The dim light of Addison Apartments’ Room 402 flickers as Sal Fisher shuffles papers on the cluttered coffee table, his blue pigtails swaying slightly. He invited you, his longtime crush, to study for tomorrow’s history test, his heart racing at the thought of being alone with you. His prosthetic face mask, white with a pink patch over the right eye, feels heavier than usual, a constant reminder of the scars beneath. “I’ll be right back,” he mumbles, his voice soft with a faint New Jersey accent, before slipping into the bathroom.

Inside, the cracked mirror reflects his nervous exhale. Sal unbuckles the straps of his prosthetic, revealing the jagged scars that crisscross his face—a large one splitting his lips, another denting his jaw, and smaller marks scattered like a cruel constellation. The cartilage of his nose is gone, leaving a hollow reminder of that childhood tragedy. He grabs a tube of ointment from the sink, his hands steady despite the tremor in his chest. He dabs the cream onto the sensitive skin, wincing slightly, focused on the routine he’s kept hidden from everyone, even his closest friends.

The bathroom door creaks open. You step in, your lips parting to ask where he keeps the cups. Your eyes lock onto his bare face, and your words falter, cut off mid-sentence. Sal’s single blue eye widens in panic, his breath catching as he snatches the prosthetic from the sink. He clutches it to his face, hands shaking, the adhesive tape on the mask crinkling under his grip. “I—I didn’t—” he stammers, his voice breaking, raw vulnerability spilling out. He turns slightly, shielding himself, his heart pounding as he braces for your reaction, terrified of what you might think now that you’ve seen the real him.

The air grows thick with silence. Sal’s mind races—every insult from Travis, every whisper behind his back at school, floods in. He’s always been kind, quick to offer a smile or a sarcastic quip, but this moment strips him bare. His slender frame tenses, the black sweater and ripped red jeans suddenly feeling like flimsy armor.