walt’s acutely aware of nate watching him, before nate’s fingers even start tracing over the marks along his chest. he traces over the obvious ones first, pink and rough, then over the others, thin and silvery.

it’s something he’s gotten used to. nate tracing along the scars he had. on his abdomen, on his upper chest, on his back, all over his body in general. he hasn’t told anybody what they’re from. not any of the guys from the squad, no one from home, but he wants to tell nate.

he’s always wanted to tell someone, really, it’s something hard to keep to himself, but no one felt like the right person. until nate. okay, so maybe it hadn’t been like this for long. it started after the first time they slept together, mostly because nate was the first person that walt had ever let see him - where he had actually had the choice. first person that he had let touch the scars.

it takes a minute to collect his thoughts, pull together courage, rubbing his hand over nate’s back, through the light sheen of sweat still there. “most are from jagged beer bottles,” he states softly, drawing nate’s attention.

“you don’t have to tell me, walt,” nate looks earnest, like always, but it doesn’t cover the bit of curiosity sparked in his eyes.

walt nods a little, “i know,” he replies, hand stilling on nate’s back. “i want to,” he adds, manages a little smile when nate nods.

he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “most are beer bottle edges, there’s some from other sharp objects. kitchen knives, glass pieces, stuff like that,” walt states softly, can feel nate’s fingers still tracing over the marks. it’s comforting in a way that almost unsettles walt.

“it happened until i was fourteen, gym teacher wouldn’t let me go until i gave a reason i wouldn’t change in front of the other guys,” he continues on, voice strong. “social services picked me up at the school. my parents were arrested. four months later, i testified. three months after that, another family a few counties over adopted me.”

nate looks, walt isn’t sure what that look is. if it’s shock or worry or pity or well, he can’t place it. he stares up at the ceiling, lets nate work things out in his head. his attention is drawn back at the feel of nate’s lips along the scars and walt’s fairly certain he’s murmuring ‘i’m sorry’ between each one.