He picks up an adhesive strip and fixes the magnetic housing directly to his bare scarred jaw and temple. Then he presses the outer mask to the housing and there's a softclickas it attaches.
He turns back to face me, but he's angling his head so I can see the side that's masked, but nothing more.
"Go," he says.
I hesitate, then reach for the mask.
Orion flinches before my fingers even make contact, a sharp, involuntary recoil that knocks his elbow into a jar of brushes on the workbench behind him. They scatter across the wood with a clatter and his head whips further to the side, tucking his face away from my approaching hand.
Cheeto's head lifts from the chaise. His milky eyes stare at nothing, ears flat.
"Sorry," Orion says immediately, his voice tight. He resets his stance. "Again."
"You sure?"
"Again."
I reach. Slower this time. Telegraphing every inch of movement so he can track my hand coming while Jamie watches, wringing his hands and biting his lower lip.
Orion still flinches. Less violently—more of a shudder than a full recoil—but his head turns away again and his hand comes up to shield himself, a reflexive guarding motion that pulls the contact points out of my reach entirely. My fingers close on empty air where the mask was a second ago.
"Again," he says before I can ask.
Third attempt. I get close enough to brush the edge of the metal before his chin tucks and the angle goes wrong. Fourth attempt, same thing. Fifth, his shoulders lock and he manages to hold his head mostly still, but I'm so nervous, I fuck it up and yank the mask at the wrong angle.
Orion lets out a hiss of pain through his teeth and doubles over, his hand flying up to press against the mask that's only partially disconnected. It clicks back into place and he shudders. "Fuck?—"
Jamie is at his side in a flash, grabbing his arms. "Are you alright, love?"
"Shit," I croak. "I'm so sorry, I?—"
"It's 'ine," Orion says, waving me and Jamie off with one hand as he grips the housing with the other. A trickle of blood runs down his scarred jaw and throat, blooming against the white collar of his shirt.
My heart sinks.
Oh gods.
"This is what 'ractice is 'or," Orion adds with a hoarse, humorless laugh as he dabs at the blood with the edge of his sleeve. He sounds fucking drained and I haven't even managed to grab the mask yet.
"Love—" Jamie tries.
Orion shakes his head. "Again."
Jamie backs away with obvious reluctance and starts making more tea because he apparently doesn't know what else to do with himself.
I reach up to place my fingertips against the mask one at a time, murmuring each contact point like a countdown.
"Temple." First point. Orion's breathing picks up but he holds. "Cheekbone." Second point. A bead of sweat tracks down his temple, following the edge of a scar. His face twitches—the start of a turn—and he locks it down. "Jaw."
Three points. All engaged.
I pull.
Click-click-click.
Clean separation.
Orion's exposed jaw and teeth catch the firelight. The permanent grin. The scar tissue where lips and cheeks should be, pink and white against bronze skin, branching up both cheekbones in jagged rivers.