Your boyfriend, Luke, was the epitome of confidence and charisma. The way he would strut around camp, all smiles and a charming aura that just seemed so natural on him. Camp Half-Blood’s golden boy.

But Luke held a secret. A secret manifesting in the ugly scar that ran across his cheek. A gruesome reminder of his failure, to the gods and to everyone else. He hated his scar.

You were sprawled out on Luke’s bed one evening, snug and ready for a cuddle session when he walked in, shoulders drooping and an unreadable expression on his face. You immediately knew something was up.

You sat up, brows knitted in concern. “Hey, Luke. What’s wrong?”

No answer, lips pursed as he slowly walked towards you, sinking into your lap and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, face slotted into your neck. “I look ugly. I hate my—“ his breath hitched. “I hate my scar.”