It's starting to show.
Tiny little cracks in his armour are starting to appear, and he's struggling to keep up appearances.
He's not sure why he still wants to try.
He needs help now, help before he slips over the edge, help before the cracks begin to get bigger and all that is left to do is shatter into tiny pieces.
He doesn't want to shatter, doesn't want to be anymore broken than he already is, doesn't want to be broken beyond repair.
He needs them to see the truth now, needs them to realise he's drowning and grab his hand before all hope is lost. Before, he is lost.
But something's still holding him back, he's still lying, still pretending that all is right with his world, when it's so inescapably wrong.
He guesses it's hard to break the habit of a lifetime.
That doesn't mean he won't try though.
He does it in small ways, doesn't talk as much, no more jokes or pranks, he hasn't quoted movies in weeks and they haven't said a word. He's a shell of who he used to be and the people he needs so desperately to help him, haven't even realised anything's wrong.
That's not entirely true though, he can easily read the confusion on their faces, when his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes anymore. Honestly, he's not sure it ever did.
He doesn't need their confusion, can't do anything with that. He needs them to ask questions, to push him, to back him into a corner until he spills all his secrets.
He needs them to understand, or at least try to.
He needs them to tell him it is all going to be ok, he doesn't care if that's a lie.
He needs them to see the pain he's carried around for a lifetime.
He needs them to fix him, because he's starting to think he's already shattered and there's not a single thing he can do about it.
The balls in their court now.
He doesn't want to think what might happen, if they don't want to play.