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“I really don’t understand why you won’t let me see you,” you complained for what felt like the thousandth time.
Copia gave you a withering look over his shoulder and said nothing. You sighed.
You and Papa Emeritus IV had been together for a few months now. Things were going well, and there had been surprisingly few issues. The two of you simply fit together in a way that made your relationship come easy.
The only problem was that you had yet to see his face without the papal paint.
It hadn’t bothered you too much at first. He’d insisted on keeping it on, and you were content with whatever made him comfortable. You were so used to him like that, and the paint very rarely smudged, so it was easy to ignore.
Eventually, however, it started to nag at you. You wanted to see all of him, to know all of him. You were so close with each other, and yet there was this barrier that Copia had been stubbornly unwilling to cross.
You weren’t willing to let it go tonight. You wanted answers and you planned on getting them. The two of you had been on the brink of arguing for what felt like a few hours now. You kept pushing and he kept closing himself off more and more. The two of you had never really fought. Copia was too passive for that, and you both valued communication very highly. That was another reason why this was bothering you so much. He never hid anything from you. Why this?
You took a step closer, noting with a frown how he stiffened at your proximity.
“Papa,” you began in a sweet voice, hoping to soften him up, but he spun around and pinned you in place with a deep frown.
“That is why,” he said sharply, shocking you into silence. “You are with Papa. You want to be with Papa. He is who everyone wants.”
As he spoke, his voice became more and more impassioned. It was more than you had ever heard him say on the subject and you were taken aback. He brought his hands up to his chest and gestured to himself.
“This is who I can be for you. This is who you want. Without the paint, I am just Copia. Copia is not desirable. He is not confident. He is not who you want.”
“How do you know?” you asked suddenly, taking a step closer. Copia took a step back, and then his shoulders slumped tiredly.
“You do not want him, tesoro mio,” he said with a sad smile. “You have been content with the way things have been. Let’s not try to fix what is not broken.”
You found those words to be a bit ironic considering how every word he had just said to you made it sound like he himself may be a bit broken.
You cursed yourself for not pressing the issue sooner. Maybe if you had said something earlier, or pushed harder the few times the topic had been brought up, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten this idea in his head that you only wanted the act he put on for everyone and not the man beneath it. Maybe, but it was too late for that now.
“I want you for who you are, Copia,” you said, trying to put as much sincerity as you could into those few words, trying to convey the depths of your feelings. Copia shook his head at the floor with a bitter laugh. Something about that sparked a flash of hurt in your chest. “Do you think so little of me?” you asked, tone harsher than any you had directed towards him previously.
“Che cosa?” He looked startled and confused. His expression would have been cute if you didn’t want so badly to take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. You huffed and took another step closer, backing him into the wall.
“This paint,” you gestured towards his face, “doesn’t make you who you are.” He opened his mouth to argue but you cut him off. “No, listen to me. This black and white paint does not make you Papa. It does not make you charismatic and desirable. It doesn’t make you charming and funny and kind and thoughtful. It does none of those things. It is paint. Makeup. If that was all it took to make a person as incredible as you, we would all be wearing it.”
“Maybe you should,” he joked weakly. You smacked him lightly with the back of your hand.
“I’m being serious, Copia.”
He dropped his gaze to the floor. You were about to continue your rant when you noticed how he was shrinking into himself.
“Baby, what is it,” you asked pleadingly, cupping his cheek and raising his head so you could look at him. Your chest tightened when you saw how damp his eyes were.
“I don’t want to take it off, amore mio. I don’t want you to see.”
You lowered your hands to hold his waist and pulled him just a tiny bit closer. He looked so small all of a sudden, so fragile. You had never seen him like this. One gloved hand rose and covered his face.
“Copia,” you murmured, rubbing his sides reassuringly. Your concern skyrocketed when you felt more than heard the hitch in his breath. You reached up and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his face. He exhaled shakily.
“I don’t like it,” he whispered, barely audible.
“What don’t you like,” you asked in confusion. He gave you a meaningful look and it finally dawned on you. “You think you’re ugly,” you said in realization, more to yourself than to him. He huffed a bitter laugh and looked away.
“Think. That is an interesting word choice.”
A deep, burning hatred suddenly surged up inside you and it took you a moment to place it, completely taken aback by the intensity of the feeling. You knew at that moment, from the way he behaved, from his words, from the way he flinched away from your touch when it lingered near his face: he had been hurt. Deeply. Someone, or many someones, had taken this man and convinced him that he wasn’t good enough. They made him think that he was ugly, that he needed to change, and that he didn’t deserve to be loved the way that he was.
You had to reign in your anger, stowing it away for a more convenient time. Right now, you needed to comfort the broken man before you.
“Copia, look at me.” When you received no response, you softened your tone. “Please.” It took a moment, but he slowly turned his head back to you, anxiety clear on his face. You took a deep, steadying breath. “My love. My heart. I need you to listen to me and I need you to listen closely.” Copia’s eyes widened at your affectionate words before he nodded. “Are you listening?” you asked, wanting a vocal confirmation.
“Sì,” he whispered. You nodded, pacified.
“I don’t know who made you think you were unloveable, Copia, but they were a liar. You are everything to me.” You felt him pulling away and tightened your grip on him. “You promised to listen,” you reminded him. He exhaled shakily and stilled.
You brought your hands up to his face and pulled him down so you could press a firm kiss to his forehead. His hands came up to loosely clutch at your shirt as he shut his eyes tight. You pulled back to speak but kept your light hold on him.
“I meant it when I said the paint doesn’t make you who you are. Neither do your features.” He shook his head slightly, but you ignored it. “Even if you were unattractive, which I can assure you you are not, it wouldn’t make a difference. I’m not with you because of your face.” Copia pulled back just far enough to prop himself up on the wall, his hands still clinging to your shirt.
“I want to believe you,” he said quietly.
“Then believe me. I adore you, Copia. If I never saw your face again, that would not change. If I woke up in the morning to see complete nothingness, my love for you would not diminish. Nothing changes. You are you. And I love you.”
“So why must you see me without the paint?” he argued, but there was no fight in his voice and you knew you had him.
“Because I want to. Because I know you won’t be able to fully accept yourself if you continue to hide behind it in even your most private moments. And because I just want to see you.”
Copia dropped his head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. You waited for another argument but were surprised when none came. He simply sighed and gestured vaguely toward the bathroom.
“The makeup remover is in there,” he said, sounding heartbreakingly tired. “Under the counter. This paint, it…eh… it can be hard to take off. Waterproof.”
“Don’t I know it,” you joked and felt rewarded when you saw his lips quirk up slightly before he shooed you towards the bathroom halfheartedly.
“Amore,” he called after a moment. You looked back at him questioningly. He met your gaze with a soft smile. “I love you too.”