[Atsushi leans into the hand on his cheek, seeking out that touch, that grounding reassurance.

'Beautiful'... he didn't think any part of him was beautiful, but that wasn't entirely why he shied away. It was... a bad memory. A terrible one, really... He still didn't know if the pains he sometimes felt from them were all in his head or not. Even the sensation of someone else touching it felt odd enough to send him shivering, the scars too sensitive in places and not enough in others.

But this was Mikan. She understood, and he could feel the evidence of that beneath his fingers. He strokes his fingers over the lines he can feel beneath her clothes, gentle and careful, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers.]

I don't think anything like this could make you ugly, Tsumiki-san. You're beautiful too... And I want to touch you and be close to you. Will you let me?

[He want to see her, to feel her... but only if she wants to let him, because she deserved that respect.]