Mask
Inspired by "Making-Up-Mech-Pilots," a blog by Scampir
Wildside had been a very withdrawn person, doing things that quite frankly unnerved everyone, seemingly as a ploy to get them to leave him the hell alone. He'd be weirdly silent aside from the odd bit of harmless snark. He'd refuse to eat in the company of others, to the point where people weren't sure he did eat (He snuck off to his quarters with some canned food and a hotplate) He'd even go as far as sleeping in his armor at his chair if he was expecting company in the middle of the night.
The reason for that was obvious enough for everyone but him in hindsight, even if he did catch onto it eventually.
And every time, before he went to bed, he would have to adjust the oxygen filter of his helmet a bit to make sure it didn't get pressed into his face too much. Otherwise he woke up all foggy in the head because it was depriving him of air more than it was filtering it. He would fuss with it for hours to make it all work instead of just taking it off.
He'd barely even get sleep on some days because he took so long finding that sweet spot. But in the end it was worth it to him. Because no one would want to see what's underneath late at night if they had to wake him. Seeing someone turn to you with irritated red eyes gleaming in the dark and a mouth full of teeth too sharp to safely hold any normal tongue, and having them raise hands with gnarled bony claws would cause quite a stir, he reckoned. And removed from the potential from fear, who would want to see a freak like him anyway? What kind of fella would want to see such a half-feral, gaunt little monster more than they had to in the process of pointing him at a problem to tear it to shreds? Who would ever think to l-
"Babe, are you... alright?"
"Mn? A-... oh. Somethin' up?"
Here he was, in the bed for his room he hadn't used until recently, feeling a cool, but reassuring hand against his forehead. His tired, dry-looking eyes glanced across the bed into a pair of dark green ones.
"You were rubbing at your face, is all."
Right. That kind of fella. The lady who had more sense than him. He looked up and rubbed his eyes through a nonexistent visor, took a deep breath into a filter that wasn't there, and held her elegant, steely hand with his shaky, but steadying claws.
"Just an old habit a' mine."