upper lip and nose.

"Hi," he said kindly. Keith returned his greeting.

"I'm Lance," the young man said as he reached his right arm across the barrier dividing the lanes in an offer of a handshake. As Keith took his hand in a brief shake he saw what exactly the fuss had been about.

Where Lance reached over his torso had pulled away from the wall and left the tail-end of a wide, diagonal scar on his ribcage visible. It was bright red and ragged in the way that scars from repeated lies tended to be.

But he'd never seen such a large scar. Not on anyone. Not on the criminals that hung around in back-alleys or the clearly corrupt politicians broadcasted over the airwaves. Certainly, he had never seen something nearly so large on someone without any other scars.

He caught himself staring and forced himself to look elsewhere. Takashi swum up in the lane next to him and looked between the two of them before forcing Keith to be caught between a mildly awkward introduction.

They hauled themselves out of the pool and talked for awhile before Takashi proposed the idea that Lance joined them for their weekly post-swimming lunch at the nearby cafe.

"The one with the really good coffee?" he asked.

"That's the one,"

"If it's not a problem,"

"No, not at all,"

Keith had to wonder why he hadn't been involved in the discussion at all but had to admit that he didn't really mind. Lance seemed nice and he was just itching to know how he got that scar. Not that he could ask - it was considered an invasion of privacy to ask - but he could always hope Lance might mention it himself.

They sat around a round table in the back of the cafe, sinking into overstuffed chairs of varying bright hues that certainly didn't match the intricately patterned wallpaper (would anything match the wallpaper?). The lights on the ceiling illuminated the room with a slight yellow tinge that flickered routinely as the lights did the same. There was writing on the tables and walls that Keith had added to several times - the old owner insisted her guests left notes. He noticed his handwriting, large and sharp and uneven, next to much smaller, looping handwriting that slanted down and seemed like it should join up but didn't. He noticed that it was signed off by a Lance. He was certain it was the very same that sat across from him, sipping on the largest mug of black coffee Keith had ever seen. He didn't know anyone else who would order a large from that cafe.

They sat there for a good 45 minutes and Keith knew more about Lance than he did before - like his phone number, social media handles and the fact that he worked as a doctor in the local hospital - and Lance knew that Takashi worked for the police and Keith taught self-defence, but Keith hadn't even encroaches on the topic of Lance's single scar. When Lance wore his shirt, Keith couldn't see the violent mark but he knew it was there and kept wanting to trace its arching shape with his fingers just to see if it hurt Lance as badly as he hypothesized it must.

He talked to Lance regularly and never found out how he got the scar, not until almost 6 months later.

He rushed into the hospital in a panic and saw Takashi laying on a stretcher, bleeding profusely, as Lance and a group of other medical professionals tried to move him onto the rolling bed without aggravating the wounds too badly.

They were bullet wounds, sustained at the hands of a dangerous criminal Takashi had been trying to track down and arrest. Now that human scum could be arrested for much worse than drug dealing.

He called out to his brother as he ran towards him, ignoring indistinct voices that may have been telling him not to, as tears streamed down his face. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried.

"Fuck, no. No. Nonononono. Takashi, don't you fucking dare - stay with me!"

His eyes flickered open, disoriented and confused and threatening to close at any moment.

"It's okay Takashi," Lance said soothingly "You're going to be alright,"

And Keith watched as the angry mark spread further, the red corner sneaking up past Lance's collar and staining his shirt with oozing blood.

Keith collapsed into him, throwing his arms around him and sobbing as the rest of the team rolled Takashi into the emergency theatre. Lance hugged him back and Keith could feel the unsteady drip of Lance's tears as they stood there, not caring how they looked.

From the other room they could hear a machine flatline.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Lance stepped back and Keith watched his tear-stained face "I could have saved him," as he sobbed Keith watched in awe.

Down the centre of Lance's face, separating the two sides vertically with a thick line, another violent, oozing mark appeared.