Teasing at the collar of his shirt, his eyes were glued to the scar running horizontally across his neck. The pads of his index and middle finger brushed against it repeatedly as he watched himself in the small mirror.

“It’s so…obvious.” He mumbled to you. You were well aware he was self-conscious because of the scar, just from the way he constantly covered it with a scarf, or by putting his collar up. He hated it, really, despite the fact nobody said anything about it.