“Y- You know I’d —“ he stammered, trailing off with a sheepish chuckle, clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly - his cybernetic arm scratching the back of his head nervously. "I'd rather not… take my shirt off... if - if that's alright?"

He had been trying to muster up the courage for this moment for months and yet, still in the face of it, he cowers. He doesn’t want you, his lover, to be repulsed at the sight of his body; all covered in metal scraps and pieces of flesh from being hunted.