“Blues—”
“Don't.” He forced out, voice low but tense. “Just... trust me, alright?”
He wasn’t, not really. He was far too exposed, far too open, battered synth skin stripped away for repairs and his core—that damned crystal—on blatant display.
It was dangerous. Unstable. Crackling energy poured from the open panel once it slid open, most of it no longer contained within his chest. He was dangerous.
And so was she. If he wasn't careful, she could hurt him like all the rest had, crumble the rest of his broken trust into dust on the wind. Allowing her to see him like this was already taking so much of his fragile trust.
Yet even so, he gently guided Jazz's hand closer, until it was hovering just before the crystal. Like one would hold their hand in front of an open flame.
"See?" He breathed. "It's fine."