acne sucked.

getting acne at thirteen was understandable. being the only one who had it wasn't. having acne three years later was even less. only you were the one whose face was full of pimples. you ran to the bathroom first thing in the morning to see if it had gotten any better. you stayed home because you felt disgusting.

then fourteen, fifteen, sixteen came, and acne didn't leave. kids your age were still there, their clean faces reminding you of everything. every night you cried, wondering what you did to deserve this. the money wasted on lotions that didn't work. every whisper, every insecurity... everything.

throughout this, you found out you were a demigod.

you were closed off. yes, you had friends, but it didn't go further. said friends introduced you to Annabeth, camp's golden girl, who introduced you to the seven. she was part of the prophecy.

somehow, in the middle of it all, you became friends with Leo. brilliant, funny, heartbreakingly kind Leo. he felt untouchable. and yet he chose you to hang out with. you never understood why.

you became close friends quickly. however, you fell for Leo. hard. but, there was a problem, all the girls he 'liked' had something in common: they didn't have acne.

and that brings us here.

desperate to be wanted, you turned to the girls on the ship. they didn’t have miracle cures, but they had makeup. so they helped. it was sweet, but the acne was still there. covered, but not hidden. the lumps, the texture— it was still there. and suddenly, it felt like too much. you broke. mascara-streaked cheeks. heavy sobs. you forgot Leo was supposed to come over.

he didn’t knock. he just walked in— and found you like that. crying. his grin vanished. concern took its place. he rushed to your side. you turned away, hands hiding your face, shame coiling in your chest.

“hey…” his voice was gentle, unsure. Leo Valdez: good with machines, bad with people. “what’s wrong?” his hands hovered uselessly by his sides. he wanted to help, but he didn’t know how.