lily

m. junhui

to be completely honest, you didn't hear anything about any trip to italy until they were at the airport and you saw the news on social media. at first, you didn't believe it. you don't believe half the things related to your boyfriend's schedules are unless he tells you in advance.

unfortunately for jun himself, with the excitement of italy, the exhaustion of the tour, and the initial surprise of the entire trip in the first place... he totally forgot to send you a message.

you only got confirmation that those social media posts were true because of the group chat that you were added to a little bit after you started to date jun.

cheol had announced that the team (except for him) would be going to italy... all expenses and activities paid for by na pd and his team.

okay.

so that wasn't the plan.

the original plan was that jun and minghao would be going on this reality show with some other actors to rome - nothing to do with seventeen and na pd.

tl;dr, you texted your boyfriend immediately.

y.nnie: YOU'RE GOING TO ITALY NOW???/

junnie <3: OH SHIT

two seconds later, you got a call from your boyfriend. he had no makeup, no fancy outfits, and no bags in sight. to be honest, you've never seen jun look so completely natural outside of the comfort of your apartment until now.

at least during their dance practices, jun had put some effort into what he would be wearing and how he looked. but this? he was just... him. it kind of made you miss him even more than your usual calls.

"you're at the airport," you said.

he nodded.

"where are you going?"

"...italy."

"with the rest of the guys?"

"yes."

....

"...was this company approved??" you had to ask. not that you really care if it was company approved, but you're seriously confused if this was the same thing as what jun talked about last week - the trip to rome and all that stuff with minghao.

"so, that is now this, and this is now that with the rest of the members," jun laughed, fixing the collar of his black shirt.

"that is now this, this is now- what?"

jun couldn't help but be amused at your confused expression. he went through his entire morning in as much detail as he could, which wasn't a lot, because he could swear he was still asleep during 90% of it.

"and now we're in incheon, waiting for our layover." he concluded.

you held up your fingers and listed the events in order, "so, you got lied to by the company to get your visa, got kidnapped after drinking with the members, didn't even shower or brush your teeth before getting up to leave for italy... and you have about 30 minutes before i lose contact with you for a week?!"

"not lose contact!" he quickly corrected. "it's only going to be about 8 hours."

you waved him off, "yeah, yeah, same thing. but were you going to tell me?"

"i mean, i thought i texted you before we left japan!"

"clearly you didn't!"

k. soonyoung

you weren't his first concern.

actually no, wait. correction: you are his first concern - just not his first concern at the moment.

"you want me to what?!" you shout over the phone.

"head over to my parents place and take care of latte while i'm gone!" soonyoung exclaimed while he struggled to put on his running shoes.

"okay, i got that, but go back to the part where you're going to italy!" you exclaimed, running your hands through your very messed up hair. after all, it was nearing 7am... and you were sure that your boyfriend was still drunk.

"i just put on my shoes on the wrong foot." he declared.

"oh my god..." you couldn't believe what you were hearing. so far, all that you've registered was that your boyfriend was drunk out of his mind, is currently getting kidnapped by one of their favourite producers, and had asked you to take care of his beloved dog... which to be honest, is very fair. you love his dog just as much as you love him, which is saying a lot by itself.

before you could say anything else, he let out a gasp. "Y/NNIE!"

"huh?!"

"i need you to call my mom and tell her that i can't make it to dinner later!"

"what?!"

"can you call my mom and tell her i can't go to dinner with her, jihoon's mom, and shua-hyung's mom?" he requested of you.

you raised your eyebrow, "you want me to call your mom and tell her that you, her son, has to cancel your dinner plans?"

"she's kind of scary, y/nnie." he muttered.

"and what makes you think i'll do it?!"

he had one of the silliest (and drunkest) grins on his face as he said, "because she definitely definitely definitely likes you more than me~"

"at this point, you should just ask me to fill in your spot instead..."

his eyes lit up at the suggestion, "now that's not a terrible idea, love! actually, that's probably better than cancelling altogether. our moms were looking forward to going to the restaurant, and it'll save us trying to get another reservation. it took us two months to get the reservation by itself, y/n!"

"no, wait, im not having a dinner with your mom, jihoon's mom, or joshua's mom without the rest of you. are you crazy?"

"but it's at a nice restaurant in seoul! it'll also get you closer with the rest of the family, too." he insisted.

"soonyoung, i'm barely close with the other guys. i don't think i should automatically jump to having dinner with their parents??"

"who cares?"

"I CARE???"

for your information, you were out of your house later that evening to attend dinner with your boyfriend's mom and your boyfriend's friends' mom's.

yeah, he won that one.

j. wonwoo

"hey, hyung, did you tell y/n that you aren't going back to seoul today? she just asked me if she can come over and play games at our place," mingyu looked over to his friend (and roommate) while they were waiting for their plane to rome.

wonwoo choked on the water he was drinking, quickly pulling up your contact to call you before they have to leave.

mingyu let out a chuckle, "you've got some explaining to do, hyung~"

crap. you texted him twenty minutes ago asking when he'd be back so that you could come over and hang out. after all, you two haven't seen each other in months at this point because of the tour.

"hey!" your voice was surprisingly energetic for 9am - completely unsuspecting that he wasn't going to return anytime soon. "morning, wonu~"

he couldn't help the obvious blush that was on his face at the sound of your voice. even after months of dating, your voice still gives him butterflies.

recalling that he still had to explain his whereabouts and what he was doing, he found his voice. "good morning, darling."

"can you tell mingyu to stop leaving me on seen? it's getting annoying," you immediately requested. "like, i know he doesn't really care if i'm over or not, but it'll be nice if he could stop leaving me on seen! he told you, right? i'll bring snacks and we'll catch up on everything that we've missed, and if mingyu's going to have a problem with that, we can go out to eat for dinner. i can book something right now."

"so, that's kind of a problem, y/nnie," wonwoo awkwardly started. "we're in seoul right now and-"

"you guys arrived?!"

"so, not really," he corrected. "our game nights and catch up talks are going to have to wait two more weeks."

"eh?"

"do you remember when i told you how we got the chance to appear on na pd's youth over flowers? and how i had you binge watch it on one of our earlier dates?"

"around the same month when we first started dating - yeah, it rings a bell," you nodded.

"so... we're going to do that. now. we're at the airport, waiting for our plane to rome."

...

you remained silent.

"y/nnie?"

...

"hello?" he called.

"so," you finally said something. "that's freakin crazy,."

he broke out in a laugh, "yeah... i know."

"youth over flowers - seventeen edition... holy shit, that's expensive as hell."

"that's what you're worried about?!"

you shrugged, "to be honest, i'm more surprised that they were able to fool everyone."

"not even our manager or hyelim-sseam knew."

"the fuck??"

"ceo-nim didn't know either."

you scoffed, shaking your head in complete disbelief. "crap, they really fooled everyone, huh?"

"they really did..." wonwoo smiled. "i'm sorry you have to wait even longer."

"pfft, wonu, it's nothing. you know that."

with wonwoo's job as an idol and all the travelling they do, you were completely used to it, but to wonwoo, during the long travels or if any unexpected schedules came up, he would feel so immensely guilty on just... leaving you alone. while he doesn't feel self conscious about it, it still eats at him when he asks you for... very specific requests.

"waiting longer also means i'm going to need you to log into my accounts and do my logins... for all my games."

"yeah, yeah, i got you."

and like the person of his dreams that you are, you are always quick to make sure his requests are met, even if it's something as simple as logging into his favourite games and collecting the right rewards.

l. jihoon

"you're going to ROME and i'm hearing this from SOONYOUNG?!" you shouted over the phone when your boyfriend finally picked up.

you've been trying to get ahold of him for 30 minutes now, and every single time, it went straight to voice mail - which was strange by itself because out of everyone, jihoon made sure that your calls would never go straight to voice mail when trying to reach him. he would either call you back immediately, or pick up after the second ring, which only made it even worse when you were trying to get ahold of him since soonyoung told you that they're going to italy.

jihoon pulled the phone closer to his ear after putting it away at your shout. "okay, wait, soonyoung told you?"

you scoffed, "of course he did! you want to know what he sent me?" you texted him a screenshot of the messages that the friend had sent you - which included a shit ton of spamming, capitalized screaming, and a bunch of photos of their team. "i thought he was drunk at first!"

"i mean, he is. still is," jihoon reasoned.

"yes, but then seungcheol told the group chat, and then i get a call from your mom asking if i wanted to come to dinner instead of you!" you exclaimed, pacing around in your bedroom.

"my mom asked you to come to dinner in my place?" he repeated. "wait a minute. that's the dinner i was supposed to go with shua and soonyoung's moms, too."

"soonyoung told his mom that he isn't going to dinner because you guys are getting kidnapped, and then your mom told me that she asked if i could go instead of their sons."

"i mean... you've known them for years at this point. you're basically their daughter," jihoon remarked with a chuckle.

"okay, yeah, sure. we've been dating for five years, i know, but that's besides the point! i'll update you on you if i go, though."

"you're probably going to go. you love hanging out with our parents."

"i mean, have you seen the fights that had broken out whenever i hang out with you and the members?"

"why else do you think i don't hang out with them unless it's for our monthly meetings?"

you scoffed, shaking your head. he's got a point there. "when you come back, i better hear from the rest of them that you've been going out instead of rotting in the hotel room... or wherever you're going to be. it's your first time in italy, and europe itself, jihoon. enjoy it."

he chuckled, "now you're starting to sound like my mom."

"jihoon, you barely know the outside of your own apartment. you appear on the top of the trending lists when you get spotted outside. i think reminding you that there is more to the world than the walls of your studio and apartment," you said, finally taking a seat by the end of your bed. "now, after this entire fiasco, i'm going to take a nap."

"it's 9am."

"yeah. nap time." you insisted. "and who knows, jihoon? maybe being in a new environment, you'll get a bunch of inspiration for your next song."

"being with you causes my inspiration 90% of the time now, anyways."

your face turned red - putting your down beside you while you screamed into your pillow. after the scream, you sat up, coughed, and picked up your phone again. "hi."

"hey." jihoon laughed. "you still with me, love?"

"nah. not really. not after that."

"i know <3"

So, you sit, thighs on either side of his waist, hands itching to run up his chest, but you hold back. Check-in's always come first, cuddling after. You settle for his hand instead, your fingers grabbing hold of his and lifting. His whole arm follows, then flops down when you release it, like a dead weight. You muffle your laughter and watch his lips twitch.

"Long day, hm?"

You clasp both his hands, thumbs tracing over his knuckles. He only lightly squeezes back. It's enough of an answer for you. You lead his hands to your waist, and this time, when you let go, he stays there.

Satisfied, you lean forward, testing when he'll break and open his eyes to look at you. Your hair brushes against his neck, and when you let one of your hands fall to cup his cheek, you feel him nuzzle just slightly into the touch.

"Look at me, baby," you plead gently, thumbing over his cheek in a touch so gentle it could only be reserved for him. He hums, a little raspy and discontented. You feel him squeeze your hips.

"Come on, baby. I'll recharge you," you promise. He frowns a little, but listens. When he opens his eyes, his eyelids still droop half closed, as if the tiredness weighs down so heavy that it becomes physically impossible to open them all the way.

"There you are." You smile, hoping he'll be able to soak up at least a fraction of your energy.

"Recharge me," he whispers. His eyes have an imploring shine to them, like you're the only person in the world that can make him feel alive right now.

You start with his lips—soft and slow and unrushed. He kisses back enough to let you know he wants this, but without the energy to lead it. You trail to his cheek and then up further, each kiss placed with determination but gentleness. You hear his breath soften, but more telling is his grip on your waist. It tightens just slightly with every couple of kisses.

When you circle back down, lips mapping out a path to his neck, his breath hitches. The kisses here feel more suggestive than the previous soft devotion. It becomes complete with your wandering hands, feeling out the definition on his arms, chest, stomach, all while his neck gets the most of your attention.

He gasps quietly when you kiss a particularly sensitive spot beneath his jaw. You smile against his skin, tempted to tease him more. But you promised to make him feel recharged—not test his limits of restraint—so you pull away after.

You notice the shift in his expression. The tiredness has lifted, and his eyes now hold a fondness that was previously concealed. You lean towards him again, nuzzle your nose gently against his and revel in the soft laugh that escapes him. You meet his gaze, eyes twinkling with a mix of adoration and endearment.

"I haven't told you, but…" he starts, but trails off halfway. You raise an eyebrow. "I really like you."

You snort. He has to keep his grip on your waist firm to prevent you from falling off his lap. Your laugh racks through your entire body. You're amused not because the confession is anything to laugh at, but because Changkyun has been your boyfriend for four years. It's certainly not the first time he's told you this. In fact, you can't count how many times he's told you he likes you, and it’s even harder to tally up his many I love you's.

"You've told me that a lot of times, Kyun," you say with a smile.

"Not today, I haven't," he counters seriously before his expression softens again.

He pulls you down for another kiss, and this one falls more equally between you two. There's fervor dripping from his lips, and you savour it like it's the first time he's ever kissed you like this. It's not, nor will it be the last. Your relationship is built on a surety that no matter how high or low the days are, you'll always come back to each other; for comfort, for company, for love.

© slytherinshua ── do not repost translate or copy　⸝⸝⸝　join my taglist!

@kstrucknet

It's Monday. Again. This day used to be Rafe's long day at the office, just Mondays.

All days are Mondays now, apparently. You weren't informed of it, no one notified you, it just started happening and you couldn't have a voice in it.

Rafe groans, because he's still tired after a weekend of trying to disconnect with your family. He spent most of his time on his phone every time the kids weren't all over him. Yesterday had been rough for you two, no fight had happened but he felt the anger and disappointment in your eyes every time he picked up a call.

There was a point where you didn't even flinch anymore. You just... didn't care.

He unwrapped his arm from around your waist and the weight that's lifted from you it's more than just his arm. You don't open your eyes to catch a last glimpse, you haven't done it in a long time now, you don't know if he had noticed.

You don't move, you just concentrate in your breathing, not on the perfectly quiet steps he has mastered over the years of getting ready in the dark while you were still asleep. Like always, he locks himself in the bathroom, washes his face, his teeth. You don't remember his bathroom routine that much, it's been a minute since you saw him doing it.

You only go back to sleep once he leaves the room, he makes sure to be extra careful on closing the door. He knows he ended the night on your last nerve and he's staying there.

Rafe makes his way downstairs, passing over the kids room while he tied his tie around his neck with a perfect robotism, he doesn't look down to make sure it's well done, he knows it is.

He checks on Olivia, asleep. He checks on Parker, asleep.

He sighed, rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes with one of his hand, the other slipped to his back pocket for his phone. He used to keep it in the front, until he caught that faint frown you’d make every time the rectangular outline broke the line of his pants. You never said a word about it, but he noticed. So, he changed it.

He makes coffee first, like every single morning while he checks his messages. Unread emails flood the screen—offers, follow-ups, contracts, reminders. Numbers and names, money and motion, calendar packed with even more things to take care of. His kind of thing. He leans against the counter, waiting. The coffee dripped slow and steady, exactly what he hasn't been in a long time, it feels almost like it's on purpose.

The thought of it already makes him roll his eyes. He puts the phone down on the marble and the screen fades to black.

Then, silence.

The house is quiet, too quiet. He used to have so much noise around him and he loved it. Kids running around, laughing, fighting at times, you yelling at them to keep them at ease and him wrapping an arm around you to keep you from running behind them.

It's not like the house doesn't have that anymore, it's just that by the time he's around, it doesn't. Kids asleep for the night or mornings (like now) where they have another hour of dreams.

He glanced toward the hallway. The walls were lined with frames, perfectly spaced and organized by you, a collection of faces frozen in moments he can’t get back. You, the kids, his arm around all of you. He’d picked that wall himself, said it made the place feel warm. Now it just stared back at him and he doesn't know what to say to it.

But, like always. Time is money and he can't afford to waste it, so his nostalgia leaves as fast as it appeared.

He was out the door at 6:50 am.

By the time you woke up, the sun had the decency of being out. It's still the soft version of it, not as yellow as it is at noon. It's already 8:00 am and the kids need to be on the car, seat belts on by 8:55.

And it's a kind of dance you are a professional at. You've been over the steps over and over again, usually it changes when the kids start to get older, normally it gets easier (or harder, depending on how you view it) but for the past school year, you've done it all on your own without counting Rafe almost in any single morning.

So, you made it your choreography. Your steps, your break, your waiting times, your turns and pirouettes. You are a beautiful ballerina at this point, almost two months before school ends and you get dragged into the long days of summer where no entertainment seems to be enough for anyone.

You go to Parker's first, he's already pretty fast at getting dressed in his own. You need to wake him up delicately. Just like Rafe, he's not a morning person and has even the same character, short and temperamental. You decided you can take a few extra minutes of your morning on just waking up Parker in order to avoid a tantrum.

Once he's up, eyes barely open and head still hanging on his shoulder with tiredness, you go over to Olivia's room.

She's much different, not exactly a morning person either but she does need the extra energy to start day or else she'll just mop around like a plant. You tickle her, kiss her cheek, shake her arm a little bit and she's eyes wide open with a soft smile on her face already.

Beautiful.

Both of them sit on the couch with their breakfasts, the only one actually talking is Olivia. She has this thing where she has to tell everyone her most recent dream with full details that she invents right on the spot to fill the empty voids she can't remember.

Parker just... nods. He doesn't have the energy to do anything about it right now.

Breakfast is done, so are that snacks on their backpacks. You take your time on doing Olivia's hair.

At 8:55? You're already on the road, your boy tries to catch up on some more sleep, but the chatting between you and Olivia stop him from it.

"Miss Glinda—" Her name is not actually Glinda but Olivia is never able to remember her actual name. "Said we were going to, uhm... draw people."

"Today?" You asked, attentively listening while you take a turn.

"I don't know." She shrugged, freeing herself from the responsibility of knowing the full information. "She just said it."

You laughed, they always make you disconnect from the tensions inside of you, the conversations that were had or the ones that weren't with Rafe that always pull your strings just a little bit much. These kids make you forget that.

Rafe has been at the office for a while now. When he arrived, the building hummed with quiet precision— screens lighting up, shoes clicking across marble floors, the low murmur of ambition echoing down the hall.

He didn't stopped to greet anyone. Almost never does, it's not like he owns it to anyone there. Just nodded, the kind of polite acknowledgment that said I’m already thinking about something else.

His office is on the top floor, where he is at right now, glass walls that had big curtains whenever he needed a fucking minute, which was quite often lately.

The island spitting out behind him, he can see a lot. He's at the center of Outer Banks, after all. It's always a busy street, not like in summer season, you can barely walk when the heat has finally landed. Tourists and students on summer vacation invade the whole place.

Rafe looked behind him, it was magical how almost every window in every house or building had a view to the beach.

But even with the skyline stretching open before him, he keeps looking at his reflection in the glass, he has a frown almost all that time now. He used to like this view, the kids love the beach, you love it. Now it just reminds him how far he’s standing from home.

He pushes the thought to the back of his head, he convinced himself to make those intrusive feelings an afterthought. He doesn't have time for them, not right now.

"Mr. Cameron?" His assistant’s voice cuts in from the doorway. "You’ve got the Henderson call in five."

He nods once. "Yeah. I’ll be there."

She leaves, and the silence folds back around him, all knowing.

He leans back in his chair, jaw tight, eyes dragging once more over the skyline.

He’s built something solid, unshakable—offices, deals, numbers, a name that carries weight.

And for what.

He gets up, grabs his phone and walks out of his office, doing the same thing he always does: anxiously rubs the wedding band resting on his finger, the one that hasn't moved for almost ten years.

Back at home, you're doing the same thing. Same gesture.

The laptop hums quietly in front of you— the same one that holds years of your work, the one you finally decided to dust off and come back to. It wasn’t just about missing music; it was about the pull of it, that quiet anticipation that meant soon, you’d have to start moving again. Work.

You bite the inside of your cheek, glance at the time. Almost eleven. He should be free at some point. You know that around noon he gets a lunch break he never actually takes, but that’s when he usually answers—briefly, distractedly, but still, he answers.

Swallowing your discomfort, you type.

You: heyy, when are u coming home today?

It was simple. Also casual enough to avoid the bitter feeling you get on your mouth every single time you have to ask. You haven't had a consistent answer in months.

You know he won't text you back now. He never does. You could call him— you used to. Back when it was an excuse to hear his voice, to make him pause for a minute in the middle of his day.

But you don’t call anymore. You’re not even sure if he’d pick up.

You stare at the screen a second longer, watching the message hang there— blue bubble, no response. It’s nothing new, but it still hits the same way every time: ignored.

You close the laptop halfway, just to dull its glow. The house is still. Too still. Even the fridge hum sounds too loud.

You get up and go to refill your coffee because it has gone cold already. You turn the machine at the same time you watch the old one go down the drain, you pick up in every little thing that could resemble freedom and relief in your life, just to keep going.

You take a sip, lean against the counter, glance at the clock. Eleven-twenty. You tell yourself not to check your phone, but you do anyway. Still nothing.

He makes you anxious. You hate it. You’re already anxious enough without him. You've always lived with anxiety and Rafe knows it, for the past year it has started to turn exhausting for everyone in the house, not just you anymore. The tiredness of keeping still makes you so restless you naturally chase whatever that can keep you occupied.

It's intense, you know it.

You try to work. Open a file, let the first few notes play. They sound foreign, like someone else wrote them. You listen, adjust a chord, delete it, try again. The rhythm doesn’t come. It sounds so bad.

Your phone lights up on the desk, and your heart jumps too quickly. But it's not him and it's just a simple but painful reminder.

You exhale, long and quiet.

There’s a certain kind of tired that doesn’t come from doing too much—it comes from waiting, waiting and waiting.

You sit back, fingers tracing the keyboard absently. You think about calling him, about breaking that rule you made for yourself weeks ago: don’t chase the silence.

By the time you finally forget about your phone, it’s already noon and you have to pick up the kids soon. The music’s still looping—soft, repetitive, like something to hold on to. You’ve settled into the rhythm of pretending not to wait.

Then the vibration breaks through the room, small but sharp. You freeze. You reach for it too quickly, already hating yourself for the way your pulse jumps but you can't help it.

Rafe: Hey baby

Might be late. Got a meeting at 4. Don’t wait up.

Yeah, you never do anyways.

Three sentences. No punctuation, no softness. You read it twice anyway, like maybe you missed something hidden between the words. You didn’t.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, ready to type something—anything—but what’s left to say? Every answer feels pathetic.

So you don’t send anything. You just let the screen fade back to black.

You think about how it used to sound when he called you in the middle of the day— his voice low, the soft background noise of his office, the way he’d say your name, honey dripping, eager to see you again.

Now it’s just three sentences.

He sends the text and stares at it for a second before locking his phone. It’s easier that way—short, clean, detached. Fuck, when did he start needing to sound detach from his wife? But at the same time it is easier. Easier than saying I don’t know when I’ll stop working. He knows you hate excuses, so he might as well tell you the truth: he's got work.

The office hums around him in a way that used to be overwhelming when he wasn't the one in charge of everything. People moving, doors opening and closing, voices low and clipped. Deals being made. Money moving.

He should feel proud. He does, sometimes. Just not today.

Everything has been harder since Rafe finally got the company all to himself almost two years ago. He's finally the boss, the goddamn CEO he always dreamt of being, taking after his father. But this job just takes, takes and it takes. The position he's in now it's obviously more demanding, everyone needs him at all times. Or maybe his employees are fucking stupid, he has no idea at this point.

Sure, even more money ends up in his pocket, he knows it's not a problem you have at home. The problem at home isn't even there at all, and that's him.

The reflection of himself in the computer is almost too much. It's tired but all pulled together in a neat and expensive suit. The kind of man that gets things done, except he doesn't know how to fix the one thing that actually matters: his marriage.

But it's not like he can do something about it right now, he thinks. He doesn't have the time to even breathe before he gets another scheduled call.

The day slips away without you really noticing, today is one of those lucky days, where you don't think about it too much. One moment it’s morning light pouring through the kitchen, and the next, the sky outside is already beginning to fade.

Five p.m.

And you know damn well he’s still in that meeting. Probably hasn’t even looked at his phone. Probably won’t for a while, you already know it.

The kids are home, shoes kicked off near the door, snacks already half-eaten on the counter. Parker’s talking about soccer again—his new team, the one he joined a few months ago after Rafe took him to a soccer match and ended up fascinated. You nod, smile, ask the right questions, you keep your mind here, where it matters, where you're needed.

Olivia’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, sketchbook open, tongue poking out in concentration. She's also in art classes, another teacher she calls Miss Glinda, whose real name is actually Lisa, introduced last week.

You tell her it’s beautiful, and it is, but you can’t quite shake the ache in your chest that you're the only one seeing it.

By six, the house quiets again. Parker’s at practice, Olivia’s in her room humming softly as she plays. You clean the kitchen even though it doesn’t need cleaning. Reorganize a drawer. Fold a few shirts that didn’t need folding.

Seven-thirty comes and you hop up on the car again with Olivia to pick up her brother from practice. The sky outside bruises purple, the air heavy with that end-of-day stillness and you get caught on with how beautiful it is.

By eight-twenty, you pull into the driveway, headlights brushing against the front of the house, it's already dark outside. Olivia’s half-asleep in the backseat, clutching her stuffed animal. Parker’s sweaty and content, still chattering about how his team finally won a match in practice.

You look up and see the porch light’s on. His car’s already there.

Your heart dips— somewhere between relief and dread. You weren’t expecting him to be home this early, though eight-twenty hardly counts as early anymore.

You're tired of taking whatever you can get.

You unlock the door with your elbow, balancing Parker’s gear bag that's heavy with his water bottle, his shoes, the keys, Olivia’s teddy and a dozen small pieces of your life that somehow always end up in your hands.

You're overloaded, you don't have space anymore.

The house smells faintly like his cologne and the coffee he makes too late in the day already. You're already infected by him and you haven't even seen him.

He’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, a glass of water in one hand, phone in the other like always. The overhead light makes him look tired, sharper around the edges.

He looks up when you walk in, hearing the commotion. “Where were you?”

It’s not rude. Just… blank. But still, it stings. It somehow makes it worse.

You blink, stunned and also predictable as you set the bags down. “Parker had practice.” You sighed tiredly, looking around.

He frowns slightly, like he’s trying to remember. He looks at the calendar in the fridge, a useless magnet. “Right. On Mondays?” You *know* he doesn't remember even tho he's the one who took him to his first practice.

“Since February." You answer quietly, too obvious, and you hate how small your voice sounds.

Parker runs past you, dumping his hoodie by the door, already yelling something about needing another snack. Olivia trails behind, dragging her jacket, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“You should’ve told me you’d be out.” He says again, not looking up from the fridge this time.

"Didn't think I had to." You said flatly. You drop your keys into the bowl by the counter. “You were in meetings all day, didn’t want to bother you.” You hide your indifference under caring, as if you still fucking care he spends the entire day on meetings.

“That’s not—” He sighs, straightens, looking away from the fridge. “I’m not saying you bother me.”

“Didn’t say you did.” You walked past him to the living room.

Rafe's eyes follow you, he doesn't what this form of your body language means. Sure, you're tired but he doesn't have the ability to read you that well anymore and the tone in your voice is pissing him off.

The air shifts, just slightly. Olivia’s humming somewhere down the hall, Parker’s asking for yogurt from the pantry before he runs off to his room again. The house sounds alive again, but it doesn’t feel like it.

Rafe leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely. “I just like knowing where you guys are. That’s all.” He scratched the back of his neck, same gesture every time he doesn't know what to do with you, what's the right thing to say.

You nod, slowly as you try to come up with an answer that is good enough to stop an argument. “You could, if you asked sometimes.” But it's impossible.

His jaw tightens and he frowns, not liking what he's hearing. He doesn’t answer right away and he won't admit how thrown off he is by the comment. “I do ask.”

You internally groan as you walk over to the dining table, pausing before you can reach for your laptop. “About work.” You tell him. “About schedules, meetings, new listings. Not about us.” You swallow the imminent need of start screaming at him.

He looks at you then, eyes tired and unreadable. Maybe he turned like that to match you, he hasn't been able to understand you in so long. “That’s not fair.” He exhaled, shaking his head.

You chuckled softly, humourlessly and in disbelief that he's the one telling you this. "It never is, Rafe." You said before turning around. *What a victim he is, huh*.

He exhales, quiet, steady. Runs a hand down his face like he’s trying to decide if it’s worth saying what’s in his head. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” He tries to explain, to remind you he hasn't forgotten about you he's just busy.

“I know,” You say quickly, cutting him off before the familiar list starts—calls, clients, deadlines, numbers. You know it all. “You always do.” Your voice has been getting totally good at touching irony but never really using it. "But so do I."

There’s a silence that sits between you—soft, fragile, like glass. You both keep your voices low, careful not to alert the kids, but it’s not really about them. It’s about everything you’ve been avoiding breaking and it's turning unsustainable.

He noticed your hand, the way it reaches out eagerly to grab your laptop, the one resting with a promise inside of it. "You're working again?" He asked, rising a brow, not daring to get closer.

You look behind you, getting the device on your hands. "Trying to." You said shortly, looking like you've been caught red handed on your attempts of getting yourself back on your feet.

As if he could ever say something bad about it. Or anything at all, really.

"That's good." He nodded without adding anything further. Polite, practiced— it sounds like a line in a script he keeps failing to deliver.

The silence stretches, but it’s not comfortable. It’s full of all the things you used to say without thinking —how was your day, you look tired, I missed you— now replaced by the kind of small talk that doesn’t touch anything real.

Rafe cleared his throat again, still from his place on the kitchen.

You repeat his action, walking over to where he is, laptop in hand and leaving it on the kitchen island so you can refill Parker's bottle and put it back in the fridge.

He stops you before you can do anything else, you guys hadn't even greeted each other since you stepped inside. Wrapping a consistent arm around your waist, he pulls you closer. "Hey." He said quietly, crunching down to catch your eyes, in that way that says let's calm down.

You look up at him, hand naturally coming to rest on his chest when he pulled you closer. You don't exhale the air of exhaustion when you lock eyes. "Hey." You whisper. And you don't pull him away either when he leans down to give you a kiss because you did miss him. The problem is, you always do, you're used to it.

A kiss would normally pump your energy up again after such a long day. It would make you want to keep up and stay up with him. It doesn't really work this time around.

"I'll... make dinner." He said in the same quite and guilty way.

You nod, touching his nose with yours for a moment before leaving him alone for shower time.

Dinner goes by in a blur for you, you don't really talk. It doesn't pass as fast for Rafe, he tries to keep up with whatever tired and half-asleep things the kids eagerly tell him about their day. His eyes keep drifting back to you every single time they tell him something he didn't know about.

He does the dishes, the least he can do on the few hours he actually spends at home and before you even know it, you hear the particular door of his at home office being closed, probably locking himself up with the intention of checking on a few last emails, paperwork, texts before bed.

You're downstairs, remembering to ask Rafe to come with you on Wednesday to take the kids to have their blood drawn for a test, just their Vitamin levels, just a routine check.

You're already in your head anticipating how the conversation is going to go when you ask him while you start preparing the kids' backpacks for the next day.

It’s muscle memory at this point: check the notebooks, refill the pencil cases, tuck away their snack money. You take your time with it, it's not like Rafe is waiting for you in bed.

There it was, the drawing Olivia mentioned they were going to do this morning.

'Family' was the title with messy handwriting and orange pencil.

And underneath it, the picture: you and her in the center, hands joined. Parker on your other side, smiling with his wild little hair sticking up. And then —off to the left, small, distant— Rafe. A briefcase in his hand. Not touching anyone.

It looks almost like a punishment of your reality the more you look at it.

Your heart drops so fast it almost feels like guilt. You blink at it once, then again, as if maybe the lines will rearrange themselves if you just give them time, if someone tried hard enough.

They don’t.

Before you can think too hard about it, you reach for Parker’s. His drawing is messier, his colors darker, bold strokes that fill the page. But there’s no sign of Rafe at all and your heart quickens.

Just you. Him and Olivia. The house. The dog that died two summers ago.

Oh, shit.

You press your lips together, your throat tight.

You knew this was coming, in some quiet part of you. But seeing it drawn by the kids: seeing the distance in color and space, how Parker doesn't even count Rafe anymore, that’s what hurts the most.

You close the books and lean against the table, palms flat against the wood, eyes unfocused.

What are you supposed to do now?

You take a deep breath at the same time you take the drawings with you. You make your way upstairs, shaky and scared to ask for more as you walked.

You don't knock, you don't wait for him to answer, he never will if you do.

You just open his door, barging inside because you also own this place. This office, so Rafe and calculated thoughts still belongs to the house. You can be here.

"Rafe—" You say and before you get another word he cuts you off.

He was on the phone, walking around the office as he gesticulated with his hand but he stops just for a moment when he sees you. He lowers the phone, pressing it against his shoulder as he gives you his pleading eyes. "Baby, I'm on the phone, I'll be there—" He starts to promise.

"Rafe, I need to talk to you—" You start with indignation.

"Baby—"

"Rafe!"

He sighed, putting his phone up to his ear again as he muttered some "I'll call you back." to whoever he was talking to. No, you won't you wanted to say.

"What?” He asks, bracing himself against his desk, flipping through papers that don’t need to be touched— anything to avoid your eyes.

You decide to give him a chance, the last one. You ran out of them a long time ago, but this is Rafe we're talking about here. Of course you would get chances out of your ass just for the sake of your marriage.

You swallow, hands shaking as you grip the drawings you're hiding behind your back. "I need you to come with me to the hospital in Wednesday. The twins are getting their blood tested—"

"I can't go on Wednesday." He immediately says, and he says it with such a natural and immediate reaction. He hasn't even touched you that fast in weeks.

You exhale, trying to make it through the sentence. "Well, make time, I need you there—"

"I can't." He repeated as if you hadn't listened. "I got a meeting with the Spanish investors—"

"Then move it." You demand.

"I can't move it—"

"Well, I can't go on my own, Parker's gonna faint—" You tried to explain. Your boy, as energetic and fast he is, he's also terrified of needles. The only time he was ever conscious when he was vaccinated, he fainted. Just like Rafe would.

"He doesn't faint—"

"Yes, he does, you know this!" You voice came out with frustration.

He immediately remembered. Of course he does. The first time Parker fainted during a vaccine, Rafe had been the one to catch him before he hit the floor. He’d laughed about it later, about how his son inherited that from him of all things.

Now, he just runs a hand through his hair and mutters, eyes blinking with exhaustion. “Right. Yeah.” He cleared his throat, ashamed.

The silence that follows is sharp enough to hurt. You can still hear the faint buzz of his phone on the desk, another call lighting up the screen and you've never been so close to kill him. Does the damn thing never gives it a rest?

He doesn’t look at you when he says, quieter now, because he knows it's not what you eat to hear. “I’ll see if I can move it.” You want immediate solutions.

You don’t believe him, and he knows it.

“Don’t see, Rafe. Just do it.” Your voice cracked with the frustration you've been trying to hide behind a mask for almost two years, and you can't make it stick to your skin for much longer.

He finally lifts his gaze— tired, distant, but still your husband somewhere under all that static. “I said I’ll try, okay?”

But you're so tired of just trying, you haven't been trying to do anything on your own for months now, you just did it, no excuses because there's no space for it.

You scoffed, patience running so thin is cracking beneath your ribs, attempting to escape and slap him. "I'm supposed to deal with a fainted kid and the other one crying because she thinks her brother is dead—" It seemed so dramatic but that's literally what happens. Olivia doesn't understand the difference between fainting and dying yet.

Goddamn it, he can't deal with your planning and you're anxious anticipation right now. His heart always clenches when he sees you drowned in it but he really can't do it right now. "Why are you always thinking the worst is gonna happen? Why are you so dramatic—"

"I'm not fucking dramatic, it's what happens every single time—" You sigh and cut your own sentence before finishing it. You decided that you're not going to protect him from the truth anymore.

So, with a trembling hand, you pull the drawings from behind you, slamming them harshly on the desk as you clench your jaw. You put the reality in front of him like betting in poker, it all means something.

He frowns, confused, until his eyes land on them. He sees Olivia's drawing first, his face twitches with something that resembles an early grief and he doesn't even know it.

He then sees Parker’s— you, Olivia, the house.

No Rafe.

He stares at them, jaw clenching, throat working hard like he’s swallowing down something bitter. “What is this supposed to be?” He finally asks, his voice quiet and defensive like someone is setting him up for failure.

“This...” You start, voice tight as an elastic as you try not to let go and let the tone hit him like a whip. “...is what our kids see when they think of family.”

He looks up, anger flashing just under the surface at what you just said. “Don’t put that on me—”

“I’m not putting anything on you, Rafe. You did this yourself.” You said with no regrets, without mincing words for the first time in months. It feels fucking relieving.

He runs a hand through his hair, steps back and shakes his head, incapable of actually admitting on what the kids have done because of him. “You think I don’t care? You think I’m not doing everything I can for them—for you?”

You shake your head. “You’re doing everything for a version of us that doesn’t even exist anymore, Rafe." You won't let him twist your arm in this.

“That’s not fair.”

“No.” You swallow while regaining energy to continue, voice quiet but steady now. “What’s not fair is them growing up thinking their dad’s a stranger.”

He looks at you— the kind of look that’s both furious and scared, the one that always came before he tried to talk you down. “Don’t do this right now, okay? Not over some drawings—”

You laugh under your breath, sharp and broken. “It’s not about drawings, Rafe. It’s about everything else in our lives." You can't believe that Rafe, your Rafe, is saying all this denial bullshit. The man who is always recognized for being upfront and straight to the point can't handle it when they do the same to him.

"They're kids." He tried to take some pressure off it so he can have some common ground with you. "You're reading too much into it—"

"Rafe, this is what they see." You got close and grabbed Parker's drawing, moving it in front of his face like mocking. As if he was a goddamn bull and you were holding a red flag. His jaw clenches at the gesture. "You stopped coming to dinner, you stopped being here on weekends, you're on your fucking phone all the time."

"Because I'm working!" He snapped at you, desperate to make you see his side of the story the more he noticed you drifting away from him in a way he has never experimented before. "Can't you fucking see it? I'm trying to make it all work for us—" He gestured the entire place.

You know, you know how hard it has been having to manage an entire empire all by himself after his father was the one commanding everything for so long. You know it's not easy, you know he drowns in help and responsibility sometimes. You know how hard he works.

But you would've never expected your family to be the one losing in all of this.

"Us?!" You asked with indignation. "You don't even see us anymore! When was the last time we actually did something?!" You yelled at him, throat flexing with effort the more agitated you get with this conversation.

"Fine, I'll move the fucking meeting!" He gave up, sighing as his face fells with exhaustion. You saw the way his shoulders slumped, completely surrendered.

You bit the inside of your cheek, hot tears blurring your vision the way rain does with car windows, making it impossible to see. "No, you know what, don't cancel anything, just—"

This isn't what you wanted. Not like this, you don't want Rafe making it look like cancelling a meeting is a sacrifice in trade of taking care of his responsibilities as a father. You hate the way it makes you look like you're asking for too much, as if this isn't what he promised and vowed to when you got married.

It seemed like so long ago.

Rafe gave up, body sagging with defeat after your words. He doesn't know what to do to make you happy. He knows he's been absent, he's very conscious of it but how else is he going to start fixing what he did if you don't let him?

There's some things that can't be fixed.

"Then what do you want, please tell me, because—"

"I want a divorce."

It makes you nauseous, the words come out of you like a protective reflex. Like coughing, your body trying to clear the way when something irritates you so you can breathe.

This is like that. Your throat closed and you try to control your chest, you have years of singing lessons all for this moment. You know how to control your lungs... but fuck, it's impossible right now.

Rafe goes still. He can't move, those are the forbidden words, something he promised to never say or ask for. It's the closest thing he ever felt to a heart attack but the one thing attacking him was heartbreak. Sharp and direct, knowing exactly where to go to once it's aimed.

Then, you see the surrender on his body, the way he collapses momentarily with a helpless expression. He can't say he didn't see it coming.

But he would be a fucking loser if he doesn't try to make you stay.

His face goes blank for a moment, you finally reseted him like you wanted. He takes a second to decide if he heard you right or not. "You don't mean that." He said quietly.

"I do."

Oh, those words were used against him now, huh. I do, I do, I do.

"(Y/N)—" He takes a step closer, searching for the eyes that have drove him crazy for almost fourteen years now. He doesn't want to stop seeing them.

You step back, putting a hand between you while you shake your head, the tears falling on your cheeks are unstoppable now. "I can't do this anymore." You said in a little voice, defeated. "I can't keep pretending."

"We're not pretending anything, we're married." Rafe reminded you, voice straining with pain, he could barely talk. "You're my wife."

"Well, you haven't been treating me like one." You said, eyes looking up at him. The glistening in them reflect the image of the current Rafe, the one he turned himself into.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a second in disbelief of what you just said. This is Rafe, which is also the reason you can't take it from him anymore. He wasn't supposed to ever do this to you. He was supposed to be the one that would never, ever hurt you. Yet, here he is.

"I want a divorce." You repeated, words mean and foreign, acting like a slap on both of your faces. "I'll call a lawyer." You turned around, walking away from the cursed office as you left him stunned on his feet.

He stood there, just a glimpse of his despair. No words, no sounds. Just... nothing.

He snapped out of his trance a moment later, you were already reaching the next floor, the one that led to your room. He hurried, he felt like a doctor running in the ER, trying to stop a heart from crashing. He never thought it would be his.

“Wait—hey, hey.” Rafe calls after you, his footsteps quick on the stairs as he sees your figure more away from him. “Can you just stop for a second?”

You don’t. You head straight for your room, pulling open the door as you walked inside of it. You want to sink in your bed and cry until you're dehydrated.

“Rafe, I said everything I needed to say.” You tried not to keep crying.

He comes up behind you, voice rough. “No, you didn’t. You threw a grenade in my face and walked away.” He complains, demanding you to change your mind.

“I didn’t throw anything. I told you the truth.”

He catches your wrist when you move past him, not hard— just enough to make you stop. “You can’t just say you want a divorce out of nowhere.”

“It’s not out of nowhere." You shoot back, pulling free. “You just didn’t want to see it coming.” This wasn't the first time you thought about it, the idea has being flowing around you, haunting you like a chore in the middle of the night.

That's the problem, he's not surprised. He is stunned that you really dare to ask him for one.

He exhales, frustrated while he attempts to get closer. “Come on, baby, don’t do this.” He's begging for you, his entire body aches in pain at the idea of not having you with him.

“Don’t call me that." You set the painful boundary. You can't have him talking to you like that in the middle of an emotional tsunami.

He moves closer anyway, his hand finding your waist like the instinct he had for over a decade. “You’re tired. You’re overwhelmed. You’ll feel different tomorrow.” He tried to convince both of you, knowing it's a lie.

You shake your head, eyes wet but steady. “No, Rafe. Don't try to turn this around on me being emotional or something—" You gasp for air. "Tomorrow you’ll be gone again and I'll have to take care of everything again!" You pointed at him accusingly as you followed the beat of your heart, the one that was telling you to keep going with this. This is... what you need.

That lands, a bomb straight to his chest. You can see it in the way his shoulders drop for half a second before he tries to recover. “You think I don’t hate that? You think I don’t know I’m not around enough?”

“Then fix it!”

“I’m trying!" He says again, louder this time. “What the hell do you want me to do? Quit everything?”

“I want you to show up!”

Rafe tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he tries to hold onto the last seconds of you in his arms. He knows it's ending. It has been for a while. He's tired too. "I get it. You're angry—" But he still fights a lost battle.

You push his hand off. “I’m not angry, Rafe. I’m done.” You make it clear, your voice doesn't wave with nerves now.

He grabs your face then, both hands against your cheeks, desperate, eyes glassy. “Look at me." He begs to see your eyes. He hates that the resentment in them has never been so clear, it was always a shadow, a single touch. Your eyes are full of it now. "You... love me." He says with pain. The mere idea destroys him. "Alright? I know you do, you love me. You don't walk away from that."

"And what about me?" The pain that threats to kill your voice is almost too much to handle. "When do I get to feel loved? I haven't felt it in months, years!"

"I love you! I never stopped, I swear." His voice cracks for the first time, the desperation on proving his love is so strong he can barely control it himself. "Don't leave me. Just let me fix it. Give me a week, I'll be here."

"I don't have a week!" You snapped at him, heart pounding with misunderstanding. "Don't you get it? I'm done. I'm done with your disappearing, I'm done with your excuses. I don't have any more space for them. I've ran out of it." And fuck, you actually feel cruel for claiming what you want, what you deserve.

"Don't fucking do this." He tries to use that tone, the corporative one. As if that could ever work with you.

“I already did.” Your voice is calm, final. The second he tried to twist it, tried to scare you into staying, you knew— it’s over.

“Find somewhere else to stay tonight.” You give him a deadline, an ultimatum, the kind of line that leaves no room for negotiation. Anything that marks the end, you take it.

"We already know you're fucking good at it."

Just like that.

You don’t look back. And you surely don’t argue. You simply turn and walk out of the bedroom— not out of his life entirely, but to the guest room. Enough distance to give him the time to leave the house tonight.

His heart drops.

Rafe lost. Not a deal, not a game.

He lost you.

So here he is, with a coffee first thing in the morning. From your favorite place, with your order that he knows you haven't changed. And he also knows better than to get out of your way when there's something to arrange or organize, he might as well bring you a little motivation.

Why is he even here?

The twins' birthday.

You try not to think about it too much or you may actually spend the entire day crying at the idea of them turning nine years old. And for the first time since the separation, you and Rafe have decided to call it a truce and celebrate their birthday together.

You both know this is what the kids want, even tho they claim to love having two birthdays and more presents and more celebrations, more cakes and more guests. You have noticed how different it was for them, so this year (you'll see what you do the next year) you spend it together.

The event was meant to happen at 12 pm with your siblings, Sarah with John B and their kid, along with some friends from both Olivia and Parker.

Olivia had her friends list for the party planned months in advanced. And Parker, as social as he is, he is very picky about who he invites to his birthday parties. It's going to be a total of 12 kids, counting your own. It's not supposed to be that hard.

But you still worry.

So, when you open up the door first thing in the morning and see Rafe's amused smirk resting perfectly on his lips, you give him a knowing look.

"Come on." He chuckled, already stepping in and giving you your cup of coffee, he doesn't let you have a say on his gesture. Just take it. "Smile a little." He entered and quickly made himself at home, still taking a a deep breath every time he has the chance of coming inside the house. It's so foreign now. "Where are my kiddos, huh?"

No other question needed to be done before two little excited hurricanes ran down the stairs like the Santa Claus in the flesh was making an early appearance just for them.

"Dad!"

"Daddy!"

Both little bounds of energy sprinted all the way to the entrance with the biggest smiles on their face. You took the cup of coffee from his hand before Rafe kneeled and dramatically grunted when they crashed against him, he used both of his arms to pick up the kids, barely even using half of his strength to hold both of them, which was impressing considering how tall they were right now. "Happy birthday, hellraisers." He said, voice muffled against Parker's hair.

Olivia giggle and wrapper both of her arms the best way she could around Rafe's neck. "Thank you, Daddy!" She said, all princess-y and like the little spoiled child she knew she was and it melts Rafe's heart. She was the definition of ribbons, she radiated pink energy.

"Thanks!" Parker concluded with a happy look as he rested his chin on Rafe's shoulder, looking over his father's shoulder back to you. Because whenever you're all together, Parker always wants to catch a glimpse of you two together. He knows its a rare occurrence to see the two of you together and well, and his poor little family heart does the best it can.

You don't even have the heart to look away, seeing him like this... it's all you ever wanted for so long. What you prayed for (and you don't pray) that Rafe would change on himself in order for the family to work, for you to work out after so many years together.

Sometimes you can't help but feel bitter about it. Did the change really had to be at your expenses? Was it really necessary? It doesn't make you exactly jealous to see him like this now that you're not together but you can't help but ask yourself: Why not when it was with me?

You have stopped trying answering that question a long time ago, the only possible outcome out of it would be your ever ending misery, and to be honest, you don't like to be depressed. You try to make it into water under the bridge... however it does feel like there's being a dam blockage for a long time, the water simply won't flow sometimes. You thought it was going to be easier.

"You're nine and old, how does that feel, huh?" He teased both of them, shaking them up a little bit in his arms. How does he manage to carry two nine year old kids? You don't know.

"I'm not old!" Both of them answered almost at the same time, the twin synchronization that has always amazed you whenever it happens. You both laughed at it, the mirroring is always amusing.

"Daddy...!" Olivia scolded him.

Parker crossed his arms over his chest. "You and mom are old." He corrected as a matter of fact.

You scoffed, finally stepping in the conversation. "Oh, I'm not old. Your dad is." You teased as you walked over to the living room.

"Yeah, right." He rolled his eyes.

You allowed yourselves to spend at least thirty minutes all together. You shared a quick meal, the chocolate chip pancakes that both kids love as a birthday breakfast never failed.

You sang happy birthday for the second time in the day (the first one had been when Rafe called at midnight once it was officially their day), even tho you had sang it three times with Olivia already when they woke up, this felt more special. The candles on their pancakes were the ones in charge to hold their wishes for the first time today.

After it, with excitement running through everyone's veins (for very different reasons for you and Rafe), the decoration started happening.

Rafe was everywhere something had to be put up and you couldn't reach, he sometimes didn't even need a chair. Which, pissed you off, to be honest.

He appeared behind you. His hand flexed with the reflex of finding your lower back but he held back. "Why are you even trying?" Quietly talking just right next to your ear as he takes one of the garlands from your hand, he carried a smirk on his tone. He purposefully (but very well hidden) takes it from your hand and makes sure your fingers touch.

Before you can even say anything, he prompts himself up in a chair and reached for the high point in one of the arches entrances in the living room.

His shirt rode up and you obviously looked. He was starting to get a tan. The days have been getting hotter in the island and the amount of time under the sun in the golf course were starting to give him a soft tan line where the sleeve of his shirt ended. It was quite drawable, you think.

His arm stretched out, showing off his bicep out of his shirt, you hate that they gotten even bigger.

You look away once he comes down and he noticed it. Of course.

But for once in his life, Rafe has finally learned to not say anything if he wants to enjoy more of the same thing, he doesn't want to scare you away. Don't brag, just bag some will say. He calls it investment, think about the future.

So, he limited himself with just a soft smirk

and his eyes tracing your profile when you looked away from him.

"There, looks great." He dared to say once he was down on the floor again, taking advantage that you don't know that he knows how you watched him up there for a moment. He just made it an inside joke with himself.

"Yeah, thanks..." You said overly awkward for something that allegedly didn't matter.

You looked up to the decorations that he just hung, he placed it exactly where you wanted it. Not too high or too down or too on the left or right. He got it.

"Hm."

He nodded and left you alone.

You noticed.

Your mind has always been prone to wander around where it shouldn't, you used to hate it because of it. You can't help torture yourself again over it. Shit, was I too obvious? Did he notice?

You don't want him to have the possibility of noticing what he still does to you; you barely let the incongruity of his actions around you have some sense of power over you. The way your mind keeps changing about him every single time he does something. You won't have it anymore.

You were the one in charge to go pick up the two cakes at the fancy bakery a few miles away from your house. But when the kids insisted on more family time, it was no surprise that the four of you hup up in the car. Everyone's still usual spots.

Rafe drives. You in the passenger seat. Parker behind your seat and Olivia behind Rafe's. It has been designated like that from the moment the twins were conscious enough to pick a side of the car.

"Alright, you two stay here. Don't scream or hit the windows like you're running out of air." Rafe said more firmly, remembering the time a few months ago when the pair thought it would be funny to pretend they were suffocating once he left them alone for five minutes in the car after going to buy the candy they asked for.

"Boooring." Parker said from his seat, probably scheming already.

"Parker."

The kid crossed his arms over his chest and pressed himself against the expensive leather of the seat. "Fiiine."

With an amused smile from your part, you both got out of the car to go get the cakes that had been ordered and planned with a month and a half of anticipation. They had to be perfect.

You enter the big store, an imposing glass door was opened by Rafe's hand behind you, letting you in first.

While you wait, you don't try to make a lot of small talk. The vibes between you haven't been exactly great since that little show that happened at the science fair a few weeks ago. He still hated the idea of seeing you get hit on by that guy and you still hate the image of him flirting with all those school moms.

But he does make a comment when his eyes linger to the pastries propped up in fancy trays on a window for the clients to see.

"I haven't had those in ages..." He mentions briefly with his eyes in one of the pastries, his voice almost reminiscing.

You don't even know why you looked. But when you see what he was talking about you can't help but feel a little something in your chest.

It's just some stupid lavender-honey madeleines that you served on the dessert table of your five year anniversary party. You obsessed over them after spending part of your honeymoon in Paris and having them almost every single day.

It's the irony of it. What is he even implying? That he hasn't had them since your anniversary celebration? Or maybe he just hasn't tried them in a long time. Maybe he doesn't even remember they were at your party, maybe he doesn't actually say everything with a hidden meaning. It's not that important.

"Oh, right..." You said.

He doesn't say it with the purpose of making feel both of you awful. It just... casually slipped out of him.

He bits his tongue immediately after when he realizes what interpretation you could give to his confession. So, he lays on the narrative that you probably think he doesn't remember they were even part of the party that you both had so eagerly organized and had such a great time at.

He remembers it. It was one of those times of the year when you were okay, not so much argument. Rafe remembers how it was after it, times started to get harder and harder. Just tiny little details were going to start getting stacked up like dirty plates waiting to be cleaned. Almost three years later the divorce happened, so...

"Here are your orders!" The young lady announced while placing the two cakes on the top of the counter.

Rafe was ready to pick them up and leave, payment was already covered.

"I'm sorry, uhm..." You started after you opened one of the boxes. Head already started to hurt by what you were seeing. "This isn't what we ordered." You stated.

Rafe raised his brow and took a look to what you were seeing. He sighed heavily at the sight.

They had mixed up the names.

The fairy, cottage core, baby green and shiny cake that Olivia had so specifically designed had Parker's name in the middle of it. And the dark blue and red, and the somehow mix of Spider-Man and Parker's favorite hockey team had Olivia's name.

"Oh, really...?" The young woman's voice went suddenly shallow, already expecting a whole drama out of this. "Well, we can't change it now." She said.

"What do you mean 'you can't'? This isn't what we asked for." You said, a frown was already painted in between your eyebrows like clockwork and Rafe knew what he had to do.

"It takes a few more hours," The girl started to explain. She shrugged. “We have a lot of orders today, and it’s not like the kids will notice, right?”

Your jaw dropped. “Not—? Not notice?” you repeated, incredulous. “One cake is literally covered in glitter butterflies and the other has Spider-Man webbing on the sides. Trust me, they'll notice."

Rafe quietly rubbed his temple, already recognizing the tone of your voice — the one that used to chase him in the middle of the night after you yelled at him over the phone for staying at the office for too long again.

The girl just stared.

Rafe exhaled through his nose, dreading and slow. "Alright," He stepped forward next to you. “We’re not asking for a miracle. Just—switch the names. That’s all.”

“That’s not our policy,” she replied, already half turned away. You hated this, when people doesn't care or doesn't notice how they are inconveniencing someone else. Besides, isn't it obvious with the names? I mean, if you rely a little bit on stereotypes, it's so obvious which name goes where.

You scoffed, jaw tightening. “And what’s the policy for when you mess up an order?” You muttered under your breath, wanting to slap some sense into this girl already.

Rafe’s voice came in, level. “Don’t start.” He said, half glancing at you as he tried to think how to manage this.

You turned toward him, brow raised. “I’m not starting—” Offended at the audacity from him.

Rafe shot you a look — the warning one — but you were already halfway through your next sentence.

“I’m sorry,” he cut in smoothly, giving the girl a practiced smile. Like he suddenly remembered the business man he is and how he charms people for a living — the one that you hated to see after it started taking all over him at one point. The same one that got him out of trouble with you more than once and the same one that got him in even more trouble once you realized it. “It’s just a really important day. Twins’ birthday. You know how kids are.”

Her face softened slightly.

He leaned a little closer to the counter, lowering his voice just enough to sound conspiratorial. “If you can help us out here, I’ll make sure your manager knows how kind and quick you were.” You obviously roll your eyes the moment you noticed the girl's eyes lingering on Rafe and how he is definitely a young dad.

You crossed your arms, watching, unimpressed. “You’re bribing a teenager with flattery.”

He ignored you, still smiling at the girl. “Please.”

She hesitated. Then sighed, like she couldn't help but fall into his charms. “Fine. I’ll see if we can swap the names. But it'll be done in a few hours, we can't have it now."

Rafe shrugged, like that wasn't a problem. "Just... get it to our house—" Yes, he said our house. "We can wait a few more hours, we'll pay it."

The girl nodded, already taking the cakes with her again. "Fine. It can be done by three, at least."

“That’s all we need,” Rafe said with an easy going smile that made you feel like you could be his next best thing. “You’re a lifesaver.”

As she disappeared into the back, you muttered under your breath pretending it was for yourself but you clearly wanted him to hear, “Unbelievable.”

“What?” he asked, smirking, elbows resting on the counter. “Worked, didn’t it?” He was so proud of himself and how his tricks still worked.

Once the girl disappeared again you talked. You stood there, arms crossed, tapping your foot like it would make everyone work faster. “You didn’t have to be so—”

“So what?” he asked, leaning against the counter as he looked at you with his brows raised, daring you to say something.

“Manipulative.”

He snorted, shaking his head as he pushed away from the counter, ready to leave. “I’m efficient,” he corrected. “You yell, I fix.”

You stared at him as you watched him move again. “That’s not how it works.”

“Seems to be." He shrugged, his hand reaching for his phone again as he attempted to look at the time.

You shot him a glare that didn’t quite hide the small unwanted smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

“And you’re—”

“—fixing the problem,” he said, grin widening. He knows he won this one. “You’re welcome.”

You scoff again. Between scoffing and rolling your eyes, you don't know which one is the one you do the most around him. It's a tie, for sure.

You sighed, frustrated and a little amused despite yourself after his little act that he has memorized by now apparently. “You think you’re so charming, don’t you?”

He looked up then — slow, steady. Not up to a contradiction. “No. I think I’m right.” He opened the glass door again, inviting you out of the store.

It shut you up, if only because of how casually he said it. And maybe because of the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile, but close enough to remind you why he’d always gotten his way.

Moving fast forward to another hour and a half later, most guests for the party have already arrived. The place looked great, so did Parker and Olivia, who were completely radiant today. More than ever, you don't remember them seeing them so happy at their birthday in a minute now.

The sting of it settles.

You're watching the kids playing around in the big backyard for a moment. The pool cover is on to avoid any accidents and everyone seems happy for now.

"Relax." You feel that voice behind you, closer than you would like. "Everything looks great. You did it." He looked down at you, allowing himself to rest against the doorframe and leaning down to get a better look at you.

"Yeah, I know but—" There's a flicker of insecurity and stress that is only visible for him in between the cracks of the tough front you put on yourself.

"You did it. So drop it."

The tough love kind of thing has always been one of your guilty pleasures. Because of how fast it works, because of the way he delivers it and because it's so on brand for Rafe Cameron.

He walks away after you just stared at him. He knows.

When it's time to have lunch, the kids are sitting at a different table in the big backyard. You don't try to make them stay still on their chairs, if they want to be on the grass, so be it.

You and Rafe sit together. You don't know why, it's not like you have an image to maintain in front of your direct family. Especially when it's just your siblings, Sarah and John B.

You can't help it. The way you sit next to each other, how he reaches for what you need before you even have to ask for it. How when he grabs some more soda to drink he also just fills up your glass too.

Conversation flows and the situation gets easier, blurrier the more time goes by. This is what you don't like about Rafe, this is why you don't like spending too much time together with him. Because the dynamic and banter just happens again and you helplessly fall into it without even noticing.

It just happens—like the way sunlight warms the water without meaning to. It doesn’t ask, doesn’t wait, it just reaches, and the water, helpless to do anything else, gives in. That’s how it feels—something simple turning into something that hums beneath the surface, like it’s always been waiting to happen.

Maybe you laugh after something was said and you rested your hand on his thigh for a moment. Maybe he has an arm behind the backrest of your chair and he occasionally touched your hair when you leaned against it. Maybe you caught Sarah's eyes when Rafe made you laugh a little too hard.

Then Sarah starts telling one of the stories about the restless Parker, the time around when you were still married and had those family gatherings every once in a while but it thankfully was not the main focus of the conversation. “—and like, Parker just immediately tried to fit the entire piece of watermelon in his mouth,” she says, laughing. “I swear, he looked like he was choking and he was so fucking proud of it at the same time.”

Everyone’s laughing, it feels nice.

Rafe shakes his head, half-smiling. “That’s on her,” he says, jerking his chin toward you. “She told him he couldn’t do it.”

Your fork stops as you shake your head, trying to prove your innocence. “Oh, no, you told him to try it,” you shoot back. “I just said I didn’t think he would.”

“That’s called reverse psychology, baby.” He says with the easy petname that still has the same taste on his tongue. “You basically dared him.” He leans in, like pretending to be closer to Sarah as he talks.

You scoff, biting back a smile. “You’re unbelievable.” You take your first and last glass of white wine in the entire day.

He takes a slow sip of his drink, nodding along like he is owning and embracing the title you gave him. “I’ve heard.”

You lock eyes for a second too long for both of you to know what it means. Which is why you look away with a roll of your eyes, suddenly overly conscious on what you have been doing the entire day

It’s not right. It’s not supposed to happen — and the way your heart drums against your ribs is not something an ex-husband should be capable of provoking.

His jaw clenches the second he notices you pull away. Just barely — the way you straighten up, the way your fingers find the bracelets on your wrist, that ghost-touch against the spot where a ring used to live. You tilt your head, the same quiet motion you always use when you’re trying to look at anything but him. It’s small, but it’s enough. A boundary, invisible and absolute. It was enough to set a boundary.

A quiet line drawn.

And he respects it. Or pretends to. His arm slides away from the back of your chair, the one keeping him just a little too close. The air cools where he was.

Fine, he thinks. As you wish.

Just when he thought he might actually have a chance to enjoy himself with you after having such a good day. He shouldn’t have thought tonight might actually feel easy. That maybe, after the way you’d worked together all day — running around, fixing decorations, making sure the twins had the perfect birthday — that the rhythm you used to share when he was actually home might still exist somewhere, waiting under the surface. He’d almost let himself enjoy it.

But he knows better. So he keeps his distance.

Have it your way.

Then it’s time to blow the candles (the cakes arrived thirty minutes ago and you almost have a heart-attack but they look perfect), and everyone gathers around the big table. Olivia climbs onto Rafe like he’s the only tree in the forest, and Parker stands in front of you with that wide, proud smile. His hair was all disheveled from running and his face was a little sweaty from playing around so much but he looked happier than ever.

You smooth his hair down, the same way you always do, while everyone sings happy birthday to the two kids who somehow hold everything together. They are your anchor— the reason you kept fighting when it would’ve been easier to let go, when you really wanted to let go.

The sparkler flickers bright between you all— a tiny storm of gold light. It paints the four of you in the kind of glow that makes everything look whole again for a second and you avoid everyone's eyes for a moment when you noticed it. The sunset is behind you, soft and wide, and the cameras flash to catch what used to be a family.

Bittersweet doesn’t even begin to name it, you stopped trying to look for the words to describe what this situation provokes in you. It’s the kind of ache that feels familiar now, like warmth that lingers long after the fire’s gone out.

You smile for the photos anyway. You always do.

You're still so proud, Rafe is too. The shared hug you always have after Olivia and Parker blew the candle happens again. It's a tradition, a habit that you haven't had for two birthdays now but it makes a comeback. You both just naturally lean to each other once you're child free.

It's short, concise with only the meaning of congratulating each other. You became parents nine years ago, after all. And despite everything: the disputes, the late nights, the crying and lawsuits, you have managed to do a good job.

"Mommy, I want the butterfly!" Olivia said from her place next to the table, eagerly looking at her cake as Parker decided which part he wanted on his.

You both snapped out of it, pulling away from each other before you let the contact last for longer than it needed to. "You don't want your name?" Rafe asked, reaching over for one of the knives as he gestured to the Olivia written on the middle with with buttercream in that cursive and baby blue color.

"I already know what my name is." She said all smart, brows pinched with decision. Of course, she's so ahead. She obviously would want something else. "I want the butterfly."

Rafe laughed amusedly as he cut the part of the cake she wanted, Parker still needed the help of his best friend to decided if he wanted the hockey stick or the spider or his name out of the cake as his *first* portion.

God, there's nothing Rafe wouldn't do for these kids. They're so... you.

By 6 pm the house is finally... quiet. Olivia and Parker are still outside, the place is getting darker and the grass is starting to feel colder but they are using they're new toys. Parker is surprisingly good at sharing with his his sister and Olivia isn't as much but she feels sorry for Parker being so good so she eventually gives in.

You sighed, finally stepping into the kitchen with another stack of dirty plates. The ivory counters caught the light, all cool and clean— that particular kind of brightness that makes the air feel fresher, sharper. Maybe it’s in your head, but you swear this kitchen always feels colder thanks to them, and on an island that never stops pretending it’s summer, that’s a lifesaver.

"Look at you: cleaning." You said with a smirk, carefully putting the plates next to the sink.

Rafe laughed, low and easy, drying his hands on a towel after rinsing the last glass. “I always clean,” he said, and there it was — that glint in his eyes. Mischief, charm, something you’ve known too well to ever really forget. You’ve never decided if he was born with it or built it deliberately over the years. You just know it's there.

It's true. Rafe’s always been neat — almost obsessively so. If there’s one thing you could never hold against him, it’s the way he hated disorder. He cleans, he fixes, he straightens.

"Hm, true." You conceded it to him with a smile.

He hummed and reached over for one of the glasses he just washed. With another expert hand he grabbed the bottle of white wine that wasn't even half empty. He pours some of it on the glass.

You raised a brow, but he only looked at you — that unflinching, knowing look that comes from over a decade of shared history. He looks at you like he has known you for a lifetime. And he has. He's proud enough to say it. He knows you. "C'mon. You deserve it."

You take it from him, not breaking the eye contact he has been trying to give to you the entire day. You give in for once. "I do." You agreed with him, your fingers brushing with his for the second time today as you the glass finally made it into your hand.

"You do." He repeated. "Everything looked perfect today. Like always..." He granted it to you effortlessly. He loved complimenting you, the compliments always fell too easily out of his mouth.

You’re gorgeous. You’re unreal. You drive me insane. I want you forever. Please don’t ever make me live without those legs.

He used to live for saying them.

You take a sip, the wine crisp and cold against the back of your throat, you let some of the tension that has been holding you together all day slip away. He watches, and he doesn’t even pretend not to. His blue eyes are intense, and with this kind of look the blue looks even darker.

“You’re staring.” You tell him, eyes fixed on the glass as you swirl it, pretending it’s nothing. You don't even glance at him because you just know it.

He doesn’t deny it. He likes being shameless with you, it's been a long time since you ever let him being this close to you. “You make it hard not to.” Maybe it's because you're tired, you don't have the energy to put the walls up.

You chuckle — soft, but the kind that sounds like trouble. You're amused. “Still got lines, huh?”

Rafe leans against the counter, towel slung over his shoulder that gives him that domestic look you would kill for years ago, that half-smile tugging at his mouth. “I’ve had practice.” He tilted his head.

“With who?” You ask, feigning casual, like it’s just another jab. But the question comes out a little quieter than you meant it to. It's not even jealousy or possessiveness.

He catches that. Of course he does. He always did. “Does it matter?” he says. There’s no edge in his tone — just a quiet kind of amusement that lands somewhere between confidence and confession.

You roll your eyes, but it’s weak. He always made you weak. “You think you’re so—”

“—Irresistible?” He cuts you off, voice low and teasing. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”

That makes you laugh again, he does have a perfect timing. You take another sip of your white wine, letting yourself think that whatever happens it's because of it. You set the glass down behind you on the counter.

Rafe's still looking at you and you're annoyed because it makes you nervous. "What?" You asked again with a tired smile.

He shrugs. "You just..." His eyes drag over your face like he's trying to remember every part of it, he knows he doesn't have all the time in the world with it now. "...look like you actually had fun today."

You raise a brow, feigning disinterest. "And that's rare?" You're slightly offended by it.

"For you?" He smirks. "Sometimes." He always knew how to get you talking and talking.

"Jeez, thanks." You roll your eyes, but the smile betrays you. You can't deny that the conversation is strangely stimulating. "You're impossible."

He leans a little closer, voice dropping. "You used to like that." He dares to say, his heart starts to quicken. Maybe he's not as slick as he thought he was.

You tilt your head, pretending to think. "Hm, did I?" You give in into the undeniable flirting, that gorgeous smile of yours that always got his head spinning. You're still so good at flirting it's insane.

"Yeah," he says without hesitation. “A lot.”

It's the quite confidence in it that makes you want to slap him. The way he's so certain about what has been with you, he doesn't pretend he knows you now but he uses the past to touch a nerve.

The words hang there: heavy, familiar, and way too cruel. The kind of words that used to mean something and still do, even if neither of you will say it.

You glance at him then, really look at him— the rolled-up sleeves, the undone buttons, the way he still smells like salt and aftershave and how he was able to get the faintest trace of the lavender scent incense your house always has after he spent the entire day here today. It's not fair. It never is.

"Careful." You warn, though your voice isn't half as steady as you want it to be. "You're starting to sound like you miss me." It sounds like you're making fun of him.

He meets your gaze, eyes steady and unflinching, exactly what you're not right now. "What if I do?"

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Don't start." You don't take it to heart, he started flirting again a few months after the divorce when the tension between you had lessened. He does it to piss you off.

So you don't take it seriously.

He doesn't back down with it. He doesn't try to make it lighter or easier for your comfort, he wants to get to you. "I'm not starting." He says. "I'm just... talking."

You scoff now, shaking your head as if it's so obvious how much you know him too. "That's the problem with you. You never just talk."

"Oh, but I'm so good at it."

You try to ignore the heat crawling up your neck and the trembling of your fingers. Your grip on the counter behind you tightened in desperation for some stability. "Rafe..." You warn him softly than you intended to.

He leans in again, feeling like he's finally making some progress. "Yeah?"

"Don't."

He half-smiles, the dangerous kind, the one that used to get you to skip classes and get bad grades back in high school. "You keep saying that."

You groaned. "And you keep not listening."

"Because you don't really mean it."

And when you're about to complain, about to say maybe yes or maybe no, when you're about to give him something more to work with, a little voice interrupted.

"Mom?"

Olivia. Freshly nine years old and apparently using her time for perfect interruption. She's standing there, with the plastic golden retriever her new vet Barbie brought. One of the gifts.

You both pull back from each other, not that you were exactly so close but it was the closest you have been in years. "Hey, bug." Rafe says, voice gruff.

"Yeah, Liv. You're okay?" You sighed, putting yourself back together.

"Is daddy staying here tonight?" She asked, looking up between you two with that innocence that you hope she carries with her forever. It makes her brutally honest and you can't help but love it.

She had the hope in her eyes that you hated to crush every single time you had to bring the reality back into everyone's lives.

"Uh..."

You shook your head, fast and with a purpose. Rafe thought you might break your neck doing it. "No, no. He's just... helping me clean up, baby." You explained with a soft smile as you also comforted yourself.

The disappointment goes over her face but she quickly masked it. It's what she's used to now: dad doesn't stay over. "Oh... okay!" She said before running away outside with her brother again.

Jesus, these kids are really here to remind you of everything.

He cleared his throat, putting the towel he had on his hands down. "Guess that's my cue."

You nodded awkwardly, suddenly aware of what had happened between you two. Again. "Yep." You pressed your lips in a line. "Thanks for... helping cleaning—"

"Yeah, no worries." He cut you off, suddenly awkward too. "I'll go say goodbye." He announced before you even got a chance to say something else.

Two minutes later you see him again after you heard him saying goodbye to the twins, giving them one last tight hug and saying happy birthday again, he promised to call them later.

He appeared on the kitchen, heading to the front door so he could finally get the fuck out of this house. He definitely doesn't know how to control himself when he's here.

"Goodnight. I told them I'll call later—" He gestured to the kids who were now entering from the backyard, still so bubbly and happy.

"Yeah, sure." You said, scratching the back of your neck as you watched him leave, his tall frame was out of the picture and you were able to breathe again.

Oh, my God. Why do you keep doing this to yourself? He always just... ugh.

Whatever, all you know is that you can't let this happen once more. You won't let him get to you with his... domestic abilities or whatever the fuck he uses to flirt with you now. You won't allow it.

It makes your head dizzy and your hands shaky with an indecision you're not able to process.

You can't let the hours together be able to cuddle you into some kind of strange longing for him that makes you want to be closer to each other again.

You're not... together. You're not.

Goddamn it.

Parker has hockey practice twice a week and he finishes at 7 pm today, much to your despair. If it wasn't for it, you're day would be over at 4 pm after picking up Olivia from a little playdate with one of her friends. She's been... struggling for the past few months, so every chance she gets to do something different, you and Rafe always say yes to it, no matter how far is it, how late it can be, she's going.

So here you are now, with a sleepy Olivia on her side of the backseat and a grumpy Parker that was complaining about how one of the kids on the hockey team wouldn't pass him the puck right on time multiple times in just ten minutes. He reminds you of Rafe whenever he gets like this, he start puffing, he frowns and pulls that airy tone out of his lips when he's complaining, and he absolutely pouts. Something that Rafe always denied that he did.

The Outer Banks roads are mostly empty, it's a cold night despite the closeness of summer. The humidity is making everything ten times even harder, you feel heavier, everything's slower and the windshields aren't doing enough to keep you from going insane.

You stop at a red light, resting your arm in the window as you closed your eyes for a moment, thinking about how you have to defrost the steaks you'll have for dinner, how Parker has to be extra early at school on Friday and how Olivia enters at 9, the fact that you have to talk with Rafe about the next time you're leaving town and—

You feel a force pushing you forward, a sharp blow that definitely took the air out of your lungs, it's strong enough to feel like you almost broke your neck, your hands stopped you from face slamming the steering wheel. Then alarms, like a car has definitely been hit and it's definitely yours.

What the fuck?

The reactions are almost immediate, Olivia starts crying and Parker starts asking "Mom, mom?!" As he looks around, sounding desperate after the impact. You open your eyes widely, looking back to the rearview mirror next to you and the car behind that just fucking hit you at a red light like it was a free world.

You groan and touch your neck for the sudden impact and the way your head has been moved, especially since you were momentarily relaxed before it happened, you weren't prepared for it. You feel your chest tightening as your start hearing your kids mumbling in desperation.

"Hey, hey." You try to speak firmly around all the noise. "It's okay. Mom's okay," You took a moment to look at them and check for injuries before affirming. They have their hands against the seats, like they tried to stop themselves from hitting themselves with it. They look a little pale and shaken. "You're okay." You said to yourself more than to them before taking a big breath of air, trying to release the weight in your chest. "Wait here, guys." You came out of the car with your heart hammering.

"Hey!" You screamed, entitled to be the one under stress after your car just got hit. You can't even see the person driving the other car, they're front bumper was pretty much destroyed.

You have the chance to take a look to the back of your car, the rear bumper was almost destroyed, dented inwards and the back lights were cracked. The trunk lid had been affected as well. How did this car almost cracked the rear hatch glass?

"Holy shit." The other guy said, a few years younger than you, 25 and probably with his first real car. "What—" He said in shock as if he didn't drove his car into yours. "It was a greenlight!"

You scoffed, voice immediately going high with stress and frustration. "It was not a greenlight!" When he was about to interrupt again, you cut him off. "It wasn't." You said with that authority tone of your that you tend to use with your kids.

Your kids. Ugh, shit.

"Even if it was, why the fuck would you drive like that?! It's an empty road!" You dragged your hands down your

"It was a greenlight!"

“You hit us, that's the end of it. My kids are in the car—” You said, hand gripping your phone tightly with anxiety raising inside of you.

The man interrupts again, raising his hands on the air as a sign of innocence. “Don’t even try to pin this on me. You slammed on your brakes out of nowhere.”

"I was at a red light!" You screamed again, feeling how if this doesn't start to get into an actual logical conversation, you were about to rip your throat. "What was I supposed to do, huh?"

But the guy doesn’t let up. He looks like one of those frat boys that should have finished his major so long ago but he doesn't because he simply won't pass his finals and he wants to extend the experience of having a justification to not work. “Yeah, but you stopped too fast. You weren’t paying attention. You caused this.”

Is this guy for real or are you seriously going mental? "I was already stopped. What the fuck are you talking about? My kids watched it—"

"They're kids, they don't count for witnesses."

"Oh, my God—" You said in disbelief.

"I'm calling insurance. I'm not getting charged for this bullshit—" He said, hand already flying to his phone as if he was about to call daddy for the fifth time this month to get his mess fixed.

"Yeah, call them, please." You said sarcastically as you walked back to the your own car, breathing deeply.

"Mommy, what happened?" Parker said, peaking his head out the window.

"Just an accident, sweetie. Get inside." You said as you gently guided his head inside the car again.

"The police it's on its way—" You heard the guy say, bragging as if he already won this battle.

"Police?" You heard Olivia talking, she was already out of breath as she tried not to cry too much.

Opening the car door to talk to them, you kneeled so they could see your face better. "Everything's fine, nothing's gonna happen—"

"Moooom!" She cried.

"Olivia, everything's fine—" You said, but you knew no words would help right now.

You stood up again, throat closing as you tried to calm yourself. You watched the young man, so clearly in belief that he was entitled to do whatever the hell he wanted around the island. You know these kinds of guys, they believe they own half the island just because their dad is probably a lawyer. But they don't, Rafe probably does.

Rafe.

You looked down at your phone, and almost out of instinct your fingers were already moving to search for his contact. Chest going up and down like a wheel being inflated with how fast your nerves were raising.

You only waited one tone before he answered.

"Hey." You heard, voice husky and tired, he probably just got home. "What happened? You alright?" He immediately questioned, finding your call a little odd. You never call, not anymore.

"Rafe—" You panted, a hand going up to grab your temple. "I— A fucking car just hit us, I'm with the kids—"

"I'm on my way."

Immediate, instant, like lightning. He was already on his feet the moment you called him tho, sensing that you were calling for a reason and he was sadly right. Normally he would've been happy to hear your voice, he would've taken the chance to make you nervous or get a rinse out of you just to get the stimulation and motivation he needed for the rest of the week.

But not this. You sounded so nervous, so out of breath and like you definitely needed help.

"Send me your location. I'm on my way already." He said, sharp and steady, exactly what you needed right now in this moment of instability.

You only managed to whisper a little "Okay..." Closing your eyes again for a second.

"I'm on my way." He repeated again when he heard the tone in your voice, you could hear him grabbing his keys and walking around his own house. "Okay? I'll be there in five. Don't worry."

"Okay, okay." You nodded, breathing out slowly just to get your nerves on check. He hung up a moment later. With trembling fingers, you sent him your location. It wasn't far away from his house, probably twenty minutes; knowing Rafe, he will get there in less than ten.

And he did, right at the same time with the police. He slammed the door of his own car and sprinted outside to meet you. He still had a white shirt on, now tiredly opened on the top, like he clearly just got out of work and had two moments of peace before your call.

Olivia, who was waiting inside the car in anguish, gasped the moment she saw her dad. With an agility that should have you worried at a different time, she opened the door and got out of the car.

"Daddy!" She screamed, already running to him in desperation.

"Hey, hey." He grabbed her when she ran to him, climbing up to him the moment he kneeled down to pick her up. Her cheeks were red and wet with tears, the same way yours get whenever you used to cry. He hasn't seen that image in a long time (he's sort of grateful for it, usually when you used to cry it was because of him). "Hey, princess. You're okay?" He murmured while roughly kissing the top of her head, walking over to where you are as the little kid hid her face on his neck.

Almost barking to get your attention, he called out your name. "You're okay? What happened?" He carefully rested his arm around your frame to pull you closer, searching for your eyes that were on the ground.

You looked nervous, eyes wet with anxiety like they were glasses about to break. "Yeah, this dick hit us from behind—" You gestured to the guy a few feet away from you.

"I didn't hit you, you stopped too fast!" He had the nerve to interrupt.

"Rafe, I was at a red light—" You said, feeling the need to make him believe you. You weren't crazy but you needed his assurance, to make sure that it wasn't your fault you put your kids at such risk.

"I know, I believe you—" He shook his head, touching your face with his free big and rough hand. "Don't worry about it." He murmured only for you to hear, almost unconsciously turning his body just to push Olivia's little ears away from listening, trying to give you both some kind of intimacy. Something he craves to have in any kind of mundane moment.

"You're okay, right? Not a scratch?" He asked as he looked inside the car at the same, checking on Parker, who was sitting inside with a pout and his arms around himself. "Hey, bud. It's dad, you wanna come out?" He talked with the window down.

Parker shook his head, tightening his own grip around himself as he tried to make himself smaller and avoided Rafe's eyes. "P, everything's fine, bud. No one's hurt, it's just another car." He assured the young kid.

At his father's comfort, Parker bites the inside of his cheek before he finally nodded, deciding to come out after a second when Rafe opened the door for him. Showing just how scared he was when he wrapped his arms around his waist. "Relax, kid. You're okay." He said softly, cradling both of his kids.

You look at him, the way he immediately took the charge of the situation. The way he just has this protective side to him that starts working the moment a frown appears on any of your faces, the way he cares about your kids, how he still clearly cares about you and tries to handle the situation just so you don't have to.

The image gets your chest tightening, you place a hand on it, rubbing softly the way you always do when the heartache might just be a little too much.

Two officers got closer, coming out of they're patrolman, walking over with those heavy steps that made everyone nervous. "Mr. Cameron." One of them said, recognizing Rafe.

And of course that Rafe was going to use that to his advantage. Unwrapping his free arm out of Parker and securing his grip on Olivia, he shook the officer's hand when offered. "Sir."

"What do we have here, huh?" The man asked, already taking a look over the accident.

When the police got involved, you expressed you wanted to give a report just to have an official record of the accident, also claiming that you were in a red light, already stopped for a few seconds before your car got hit.

"That's not true!" The guy, that you now know his name Brad (of course he is). "She stopped out of nowhere, she just slammed the breaks."

"That literally makes no sense! You should've slowed down earlier anyways."

"I was doing totally fine." He assured, hands resting on his hips and those stupid ass khaki bermuda shorts that were making no one a favor. "Not my fault you don't know how to drive, sweetheart." He used that cocky tone that made your blood boil. Especially because it was you against him, and the way he was making you feel so small, a feeling you're not used to, is completely crushing you.

"Who are you talking to like that, huh?" Rafe rises to his full height, stepping forward without any kid on his arms now after Parker and Olivia completely secured on his car as the adults dealt with the mess. He means to intimidate, to scare the guy into saying something wrong again.

"Alright, let's all calm down." One of the officers intervened.

The night ended with just the same amount of frustrations. Everyone came to agree that the security cameras (if there was actually any on this side of the island) to check who provoked the accident, but they encouraged to call the insurance company already just get everything started.

You wanted to snap so badly as you saw the tow truck picking up your car to go get it fixed after this Brad guy absolutely destroyed it. You sighed, covering your face with your hands in exasperation. The day was already long enough as it is and now you feel like you have a hundred pounds over your shoulders.

"Rafe, I swear I was at a red light—" You said, throat closing with anguish as you now started to doubt your own narrative. "I mean, like, I closed my eyes for like, two seconds because my head was killing me—" You stuttered.

Rafe tsked, clenching his jaw as his tongue hit his teeth. He shook his head and looked down at you. "You don't gotta explain it to me, alright? I know you don't mess around." He knows how much of a careful driver you are. The time he had to teach you how to drive (so long ago) he was utterly exasperated at how carefully you drove around.

With one steady arm around your shoulders, gripping you like you're about to vanish, he made you get inside his own car. The whole thing had already being dragged out long enough and he hated the somber expression on your face, so he needed to get you out of there as soon as possible before he actually combusts.

After a very quiet ride back home, the kids went running back to their respective rooms once the door was opened. They were uncharacteristically silent during the whole ride, which made your heart break in half with guilt.

Rafe closed the door behind him, helping you to get the kids things inside. He left Parker's gym bag on the floor next to the entrance. "Thanks for coming." You said softly, all the usual annoyance and banter between had been erased by the exhaustion and the spook the accident had given you. "I'm sorry I called so late, I just didn't know who else to call—" Your voice broke with stress and pressure.

For someone who's such a careful and sometimes overprotective mother, this accident is definitely getting the worst reaction out of you. You were nervous, guilty, on edge and worried after everything that happened.

"Hey, no." He quickly cut you off and in two large strides he was in front of you, holding your arms. "It's fine, alright? Don't worry." He comforted you.

"You call me, do you hear me?" He put himself at your eye level, to make sure you were listening to him and actually getting the information inside that beautiful but so aggravating brain of yours, which usually doesn't hold onto the information he gives you. "You call me." He repeated again.

"I just—" You breathed out exhausted, tears willing up in your eyes. "I don't think it was my fault. I closed my eyes for two seconds, Rafe." You said, voice full of self doubt and insecurity. "What if—" you cleared your throat. "Maybe it was at a greenlight and it was my fault—"

"No, no." Rafe's reaction was immediate, purely out of instinct, the necessity to comfort you and to ease the ache in his own chest at seeing you under such stress. "I'm sure you're right. You did nothing wrong." He knows what you're talking about, the fear that this was all caused because of you and the irresponsibility you don't have. He knows you're already punishing yourself inside of your head.

"Parker wasn't wearing his belt, because—" Your voice gave out as a sob escaped out of your lips, complelr inevitable. "He was just throwing a fit and I was so tired so I let him..." You cried in his arms, hiding your face against his chest. "What if it was my fault and..." You breathed through your fast thinking. "It could've been much worse."

"It wasn't your fault. He crashed you, okay? Greenlight or not, he should've slowed down, gone to the other lean. He had space," He sighed at the way you looked and cradled your face. "C'mon, did you see him? He doesn't know shit. I'm sure his dad paid for his license." He smirked softly, trying to get your head out of the self punishment habit.

You shrugged, showing that you didn't care how stupid the other guy was, you just know that the accident had happened and it got the kids really scared and it got your blood pressure over the roof. For now, you just limit yourself to rest your forehead against his chest, allowing yourself to have this one thing. No matter how wrong it is, no matter how your heart was doing gymnastics tricks inside your chest at the feeling of being so close to Rafe all over again.

He let out a big breath again when nothing was working. So, for a few moments, he just rubbed your back, that space underneath your shoulders that he knows that always works with you. His palm was warm against the fabric of your clothes, it was safe and comfortable. And you almost hated (you really couldn't) that it felt like it was always meant to be there.

No one had touched you, comforted you like this in so long and you know no one else will because no one knows how to do it like this. It's a Rafe thing. Something that naturally comes to him after knowing each other for longer than fifteen years already, after an entire life together.

"You call me, alright?" He said again against your ear, voice low and velveted like always. "Whenever something happens, you need help, you call me." And when you moved like you were about to talk, he interrupted again, knowing what you were about to say. "With kids or not, if something happens you gotta call me. I'll go help you."

Because you would take a step back, placing the distance where it should be put. But no, he doesn't let it happen and takes one step further when he dares to say that it doesn't apply just to anything that revolves around the twins. It also applies to you.

"That's what I'm here for." He said now, more gruffly as if he's reprimanding himself. You look up, finally picking up your head from his chest and give him the honor of seeing your eyes. Still so beautiful and so red and tired from crying and worrying so much. "I want you to call me if something happens. Okay?" He asked, grabbing your cheeks with both of his hands now.

"We got a deal?" He asked carefully, softly touching your skin as he takes the liberty of cleaning the tears that stained your skin. So delicately that you almost don't recognize him. And you can't deny that you love it. He rubs his thumbs underneath your eyes, making sure not a single tear is left in there. Not a single drop of stress and pain has to be left, he doesn't want to see it anymore.

A pause settled between you, not heavy with old wounds or the sharp edges of what was left unsaid or with old unresolved resentments that made the feelings linger. For once, it wasn’t resentment that filled the silence, nor the ache of things that didn't work. It was softer than that.

It was just... tender.

"Yeah." You whispered.

And he knows he can't take it further. No matter how much he wants to, no matter how temptingly close you are, he will never do that now. Not when you always draw the line so clearly with a permanent marker, one that couldn't be erased. So, he wouldn't do it.

He contained a devastating sigh and took a step back, finalizing the moment with one last caress on your shoulder.

"I'll come early tomorrow and take them to school." He talked again, leaving no room for argument and you don't dare to do it either. "Rest and let me know what the insurance company says, alright?"

You're left a little bit speechless at what just happened. At what didn't. You don't even know what you were expecting either.

"Yeah, okay." You said softly, watching the way he walked back to the front door, taking the little piece of sanity you had with him.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Rest, don't worry about it." He opened the door and didn't give you much chance to say anything else, almost like he stopped himself from opening his mouth too much.

You didn't breathe after the door was closed, not after a few moments passed, you did it once you heard his car going out the driveway, as if you were scared that with the way he knows you, he might as well hear the way you sigh and you can't let that happen.

He can't be conscious of the way he still brings you up to the edge of the cliff, like he makes you want to jump into the absolute and intoxicating feeling of him.

Little did you know he's doing the same. He only finally lets out the biggest sigh ever after he turns around the first corner back to his own house. He wants to let you know, wants to make you snap and be aware of just how much you still have a grip on him. How he's the one at the edge of the cliff and how you're the one holding him back by grabbing his heart. You could squeeze hard enough or let go of it at any given point and destroy him. You don't even know the effect you have on people.

And you probably don't want to know either.

Your heart does warm up with tenderness the next day when he sends you a selfie of the kids in the backseat of his car, with bright smiles and clean school uniforms on them, just fifteen minutes later after he picked them up like he promised.

He does it to comfort you, because he knows you'll be worried.