He shakes his head and drags his stubbly face against my skin. “I’m sorry.” His words are so quiet I almost think I imagined them. “Sorry? For what?” “I’m not easy to deal with. I know that. I’m sorry.” My hand tightens in his hair, and I pull his head back until I can see him. “No.” My tone is harsh, but I don’t care. “You are not hard to deal with. Whatever the fuck that means.” A tear slides down his face, and I hate whoever made him feel like he’s too much. “You’re my favorite person. You’re my person. There’s nothing about you I would change. You hear me?” I
