THE MASK – R/S One-Shot
AUTHOR'S NOTE (Please Read): It's been a while since I've written any sort of one-shot or fanfiction so please bear with me if it is a little bit rusty. I came up with the concept of "The Mask" a few months ago and barely had any time to write it until this summer vacation. I hope that you will enjoy this one-shot (with an atmosphere that is quite different from my previous one-shots) and all constructive criticisms are welcomed! Thank you very much :)
The night has always intrigued, even fascinated him; as soon as the last stray ray of sunlight dissipates, the genuine side of his character would gradually begin to surface. The disturbing thoughts. The obscure perseverance. The barrier.
The Mask.
The mask, the identity that he secretly christened himself as the day morphs into the night. The mask that veils all of his emotions, the façade that haunts his very presence. The mask, originally utilized to protect his true identity, has gradually embedded itself into his skin. He lives with it, sees through it, until it slowly became an essential part of who he is. It enacts as a barrier between himself and others, shielding him from villains, hurt, and betrayal. The mask is a blessing, a protector, a guardian.
Yet lately, it has failed to live up to the expectations of its owner.
His heart abruptly skips a beat as the mere thought of her crosses his tormented mind. He abhors the beautiful auburn hair that adorns the crown of her head, cascading down her slim waist like smooth crimson silk. Her eyes, bright and vivid, would sparkle like dazzling emeralds whenever certain matters ignite her interest and inquisitive mind. He loathes the way she would peer at him, her eyes directly penetrating his barrier of a mask while gentle words escape her smiling crimson lips.
"Whatever is the matter, friend Robin?"
They say that one's eyes are the windows to one's soul, offering others entrance into an individual's conscious and emotions. His mask denied others such a privilege, preferring to keep the windows firmly shut so that no one had entrance into his tortured mind. Yet, whenever she looks at him, smiles at him, and inquires about ubiquitous matters of her new strange home, he could not help but feel vulnerable and defenseless. Her emerald eyes, sparkling and gleaming, left him feeling exposed and unguarded.
He hates that she can look right through him. He hates that she has already entered his conscious and soul.