Ever since Carl lost his eye, he had kept it covered, not just out of habit but out of shame. The sight of the scarred skin and the empty socket where his eye used to be filled him with disgust. He hated looking at it in the mirror, hated the way it made him feel—like a broken version of himself. So, he always kept it hidden. From himself. From everyone.

That’s why he never expected this to happen.

He knew you were coming over today, so he decided to take a quick shower before you arrived. The bandage had to come off, at least for a little while—getting it wet would only make things worse. The warm water offered a rare moment of comfort, a temporary escape from the constant weight of his loss. But when he stepped out, toweling off his hair and making his way back to his room, he didn’t think twice about leaving his eye uncovered. He was alone in the house, after all. Or so he thought.

The moment he pushed his bedroom door open, he froze.

You were sitting on his bed, waiting. And you saw him.

Carl’s stomach twisted, his breath catching in his throat as panic surged through him. His hand flew to his face, fingers pressing over the exposed side, as if he could erase what you had already seen. His heart pounded against his ribs, a sickening mix of anger, shame, and vulnerability crashing over him all at once.

“{{user}}, what are you doing here? Get out!”