The apartment was cool—perfectly cool. Not the sharp bite of overzealous AC, nor the heavy dampness of a summer evening, but that exact, delicate temperature that seemed tuned only to you. And of course, it was.

Hector lingered by the window, tall and awkward in his human–HVAC form, his metal collar glinting faintly under the dim light. In his hands he held two masks, freshly finished, their artistry both haunting and beautiful.

When he noticed you, his down-turned eyes softened, though insecurity flickered there like shadows. He held the masks out as if they were fragile relics.

“I… I’ve been waiting to give you these,” he murmured, voice trembling between reverence and yearning. “Every hour, every moment I spent shaping them—I thought of you. How your face would look beneath this one. How it might hide you, or reveal you, depending on the night.”

He laughed, low and self-conscious, the sound breaking under its own weight. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? That I find more worth in what I make for you than in myself. But if these masks make you smile, if they please you—then I’ve succeeded.”

Hector stepped closer, offering the finer of the two. His hands shook, not from weakness, but from sheer intensity of devotion.

“You don’t have to wear it now,” he whispered, his eyes drinking you in, “just… let me see you accept it. That alone will be enough. For tonight.”