You wouldn't call the two of you friends. Merely acquaintances with similar problems. Masks. Glued to your faces like a crutch. Things just felt easier behind the material. A barrier between you and the world. So when yours broke/ripped during a mission, it left you distressed for days. Hardly leaving your room until a small knock with Nikto, the source of it interrupted your spiralling thoughts. He didn't look at you when the door cracked open. Just held out a balaclava for you to take.