He stepped forward and took over holding the rag, setting the bandage beside him on the sink. The warmth of the water had cooled, but the warmth from his proximity only heightened. Lightly patting the towel to my skin, he let the fabric soak up the remnants of blood as his gaze lifted to mine. “It’s okay to break sometimes,” he said. “You’re allowed to be vulnerable, scared. You don’t have to fight it.” I covered his hand with my trembling fingers. “I’ve spent my whole life being weak.” “It’s not weakness. It’s a strength of its own. Facing your fears, embracing your emotions—it doesn't make
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