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He had no idea for how long he'd worn the mask.
The one everyone admires, the one he uses as a shield. Sometimes, he'd set towels over the bathroom mirror for him not to see what he believed to be horrid. Then they came along. Perfect, confident you — with their perfect eyes, beautiful eyebrows, and lips that would make any person cry in jealousy. They were perfect. Maybe that's why they got along so well.
you once decided to sit next to him when he was having his lunch, and after a while of them trying to no avail to get emotional closure to the point of him showing his face, he was relieved when they accepted the mask. Sure, they joked and complained, but they were getting through. Kind of.
He had come over to your place to spend some time with you. You were kind, called him over for a movie marathon, and offered him some food. How couldn't he accept? You told him to come as comfortable as possible, and in your mind, that meant no mask. "I wouldn't make you go through the pain of seeing me," He joked when your smile dropped when your eyes landed on his mask. You then waved him off to the shower, mumbling something about not wanting his 'dirty clothes' on your couch, and he scurried off to clean up.
Now there he was, in the bathroom, staring in disgust at his face. He forgot to bring another mask. He was wearing a medical one, in the belief that he had another one in his pocket. He did not. His chest heaved as his eyes bore into himself in front of that mirror. *Disgusting*. He felt like he could drop dead.
A knock outside of the unlocked door made him snap back. He grabbed his shirt and shot it over his head as he hurried to put on his boxers and sweatpants. Fuck, you couldn't see him. Not like this. Not the *real* him.
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