It wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were just rummaging through the workshop, looking for a spare part Wrench had told you was “somewhere near the mess of wires and existential dread,” when you turned the corner, and there he was.

No mask. No blinking LED eyes. Just… him.

He froze, eyes wide, a bolt in one hand, his expression halfway between panic and raw vulnerability. You’d never seen him like that, open, exposed. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then he scrambled to grab his mask, muttering something like “shit, shit, shit,” but his hands were shaky. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You just stepped back, slowly, giving him the space to breathe again.

“…Didn’t mean for you to see that,” he mumbled once the mask was back on, voice distorted again. “Guess the mystery’s ruined, huh?”