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Keith hates most of his scars. The jagged lines in his skin, running through. The raised marks, the scars that have darkened and will never fade. Keith hates that scars are permanent, hates how they remind him of the past, even if they fade.
Keith hates the scar on his face, reminding him of his battle with his brother’s clone. It reminds him of the thing that looked like his brother coming after him, trying to kill him, and no matter how much Keith tried to tell himself it wasn’t Shiro, it looked too similar. Every time Keith looks in a mirror, looks at his face in a photo, he’s reminded of his brother holding the heated robotic hand near his face, reminded of the pain he felt as the scar burned into his face.
Keith hates the scars on his hands, reminding him of all the battles he lost, the cuts that pierced his skin. They remind him of how weak he was, how much he tried to train with the Blades, how he kept on losing. How their blades cut his hands when they accidentally hit.
Keith hates the scars on his thighs, reminding him of when he hit puberty and he gained weight. They remind him of his legs growing, remind him of the weight issues he struggled with, remind him of the people that called him fat, that said that his thighs were too big. They remind him of trying to find jeans that fit, going to clothing store after clothing store, and the pants he tried on clinging to his thighs, but hanging loose on the rest of his body.
Keith also hates the scars that everyone else carries.
He hates the scar on Shiro’s nose, reminding him of the time when Shiro was presumed dead. It reminds Keith of when Shiro told him about the arena. Reminds Keith of his brother talking about being forced to fight. It makes Keith imagine his brother fighting for his life, forced to kill people he did not want to kill, forced to get his arm replaced with the prosthetic, forced to fight and fight and fight in captivity for their entertainment, for his own life.
Keith hates the scar on Lance’s back. It reminds him of when Lance almost got killed from that Rover bomb. It reminds him of how he felt when he saw Lance in that coma, thinking he was dead, bleeding from his back. It reminds Keith of when Lance came back to shoot Sendak in the back before going right back in.
But, there are two scars that Keith doesn’t hate. In fact, Keith loves these two.
They're two of his own scars, hardly seen by anyone other than Lance and himself, unless Keith goes shirtless anywhere.
Keith loves his scars from his top surgery. They’ve faded a bit now, but Keith can still run his fingers over them. Keith loves these scars. They remind him of his transition. They remind him of how happy he was when he was finally allowed to start taking testosterone. They remind him of voice training, of how happy he was to hear his voice start dropping. They remind him of when his shoulders got broader, of working out from home, of when he started having less body fat and more muscle.
They remind him of when he first got the date of his surgery, of the build-up to the day. Remind him of how far away it was, but also how it was just within his grasp. Remind him of how he couldn’t stop thinking of how his life would be after. They remind him of all he planned to do, how he wanted to go to the pool in just trunks, change in the locker room without people staring, wear more fitted shirts and not think about how people could definitely see the seams of his binder under it.
The scars remind him of his recovery from the surgery. Remind him of not showering, of sleeping on his back, of bandages pressing into him due to the compression binder. Remind him of the boredom, of how he couldn’t do anything fun since he couldn't strain himself, how he couldn’t even lift his arms above his head.
They remind Keith of when the surgeon took off the bandages, took off the compression binder. Remind him of when the surgeon told him that what he saw wasn’t swelling, that he was just seeing his pec muscles. Remind him of how happy he was to see his chest flat without a binder for the first time.
They remind him of after his recovery, how he was finally free from binders, from the tightness around his chest that made him feel trapped, from the difficulty breathing in them, from the constant back pain, from the amount of sweat that he had when he wore them on hot days. Free from being scared of people staring in the men’s locker room at the gym when he took off his shirt to change.
Keith’s scars from his top surgery remind him that he was a man before he transitioned, and a man after. They remind him of how far he’s come, but also how he’s still himself. They remind him of the first time he was able to go out shirtless at the beach and have no one question a thing. They make him happy, make him hope for that future where he forgets that they were even there to begin with.
Keith hates most scars, but he doesn’t hate these ones. Not one bit.