summary: 1,2k. you and rafe face the moment your already broken relationship finally falls apart, or did it really?
cw: toxic relationship dynamic, emotional attachment and manipulation, toxic!rafe, arguing, english is not my first language xx.
currently playing: la perla
The thing about broken relationships is that they don’t end in one moment.
They end in a thousand small ones.
Rafe shows up on your porch at two in the morning —again.
You saw this coming hours before he even knocked.
You can hear him breathing on the other side of the door, short and sharp, the way he breathes when he’s been spiraling. That frantic inhale-exhale that sounds like drowning inside his own chest.
You open the door anyway.
Knuckles bruised, though you don’t ask why.
“You weren’t supposed to come tonight.”
That’s the first thing you manage to say.
Rafe steps inside without waiting for an invitation.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, brushing past you, “you weren’t supposed to disappear.”
“Rafe, I didn’t disappear.”
“Then what the fuck do you call this?”
He gestures at your empty living room, at the lights turned off, at the space between you that only seems to grow each time he’s here.
You close the door slowly.
Rafe lets out a harsh, humorless laugh.
“Right. Because you can’t breathe around me, is that it?”
He looks at you with something like disgust and heartbreak tangled together —like he hates you for hurting him but hates himself more for letting you.
You walk past him, placing your phone down on the table.
Not from fear, just from exhaustion.
“We agreed we’d take some time.”
“You agreed,” Rafe snaps.
He stands in the middle of the room, fists at his sides, chest rising and falling too fast.
You’ve seen him angry before.
You’ve seen him lose control, yell, punch walls, accuse you of things you never did.
But this isn’t that side of him.
This is the side that begs.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he asks quietly.
You weren’t prepared for softness.
His voice cracks on the last word.
“Tell me what I did that was so unforgivable you chose to leave.”
It takes him a second to realize you moved.
Another to understand what it means.
His expression fractures.
But you’re scared of what being near him does to you —how it pulls you into that gravity, that obsession, that ache.
“I’m scared of us,” you admit.
He looks down at the floor, breathing harder.
And that, somehow, is worse.
Rafe’s shoulders drop, like that confession is the knife he was waiting for but never wanted.
“Then why can’t you stay?”
“Because love isn’t supposed to hurt this much.”
He flinches violently at that.
“It doesn’t hurt me,” he says, voice trembling.
“You’re the only thing that doesn’t.”
Dangerous. Beautiful. Tragic.
He steps towards you again, slower this time, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he touches you, or maybe he’s afraid he will.
“I don’t sleep,” he confesses.
“I don’t eat. I can’t fucking think when you’re gone.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
You look at him, really look at him — at the shaking hands, at the broken desperation in his eyes.
You’ve seen him reckless.
But you’ve never seen him silent like this —like you’ve carved open every wound he’s tried to hide under bravado and rage.
“So you’re saying I need you more than I love you.”
You can see the pain before he hides it.
He doesn’t throw something.
He doesn’t accuse you of lying.
Instead, he steps back like your words physically pushed him.
“You have no idea,” he whispers, voice breaking, “how much that ruins me.”
Your heart cracks clean in half.
He drags his hands over his face, pacing like he’s trying to outrun the truth you just gave him.
“I would burn this whole fucking island down if it meant keeping you,” he mutters.
You reach out without thinking.
He grabs your wrist before you can touch him.
Not tight, just desperate.
He brings your hand to his lips.
Then holds it against his cheek.
“Don’t do this,” he whispers.
His grip tightens just a little.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like staying wouldn’t destroy you too.
You shake your head slowly.
“We’re killing each other.”
Rafe steps back, eyes glassy, breathing uneven.
The quiet in the room turns suffocating.
You take a step towards him.
He closes his eyes when your hands touch his face —as if your palms are the first warm thing he’s felt all night.
“I love you,” he whispers, breaking completely now.
“I love you in ways that don’t make sense, in ways that hurt, in ways that you’ll never understand.”
Your tears fall onto his cheek.
“Please,” he begs, voice raw, “don’t walk away from the only thing we have left.”
You press your forehead to his.
“What we have left… is pain.”
Like he’s bleeding from a wound you can’t see.
Like releasing something fragile and holy.
“If you leave,” he whispers, “I’ll never forgive you.”
“If I stay, I’ll never forgive myself.”
He doesn’t try to stop you this time.
Watches you walk towards the door.
Watches you put your hand on the handle.
Watches the moment the last piece of you slips through his fingers.
“Come back,” he says softly.