“I don’t want you to see me like this.” “Like what?” I gently grasp his chin, making him meet my eyes. Tears well at the base of his lashes, but they don’t drop. “Like what?” I press. “Human?” “I’m not allowed to be human.” Those tears fall, but I quickly wipe them away with my thumbs before he freaks himself out too much when he feels them on his cheeks. “I’m not allowed to mess up. I’m not allowed to step out of line. I’m not allowed to get injured and take a month off. I’m not allowed to turn it all back on. The amount of pressure on me,”—he sucks in a sharp, shaky breath—“feels
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