Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Faceless
It didn't feel real.
But that was just it. He didn't need some deep meaning to explain it to people, to the mindless masses. In fact, he didn't have to explain it at all. He didn't owe anyone anything, even words. The only one he needed to convince was himself.
Simply put, the falseness of it all, the artificial feeling of something foreign over his own skin was more than bearable. It was natural. Anything less was disconcerting. That's just how it was, and how it had been for the longest time. There was no exact measurement. It just was.
It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with his appearance. It just wasn't a common sight. The opposition of black and white was simply more appealing, somehow. More welcome and familiar.
No one needed to understand, nor could they. They didn't need to have his motives laid out for their eyes to see. It was his own, this supposedly warped perception of himself. It didn't need to be proven to anyone.
It was flawed, hopelessly imperfect. And that was enough.