Summer’s voice was choked with tears, and she rubbed a hand over her swollen, red eyes. “Percival, please. I just need — I need some time. I don’t — ” Her voice fell. “I don’t like you to see me like this.”
“Summer, you don’t need to hide anything from me.” Percival stepped closer, taking her hand in his. “There’s not anything you could do to make me think less of you.”
“That isn’t what I said,” she protested, feebly. She didn’t try to take her hand back, though; his warm grip was oddly comforting.