My Masked Man

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have that,” the deep voice spoke from behind me, it’s tones unfamiliar, “Aren’t there rules against it?”

It doesn’t make me jump, which I think surprises me as much as it does him. I watch the darkness in the direction that the voice came from, seeing him step out into the light.

The voice belongs to the man from the party, the one from the dance floor. The man with the mask of a masquerade, with a bright suit of too fine a fabric and a cut to belong here.

He still stands ramrod straight, shoulders back and eyes fixed on me behind the darkness of his disguise. I am able to see more of him now than I did before, able to make out the fineness of his details and to place him as entirely out of place.

He’s not a freshman, like me. He’s not old enough to be out of college yet but if I had to guess I’d put him as a third year, maybe fourth. Not an RA, I’d put money on that, but he was still a man that held a certain kind of authority as innate to himself. He didn’t need authorization to be in charge. He made his own authorization.

“You gonna turn me in?” I cocked an eyebrow, then slowly offered him the bottle, “Or join me?”

I watched a wry smile break across the features of his face as he looked on me with bemusement. Stepping forward he took my proffered bottle and tilted it to his lips, holding it just far enough away that it didn’t touch as he poured the liquid onto his tongue before handing the bottle back.

“That,” he said calmly, “Is awful.”

“But it’s free,” I titled it to him, “So who can really complain?”

I took another swig and looked to the party. Shaking the bottle a little I realized we were coming up to the last swallow and offered it to him, an offer he politely declined. Shrugging I downed the rest of it.

“Why aren’t you at the party?” he asked me, quiet but direct.

I laughed, because there were a dozen or more reasons why I shouldn’t want to go down there and to pick between any of them to explain why and then tell them to a stranger would be an absolutely ridiculous decision. So instead of going for any element of the truth I lied.

“Got tired of dancing,” I said.

“No you didn’t,” he replied quickly, nodding at my hips that were still swaying to the music, “Why did you lie?”

“Why would I tell the truth to you, dude?” I got angry instead, wondering at his familiarity, “I don’t know you.”

The man pushed up his bottom lip in a frown, nodding as he considered this, “Fair enough. You don’t.”

I sighed. I remembered that this was the man who had kept the wolves at bay when I’d been lost in the crowd. I remember that he didn’t leave me, we were only separated by the crowd.

“You caught me on the dancefloor,” I said bluntly, without question, “When I got overwhelmed, you were there. Why?”

“You were overwhelmed,” he told me simply, “Why wouldn’t I?”

It wasn’t an answer. It was treating the circumstances as if it was obvious but of all the people I’d met I don’t know that any would do what he had done. Eddie absolutely wouldn’t. Blake might, but not without taking some kind of a payment in return.

And yet this stranger…

He kicked at the dirt in front of him, a movement that made him seem far younger than his clothes and his demeanor. Fiddling with the lapels of his suit a little nervously was an odd gesture from someone so ramrod straight and comfortable. It was obvious he was wrestling with something, trying to find the right way to say it. I gave him the space and just listened, content to watch the crowd below.

“You seemed lost,” he said eventually, “There was a look in your eyes and I saw it and I wanted to help you. You seemed overwhelmed. No. None of those are the right way to say it.”

He chewed his words a little longer and I turned to look at him. The man was mostly disguised but I could tell his features were fine and aquiline, a harsh face that was most at rest looking more than a little pinched with discomfort.

Slowly he turned to look at me, his eyes peering deep into mine and speaking without words. I tore my gaze away from him and remembered the way that I’d looked at his lips before. The longing to touch them, to press my lips against his.

That longing was not yet gone.

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