Disclaimer: -Man does not belong to me. Nor does Lavi. This is unprofitable. Except for the fun of writing.
Title: Hideous.
Summary: I, Lavi, had always worn different masks in the past.
A/N: Something short. This is what happens when I'm not tired enough to sleep.
Hideous
I've been fascinated by masks and costumes all my life. I felt drawn to things like that. Things that made you look different. Things that hid certain parts of you you didn't want anyone to see. Everyone had special things they liked, and scarcely anyone asked exactly where the interest came from. And indeed, why would they ask? There was no reason to doubt the things others preferred. It was known that what you desired always had to do with the way your mind worked, something your subconscious mind needed – or thought it needed.
To tell the truth, I didn't like that fact.
As I sat in my – and Bookman's – room and stared at the wall opposite of me, I wished for the horrible feeling I had to go away. The old man had told me often enough to keep my feelings in check. A bookman had no need for a heart. And, though still only junior, I wanted to be worthy of the title and the knowledge that came with it. Unnecessary emotions needed to be cast aside. That all had once been an easy task. Before my time at the order – before meeting the people I now knew. Now, it seemed almost impossible.
With those people, I felt like I belonged. Among them, laughing, without thinking of the future. There were the times I just acted without thinking, in which I felt happiness, just to remind myself the next moment that I'd have to leave all of them one day. Or that all those people might suddenly end up my enemies. Every time up until now, I had felt the same constriction of my ribcage at the thought. I felt it right now once again, suddenly breathing seemed so much harder than before. And I knew it wasn't the last time.
I, Lavi, had always worn different masks in the past. I had put on these masks for other people - or maybe those had been entire costumes, I wasn't sure anymore. Now, I needed the protection I had always provided myself with in the past more than ever. The mask I had started with at the order had, without me noticing, slipped off.
At times like these, when I was alone, I wanted to put on a substantial one to save me from tearing my hideous self apart. Or from being crushed under the weight of the world.
It was at times like these that I noticed how weak I still was, compared to how mentally strong I needed to be to become someone worthy of the title of Bookman.
And then, every time, like now, I'd leave the room, not wanting to think any longer, to find someone to annoy with mindless banter.