He was the man behind the mask.
Not a real, physical mask, but a metaphorical one. It was his protection, the frontier between himself and the others. It had always been there for him.
When all began, he was ten years old. Such a young age to hide behind a mask, isn't it?
Screams, and rage, and cries, and rage, and his father's hand balled in an iron fist, and rage, pain, tears, blood and his mum begging, and the taste of his own tears down his face and hate in his father's voice while saying ''Only cowards cry.''
So he put a mask on, and swallowed his tears, and never cried again. He held back the cries and sadness until they became bitter inside, turning him bitter as well.
He let the mask fall once, after his eleventh birthday. He couldn't stand it anymore. He shouted, he cried and kicked the walls, his head repeating the same word over and over again.
WHY?
His father had waited outside until he was done. Then, he entered the room and said one sentence that would give him nightmares for years.
''If you want to scream, I'll give you reasons to do so.''
He never let the mask fall again.
It became permanent, a part of him first. Then, the mask became his face. There was no difference. So he lived that way, cold eyes, cold smile, cold heart. He went all the wrong way, made the wrong choices and pushed everything off his life. There was no pain. There was no joy, either. Everything was cold. Eveything was gray.
But then, when he turned seventeen, it all changed. She changed it.
They've known and despised each other for years, but things were different now. He could see her watching him, as if he was some sort of riddle. A difficult one.
He tried to push her away with harsh comments and cold glares, but all he got were a furrowed brow and witty replies. And more watching.
And then, one day, she faced him in the library and jabbed a finger at him and said it. The sentence that cut across the mask and startled the kid inside.
''Well, let me tell you something here. You're completely wrong if you really think nobody sees you through that damn mask. You're wrong, because I DO.''
The mask fell to the ground and shattered. Even today, he remembers perfectly the sound of the tiny pieces of protection he had spent all his life building, scattered everywhere.
He also remembers the first thought in his mind after that.
He had been naked plenty of times, skin against skin, with many girls. He had been naked plenty of times period. That day in December, he was wearing three layers of clothes plus a scarf, gloves and a hat.
And he had never felt more naked in his life.
He was the man behind the mask.
But not anymore.
Now, he's just a man. The man with the tragic past, and no mask.
The man behind her smile.
It isn't the perfect story, and it'll probably never be.
But, still, it's their story. And that marks the difference. The plural. Both of them. 'They' meaning company. And a hand to hold.
Nothing was cold or gray again.