He definitely has not been told he's loved before. He looks back down at his hands, and his expression goes back to a safe blank. There's tension in his shoulders, though, and the plates of his metal arm are shifting and clicking under his sleeve.

"I. Don't know what that feels like," he finally admits, feeling small and worthless in that moment. Someone loves him. Him. Who is not even properly a person. "What if I can't love you back." This is possibly the dumbest question in the history of questions, because he does, he just doesn't know the name to put to the feeling anymore.