Let's take a look at Lucy's side.

…

He had a wonderful spirit. It was one of those things he tried to deny, the self-depreciating man that he was, hiding away behind his helmet. His soul seemed to quiver, vibrating with an intensity she had scarcely seen. His spirit was like a puppy, wanting attention, wanting love and affection, emotions he too often denied himself. He was the type of man who would betray everything he knew if it meant supporting his family, if it meant tearing his spirit apart. His spirit was always alight with affability and charm, but he never allowed himself to show it, hiding away his spirit as he hid his face behind his mask. She didn't know when she had started calling it a mask, rather than a helmet, but she felt that the word somehow fit better. Everything about this man, this mad, wonderful man, was a mask, an alter ego he projected to the world because being who he really was, was far more damaging on his already fragile character. He was softness, and kindness, and caring all rolled into the insecure package that was Bickslow. And it sliced her heart in two.

She wished for once that he would stop hiding, that he'd step out into the light. That he'd remove his mask and show off the intelligence he kept hidden, show his startling crimson eyes and the streak of blue that was his hair. She wished that he could see how unprecedented he was, how totally and incomparably necessary. But he never did. He remained hidden, like a secret that could never be told. His self-imposed exile from everything joyous around him told more about his spirit than she could ever truly explain. The way he shunned himself from activities, watching as the guild exploded into chaotic hilarity around him, she had noticed he rarely, if ever, allowed himself a moment of reprieve from his own self-loathing and join in the festivities, and when he would, he would smile in that way that told her his mask was firmly in place, his spirit protesting at the violence of its cage, slamming against its iron prison in an attempt to be free, to run and scream and play like a child on a sugar rush. But he had far greater control than she had thought possible, and she was cursed to once again watch in agony as he acted the role of the guild's jester.

He was the epitome of broken, trapped in a never-ending loop of self-deprecation and falsehood. He wasn't who he pretended to be, that much was obvious. He once said that 'sometimes, the courage to leave a nakama is necessary' but she knew he would never abandon his friends, going so far as to cause devastation if it meant supporting even one.

Despite his façade of a joker, his imitation of the court jester, he was inconceivably lonely. He surrounded himself with people but his spirit still waned, misunderstood and most often times feared by those he defended. He was defeated, a broken man, unable to change who he is and unwilling to give up his pretence of normalcy. But he wasn't entirely normal, he was greater than that, he was so very important to everyone in the guild and yet his fear of being feared forced him to construct a wall, forever blocking him from truly connecting with anyone. He was who he thought they wanted him to be, and the violent protestation of his spirit was a warning to anyone who could see spirits as easily as she could, he was on the verge of breaking entirely, shattering into tiny pieces of glass that would slice their way through you if you even attempted to repair the form they had once created; a form so pure and so perfect and so innocent that no one could ever accurately recreate it.

He may have been feared, he may believe he was unwanted and unnecessary, but he wasn't. He had one thing that no one else in the entire guild could ever possess, at least not in the same sphere as he had. He had a wonderful spirit. A spirit that, despite the years, would grow and mature and develop into a shining beacon that warranted admiration from all those he passed. And if he ever removed his mask, if he ever showed you the light of his spirit, of his heart, then you would be irrevocably touched by the majesty of this man. Because that man, the self-depreciating, self-sacrificing, impossible man, was all anyone could ever need, and he didn't even know it.

…

"I have hated the words and I have loved them and I hope that I have made them right."

~Markus Zusak (The Book Thief)

…

The [official] end.

And an enormous 'thank you' to the lovely readers who took the time to read my story. I know it's taken a long time to finally be released, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same.

To those who reviewed, favourited, or followed this story, you mean everything to me, and the inflow of emails while I was writing the last three chapters is the reason I posted them all on the same day. I love you all.

Carry on you lovely readers~!