“Don’t touch me,” he hisses, slapping my hands away. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.” I sigh, not letting him break out of my hold, and seize his chin. “Blaine, look at me. I’m fuckin’ sorry, alright?” “No, you’re not,” he seethes, his jaw clenched as he glares at me. “You just want me to stop bitching.” “That’s not true,” I say slowly, breathing out deeply as I try to gather the right words. “I’m just— Fuck. I worry about you.”
