#grumpy bug

The silvery, nearly full head mask hid his hair and eyebrows and smoothed the planes of his face and neck to disguise his precise age, but she knew his eyes were light blue like the late dawn sky and that he was probably some shade of blonde and older than she. Was he a golden blonde or platinum? Was he a ginger? Was he graying yet? The fit of the mask accentuated the sharp angles of his face, of his high cheekbones, the firm line of his jaw.  To see his ordinarily animated mouth in a state of repose was novel. Her fingers itched to trace their line and she clenched and unclenched her hands as if to scold them.

Her gaze continued down the covered column of his neck. Where the mask ended was camouflaged by the high collar of his aubergine turtlenecked shirt. He still wore his lavender (clearly bespoke) jacket. There was no pinching or drooping at the seams of the shoulder and the fit was so obviously tailored for him. The legs of his trousers hugged his thighs and embraced his calves with the gentle ease of design. No off-the-rack outfit could be so suitably fitted. It could easily be mistaken for a suit. The dark, metallic boots even recalled formal shoes. In his position, with that ensemble, he could easily be part of a “Thief Chic” spread in some niche magazine or editorial feature article.

She'd been looking for inspiration for her next article. Of course, as well made as the mask seemed to be, it wouldn't work for her purposes. It would have to be replaced. They could make up a butterfly-inspired domino with a sateen finish. It would leave his hair exposed, but she could get it styled. Would they keep it with the staid mood of most formal wear and slick it back? She thought it might be sexier to give him a  faded undercut with the top longish and lightly tousled. It could fall just over those piercing, pale eyes as he peered out of the mask as though he wanted to thieve you.  It was too bad he was a wanted criminal. He would have been a great model. She hummed her approval...