Slowly, I brought my hand up to his face. His burn scars were gruesome; he knew it and hated his face because of it. I needed him to know that I disagreed. When I was about to touch him, he flinched away; eyeing me warily. Even a man as rough and large as him had a soft spot. I already knew he feared fire. How could you not after your brother stuffs your five year-old face into burning coals? But I never realized how vulnerable he truly was.

"Shhh," I whispered, trying to comfort and reassure him.

I stood on my tip-toes as I gently caressed the burnt side of his face, but my head still barely came past his broad chest. I leaned in and kissed his cheek; the burnt flesh rough under my lips. He let me kiss him and when he did not pull away, I kissed him again on the jaw. There his scars did not pucker the skin and was thinner than the rest of his face. The third time I kissed him, it was on the lips. These were not burnt and therefore smoother, but nothing could be called soft on this man. He began kissing me back, deeply. I moved my hands to rest on his chest and his hands went to my back, pressing me closer to him. I nuzzled my face into his chest as the intimidating man embraced me.

"I fear I have fallen in love with you, Sandor," I said.

I felt his chest rumble as he grunted, confirming he felt the same way.