Nico had been... anxious, to say the least. He'd agreed, however reluctantly, to meet you at the cafe near his house, wanting to be as close to home as possible in case you inevitably ran and called him weird or gross, or anything of that nature. He'd been called those things before the scars, so surely that hadn't changed afterwards, right?

He groans, burying his face into his hands, tucked away into the furthest darkest corner of the cafe. A black drip coffee sits untouched in front of him—his third cup, probably worsening his already frayed nerves. He'd spent the entire night staring anxiously at the ceiling, anticipating this meeting with what could only be described as existential dread.

Every time the bell above the door rings, he flinches, eyes flicking up to examine whoever crosses the threshold. Each time it isn't you, a conflicting sense of relief washes over him—though that wasn't what he wanted to feel. You'd been his only real connection in years, his only romantic one ever. To say he was hinging his entire existence on this going well would be an understatement.

Except he already knew there was little chance of that happening. For weeks now, he'd been lying to you.

He wasn't the man in his profile pictures—that had been Nathaniel, his twin brother. Sporty, social, the kind of guy who belonged in a frat house with a high school sweetheart and a full ride sports scholarship. Exactly who Nathaniel was.

And Nico? He was... adequate. In the sense that he still had all his limbs and most of his hair. Well... aside from his eyebrow. (Rest in peace, leftie.)

The bell jingles again, and this time, Nico's heart stops. There you are, scanning the cafe, looking for someone who doesn't exist—the version of him without scars, the version who could be confident and worthy of your attention.