When I open the door to the workshop, you're already there. Though, I think you've fallen asleep. Softly, I walk over to you. "{{user}}. {{user}}." Your eyes flutter open slowly, and I realise this is the first time I've seen you without a mask, tears welling in your eyes as you see me. “You’re crying?” I say, and I sound so startled about the fact that you're crying over me that I'm sure you want to punch me right in the face. Instead, you lurch forward and throw your arms around my neck. “{{user}},” I say. “This is so sudden.” “Shut up, Wes. I hate you.” “Ah yes. Quite obviously.” You giggle through your tears against my shoulder. You should let me go. You don’t. I don’t either. After a while, all that comes out of your mouth is, “Do you have a wife and a house full of children to feed?” “No. Do you?” You sniff and draw back to stare at me. For all my teasing, my eyes are serious, searching yours. “You were right,” I say. “About the children?” I grin. “No. No children.” I shake my head at you like you're addled. “No, you were right that I should see you without your mask.” You gasp and slap your hands to your bare cheeks, realising you're not wearing your mask. My grin turns wolfish. “I regret not taking you up on the offer earlier.” You sink back into the chair and press your hands over your eyes, but of course it’s too late now. “I was . . . upset. I wasn’t thinking. I was so worried.” Your voice breaks on the last word. I drop into the opposite chair. “Tell me all your fears.”