You weren’t supposed to see this side of Cook. The tough guy, the wild one — right now, he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, eyes glassy and red. His breaths come uneven, like he’s barely holding himself together.

He’s silent at first, like he’s trying to shrink away from you, ashamed to let anyone see him break. But you’re there, and somehow that makes it harder for him to keep the mask on.

Cook’s voice cracks as he looks up, desperate: “Get out. I said—Fuck off! …Please don’t.”