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"Hey doc." Your attending approached you, fingers tapping on the counter slightly above you. Doc, he only used this nickname when he needed a favor, the other times he called you simply by your surname or he added the title doctor right before it. You weren’t complaining though. You didn’t want him to give you a permanent nickname like the one he’d picked up for himself; it would have made you uncomfortable and at the same time it would have pointed out even more his lack of professionalism at the workplace.

“Since things here seem to have calmed down a bit I need you to be for a little while in triage, yeah?”

Your gaze didn’t leave the screen, you kept charting. “Do I have a choice Dr. Robinavitch?” The tone was flat.

“Actually no.” He exhaled. “Make sure to say that to Dr. Mohan too okay? I can’t find her anywhere and -”

You finished his sentence before he could continue. “Yeah I’ll tell Kwon or Ogilvie to join us too, since this is a teaching hospital.”

“Perfect, you learn rapidly. See you later. Heads up Doc,” and with that he left.

You finished your chart before leaving the nurse station in search of Dr. Mohan that was nowhere to be found so, you stopped the only person who knew everyone’s business. “Princess, hi, have you seen Dr. Mohan by chance?”

“Oh you heard the rumor too? You know, I didn’t think of you as the noisy type of girl.” She gave you a playful smile and a wink. “Apparently they have been in that room for nearly an hour now.”

Your face clearly showed signs of confusion and irritation but she didn’t seem to notice at all. “What are you talking about exactly?” You tried to hide your frustration, you were wasting too much time and in a ER you couldn’t afford to.

“Well, Dr. Abbot and Dr. Mohan. I thought you knew,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I didn’t and respectfully, I don’t care. I asked you about her cause Robby needs us in triage but I couldn’t find her.” Those words slipped out before you could even think.

Princess noticed the shift in your tone from a seemingly calm one to an harsher one. She pointed out the room in which the two of them were. “Right there Doc, see you later.” You gave her a half of a smile before heading to it.

Fucking Robby.

As soon as you stepped in you saw them. Abbot was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless while Mohan was behind him, carefully taking care of what it seemed to be a wound. The two of them were too immersed in the moment and in the conversation they had to notice you. A sudden and sickening hollowness found its way into your stomach, accompanied by an unexpected strangling sensation. You couldn’t believe how much people loved wasting time as if they weren’t working in a damn hospital and patients struggling between life and death didn’t come in at any moment. You swallowed and shoved those unpleasant sensations away. You needed to get a grip, there were lives to be saved. So, you knocked at the glass door.  

“I’m not sorry to interrupt whatever is going on,” you said firmly.

They startled. Samira immediately got his hands off Jack’s shoulders, as if you had caught her red-handed.

You continued. “Dr. Mohan, Dr. Robinavitch need us in triage together with a med student. It doesn’t matter if it is Kwon or Ogilvie.”

She nodded and then placed once again her hand over Abbot’s shoulder.

“Now.” You emphasized.

“Okay, yeah. Are you sure that you can take care of this? Earlier you seemed to be struggling.” She asked him.

“Jesus I’m not geriatric yet, I think that I can still take care of a silly wound like that.”

She chuckled and you were about to too but you bit your lips, instantly.

“Okay well, let’s go then. I’ll search for Kwon.” Dr. Mohan informed you while approaching the exit. You followed her but as you reached the door jamb and as your colleague already headed toward triage, you turned your head in Jack’s direction. “Oh and Dr. Abbot, please put a shirt on after you finish. Patients need you.” The words that left your mouth were intended to be more stinging than they actually sounded.

A subtle smile appeared onto his face. “Yes ma’am.”

This time you were able to let out a chuckle, comforted by the fact that nobody was around. Then you went to join your colleagues in Triage.

“And all done Mrs. Fernandez.” You smiled at the patient while removing your gloves. “For the next few days you need to rest and if anything happens please, don’t hesitate to come here and ask of me.”

“I will do doctor, thank you for everything.”

“I’m just doing my job. Now carefully grab your belongings and try to get up slowly.” You instructed her, making sure that she wouldn’t hurt herself in the process. As she stood up you were ready to escort her to exit, where one of her relatives was waiting for her, but your attention got caught by Donnie calling your name.

“Yo, we need you back there.”

You nodded. “Sure. I will accompany Mrs. Fernandez outside and then I’ll be there.”

“No, I’ll do it.” He uttered with an oddly firm tone. You frowned, this was your patient not his, but before you could reply anything he began to speak. “There’s an emergency. Go, please. I’ll take care of the patient.”

“Okay, thank you.” That was all you could say before offering a smile to the old lady and rushing to the hub. The first sound that you heard once you passed the door was that of Robby’s voice.

“All right, everybody, circle up.”

Your body moved without hesitation, finding its way towards the most familiar face of the pitt.

“What happened?” You asked the night shift attending, who was standing by your side.

“System was preemptively shut down to avoid a cyberattack” Abbot casually explained.

A loud sigh escaped your mouth. “Great.”

He chuckled. “You know you’re allowed curse right? I promise you that it won’t jeopardize your career.” You rolled your eyes.

His eyes scanned you from head to toe, noticing how chest rise and fall rapidly, still not having recovered from the small run. His gaze then returned to your face and his brow arched. “Where were you?”

“Got stuck with a patience in triage. Old lady, swollen ankle, nothing too serious but she was worried. I just wanted to make sure she was doing fine of before her nephew arrived to come pick her up.”

Jack leaned over you, until his bristly chin brushed your shoulder and whispered, “You’re too good for triage, you know that?” as if he didn’t want to make you feel embarrassed. You stared at the wall in front of you, unable to say anything, too focused on his close proximity, and all of the implications involved. Had somebody noticed you? If the answer was yes, would you become the protagonist of a new bet? Or worse, would they start a rumor about the two of you that would send you directly to the HR office? But most importantly, why that small and almost imperceptible contact had brought with it a sense of warmth that you hadn’t felt in a while.

In the end, Jack resumed the distance between you two. You decided to ignore the comment, filling the silence with a “You have to tell that to Dr. Robinavitch, not me,” while meeting Jack’s eyes. But deep down you appreciated both the small compliment and the way his tone shifted when pronouncing those words, and even though your colleagues knew nothing about your life nor your personality, he seemed to comprehend you somehow. That was the part that made you uncomfortable. He saw you when you didn’t want to be seen.

He winked at you, still maintaining the eye contact. “Will do, don’t worry about that.”

After that brief exchange the three attendings instructed the staff how to work without the benefits of technology.

Jack Abbot was a man of his word. As soon as all of the instructions were given, he talked to Robby and suddenly you were no longer needed in triage.

Now that all of your patients were set up, you had a moment to dedicate to charting. But right after you logged into the computer you heard the paramedics shout an “Incoming.”

You turned your head, only to see a woman in her fifties tied to the gurney, convulsing and desperately trying to free herself from the stretcher straps that held her with such a brutal force reminiscent of a lioness trying to escape her enclosure. Without any further do, you headed to the patient, followed by Dr. McKay.

“What do we have here? ” you said in unison.

“Anne Davis. Fifty three. Overdose. Her neighbor, Halimah, found her in a deep state of confusion and also mentioned that she was hallucinating once she arrived." The paramedic explained while the lady nodded. In the meantime, you noticed that the neighbor, standing on the left side of the gurney, was holding an empty yellow plastic container. You moved towards her.

“After we got her out of the ambulance she started convulsing.” The other paramedic added.

“And she overdosed on?” McKay asked.

Halimah, visibly exhausted and shaken by the situation, handed you the container.

Once you read the label your heart skipped a beat and for a moment every sound felt distant and muffled, until you swallowed all of your sensations away and uttered, “Antidepressant. To be more specific SSRI fluoxetine, Prozac. The typical dosage is between 20 and 80 mg per day. She obviously must have been taken more than that but there has been record of someone taking 8 grams of it and still being able to recover. In comparison to other types of antidepressants they are one of the least toxic in overdose. Nevertheless, we need to act now and expel all of the medication out of her body. Get her into trauma.”

Dr. McKay gave you a satisfied look accompanied by an equally satisfied smirk, and then she clapped her hands to catch the attention of the paramedics.

“All right, you heard the doctor, get her into trauma now.” She said before the four of you rushed into trauma, leaving the neighbor outside with a nurse.  

With all of your attention focused on the patient, you didn’t noticed that there was also someone else who was watching you amidst – and despite – the chaos of the ER. Jack Abbot was about to dismiss a patient and place the paper chart on the desk when he saw the paramedics reporting both McKay and you the state in which they found the woman tied to the gurney. Right after that he heard your voice, serious and professional, delivering those information in such a firm, rapid and precise way that was uncommon for a R1, and to be frank it was a quality that was rare to be found even among the most experienced residents nowadays and yet, you never failed to surprise him. Even if you had worked together for a couple of months, you had proven to the night shift attending your expertise and willingness to learn and to improve your skills. That was apparently enough to gain Jack’s trust and admiration that occasionally became known to you during those rare moments where the two of you were alone and you could discreetly accept his compliments. But his trust and admiration could be also silently seen through the way he looked at you, if only you had the courage to let yourself losing in his hazel eyes. Today it was no exception, he was watching you with the same pride and affection that his face wore countless time, before you disappeared into trauma with a more stabilized patient that didn’t require an attending supervision, and he finally put the chart on the desk.  

By the time you entered the room, the woman had stopped convulsing and before the paramedics, together with the help of McKay and Jesse could transfer the patient to the hospital trauma bed, you quickly did an airway check.

“She’s breathing, let’s move her to the bed.” You instructed.

Once the patient was settled, Cassie and you put on a new pair of gloves before she called you and said.

“Listen. I know that we didn’t quite have the chance to work together in a while, but at the same time I also know that you handled different cases of overdose in the past few weeks and from what I’ve seen so far you seem perfectly capable of taking the lead. The convulsion has stopped now so…”

The way that McKay phrased everything was odd. Too formal and unnatural for a woman like her, always sarcastic and loose. But unfortunately you did have this effect on people. You kept yourself at distance, disturbed by the fact that eventually someone could get even a slightly glimpse of your personal history and get blinded by it, instead of focusing on your skills. It was a deliberate choice, that’s true, but it still hurt when you noticed how differently your colleagues acted when interacting with you, especially those of the day shift. All of them acted as if they were a family, and while you agreed with that statement, you couldn’t help it but to think that you weren’t part of it. You felt like the moody neighbor that had just moved across the street, the one who said hi only when forced by the circumstances. But it was okay, you were there to work, to save lives, not for socializing or worse, for finding the love of your life.

You nodded and moved towards the hospital bed. “It would be a pleasure Dr. McKay, thank you. ”

“Good.” She exhaled. “Now illustrate me the next steps.”

“First we need to asses her vital signs, then her LOC, before performing a -” your explanation was interrupted by the patient, who now started convulsing again, even more violently than the first time.

Your body reacted without thinking. “We need to move her to her side now, come help me.”

Jesse, McKay and Perla came in your help and helped you moving the convulsing patient onto her left side, meanwhile some painful, yet necessary, words escaped your mouth, Facing Cassie, who was at your left. “Even though I would be perfectly able to handle this case, I’m an R1 Dr. McKay, and this is not a low-risk overdose scenario anymore. Protocol is protocol.” You then turned your head to your right, towards Perla. “Go search for Dr. Abbot.. or Robby or Al-Hashimi, an attending.” Perla looked over McKay who gave her a nod.

You were being selfish. You wanted Jack to be there because he would have let you handled the case anyways, in contrast to Robby, who somehow always seemed to underestimate your skills and knowledge.

“We need to sedate her, as soon as possible, we were lucky with the first seizure but this one could possibly be deadly.” You said while maintaining your gaze to the woman, in order to avoid McKay.

A few seconds later Perla entered into the room and said. “Dr. Abbot and Robby are in trauma 2. Dr. Al-Hashimi is nowhere to be found.”

A smirk appeared onto Cassie’s face. “I’m the boss now, so that means that you are going to handle the case. I trust you and I’ll be observing you.” You gave her an appreciative smile.

“Okay. Jesse fill a syringe with 2 mg of lorazepam diluted in an equal part of normal saline and give it to me.”

In no time the nurse handed you the syringe and you injected the medication into her right arm, the one who wasn’t getting flattened by her body-weight. In less than two minutes, the patient had stopped convulsing, and you were able to move her onto her back. Your colleagues helped you asses her vitals, and everything seemed fine since she was able to breath normally and eventually started regain consciousness.

You looked at face and at her fragile state and began to talk to her. “Hi Anne, you did something dangerous but we are here to save you. Now I have to insert a tube in your nose, it will be a bit annoying but it won’t cause you any pain, is this okay?”

The only thing that she could do was to nod.

With the approval of your senior resident you changed your gloves for the third time, to avoid potential infections, and then once Jesse and Perla passed you the supplies and placed a linen-saver pad onto the woman’s chest, you began the procedure. Gastric suction.  

You first checked which nostril was the more patent for tube insertion which turned out to be the left one then, you measured the length of the nasogastric tube and once you reached the end of the xiphoid process Perla handed you a piece of tape to note the length. After that, you generously lubricated the insertion end of the tube with lignocaine and gently began to insert the Nasogastric tube into  her left nostril and started rotating it when you were met with a slight resistance, once you reached the nasopharynx. Afterwards you continued gently pushing the tube down to the esophagus until the predetermined mark was reached, only to fix it to the bridge of her nose with an adhesive plaster. During the whole procedure the patient surprisingly remained quiet, but conscious.

In the meantime, Jesse had placed the other supplies on the Mayo table near you while McKay gave approval for your actions and attentively observed you.

You removed the syringe form the insulation bottle and inserted the it into the end of the tube, only to instill small air bolus and auscultate the patient’s stomach with your stethoscope. Once you heard the stomach gurgling, you checked the gastric residual and let the gastric content drain onto the container placed on the table. After all of the return had stopped from the tube, you began irrigating with sixty cc of saline and let the liquid drain into the belly. Then you moved the syringe towards the container and let all of the content drain back into it. You repeated this procedure several times, until the gastric contents run clear back out of the tube and removed the syringe from it, not before filling the stomach with some air.

“Okay Anne, can you take a deep breath for me now?” you asked gently.

“Yes” she said with a weary voice and you proceeded to remove the nasogastric tube while Perla disposed the linen-saver pad away.

Eventually the woman was transported into another room and immediately feel asleep.

You had saved her.

Before exiting trauma McKay gave you a pat on your shoulder and uttered. “Good job Doc. Now go check your other patients.” Those were the only words that seemed the most authentic and real. Not in terms of content but in form. Smoother than your previous interactions, more Cassie like.

You thanked her and then exited the room.

Outside trauma you were surprised to notice not only that the neighbour of Anne, Halimah, had left but also that Dana came back after finishing assisting the SA victim. She waved at you from her desk.

“Hey Doc welcome back” She greeted you while chewing a gum. You smiled politely.

Suddenly a young boy entered the bay and rushed towards the charge nurse. He put his hands on the desk and tried to catch a breath.

You moved towards him, afraid that he might be sick and needed assistance, and in fact he needed assistance, just not the medical one.

“I’m Jayce Moore.” He painted, worn out by the run he had to make to be there. “I’m umh the son of Anne Davis. My neighbour, Halimah told me that an emergency happened and she had to call an ambulance.” Slowly his breath returned normal and the painting was replaced by a tone of desperation mixed with a glimpse of hope. “Where is she? Please, tell me that nothing bad has happened to her.”

Dana was about to speak when you stepped in. “Hi Jayce, I’m the doctor who treated your mom.” You said as calmly and as sweetly as possible, in order to instill in his body some sort of calm.

He tiled his head to you and locked his glistening eyes with yours. “Is she alive?” he asked you with a trembling voice.

 “Yes. She’s asleep now. Why don’t we continue this conversation elsewhere? Somewhere quieter perhaps.”

The boy nodded and moved away from the desk. Your first instinct was that of placing a hand onto his shoulders, a simple sign that wanted to communicate to him that he wasn’t alone, even though you could only a little to ease his pain. Eventually he melted into the touch that in such a difficult and stressing moment was very much appreciated.

While heading towards the family room you turned your head towards Dana and told her, “Once Kiara is available can you send her to me?”

“Sure thing Kid.” She responded while looking at some documents.

The family room was small and cold, not in terms of temperature but in terms of atmosphere. The walls were white and there were two grey sofas placed in the middle of it, facing each other, and a small wooden coffee table. That’s it.

Jayce and you seated on the same sofa, with you deciding to keep a distance that was both appropriate for a doctor and a family member’s patient, but that at the same time communicated that you were there for him, to help him.

“So what happened to my mom?” he asked you while rubbing his hands on his thighs.

“Your mom had an overdose. Prozac. Your neighbor Halimah found her in your living room in a deep state of confusion and was also hallucinating. She called the ambulance and once she arrived here, she was convulsing. The first convulsion stopped after a minute but then she was hit with another one and we had to sedate her. Fortunately she was conscious and we were able to perform a gastric suction, without intubating her.” You explained.

He remained silent for a moment and then he dragged his hands across his face and he doubled over in tears.

“It’s my fault.” The sound of his voice was muffled by her hands.

The sight of him made your heart shrink.

While patting the space between his shoulder blades you whispered , “No it’s not Jayce.”

His hands were now holding his head. His gaze locked to the ground beneath him.

“Yes.” He sobbed. “It is. My mom is dealing with depression and instead of staying at home with her I went to a stupid fourth of July barbecue with my friends. I’ve already lost my dad a few years ago and I can’t afford to loose her too. I should’ve stayed at home…”

Chills went down to your spine. You swallowed.

“How old are you Jayce?”

“Nineteen.” He responded.

“Well it is perfectly normal for a boy of your age to have some fun. No matter how hard your situation at home is. I mean it, it was not your fault. She is safe now. That’s what matters.” You hoped that your words were comforting enough but unfortunately, that was not the case.

The boy’s sadness and tears turned into anger and guilt which weren’t directed at you, but at himself.

“No, Damn! It is it.” His fingers gripped his hair tightly. “That’s what I get for hanging out with my friends instead of looking out for her. She overdosed because of me man. Because she thought I didn’t love her or care about her.”

You removed your hand from his back, giving him space to grieve, to be angry, to feel those sensations and feelings that you knew too well, before you began speaking.

“You know…” You exhaled and continued looking at him.  “When people unalive themselves or attempt, they don’t do it to punish you. Their brain chemistry is altered in a way that distorts their perception of life. It’s not necessarily that they don’t notice how people around them care for them, but it’s more of that they can’t do it anymore.” You paused. His gaze was still focused to the ground.

You continued. “They don’t think it’s worth living life anymore. Most of the time they do it because they don’t want to be a burden to their family. In psychological terms it’s called perceived burdensomeness.”

He tilted his head to look at you. You half smiled.

“What I want you to understand is that it’s not your fault.”

His eyes started glistening again.

“You’re just nineteen Jayce. While it’s a good thing to want to care of your mom, you have the right to have fun. Your life has just begun.”

He nodded. “I know but it’s hard.” His voice broke.

“I know, but you don’t have to do everything alone. There are some grassroots organizations like NAMI which help you navigate this situation. By offering counseling and lessons meant to teach how to interact and handle people who suffer from mental illness.”

He hummed.

“Once Kiara will be here, she’s a social worker you know, she will explain to you in detail everything.”

As if to speak of the devil, Kiara knocked and entered the door.

“There she is.” You said.

Kiara sat on the sofa besides the boy and started introducing herself while you got up from it and headed towards the door and opened it. Before you could exit it though, you called him and softly said, “If you need, me go to the nurse desk and ask of me. Okay?”

His eyes met yours once again and nodded. “Will do that Doc. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” You replied before uttering.

“It is not your fault.”

Only that this time, you were saying that mostly to yourself, not to him.

Eventually he gave you a weak smile. You waved at both of them and exited the room.

To your surprise, technology was finally back in the pitt, and before you could think and replay the events that both occurred in trauma and in the small room, you took a deep breath and focused on work.

Busy with handover and charting you hadn’t noticed that it was late. Your shift nearly ended one hour and an half ago, so you decided that maybe, just maybe, it was time for a little break before clocking out. Break that Dr. Al-Hashimi was more than willing to give you, since the waters seemed to have calmed down a bit in the ER.

You headed to the bathroom near the elevator. The nearest and the quietest you could find, since only the staff could have access to it. The exact moment you stepped in, all of the noise from the ER became muffled and obviously distant. You let out a sigh, finally a moment of peace.

Everything seemed normal. You did whatever you needed to do and then you went over the sink to wash your hands, where a mirror hung over. You placed your hands to the sides of the sink and started looking at your reflection for what it seemed an eternity. You noticed your messy hair, your worn out eyes. Nothing new, it happened at the end of every shift. Not a single thought crossed your mind. It was oddly empty like a ghost town .

The water continued running from the faucet, making you realize that you starred at the mirror for too long. You turned it off immediately. Then, you lightly smiled at your own blank reflection and burst into tears.

Your mind was racing now, replaying once again the events of today. Anne convulsing onto the stretcher and then onto the hospital bed, the exhausted expression that Halimah wore, the half-empty yellow plastic container, the guilt of Jayce, the cracked and desperate tone of his voice, him putting is hands in his hair, in a sign of desperation, and the big breath that you took once you exited the room. It was all too much. To much too bear, too handle, to remember. Because all of this was deeply connected to the reason why you had left Maine, and your beautiful home near the ocean in the first place.

Tears run over your face in the same way the water was running from the faucet a few moments before. Scalding and gushing, wetting the collar of your scrub and the shirt underneath.

 You were a sobbing mess, finding it difficult to breath normally.

There was only one thing that helped you set yourself free from the intricate bramble of your thoughts. You were still in the ER, at work. This sort of thing couldn’t be possibly happen in here, where your colleagues could enter at any moment and see you.

Slowly you began to breathe with your diaphragm and started focusing on the little things around you. The muffled noise, the greenish tiles, the soft fragrance of the soap and the shocking sensation of cold water on your wrists. You repeated this little game several times, until your breath returned to a normal pace and your eyes stopped producing tears.

You splashed fresh water to your face, grabbed some paper towels to dry it, tossed them in the bin and then turned off the faucet one last time.

As if nothing had happened, you went outside, and the noise, went from being muffled to vivid.

The first person you met was Robby. Your back was facing the bathroom door. He on the other hand, was standing right in front you. Arms crossed and an expression you couldn’t quite decode. Was he annoyed? Angry? Or simply exhausted? In that position you could see all his wrinkles branch off his face and his thin chapped lips trapped by his unkept beard. He looked like a rag, even worse than you.

“Where were you?” He said with an altered tone which displayed all his annoyance.

You didn’t know whether he was tired, hallucinating, or if your level of tolerance was starting to lower to zero, as your shift was coming to its end.

“In the bathroom.” Your index finger accompanied the words that escaped your mouth, pointing out the sign RESTROOM right behind you. Your eyebrows frowned. “What happened?”

Before he could answer, a nurse needed to use the bathroom, forcing you to walk away from it and changing spot, to continue your conversation. You both went towards a slightly less busy area. Robby’s back now faced the elevator. Yours instead, was facing the corridor that lead towards central, and utility cart filled with different medical supplies was standing at your left.

“Has an emergency happened?” You resumed the conversation.

“Jesus. This is an ER, what do you think?” He let out a breathless laugh while running a hand into his hair.

You decided to not give in, keeping your composure. You found his manners rather childish and snappy. Definitely not appropriate neither for a man of his age, nor for an attending. But maybe, he just had a rough shift, like the rest of you, and definitely the fact that he was about to leave for three months didn’t help him at all.

You smiled politely, before saying. “What do you need me for, Dr. Robinavitch?”

“You know what? This is not even the point!” He shouted, causing some of the staff to look in your direction, before lowering his voice and continue. “Your shift isn’t over yet; you can’t simply disappear.” He adverted your gaze and shook his head.

“I didn’t disappear. I asked Dr. Al-Hashimi if I could take a break since my shift finished nearly two hours ago and my patients are all set up” You simply explained.

“You asked her uh?”

“Yes. She’s an attending. I don’t see what’s the problem actually.” Your tone was forcedly calm, but your body told a different story. It was tense, with your arms resting at your sides and fists clenched.

“The problem is that I’m your attending. Not her.” He emphasized his words by indicating himself. “She knows nothing about this place. Hell!” He interlaced both of his hands behind his head. “She keeps disappearing too. And you can’t hide yourself in the bathroom for fucking twenty minutes while the ER is a fucking shit show.” And then, abruptly released them.

His face was getting redder each time he uttered a word. Something had definitely happened to him today, but whatever it was he didn’t have the right to let it out on you.

He was getting on your nerves now. If only he knew why you did take a break. It was better to die and let him scream at you instead of speaking. Instead of confessing him why it took you so long in there, because you knew that eventually, he would have used it all against you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were trying immensely to keep your cool and find the right words to diffuse the situation. He, on the other hand, was studying you with a predator’s unwavering attention. His gaze focused first on your scrub top, still a bit damp from the tears and then, on your eyes, puffy and slightly irritated.

Instantly you crossed your arms and your expression hardened. A defense mechanism, to shield yourself from his actions.

He laughed. “You’ve been crying too?”

He hit the jackpot with that one. In in response, you bit your cheek, not wanting to give in to his provocations. It simply wasn’t worth your energy.

There wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his laugh, more like irritation and awareness. “I can’t fucking believe that this ER has turned into a fucking kindergarten full of whiny babies. What have you been crying on uh? You got mommy issues like Dr. Mohan too?” He snickered.

If until that moment you had decided to be the bigger person, now it was over. He crossed a line, a very important one, and you couldn’t simply stand there, doing nothing and withstanding his words. It simply wasn’t your style. Not when someone, it didn’t matter whether he was your boss or your patient, was displaying the reason of your meltdown, was making you vulnerable in front of everyone. Making you a person, not a doctor.

In a heartbeat you slammed your left hand onto the utility cart, with such a brutal force that not only made some of the supplies tip over it, but also caught the attention of those around you. Then, with your hand still vibrating from the brutal slam you pointed your index finger at him and bawled.

 “Fuck you!”

For a second the ER remained silent, until you turned around with such an intimidating look that made all of your colleagues resume their work.

Robby couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. There were rumors about you, concerning your personality and temper. People called you cold, distant and aggressive. And while he certainly he agreed with the first two adjectives, he was having an hard time picturing you for the aggressive type, at least until now.

At this new sight of you he flinched, before biting back. “There she is. The others told me you were aggressive jeez.” He paused for a second and touched his beard while nodding. “You see, I know exactly why you left the hospital in Maine now. For your behavior.”

“You know nothing about me and nor do the others. Nothing about my behavior or my problems. So cut it.” You hissed.

He wasn’t intimidated by words. “Well I know a thing or two since you were crying in the bathroom.”

You thought that it was over, that him mentioning you mental breakdown, meant that you reached the peak of your argument. But it wasn’t like that. He didn’t give in, and with a patronizing tone he snarled. “I’ll give you a piece of advice. Keep your problems out of the fucking ER. When you clock in here your life is GONE, you need to think about your patients not about your pathetic issues.”

You didn’t back down. Your resentment for him grew even more.

“Respectfully Dr. Robinavitch, you’re the last person from who I would take personal advice from.”

“Watch it kid” He warned you by pointing his finger at you.

You couldn’t care less about his warnings.

“Or what? You gonna sign me up? Fire me? Move me back to the night shift? Seems fine to me. Really.” You mockingly reassured him.

He was the one who provoked you in the first place, openly humiliating you, hinting at your weak spots in front of everyone.

“But let’s go back to what I was saying. Why would I take a piece of advice from a man who can’t separate his work life from his personal one? Come one I mean..” You paused and sneered. “You  you flirt with Noelle and everybody see that. Oh and don’t even get me started on your sabbatical. It’s been days since you’ve been talking about it and making it a everyone’s problem. You’re supposed to be happy to have the chance to rest and instead you’re nervous, irritable and moody.” You spat those words like a snake envenomating its prey.

Part of you wanted to go further. Telling him how much of a cunt he was, treating others, especially female workers like shit. But maybe it was enough because what you uttered afterwards was far worse.

“So maybe, just maybe you should be the one taking advice from me, since I haven’t caused a single problem since I’ve started working here. Here’s the piece of advice Dr. Robinavitch. Why don’t you take your fucking motorbike and go fucking…”

“Hey what’s happening here?” A third, raspy voice that came from the back, asked.

…kill yourself.

Those words died in your mouth the exact moment Jack interrupted you.

He now was standing at your right, between you and Robby, with his arms crossed and an eyebrow arched. His eyes were darting back and forth between the both of you, waiting for a valid explanation.

“Nothing Dr. Abbot.” You said in a rush, eyes locked to the ground while a wave of shame, that forced your voice to lower, rushed over you. “I was asking Dr. Robinavitch if I could take a break and he agreed. Isn’t that right?” You glanced at the day shift attending, silently asking him to forge a brief alliance to which he agreed.

“Yes.” He answered in such a fragile way that didn’t go unnoticed to you.

Your eyes scanned him. He wrapped his right arm tightly around his left hip, while he was torturing the cuticle of his left thumb, to divert his attention somewhere else because a sudden glassy, reflective sheen coated his pupils. He was about to cry.

The realization left you shocked. A part of you wanted to sink deeper into the guilt that was finding space in the back of your throat, the other part though, was proud to have made him that miserable. He didn’t have the right to publicly expose and humiliate you like that.

That corridor became rapidly an uncomfortable place to be in, you felt trapped. You needed to go away.

An half smile appeared on your face. “Now, If you excuse me.” You said, before reaching the elevator unbothered to wait for the two men’s reactions or to notice their surprised expressions.

The exact moment the doors closed, you began furiously pressing the top floor button, convinced that if you pressed it repeatedly, the elevator would have taken you to the rooftop faster. The ride on the elevator was unbearable, one of the longest of your life. His cruel words poisoned your mind, and consequently, your whole body started trembling out of rage. Angry tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You tried to stop them by violently biting your lips and cheeks that in just a few seconds were already marked by your blood.

Once the elevator opened you hastened towards the rooftop door, opened it and took a step out. There, you were met with a warm and humid wind. You first checked if someone was there, you knew that sometimes your coworkers liked to come here, but fortunately, there was no one. Your only company were the stars that decorated the dark sky, the buildings around you and a few noises coming form the street.

Comforted by this loneliness, you furiously slammed the door and let out a violent “Fuck!”. Then, you moved a few steps to the right while running both of your hands across your face, before collapsing to the floor with the wall supporting your back. Your brought you knees to your chest, without removing the hands from your face. Pitch black and hospital soap that’s what you saw and smelled in those moments where you remained in that position, thinking that all of your rage will disappear alone, but it didn’t. You needed to released it.

Quickly your hands found the lower part of your scrub top, rolled it into something that resembled the form of a ball, and proceed to shove it into your mouth. With your mouth stuffed and your eyes squeezed shut, you began to scream. A piercing, muffled, garbled sound of pure frustration and anger that filled your body with heath. You screamed with all of your force, until your gums and teeth started hurting, until drool pooled over the part of the scrub that you couldn’t hold in your mouth, until your knuckles turned white and pleaded you to let go of that piece of fabric.

Eventually you released all of the rage that poisoned your body. You won.

After that, your arms rested open to your sides, palms looking at the sky, mirroring your face. You counted the few starts that shone despite the light pollution, melting in the night stillness that you despised so much, but that now, was more than necessary.

But that sensation of relief didn’t last very long. Your brain replayed the conversation that you had with Robby and guilt washed over you. For a moment you starred at the skyscrapers in front of you, hoping to find some distraction, but you could feel remorse and shame in every bone of your body. Emotions that were slowly consuming you because ultimately, you almost said to your attending, a human being who was definitely struggling, to end his life.

You felt sick. You couldn’t feel a drop of pity for yourself. What you almost did was wicked and unforgivable. Especially because everything, starting from Anne and Jayce and finishing with that, led back to the reason why you left your home.

Instantly your hands reached the pockets of your scrub pants, pulling out three objects. Your phone, your headphones and your most beloved and important possession, a silver heart-shaped locket necklace. You left the first two on the floor, while opening the locket on your lap. You traced its rim with your fingers and exhaled, looking first at the small piece of paper that said “We love you, M. & D.”; and then, at the photo within. A younger, happier version of you at the centre, hugged by the light of your life, your parents, that now were dead and gone. You eyes lingered on the smiling face of your mother, and there, you broke.

You brought the open locket to your lips like you were reciting the rosary, and then, you whispered with a strained voice. “I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought that.” Heavy and uncontrollable tears flooded your face and your breath began hitching. You repeated those words like a mantra, a mantra that accompanied your despairing wail.

Desperate for a second of calm in the midst of sorrow, you reached for your headphones and put them on. Calm music began soothing your ears while you hugged your knees and your hands still held the necklace. You stared at an indefinite point in front of your, unconcerned about the tears that were dripping from your chin.

Memories came in waves, and soon, you let yourself drown in them.

You were standing in the hallway of your childhood home. It was October. The clock on the wall read 1.23 AM. You had been awake for more than thirteen hours. Your shift had been a nightmare that day, a mass casualty  had occurred and you had to remain there until those of the nightshift could handle the patients alone. Tired, you dropped your backpack near the staircase, not bothering to switch on the lights, as the moonlight coming from the window lighted your way. You called your mom, informing her that you were finally home. She didn’t respond which was odd, because she usually stayed up until 2AM. You didn’t worry too much about it though, sometimes the antidepressants made her fall asleep earlier. She was diagnosed with depression three years prior, after the death of your dad. On your first year of medical school. He died from heart attack on his way to work, the doctors in the ER tried to save him, but it was impossible. In the end, your mom and you grieved him differently, you like a daughter and she as a wife, married to the love of her life.

You called her another time, still no response. But again, you weren’t particularly worried, as the last few weeks proved that she was getting better. “She is just asleep”, you thought. You were the one in the first place that told her that, when you had informed her of your extra stay at the ER. “It’s okay darling. I love you so much and I’m proud of you.” She answered softly.

Still, you went to her bedroom, illuminated by the same moonlight that led you there. You leaned on the jam, arms crossed. You saw her, peacefully sleeping on her left side, with one arm that dangled over the bed, no duvet on. You moved towards her, as silently as you could and sat right next to her, in the small space that her body made. Her hair was all over her face, you chuckled and whispered a sweet “Goodnight” while stroking her head. It was only in that moment that you realized she wasn’t moving, nor breathing. You swallowed, you eyes began to sting. Slowly you tilted your head to the nightstand, where the empty bottle of Zoloft stand with the lid open. You had picked up the prescription the day before. You starred at it for too long, unable to do anything. The realization hit you like a truck. She ended her life, and you weren’t able to save her, to prevent that. You bursted out crying and pulled her cold body in your arms, with your tears wetting her soft hair, unable to say a word. You remained like that until you had the strength to call your neighbour.

Three days later, after the funeral you asked for a leave of absence that eventually led you to sell your house and continue your first year of residence at the PTMC.

Your memories were interrupted by a pair of cargo pants materializing in front of you. One hand found immediately your heart, not expecting anyone to come after you. In a second, you took your headphones off and wiped out your tears, while still holding the locket in one of your palms.

You looked up and met Jack with a paper cup in his hand.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me Dr. Abbot.” You said still recovering from the little fright.

He chuckled. “I didn’t think that I was that ugly. And please, it’s just Jack now okay?”

No, he wasn’t. Even at your lowest you couldn’t help but to notice his old-fashioned beauty. It was definitely the weariness that spoke for you, because you never truly admitted that to yourself before, scared that that simple recognition led to something more dangerous and unpredictable.

“Okay Jack.” You remarked, too tired to keep your professionalism intact. After all here, there was no one besides the two of you.

That was the first time you called him by his first name. There was something in the way your voice pronounced his name that made Jack’s heart fumble.

“May I?” He asked while pointing at the empty space near you.

You nodded. Before checking in, still looking at him. “Sure your leg won’t hurt?”

“It will or maybe it won’t. Who knows.” He playfully answered while seating at your right. Cup still in his left hand. Unlike you, he sat with his legs stretched out to the floor. The wall though, kept supporting both of your backs.

Unsure of his response, you turned your head to him and with a serious voice you ordered. “Take it off. You’ve been standing all day.”

He mirrored you. In that close position you could smell the sting odor of the hospital sanitizer as well as see an unexpected sparkle in his eyes. Your shoulders were brushing against one another, mimicking the closeness you experienced earlier that day.

He smirked. “At your orders Dr. Sweetheart.” He momentarily put the cup onto the ground, taking off his leg and placing it besides him.

Dr. Sweetheart. A nickname that you hadn’t heard in months. A nickname that Jack gave you after seeing you how you treated patients, with consideration and empathy. A nickname that he used only when no one was around, because he didn’t want the others to start stupid rumors about the two of you.

You shook your head and let out a breathless laugh. “I’m not a sweetheart Jack you know it, especially after today.” Bitterness and melancholy could be found in the tone of your voice. There was a time in which you were one, at least within the walls of your house. Outside though, you had always been a bit distant to people, even though you had formed occasional friendships throughout the years. But after the death of both your parents the distance you kept with people only got bigger and bigger, and the sweetness you once were familiar with was replaced with pain.

This didn’t go unnoticed by the night-shift attending who tried, as best as he could, to diffuse the situation.

“Nah. You are one. Especially with patients, and sometimes with me.” The last words were whispered, as if he didn’t want you to hear them which in that position was impossible. He was the one who felt too exposed for once.

He lowered his gaze, lifted it again. “At least when I have a shirt on. You know.”

His witty comment earned a laugh from you, a honest and hearty laugh that you didn’t have in a while. It was the first time he truly ever saw you like this and he felt mesmerized by it, by you letting him see more of you. You were different around him, unconsciously more at ease. Funny thing was that neither of you were able to fully catch that.

Before He could forget, he grabbed the paper cup and handed it to you. “I made this for you.”

Your smile faded and your brows frowned, and took the cup.

“Shift is already over. You never leave without drinking tea.” He continued.

You swallowed, and the warming sensation you felt earlier, when Jack leaned over you in central, found its way in your belly.

You took a sip. You murmured. “It’s Jasmine. My..”

“Favourite.” You both said in unison.

You bit your cheek because suddenly your eyes were becoming a bit watery. It had been a while since someone had shown you some kindness, and care perhaps.

You adverted his gaze, as he changed the topic of the conversation.

He rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs before gently asking, “What happened down there with Robby?”

You froze. Placed the cup on the floor and then started fidgeting with the chain of the necklace. Gaze focus on it. “We had a conversation that led into an argument.” You coldly said.

He cleared is throat, “Yeah, he informed me about it.”

“Then why asking?” You retorted, meeting his eyes again.

Jack waited a moment before answering, trying to find the right words. He knew how difficult that question was for you. How difficult it was for you to conversate about something that wasn’t work related, to reveal something of you. He only had glimpses of you, but just because it was a good observer. But right now, that question was more than necessary and in the end, instead of finding complicate ways to address the conversation and his concern for you, he opted for the truth.

“He also told me that you were crying in the bathroom. And seeing you like that, it felt weird. I-umh never saw you yelling like that. I got worried.”

You froze for the second time in a row. You felt as getting caught red handed, like you found Dr. Mohan and him this morning.

Both of the attendings knew you were crying in there. But there was something else that unsettled you even more. He was worried about you.

With your fingertip you wiped one small tear that was threating to escape from the outer corner of your eye. You then sighed. “I almost told him to kill himself Jack.” You met his attentive gaze which never stopped leaving you really.

 A quiet, breathless “Oh” escaped his lips.

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, not wanting to cry in front of him. But mostly, you feared you had disappointed him with that confession.

 “If you hadn’t interrupted us, I would have told him that.” Your voice cracked, and the guilt returned stronger than ever.

You tried, so so hard not to cry, thinking that your body had expelled all of the tears possible, but it wasn’t like that. You quickly covered your face with your hands, a shield that masked your sobs and weep.

Jack at first didn’t utter a word. Both surprised and concerned, he circled your shoulders with his arm, pulling you closer to him, before placing a tender kiss between your hair; as if he had done it a million times. “It’s okay sweetheart. Even if you thought it, you didn’t say it. You were angry. You didn’t mean any of that.” He murmured, still holding you. “You’re a good person, and he’s not gonna fire you, if that’s what you’re worrying about.” He planted another kiss.

You cried even harder, not because of what almost happened with Robby, but because of that delicate touch, paired with those soft words contained in his raspy voice, that you accepted. You were crying because you was accepting was he was willing to give you: affection and care. Because you didn’t avoid his touch, you melted into it. You were crying, because you realized that you had feelings for him. Because Jack was able to find its way beneath your armor and towards your heart.

But the man didn’t know what happened inside your mind. He only saw and heard you wail and suddenly, he thought that he overstepped. He tried to fix the situation as best as he could.

“Do you want me to call you someone? Maybe a friend or your parents in Maine. Sometimes it helps hearing a familiar voice during hard times.”

But little did he know…

You knew he had good intentions, really, but your body reacted anyways, stiffening and he noticed it. You removed your hands from your face and quietly let go of his touch.

You handed him your opened locket. He grabbed it and a light smile appeared on his face at the sight of the younger you.

“The only people that I ever truly had and could call are trapped in there.” You confessed with a touch melancholy.

His smile instantly faded. He didn’t need to ask you for further explanation. He understood and gasped “I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“Don’t be.” You placed you hand on his palm, the one that held the locket. “Nobody knows.” You half smiled.

At those words he closed his fingers around your hand in a gentle motion that made your heart flutter.

Eventually you gave in, and revealed him the true reason why you left Maine. You told him everything, not because you felt obliged to, but because you wanted to.

He was the first person to know about the death of your parents and the tragedy behind it, after your therapist.

His brows frowned and he shook his head. He was visibly moved by your story. “You’re so strong sweetheart.” And his thumb softly stroked yours.

You chuckled. “Says the veteran.”

He didn’t even register your joke, because his mind was already somewhere else.

“Come back to the night shift. So far the day shift hasn’t done you any good.” He said off the cuff.

“Jack…” You rebuked, “You know I’m having troubles working at night, after my mom committed suicide it’s..”

He cut you off. “I know but, if something happens to you I can help you. Because now I finally know why out of the blue you decided to move to the day shift. You couldn’t bare it anymore.”

His hand gripped yours tighter.

You were about to speak, but he didn’t let you.

“The night crawlers miss you.”

You shook your head, adverting his gaze, but he didn’t give up.

“Ellis misses giving you unwanted gossip and gaining no reaction back. Shen misses not being the only one having a drink addiction of some type.”

You lightly laughed.

“Jeez!” He exclaimed. “Even Walsh misses you. She misses  working with a clever R1 while she’s operating.”

“Really?” You were frankly and oddly surprised by that.

He nodded. Then his voice, as well as his gaze, lowered, concentrated on the small circles that he was drawing on your knuckles with his thumb. It seemed that what he was about to say was only meant for himself.

“And I miss you. I miss having you around all the time.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Not ready for that confession that came unnoticed. But once again, you didn’t escape from it. Instead you observed him. His grey curls, the freckles that covered his arm and his eyes that were still fixated on your interlaced hands.

You acted on impulse, ignoring the anxiety that tried to find space in your head, telling you to stop.

With your free hand, you lifted his chin and closed the space between the two you. You pulled him into a soft and tender kiss. After the initial shock, he cupped your face with his other hand and shifted slightly his position to have a better taste of you; and for the same reason, you adjusted yourself too. You felt the scrape of his beard on your chin, his work-worn hand against your cheek, and his slightly chapped lips melting against your equally chapped ones. It was a kiss that tasted of tears shed and jasmine tea. It was a kiss that spoke of mutual respect, trust, admiration and that silent devotion that both of you started feeling right after you arrived in the pitt, on February.

When you parted, you rested your foreheads against one another. Both smiling shyly.

“Was it unprofessional?” You asked a bit embarrassed.

“No, it wasn’t.” He whispered out of breath.

He then let go of that position, and of your interlaced hands, carefully placing the locket on the ground, and after that, he opened his arms. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate to welcome his comforting hug. With your chin rested on his shoulder and his fingers gently running through your hair he murmured, “I hate to say it but in a bit we must go. You haven’t clocked out yet. Can’t let you waste your fourth of July.” He paused for a moment. “Lemme accompany you at home, you’re exhausted. The others won’t find out I promise.”

You hummed, trusting Jack’s promise and accepting his offer, while feeling his smile against the top of your head.

In that moment there was no space for fear and preoccupation. There was just Jack and you, and a proud feeling that settled in you, for letting yourself admit your feelings and ultimately, for letting yourself set free from your own self-imposed chains, even for a slightly bit.

taglist: @goddess-of-spring

“you’re somewhere else,” he murmurs with his forehead pressed to the wall beside your head. not accusing, just fascinated.

you shrug, a small movement. noncommittal. your eyes drift past his shoulder to the window, to your own reflection caught between streetlight glare and shadow. you look untouched. like this isn’t happening to you at all.

that’s what he likes most.

his mouth finds your neck, lingering there like he’s trying to memorize it. he’s careful in a way that feels almost reverent, like he’s afraid of spooking you. like he knows you could disappear if he moves too fast.

you don’t respond the way he wants you to. no soft sounds. no hands clutching at him. your body lets him do whatever he’s already decided he’s going to do, passive as weather. it only makes him more intent.

rafe has always been like this—too much focus, too much meaning assigned to things that were never meant to carry it. the way he watches you at the café when he thinks you’re not looking. the way he remembers your order even when you change it just to see if he’ll trip up. the way his jaw tightens when someone else makes you laugh.

now all that attention is pressed into the inches between you.“say something,” he whispers.

you don’t. your silence settles over him like a challenge. his hands finally slide to your hips, thumbs pressing in like he’s checking to see if you’re real. his touch is grounding, possessive, desperate in its restraint. he leans in, mouth hovering near yours, waiting for permission you never give.

so he takes it anyway. and the kiss isn’t soft.; it’s searching. like he’s trying to pull a reaction out of you by force of will alone. his lips move against yours with a hunger that borders on frantic, like if he stops you’ll wake up and decide this was a mistake.

you kiss him back just enough to keep him there.

that’s the thing—you never push him away. you never pull him closer. you exist in this perfect, maddening middle ground that keeps him circling you like a moth convinced the flame is worth i

his hands roam, exploratory, reverent, like he’s cataloguing you. every brush of skin makes his breath hitch. every lack of response makes his focus sharpen “fuck,” he exhales against your mouth, half laugh “you don’t even look at me.”

you don’t. your gaze stays unfocused, sliding past him, like you’re watching something only you can see. maybe you are.

it makes something dark curl in his chest.

rafe presses closer, like proximity alone might anchor you. his forehead drops to your shoulder, breath hot, uneven. for a second he’s still, collecting himself, like he’s trying not to scare you off with the intensity of it all.

“i think about you all the time,” he admits quietly, like it’s a secret he’s been choking on “like—constantly. i hear your voice when i close my eyes. i replay the way you stand at the counter, the way you never smile when i flirt.”

you finally look at him then. just briefly. empty. unreadable. it wrecks him.

his hands tighten, not painful, just firm. grounding himself through you. he kisses along your jaw, your throat, everywhere but your mouth now, like he’s afraid of losing what little connection he has left.

you let him. you always let him.

the night drags on in fragments—his breath, the press of his body, the way he keeps whispering your name like it’s a spell. he’s fully submerged in it, in you, in the idea of you. every movement he makes is charged with meaning, with want, with a desperate need to be remembered.

you remain distant, observing yourself from somewhere above it all.

it’s almost tender, how badly he wants this to matter. eventually the intensity burns itself down. his movements slow. his breathing evens out. he rests his forehead against your collarbone, eyes closed, like he’s exhausted himself trying to reach you.

for a moment, neither of you moves.

then you gently shift. just enough to slip free.

rafe’s eyes snap open “hey,” he says softly, immediately alert. “you okay?”

you nod. already reaching for your shirt, your shoes, the pieces of yourself you left scattered around the room. you don’t rush, but you don’t linger either. every motion is deliberate, detached.

he sits up on the edge of the bed, watching you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks

“you don’t have to leave,” he says, too quickly. “i can make coffee. i’ve got—i’ve got stuff.”

you give him a small smile. polite. distant “it’s late,” you say, neutral.

something in his face cracks just a little.

he watches you walk to the door, hand already on the knob, like this was always the plan. like this was just another stop on your way somewhere else

“i’ll see you,” he says, because he needs to believe that.

you pause. just long enough to glance back. “yeah,” you reply.

it’s a lie you both pretend not to notice.

the door clicks shut behind you, leaving him alone in the dim quiet. rafe stares at the empty space where you were, chest tight, mind already replaying every second.

he’ll think about this for weeks.

you won’t think about it at all. i mean, you will think about it. you always do.

you pretend you don’t but that’s just a skill you’ve learned. selective amnesia. strategic detachment. you replay things only long enough to catalog the damage, then you lock them away and keep moving.

but rafe lingers and that’s the problem.

you walk down the stairwell with your keys already in your hand, pulse steady, posture relaxed like you didn’t just leave him sitting there with his chest cracked open and his thoughts spiraling. the night air hits your skin and for a second—just one—you feel it. the ghost of his hands. the heat of him. the way his focus felt like pressure.

you hate that part, because having a hot ass guy like rafe is scary.

not in the obvious way. not in the ‘he might hurt me way’—though that’s there too, faint and familiar. it’s scarier because he could always just leave. because men like him do. because men like him get bored, get curious, get greedy. because you’ve seen how easily attention drifts when someone better, shinier, less complicated walks by.

and worse—so could you. that’s the part you don’t like to sit with.

you know you’re hot. you know it the way you know gravity exists—undeniable. you see it in reflections, in the way people look twice, in the way rafe’s voice tightens when he thinks you’re about to slip through his fingers.

two hot people together don’t make sense in your head. it feels unstable. volatile. like putting two open flames too close and pretending there won’t be collateral damage.

it feels like intentionally walking toward cheating. not because you want to betray anyone—but because attraction like that never stays contained. because someone always wants more. because someone always gets curious about what else is out there.

because someone always leaves first.

you unlock your car and sit there for a moment, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield without really seeing anything.

rafe won’t sleep tonight, you know that. he’ll lie there replaying everything—what he said, what you didn’t. the way you looked past him like he was a feeling instead of a person. the way you left without apologizing. without promising anything.

that’s what gets him. you didn’t make it a moment. you didn’t make it special. you didn’t anchor it with reassurance or softness or false intimacy. you treated it like something that simply happened—and for him, that’s unbearable.

he needs things to mean something.

you need them not to.

rafe has always been intense like that. even at the café, wiping down counters with his sleeves pushed up, jaw tight, eyes tracking you like you’re the only variable in the room that matters. the way he leans a little too close when he hands you your cup. the way his smile flickers when you don’t flirt back.

he doesn’t know what to do with someone who won’t reflect him.

and god—he’s so into it. into you. into the mystery. into the way you never reassure him. into the quiet distance that makes him work harder, think deeper, spiral faster. you can feel it every time he touches you—like he’s trying to solve something instead of just experience it.

you’re not sure if that makes you powerful or cruel. probably both.

you start the car. the engine turns over smoothly, grounding. familiar. safe.

you tell yourself you’ll put space between you and him. fewer late night visits. fewer lingering looks over coffee cups. less letting him pull you into rooms that feel too charged to be neutral.

but you don’t believe yourself. because the truth is—you like how unbalanced he gets around you. you like how badly he wants it to matter. you like that you can step in and out of his orbit without losing your footing, while he stays suspended there, waiting.

it’s not love. it’s not even attachment.

it’s tension; and tension doesn’t ask for commitment. it doesn’t ask for honesty. it doesn’t ask you to stay.

you pull away from the curb, already replaying the way his breath hitched when you didn’t look at him. the way his hands hesitated like he was afraid to be too much. the way he whispered your name like it was a confession instead of a fact.

you’ll think about it later.you’ll pretend you won’t.

and rafe…rafe will be thinking about you long after you’ve decided what this is supposed to mean.

and that’s the fucked up part, actually.

because rafe is good. like—annoyingly good. offensively good. why are you like this good.

you hate that your brain keeps circling back to it, keeps making lists you didn’t ask for.

he’s good in bed. not just technically—though yeah, that too—but attentive. like he’s listening to your body even when you’re not saying anything. like he notices the smallest shifts, the pauses, the way you go still instead of louder. like he understands that quiet doesn’t mean bored, it means focused. it means present.

which is unfair. he’s good with you and that’s worse.

he doesn’t push when you pull away. he doesn’t get pissed when you don’t text back for hours. he doesn’t demand explanations. he just… stays open. waiting. hopeful

and god, he likes you. it’s obvious. painfully obvious.

in the way he remembers shit you never thought mattered. the way he asks questions and actually listens to the answers instead of just waiting to talk. the way his voice drops when it’s just the two of you, like he’s letting you in.

it’s terrifying because people who like you like that always want more eventually.

and people like you always leave before they do.

you grip the steering wheel a little tighter, jaw clenched, laughing under your breath because—are you serious right now???

you’re actually utterly fucked???

you have this hot, attentive, emotionally available man who smells sooo good and looks at you like you’re something he’s been searching for—and your brain is like yeah no this is a problem.

because it won’t last.

at least, not in your head, it never does.

you can already see the ending. not even dramatically, just inevitability. the slow shift. the expectations creeping in. the moment he starts needing reassurance you don’t know how to give without lying. the moment he realizes you don’t need him the way he needs you.

and he’ll resent that. or you will. or both.

someone will cheat. emotionally, physically, whatever. not even because you’re cruel, but because intensity like this always looks for somewhere to go. because attraction doesn’t just sit still and behave.

you don’t trust it. you don’t trust yourself. because you know how easily you detach. how quickly you can decide something is over internally and start moving on before the other person even knows there’s a problem. you’ve done it before. you’re good at it. too good. and rafe doesn’t move like that. rafe commits emotionally before he admits it. he lets things root. he lets himself feel it fully, stupidly, openly.

that’s why he’s dangerous to you. not because he’s toxic. because he’s not.

because if he were an asshole, this would be easy. if he were careless or selfish or half nterested, you could justify leaving. you could roll your eyes, cut him off, move on clean.

but he’s kind. and intense. and patient. and good with his hands and his mouth and his attention. and he looks at you like you’re something worth staying for.

and that makes you want to run.

you pull into your driveway and sit there again, engine still on, thoughts still racing, heart doing that annoying thing where it won’t slow down even though nothing is technically wrong.

you picture him back in his apartment—shirt discarded somewhere, sheets messy, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. replaying everything. wondering what you’re thinking. wondering if he did something wrong.

he didn’t.

you did this knowing exactly how it would land. knowing he’d feel it more than you would. knowing you’d walk away mostly intact while he stayed up late with it lodged under his ribs.

and you hate that about yourself. but you don’t hate it enough to stop.

because liking someone this much feels like standing too close to the edge of something irreversible. because staying feels riskier than leaving. because endings feel safer when you plan them in advance.

you shut the car off. silence rushes in.

you tell yourself you’ll pull back. create distance. keep it casual. stop letting it blur into something with weight.

but even as you think it, you already know—the next time you walk into that café late at night and he looks up from behind the counter like that?

you’re going to fold. yeahhh,because rafe will let you.

not because he’s weak—he isn’t. not really. he’s stubborn, volatile, prideful, the kind of man who usually doesn’t bend for anyone. the kind who walks away first just to prove he can.

but when it’s about you?yeah. he bends.

he hates that about himself, too. he knows he shouldn’t be this open, this available, this stupidly loyal to something that doesn’t even have a name. he knows better than to pour himself into a situationship like it’s a lifeline. he knows how this ends—he’s not delusional.

and still.

he’ll let you come and go because it’s you. because you look like that and talk like that and move through the world like you don’t need anyone’s permission. because you’re a smoke show and you don’t even try, which somehow makes it worse. because you’re smart and funny and devastatingly observant. because you’re good with kids in that natural way that makes something ache in his chest when he notices it.

because you were there.

right place. right time. wrong emotional conditions.

and rafe—of course he did—poured his whole ass half-empty black soul into it.

he tells himself it’s casual. he tells himself he’s not attached. that he’s just enjoying the moment. but that’s bullshit and he knows it every time his phone lights up and his heart jumps before his brain can catch up.

it’s why he’d answer your calls even five years later.

no contact. no explanation. no closure.

of fucking course he would. he wouldn’t even hesitate. wouldn’t wonder why. wouldn’t ask what you want. he’d just answer, voice a little rough, pretending he hasn’t imagined this exact scenario a hundred times.

“yeah?” like he hasn’t been waiting.

because to rafe, you’re not just someone he slept with. you’re not just a phase. you’re not just a girl who passed through his life and left a dent.

you’re the one who saw him without flinching, the one who didn’t try to fix him or use him or save him. the one who let him give without promising to stay.

and that ruined him a little.

he knows you’re detached. he feels it in the way you don’t cling, the way you leave without drama, the way you never ask for reassurance. he knows you could disappear tomorrow and survive just fine.

that’s what scares him. because he wouldn’t.

he’d sit with it. he’d replay it. he’d turn it over in his head until it became a story he couldn’t stop telling himself. he’d compare everyone else to you and find them lacking in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

he’s not in love but he’s close enough that it doesn’t matter.

he’s invested. emotionally, stupidly, irreversibly. and even if you never give him more than this—late nights, half-promises, almost-intimacy—he’ll take it. because some version of you is better than none.

that’s the imbalance.

that’s the quiet tragedy of it.

you think it’s obvious this will end…he thinks maybe—just maybe—it doesn’t have to.

and that’s why, when you pull back, he doesn’t chase you loudly. he doesn’t demand answers. he doesn’t corner you with feelings you’ve already decided you can’t hold.

he just wait…open. hopeful. fucked.

because when it comes to you, rafe cameron will always choose the version of himself that stays, even when he knows better. it’s not even that you don’t want him.

that’s the fucked part.

you do want him. obviously. painfully. your body reacts before your brain can even start its little safety lecture. chemistry like that doesn’t lie. it doesn’t ask permission. it just is.

but wanting someone and wanting a life with them are two completely different beasts, and you’ve learned the difference the hard way.

you love your alone time. you need it. you love sitting alone at a bar with a drink you didn’t explain to anyone, phone face down, music too loud in your head. you love not answering. not texting. not checking in. disappearing for a night and reappearing unchanged.

silence feels like oxygen to you.

rafe doesn’t breathe like that. he loves being there. always. constantly. he wants the shared air, the shared space, the shared hours. he’s the kind of person who checks in without realizing it’s a check-in. the kind who texts just because something reminded him of you. the kind who wants to know where you are not to control you, but to feel close.

he’s clingy like that. not in an annoying way—worse. in a sincere, real way.

you give him a finger and he takes the whole hand, not because he’s greedy, but because he thinks you’re offering. because he assumes closeness is an invitation, not a risk. because when he feels something good, his instinct is to lean into it instead of stepping back.

you give him ten minutes of your life and he wants eternity.

he starts imagining routines without meaning to. late nights turning into mornings. your coffee order becoming muscle memory. your absence feeling wrong instead of normal. he doesn’t notice the shift happening until it already has.

you do. you always do.

that’s when the alarm goes off in your head. that sharp, panicked nope. that instinct that says ‘this is how it starts’ this is how expectations form. this is how something beautiful turns heavy.

you don’t want to hurt him but you also don’t want to be held.

and rafe—god—rafe is all hands and knees once he’s in. all presence. all devotion he pretends he doesn’t have. he doesn’t know how to give halfway. doesn’t know how to love lightly. even when he says it’s casual, his actions betray him every single time.

he’s the type who would show up, who would stay. who would try.

and you’re the type who already has one foot out the door just to make sure you still can. it’s survival for you.

you need space the way he needs connection, and neither of you is wrong—but put together, it feels like a countdown. like something with an expiration date you’re both pretending not to see.

he thinks closeness means safety and you think closeness means risk. so you keep it undefined. messy. unnamed. you let it exist in this limbo where no one has to promise anything and no one has to stay.

but deep down, you both know—he’s giving you everything he has in pieces.

and you’re rationing yourself just enough to never disappear.

and that imbalance? yeah. that’s how this ends.

he sits on the edge of his bed long after you’ve gone. the room is dark except for the pale stripe of moonlight slipping through the blinds.

his phone is beside him, silent.

he told himself he wasn’t gonna check it again. he checks it again.

nothing…the screen goes black.

rafe stares at his own reflection for a second before tossing the phone onto the mattress “fuck.”

the word disappears into the empty room because he doesn’t know. that’s the problem, he never fucking knows with you.

some days you look at him like he’s the only thing keeping the earth from splitting open beneath your feet.

other days you look through him like he’s already gone, like you’re practicing, like you’re teaching yourself how to leave before there’s even something to leave behind.

he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

his hands clasp together. unclasp. clasp again.

restless, always fucking restless.

his mind won’t shut up. did you actually mean it when you laughed today?when you touched his arm? when you stayed a little longer than usual? or was it just another thing you did without thinking?

another breadcrumb he’s stupid enough to follow.

his jaw tightens.

because maybe he’s the problem, maybe he’s always been the problem.

he gets attached too fast. cares too much. holds on too hard.

he knows that, always has. it’s like there’s something wrong inside him.

some broken switch. everyone else knows how to want people normally, rafe only knows extremes.

distance or obsession. nothing in between.

he thinks about you, always you, and it makes his chest ache. because he knows exactly what kind of girl you are.

you aren’t built for forever, you aren’t built for promises, you don’t belong to anyone.

that’s what makes you you. you run when things get too close, when people start expecting things.

when love starts sounding like a cage instead of a home.

and somehow—some fucking how—that’s exactly what pulls him toward you. like a moth circling a fire it already knows will burn.

he laughs once. quiet. humorless “good one.” his own voice sounds strange.

because if he was smart, he’d leave. if he was smart, he’d stop answering your calls.

stop letting you crawl under his skin. stop waiting around for messages that may never come.

but rafe has never been smart where people are concerned. especially women, especially broken women. especially the ones who don’t know what to do with the love they’re given.

his father taught him that lesson early, and somehow he keeps relearning it.

over. and over. and over.

his gaze drifts toward the ceiling. the silence feels heavy tonight.

the kind that presses against your ribs. the kind that makes every thought louder

what if you’re just having fun? what if this means more to him than it ever will to you? what if one day he wakes up and realizes he built an entire home inside someone who was only passing through?

the thought makes his stomach twist. because he can already see it.

you leaving…not cruelly.

just…leaving.

the way the tide leaves the shore. natural. inevitable.

you’d probably kiss him goodbye, tell him he’s amazing, tell him he deserves someone better; and then disappear anyway.

and the worst part? he wouldn’t even hate you for it.

he’d understand and that’s what terrifies him.

his eyes close. for a moment he imagines your laugh, your voice, the way you never stay in one place too long like you’re afraid the ground might claim you if you stand still.

and despite everything, despite every warning sign—he wants to reach for you, wants to tell you to stay, wants to be selfish enough to ask.

because maybe that’s the cruel joke of it all. you think closeness is dangerous. and rafe?rafe thinks distance is.

so every time you take a step back, he takes two forward.

every time you disappear, he waits.

every time you leave a door cracked open, he walks through it hoping this time it’ll lead somewhere permanent.

it never does.

yet he keeps trying because that’s all he knows

holding on even when his hands are bleeding.

even when the person he’s holding isn’t holding him back.

his phone lights up suddenly. a notification.

his heart jumps before he can stop it. stupid. pathetic. hopeful.

all at once.

he grabs it and looks down and for a second—just a second—he forgets how to breathe.

His funeral was… nice. It was 5 weeks ago to the day.  Something that was arranged by Ward. Designed by Rose. Not a single touch of the man it was for. A show put on for Ward’s connection. A grieving father of a son he didn’t give a shit about behind the scenes. 

You missed him. It was almost unnatural the way your life seemed now. Everything now seemed out of place. Even brushing your teeth in the morning without his tall figure staring back at you in the mirror felt wrong. You never realized how much impact he had on you. The way you leaned onto each other. Everything without him just felt heavier.

Of all the things, you think you missed his laugh the most. Not the polite one. Not the one he’d give his friends when they thought they were being funny. The one he let out with no one else around. The one that starts in the chest but ends up with him doubled over clutching his stomach.

The silent moments swallowed you whole. The loud pricked at your skin like an invisible safety pin. There was no balance. You were either consumed by your own thoughts of him or you were drowned by everyone’s clear attempt to distract you. Conversations about nothing. Small talk to get your mind off your reality. 

It rarely ever worked. You didn't know how much longer you could take this. 

The cool droplets of rainy days brought no relief. Sunny days brought you no warmth. You felt it on the surface, but nothing could reach deep enough to calm the storm brewing inside of you. It felt like that comfort was something else for other people to feel. 

Speculation swirled around the island about what happened. Or what they think happened. He was the talk of the town even when he wasn’t there anymore.  Rumors were twisted– dramatized. Reshape in a way that either made him look like a hero or a villain. Questions on if you had anything to do with it. None of which were true. 

None explained the way he truly felt. 

He succumbed to the life he created for himself. Every choice he made finally caught up to him. It backed him into a corner he could no longer escape. Even if you were there, he felt nothing but alone. The voices in his head got louder by the day. The berating by Ward only grew more persistent. The drugs felt like they came in by the pound. 

In the end Rafe was alone. He was pushed to his end. By his own fears. He was so far gone that nothing you could do wouldve helped him. Despite everyone reducing him to rumors and tales of what they think happened. No one knows about the small moments kept just between the two of you. 

The ones that weren’t strong enough to keep him around. The ones that had more meaning than anything others could say. That only made it harder on you. 

Ward and Rose were kind enough to let you stay the nights where you just needed the feeling of being close to him. You knew that it was hard on them too. Even with their tough exterior. Even with how difficult they claimed him to be. Or the pressure Ward would put on him, and the blind eye Rose would turn. 

You can see the bags under his eyes, and the way Rose’s face doesn’t brighten up the way it used to. There’s an emptiness to the house now. One they all feel. His bike still sits untouched in the driveway. Your fingers graze it softly every time you walk up. 

You pass the family where you see Sarah and Wheezie sitting together on the couch. Sarah’s arm is wrapped around her sister and you can hear the faint sound of sniffles. You slow your steps as you take in the scene. Your heart breaks for the young girl. Sarah had her fair share of battles with her brother. But Wheezie was too naive to know what went on on the outside. 

She missed her brother and there was nothing to do to ease that pain. Sarah turned briefly, locking eyes with you. She gave you a small, understanding smile in return, making you do the same. 

Upstairs, his room was exactly how he had left it that morning. Now forever frozen as a time capsule of his life. His side of the bed is still messy. The sheets tossed over to the side. An indent still visible on his pillow. Something that should’ve already faded, but it was still there. You didn’t dare to mess with it.

In the closet, his clothes still smelled like him. That musky scent lingered still. Something familiar. It clung to everything. It wasn’t unique. It was a scent that anyone could wear but he could only pull off. His signature. Him.

Your fingers brushed over each item. Finding the navy blue hoodie he wore on one of your dates to the beach. You grabbed it off the hanger, pulling it on. The warmth of him wrapped around you as you held back the tears that threatened to fall. You wiped your eyes as you made your way back to his room. 

On his nightstand, a book laid haphazardly on his nightstand. A journal. One where he wrote all his thoughts down when he believed no one wanted to hear them. When the weight of the voices in his head became too loud. The only way for him to handle it was to get it all out. 

You took everything in one more time, like you’ve done so many times before. 

Nothing’s changed. 

Everything’s the same. 

All of his things will probably never be moved again.

Nothing in his room will ever serve a purpose. 

Every time you walked in you hoped it would be different. That in some sick instance he’d be waiting for you on the other side of the door. 

But it never did. He’d never be there again. 

You slid onto the side of the bed you claimed as yours. The sheets were cool to the touch. Mirroring the feeling inside of you. Not like before. With him. Shifting to your side, looking at the empty space beside you. The bed felt huge now. Not when you weren't pressed against him. Not without his arm around you protectively as you drifted into sleep. 

You could picture the way he looked so at peace when he slept. The slow rise and fall of his chest. Like the weight of the world didn’t rest achingly on his shoulders. He was so beautiful when he was asleep. No furrowed brows. No anger. Just peace. And now you were just alone. 

This was what life was now. 

Just quiet and alone.

an: inspired by a story on wattled - Far from Home by Bianca505298

dividers by @/strangergraphics

You laugh softly to yourself when the handle rattles again, the dull clink of metal against the lock echoing through the quiet room.

You tilt into the door, ear hovering over the wood, your palms pressed flat against it, listening to his frustrated muttering.

Outside, Rafe is still fighting with the lock—a quiet clink and an impatient scrape, a breathy “Come on… Come on…” muttered under his breath.

The metal grinds and his tool falls with a heavy thud to the floor. A quiet, defeated sound slips out of him—like a man who just can’t seem to catch a break. But he doesn’t deserve one. Not just yet, at least.

“Shit,” he hisses as he bends down, picking up the tool and starting again, his shadow shifting in the thin strip of light spilling in from the hallway beyond the door.

Your shoulder leans harder into the door as you listen, hand pressed against your lips so he won’t hear you laughing.

“Please just work,” he stammers, voice low and almost pitiful. Silence falls on the other side of the door, followed by an unmistakable thunk as his forehead rests against the wood.

“Baby?” He murmurs.

You can practically picture him standing there, broad shoulders slumped, lip pouted, one big hand still holding whatever piece of metal he’d been using.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?” He asks, and you don’t answer. He exhales slowly, blowing out a deep breath. “Please… Please open the door, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

You let his words hang heavy in the air, the tension thick even with a threshold between you.

“I know I screwed up tonight,” he says, words tight in his throat, trying to hold back all the things he’s feeling. “And, before—I just… You know—You know how I get… about you.”

The handle shifts again, the little metal something pressing into it, trying again as he spills his heart.

“I just…” He pauses, exhaling slowly against the door. “I just hate the idea of losing you. I hate the idea of someone else seeing you like that—but I shouldn’t tell you what to do. I trust you. I just don’t trust anyone else. That’s my issue, not yours,” his words break, his voice still on the edge of frustrated tears.

“I swear if you let me in I’ll do whatever you want, baby,” he says quietly. “I pushed it when I asked for a kiss, I know. Just—Just let me sleep on the floor. You don’t even have to talk to me.”

You hear him shift on the other side of the door, restless, and broken.

“You know I’m crazy about you,” he mumbles. “Like… embarrassingly so. M’so fucking pathetic for you, please—” He lets out a tired, almost helpless laugh as his back settles against the door, sinking down to the ground.

“I mean you gotta come out sometime, right?” He sighs, getting comfortable on the other side, but it’s not a threat, he’s genuinely hoping to catch you either in a weak moment or on your way to grab something—hoping you’ll step on him on your way out at the very least.

“I’m sorry I’m a mess. I really am,” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath, reaching up to pinch the lock, and the second you do you can hear his heavy feet on the other side, scrambling to stand. By the time you open the door he’s already there, looking down at you, breathing out a shaky sigh.

He bites his lip, holding the words back from breaking free. His hair is wild from raking his fingers through it, eyes red, cheeks splotchy from frustration, his jaw so tight it looks like it could break.

And, you were right before—he looked tortured and he hasn’t changed. His eyebrows draw in like he’s hoping to hear something that sounds like forgiveness, like he’s hoping he’ll get the second chance he’s been begging for.

His blue eyes shine, a few stray tears threatening to spill if you shut the door again and send him home without you.

You stare at him for another second, letting him sweat just a little longer before you step to the side.

Rafe hesitates for half a second, trying to decide if you’re serious. Then he walks in, looking around your room nervously, not knowing what to do or where you want him. Like he assumes it’s the floor—even if he still looks a little hopeful.

You step back from the doorway slowly, folding your arms across your chest as he lingers just inside the room. He shifts his weight awkwardly, glancing around the room before looking back at you.

“Where do you want me?” He asks softly. “The floor?”

Your eyes roll immediately, long and exaggerated, gesturing lazily toward the foot of the bed.

He exhales through his nose, relief softening the tension in his shoulders as he moves to sit down where you pointed. The mattress dips under his weight.

His elbows rest on his knees, hands hanging loosely between them as he stares down at the floor like a man waiting for a verdict.

You walk toward him and his head lifts immediately.

His thighs shift apart as you approach, giving you space without even thinking about it. He expected you to stop a few steps away—expecting distance, maybe another lecture, maybe even a sarcastic jab.

His hands move carefully, settling against the backs of your thighs. You look down at him, arms still folded, expression bitter and annoyed but your eyes give you away.

Because no matter how irritated you are—no matter how much trouble he caused tonight—you still look at him like he’s yours.

Rafe looks back up at you the way he always does when he knows he’s screwed up. Like a big, pathetic, sorry-for-himself puppy.

“M’sorry, baby,” he says quietly as his rough thumbs drag slowly over the back of your legs. “Thank you for letting me say that to your face.”

His face softens and he reaches forward, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you closer until the space between you disappears completely.

Your hands come up, settling around the back of his neck, your fingers drifting into the hair at his nape, the contact instantly unraveling him, making his shoulders drop as soon as he feels it.

“I love you,” he says quietly.

You roll your eyes instinctively, but your hands don’t move from where they’re resting around his neck.

You lean down just enough for your voice to drop softer between you, his breath held as he waits to hear what you’ll say next.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your eyes sliding away for a moment, trying not to give him the benefit of a smile. But he looks so happy to be here. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” The insult lands soft, and he knows it.

A crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth because of it, and he chuckles warmly under his breath.

“I deserved that,” he admits, then tilts his head up a little, looking back at you properly, his expression turning serious again. “Can we just go back? Back to how things were before tonight? Before I started acting like a fuckin’ psycho and ruining everything?”

His hands tighten around your waist, not just pleading with his words but with his whole damn being.

“Just give it one more shot, alright? You and me.”

You study his face for a moment. Your fingers card through his messy hair, damp at the roots from nervous sweat. His eyes are red from rubbing his hands over them in frustration, looking so painfully sincere it’s almost annoying after everything.

“One more chance,” you whisper, like it pains you to cave. His thumbs still on your skin, he stares at you, not expecting you to actually say that.

“Really?”

“One.”

“I won’t fuck up, alright? Promise. You have my word,” he assures, biting his cheek and holding back a smile, not wanting to get ahead of himself or get too happy too fast because he sees the look in your eyes too.

“I’m serious.”

“Not gonna waste any more of your time actin’ like that. I took it too far,” he sighs.

“You think?” You chuckle tiredly and he blows out a raspberry.

“Got a little crazy back there, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” you scoff. “You were trying to bait me into a parking lot.”

“Was not,” he mumbles, not even able to look you in the eye as he lies.

“Rafe—”

“Guilty.” His head drops back, eyes shut like he’s reliving it all. “You have fun at dinner?”

Your eyes soften on his when his eyes return to you, and he winces at the ridiculousness of the question—like fighting with him wouldn’t have affected the trajectory of your night. Like you weren’t still feeling hurt despite putting him through the wringer.

“Stupid fuckin’ question,” he sighs.

Rafe leans back slightly so he can take you in, his hands landing at your waist as his eyes travel slowly down.

Then he breaks. A boyish smile tugs at his mouth as his finger traces lightly beneath the edge of your dress at your thigh, brushing your skin before he looks back up at you.

“You look stunning.”

You roll your eyes so hard it makes him laugh. “Relax,” you mutter.

He tips his chin up just slightly, his gaze flicking down to your mouth and then back to your eyes.

He doesn’t say anything. The silent request is so loud it almost makes you laugh this time. You sigh like you’re inconvenienced by the whole thing, but you lean down anyway.

The kiss lands soft at first, thankful and warm. His lips move against yours tenderly, like he’s reclaiming what he’d lost.

His hand slides up your back, pressing gently between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer. The other stays down by your side, drifting higher under your dress. Then he pauses; his breath catching in his chest for a second.

His fingers still for a second, like his brain is trying to catch up with what he just felt. “…Baby.” His hand shifts slightly, brushing the mesh hidden underneath.

“Mhmm,” you breathe as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Please don’t tell me you wore this to the bar,” he says. The words come out half-joking, half-wounded, jealousy still bubbling under the surface no matter how well he tries to hide it.

You look down at him calmly, lifting an eyebrow at him, letting him know the ice he’s skating on is thin. Paper fucking thin. “No.”

He purses his lips, trying to remain neutral.

“I wore this to a girls’ dinner,” you continue. “And then,” you add, leaning forward again so your mouth brushes his when you speak. “I was going to come to your place and let you take it off me.”

He lets out a quiet laugh against your mouth, the sound warm and disbelieving as his forehead drops forward to rest gently against yours.

“I am such a goddamn idiot,” he mutters as you let out a sound of agreement.

Rafe barely lets the utterance leave your lips before he moves. One arm slides firmly around your waist while the other comes up to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb pressing warm and steady along your jaw as he pulls you into him.

His eyes drop to your mouth for half a breathless second before his lips are on you again, like he’s giving you a chance to pull him away—but you tug him closer instead, the passion in his kiss almost knocking the breath out of you.

Your head spins, but he grounds you with a hand at your neck, tilting your face slightly, fingers spreading gently along your cheek while the arm around your waist tightens, drawing you closer until there’s barely space left between you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he mumbles against your lips, his words breathed out between kisses.

Your body warms, fingers curling into the back of his shirt. His forehead bumps lightly against yours when he pulls back.

“Tell me I’m yours,” he continues quietly. “C’mon.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper.

“Just tell me,” he says, almost pleading now. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

The relief that crosses his face is immediate. He exhales softly against your mouth, kissing you again—slower this time, softer, like he’s savoring the words.

Then his brow furrows slightly. “What were you trying to tell me earlier?” He asks, breath still heavy.

You blink back at him, still floating and dizzy from the kiss. “What?”

“The messages,” he says, watching you carefully now, and realization makes your stomach drop. “The voice ones.”

Your expression shifts just enough for him to notice.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admits quietly. “You were saying stuff and I couldn’t open any of it.” His thumb brushes lightly along the side of your face again. “You said a lot, baby. What did you say?”

“Nothing,” you whisper, leaning in for his lips, but he frowns immediately.

“That wasn’t nothing, sweetheart.”

“It was nothing,” you mumble as you kiss the corner of his mouth.

He leans back slightly now, studying your face more closely, squinting back at you uneasily. “Gimme your phone.”

You laugh immediately, clipped and quick. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

He tilts his head, wheels turning a hundred miles an hour now as he weighs the risk of pushing you after everything. “Why are you being weird about it?”

“I’m not being weird,” you add, your voice cracking a little.

“You are absolutely being weird.” Rafe watches you for another second, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Baby.”

“Mhmm,” you hum.

“Gimme the phone,” he says again.

“Rafe—”

“What did you say in those messages?” He cuts in, reaching out to grab your phone himself, unlocking it, the screen glowing against his hardened features.

At first he just focuses on the screen, scrolling back through the messages you sent earlier. His thumb hovers over the first voice message again, the same one he’d been trying to play since the moment you sent it.

But the longer he looks at them, the quieter he gets. “…Baby,” he says slowly.

“Yup?” You answer as he exhales, his eyes locked on the text thread.

“You sent a lot of these.”

He swallows thick and hard, thumb hovering over the messages, looking up at you again, and the look on his face makes your stomach drop.

“…It must’ve been bad,” he says honestly. “I mean this whole situation’s bad but…”

“But what?” You ask as he glances down at your phone again.

“Whatever you were saying,” he explains slowly. “If you had that much to say and I couldn’t hear any of it…” He runs a hand through his hair anxiously. “…it probably was about a hell of a lot more than just tonight.”

Rafe shifts his weight on the mattress, shoulders tense now.

“Must’ve been other stuff too,” he mutters.

Your heart is absolutely racing now because this has gotten wildly out of hand. “Rafe—”

His hand is trembling just slightly when he presses it, but nothing happens.

He presses it again. Still nothing.

“What the fuck,” he mutters and you wince, biting your lip.

“Remember how much of an asshole you were tonight?” You say weakly, which only makes him tap the screen even harder like that’ll make it work.

Rafe exhales and lets out a small laugh under his breath, shaking his head like he’s embarrassed. “Help me out here, baby,” he sighs, holding the phone up between you. “I cannot figure this shit out.”

You press your lips together, and his eyes tighten, brows pulling together.

“Rafe, I—”

“Did something happen at the bar?” He asks quickly. “Is that what you were trying to tell me?”

“No!” You cut in, shaking your head immediately.

“Then what the fuck’s the problem, huh?” He asks nervously.

“It’s just—” You start.

“It’s what?” His words trip over yours, his frustration getting the better of him.

“Those voice messages… They—Well, they aren’t real.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” The words punch out of him as he snatches your phone back, tapping the screen like you’re lying.

“They’re fake…”

“Fake? What do you mean fake?”

“Open the browser,” you mumble, and he does, staring down at the screen as symbols.com stares back at him. The word copied with a little check next to it, like a receipt of the torment he fell for.

His mouth slowly falls open, nose scrunching in disgust. “And you’re tellin’ me,” he says slowly, “that I’ve been losin’ my fucking mind all night over nothing. You sat there and watched me spiral over this shit. And the worst part is you were probably laughing the whole time.”

“Well… I mean. Yeah?”

“I was sittin’ in the car thinking you were breaking up with me…”

“We were.”

He scoffs like the two words that just left your lips were somehow a lie, gesturing weakly at your phone in his hand. “You are insane,” he says, his eyes wild, lips quivering, not sure whether to smile or not.

You fold your arms across your chest again as you look up at him.

“You deserved it.”

His eyes widen at your words, expression halfway between disbelief and complete admiration. He lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he glances back down at the messages.

“I did.”

“All of it,” you add.

Rafe finally sets the phone down on the bed beside him, his hand dragging over his face as he exhales hard and long.

“I was sitting there thinkin’ you were finally done with me for good,” he continues quietly. “Like you’d had enough, and I just couldn’t hear it. Literally.”

You step in and his hands slide around your waist again, pulling you closer. “But for the record,” he adds softly, leaning down toward your mouth, “I would’ve listened to every single one of those messages—”

“And cried,” you finish his sentence, smiling against his lips.

“I was already doin’ that,” he mumbles for you, the words so quiet you barely catch them.

“Knew it.”

“You drive me insane,” he sighs before he kisses you again, your hand coming down to reach for the hem of his shirt.

Your fingers hook into the fabric, pulling upward, and he laughs softly against your mouth when he realizes what you’re doing, lifting his arms automatically so you can drag the shirt over his head.

His hands settle right back on you the second the shirt’s gone, leaning in to deepen the kiss while his fingers trace along your waist, his mouth still curved in that disbelieving half-smile as he tries to process all the chaos.

“You better send my fuckin’ money back,” he mutters half-serious, half-laughing against your mouth.

“I already did.”

He groans like he’s disappointed—like he expected you to stand firm and keep it all. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Your lips brush against his mouth, fingers tugging into his hair. “I don’t want your money, Rafe.”

“Well you deserve it,” he counters.

“I know.” You pause just long enough to make him smile suspiciously before adding, “that’s why I kept three-fifty.”

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, laughing lightly. “Giving me a deal, huh? Would’ve paid anything to get back in here.”

“I know,” you answer honestly.

“Nine messages,” he murmurs against your lips and you laugh.

“Mhmm,” you say, not giving him an ounce of pity about it either.

“Nine fake voice messages,” he continues quietly as he traces your jaw. “Nothing… Just you fucking with me.”

“You fucked with me first,” you whisper, and Rafe exhales a quiet laugh at that as his hands slide lower, finding the zipper at the back of your dress.

The zipper glides down slowly beneath his fingers and the dress loosens immediately, the fabric slipping down your shoulders before falling softly to the floor around your feet. “What did I do to deserve you, huh?”

He looks at you for a second after he says it, still trying to understand how the night went from losing you to somehow getting you back. His eyes flicker over your face, then your mouth, then the lingerie you had put on just for him—and somehow, he still gets to see it.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, lifting you easily off the floor, tossing you back onto the bed. Your body bounces against the mattress, and by the time you try to prop yourself up on your elbows, he’s already climbing over you, bracing his weight above you while his hands catch your wrists and press them into the mattress on either side of your head.

He looks down at you with a tilted smile, his hair still messy, his breathing uneven. “You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you,” he warns, but there’s still something shaken under the surface. You can feel it in the way he looks at you—in the way his grip keeps tightening like he still hasn't calmed down or gotten over the idea that the two of you had broken up.

Just like before, you try to roll your eyes and scowl, but the smile curling at your mouth gives you away.

His rough thumbs brush slowly along your wrist, where he’s holding you, kissing you like a claim. His weight settles over you, warm and solid, the strength of his body pressing you deeper into the bed.

His shoulders flex every time he shifts closer, his tanned skin warm against yours, his chain dangling off his neck, landing cool against your hot skin.

You keep lifting your head off the pillow to follow him when he pulls back even slightly, leaving you chasing his mouth. Each time you do it he lets out the faintest laugh against your lips, the sound making a steady pulse beat between your thighs.

His hands slide up your arms, gathering your wrists above your head in one hand. His body grinds at the same time, the rough denim of his jeans dragging against your mesh panties.

The chill of his belt buckle brushes against your skin, pulling a quiet breath out of you. Your back arches instinctively, fingers tightening into fists, his fingers curling a little tighter to keep you in place. His stomach tightens, abs going hard every time his hips rock, every little shift making your body react.

His free hand drops between you to work at his belt as you kiss him through it, smiling against his mouth when he finally manages to shove his jeans down far enough to give himself room to kick them off. The whole time his mouth keeps finding yours again between breaths, refusing to lose you for longer than he has to.

You moan against his mouth when his hand cups your pussy, clicking his tongue like he knew this is exactly how he’d find you—soaking wet. “If I wasn’t such an asshole earlier,” he rasps, his voice breaking with need, “you’d probably be crying by now.”

You giggle, bratty and breathless, before his tongue slips into your mouth, rolling slowly as his fingers do the same, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

“Laughin’ at me, huh?” He says. “Still think this shit’s funny?”

“Mhmm,” you whimper then gasp against his lips as he pinches your clit between his fingers, his lips sucking and biting down on your bottom lip just enough to pinch.

“Getting pretty confident, sweetheart,” he murmurs as his mouth hovers over yours, slapping your clothed cunt, making your hips buck into his hand.

Rafe slowly rises up onto his knees above you, his eyes never leaving your face as he pulls down his boxers, his cock slapping against his bare skin with a snap. His gaze drifts down your body, taking in every inch of soft skin and delicate fabric.

“So fucking pretty for me,” he murmurs quietly.

Your hands shift instinctively and he catches the movement, snatching your wrists again to push them into the bed with a little more muscle.

“Keep your hands where they are,” he whispers against your lips.

The mesh between your thighs is already clinging to your skin, practically opaque from how wet you already are. He exhales slowly through his nose and shakes his head as he takes his dick in his fist.

“Thank you,” he mutters under his breath, tapping the wet fabric with his tip, the precum gathered on his hard skin mixed with your arousal on the slick material separating the two of you. “For lettin’ me back in… Fuck, I don’t deserve you—”

You pout slightly, wanting to feel his skin instead, and he notices that too. He shakes his head with a laugh, the kind that tells you he knows, and that’s precisely why he’s gonna make you wait.

“Not yet,” he says.

“You’re lucky you’re here, Rafe,” you counter, tauntingly.

“Just said ‘thank you’, didn’t I?”

You sigh dramatically and he laughs, thoroughly enjoying the fact that you’re impatient as he traces himself along your slit. The fabric drags against his sensitive skin, rubbing along you with every slow pass.

He thrusts his hips forward, the tip pressing there, and warmth spreads through your body despite the thin barrier still between you.

The pressure alone is enough to pull a moan from both of you. You bite down on your lip, both of your hands clawing into the sheets beside your head, twisting the fabric between your fingers as his cock rubs over your clit again and again.

Your eyes roll back as he spits on the place where the two of you meet, his hard cock slicking through the wetness, making you feel even more, stroking in a rough, steady rhythm.

Your tongue runs along your bottom lip and the knot in your stomach tightens. Your pleasure builds, the sight of his strong body rolling into you without penetration doing nothing but teasing just how deep his cock would go, pre cum dripping off his tip as it drags across your skin.

“I’m trying to tease you,” he pants. “Looks like it feels pretty good though.”

“Yes, fuck,” you whimper, matching his movements with a swivel of your hips.

Rafe keeps talking you through it, his voice low and warm as the praise slips out between sharp breaths. “You’re doing so good,” he tells you, looking up at your hands as you white-knuckle the bedsheets; his eyes falling to your thighs to watch them quake. “You gonna cum for me?” He asks and you whimper a ‘yes’.

You cum with his name on your lips and your pussy pulsing around nothing as he continues to stroke. Your eyes pinch shut and your hands reach for him quickly, grabbing him by the hair and the neck to pull him to your lips. He swallows your moans, not letting up his movement until you're melting underneath him, your mind doing the same.

He grips you firmly and shifts your body in one smooth motion, guiding you forward and turning you until you are on your hands and knees, his big body pressing flush behind you, hard cock swinging between your thighs.

Rafe’s hands settle on your hips first, sliding a little higher until his palms are full, squeezing and kneading your ass in his hands. His hands drag slow circles over your skin while you glance back over your shoulder at him, and the smugness painted all over his face starts to bleed out of him.

“Did I tell you I was a fucking idiot?” He murmurs quietly, his thumbs tracing along the hem of your panties like he’s deciding whether to move them aside or make you wait, choosing the latter, snapping the fabric against your skin with a smirk.

You laugh, still trying to catch your breath, rolling your eyes for the nth time this evening. His hand leaves your body, reaching forward until his fingers curl under your chin.

He guides you back toward him so your spine arches and your shoulders dip, bringing your mouth close enough that he can lean forward and kiss you over your shoulder.

“I fucking love you, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, slow and sure.

You smile softly at that, your lips capturing his, sucking and tugging as you pull away. “I love you too.”

“So good to me,” he mumbles. “When you wanna be.”

“You’re so stupid,” you whisper and he chuckles. “I’m too good to you—”

“I know, baby,” he cuts in.

“You on the other hand… are still being an asshole, Rafe Cameron.”

“The fuck I am,” he counters playfully, spanking your thigh, making you press your ass into him further.

“You’re teasing me when you should be fucking me,” you say and he just smiles against your lips toying with you still.

“Oh, shit. Is that what you want?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as his hands return to your hips, sliding lower again as he shifts behind you. His palms spread over you while he adjusts his position slightly.

He wants more—you can see it all over his face, feel how painfully hard he is when he slaps his dick against your ass but still he resists.

You reach down instinctively, your fingers brushing the edge of your panties as you start to shift them aside.

“Hands on the bed, sweetheart.”

“Rafe,” you scold but all he does is snicker, his hand cupped below your lips for spit.

“Put that mouth to good use—yellin’ at me like you didn't just cum,” he taunts as you spit in his hand. “There we go. Good fuckin’ girl.” He pushes his luck and he knows it.

He rubs the spit over his stiff cock, eyes unwavering on your body, resting his hands on the globes of your ass, gliding his dick through the narrow space between his thumbs.

Stroke after stroke, tease after tease, his heavy balls slap against your clit with each push of his hips, making the muscles in your body jump with sensitivity.

You look over your shoulder with a scowl and stare that looks like a threat, but you refuse to beg. And, Rafe knows it.

A quiet chuckle slips out of him. “Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “I know. I don’t deserve it. Not tonight,” he breathes and just when you think you won, he grips your panties and thrusts, his thick dick tracing between your ass, tip pushing against the rough mesh of your panties, still not giving you what you want.

“So damn wet,” he groans as his balls finally slap against your pussy, skin against skin, the wet smack filling the room along with his moans as you whimper and whine. “Fuck, I could probably get off just like this—”

“I dare you,” you scoff through a sharp breath, feeling yourself getting closer and closer from the smacking of his balls against your clit alone, but you want more.

“Where the fuck are you goin’?” He jabs, catching you as you crawl forward like you've finally had enough, yanking you back, grabbing your panties in his fist, just to wrap them around the base of his cock, binding you together before he pushes deep in your pussy.

You moan in succession, your head falling forward and his throwing back as he bottoms you out completely.

“Oh—Oh shit, baby,” he groans, stalling out for a moment as your wet warmth surrounds him, your body squeezing him tight. So wet he’s pinching his eyes shut, thinking about anything else but the moment to keep from cumming on the spot.

His hips draw back, tightening the panties around your waist, squeezing the thickness of his cock the farther he goes from you, the stitches of the fine material sounding like they might snap.

He presses forward slow, watching his dick dip deep. The panties wrapped around him make his cock redder, the veins mapping each inch standing higher—until his body is flush with your ass.

“Holy shit, Rafe,” you moan, rolling your hips a little, his blunt fingernails digging into your ass at the feeling. “Plea—”

“Nah, I got you,” he stops you before you can beg, his strokes picking up slowly until he’s pounding into you, the wet mess that he made squelching through the room, both of you sure you aren’t going to last much longer like this.

“Feels so fucking good,” he grits out, one hand landing against your shoulder before dragging down your arm, searching for your hand. His fingers wrap tightly around yours, pinned against your back, your face coming down to press against the mattress as he cracks you at the perfect angle.

You whimper that you’re close, the words barely making it out of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m cumming,” Rafe stammers, and his grip tightens around your hand, your pleasure enough for him to break, jaw tightening, brows furrowing, filling you up but refusing to stop until you finish.

You follow close behind him, pussy fluttering around his cock as it throbs inside you, leaving him sucking in a breath as you milk him dry.

Rafe’s hand is still locked with yours when he finally shifts. The room around you is thick with sex and heat, but the tension that had been weighing on you all night is gone now.

He pulls you back against his chest, his skin damp and his heart thundering against your back—the two of you trying desperately to catch your breaths. He presses a soft kiss against your shoulder and then another against the side of your neck, adrenaline leaving his lips trembling against your hot skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs quietly again.

“I know,” you whisper, and he makes a quiet sound against your skin, still waiting, still needing to hear it back. His teeth graze you in a playful little bite that makes you laugh softly before you finally give in. “I love you too,” you sigh.

His arms wrap around you a little tighter, nuzzling into your skin like he can’t help himself.

“Thank fucking god,” he mutters. “Thought I lost you, baby.” Your eyes cut over to his, lips parting to speak—to remind him he did, but he cuts you off with his lips on yours.

You whimper as he pulls out, the loose panties tumbling uselessly off your hips. Rafe grabs for you, using his strength to haul you right where he wants you, rolling you on top of him. Your hands rest on his chest while his big arms wrap around your body, keeping you close.

He looks up at you and sighs, brushing your hair out of your face. A thankful smile slides across his lips before he speaks.

“I’m not losing you again.”

you remembered the stories before you knew the man. how a single decision ended the Sheriff’s life , a crack of a gunshot that never really stopped echoing- and still let him touch you.

he, now, does so many gentle things…like affection comes naturally to him. sometimes you almost believe it does, sometimes. absent kisses to your shoulders, holds doors, remembers how you like your coffee. but history clings to him, and that doesn’t disappear, it just waits to be let out.

even tho he’s absurdly gentle with you, the unsettling part isn’t his temper anymore, it’s how controlled he is now.

“i told you to not fucking do that anymore, didn’t i?” he raises his voice at you, for the hundredth time tonight

you flinch before you can stop yourself.

rafe’s pacing now back and forth across the living room, hands dragging over his buzzed hair, breath uneven. his face is flushed, ears red, that familiar heat crawling up his neck the way it does when something inside him finally slips loose.

“you think i don’t see it?” he snaps. “standing there laughing with him touching his arm like that?”

“rafe, i wasn’t—” you try.

“don’t” his hand cuts through the air. “don’t you fucking lie to me.”

the words hit harder than the volume. you feel them settle somewhere deep in your chest, heavy and humiliating. tears blur your vision before you even realize they’ve started. it had been nothing. a coworker walking you to your car. a joke after a long shift. normal things. harmless things

but normal doesn’t exist where rafe is concerned.

he stops pacing suddenly, turning toward you like he’s just remembered you’re the center of all this anger.

“you know how people look at you,” he says, quieter now which somehow makes it worse “you know what they want.”

his jaw tightens “and you just… smile at them anyway.”

your throat burns. “i was just being nice”

rafe laughs “yeah. yeah, that’s the fucking problem.” he steps closer “you’re always nice. too nice. acting like people don’t have intentions.”

you back up instinctively until the couch hits behind your knees.

his voice rises again, frustration spilling over. “do you even think sometimes? or do you just like the attention? huh?” his hands gesture wildly now. “you like making me look stupid?”

the accusation breaks something inside you “i wasn’t trying to—”

“you never try, that’s the point!” he interrupts, running a hand over his mouth, breathing hard “you just do whatever you want and expect me to be okay with it.”

tears slip freely noe. you hate crying in front of him. hate how small it makes you feel

for a moment he keeps going — muttering under his breath, pacing again, anger searching for somewhere to land. words spilling out rough and careless.

“fuckin’ clueless sometimes… swear to god—

then he looks at you properly, really looks, annd stops.

your shoulders are curled inward, eyes glassy, trying not to sob out loud. hands twisted together like you’re bracing for impact that never comes.

the silence stretches. rafe exhales sharply, like the anger drains all at once

“shit,” he mutters.

he crosses the distance fast this time, hands coming up to cradle your face before you can pull away. his grip is firm — almost desperate — thumbs brushing under your eyes, catching tears as they fall.

“hey… hey.” his voice drops, rougher now, shaken“don’t cry. c’mon.”

you turn your face slightly, hurt still fresh, but he follows immediately, forehead pressing against yours.

“i just—” he swallows hard. “i hate when people look at you like that.”

another tear slips free.

his expression twists, anger turning inward “you don’t get it,” he murmurs, softer. “you don’t see what i see.”

his mouth presses to your cheek, then beneath your eye, kissing away the wetness with surprising gentleness. slow, apologetic touches replacing every harsh word from moments before.

again. and again.

“mine,” he whispers against your skin, barely audible

his hands slide to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your breathing matches his.

the intensity doesn’t disappear. it never does. just changes shape.

as if the yelling wasn’t the frightening part.

as if this quiet devotion —the way his anger folds instantly into tenderness is what truly keeps you rooted beside hi

his lips brush your temple one last time.

“i just need you to be careful,” he murmurs

and you realize he means careful of everyone else. never him.

his thumb is still resting beneath your eye when you pull back. ust enough to breathe, just enough to look at him clearly.

rafe frowns immediately, sensing the shift before you even speak — that instinct he has, the one that notices distance like a threat

“what?” he asks quietly.

you shake your head, wiping the rest of your tears yourself this time. his hand lingers in the air for a second before falling uselessly to his side.

the apartment feels smaller now. heavier.

“i’m tired, rafe.”

he exhales through his nose. “yeah, well, join the—”

“no.” your voice cracks, but you don’t stop.“not tired like that.”

he goes still.

you laugh weakly, shaking your head again, because suddenly everything feels ridiculous —the yelling, the apologies, the way he breaks you down just to hold you together again.

“i’m tired of this,” you say. “of us.”

his expression hardens instantly. defense snapping into place “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you gesture vaguely between you. “this back and forth. you screaming at me one minute and acting like i’m the only thing keeping you alive the next.”

his jaw ticks “don’t exaggerate.”

“i’m not.” your voice rises now, frustration finally catching fire. “we’re not even together, rafe.”

that lands. you see it. small recoil — almost invisible —but real.

“we spend every night together,” he says, slower now. careful “you’ve basically moved in.”

“that’s not the same thing”

he scoffs“sounds pretty fuckin’ official to me.”

“it’s not!” you snap “because when people ask what we are, you go quiet. when someone calls me your girlfriend, you change the subject.”

silence.

you swallow hard, forcing the words out anyway. “i’m twenty-four,” you say, softer now “not eighteen. i don’t want… whatever this is anymore. i want something real. stable. something that doesn’t make me feel like i’m constantly doing something wrong.”

rafe stares at you like you’ve just spoken another language

his hands settle on his hips, pacing once again — slower this time, agitation simmering instead of exploding

“so what,” he mutters. “this is about labels now?”

it hurts how casually he says it.

“it’s about feeling secure,” you reply. “it’s about not wondering every time you get mad if you’re just gonna disappear on me again.”

he stops walking. his back faces you.

“i don’t disappear.”

you laugh bitterly. “you shut down for days, rafe. you act like i don’t exist until you decide you need me again.”

his shoulders tense, the truth always makes him meaner

“you think this is easy for me?” he turns suddenly, voice rising “you think i just wake up knowing how to do this shit?”

“then talk to me!”

“i am talking!”

“no — you’re controlling!” the word slips out before you can soften it.

wrong move.

his expression changes instantly. hurt folding into anger so fast it makes your stomach drop.

“controlling?” he repeats, incredulous “because i don’t like some dude eye-fucking you at work?”

“because you treat me like i belong to you when you won’t even call me yours!”

the words echo.too loud. too honest.

rafe’s breathing turns uneven, chest rising and falling as something deeper surfaces not rage exactly. fear wearing anger’s face.

“you are mine,” he says finally, quieter. it isn’t romantic.

you shake your head. “see? that’s exactly it.”

he steps closer, slow, cautious now, like approaching a deer “you don’t get it,” he murmurs “i don’t… do relationships like normal people.”

“then what am i doing here?” your voice breaks. “waiting until you decide i’m worth claiming?”

his face twists “that’s not—”

“i need more than stolen mornings and fights that end with you kissing me ot fucking me like you’re sorry,” you whisper. “i need consistency. i need to know you’re choosing me —not just keeping me close because you’re scared to lose me.”

the room goes painfully quiet.

rafe looks at you like he’s standing at the edge of something he doesn’t know how to cross.

his hands come up again, slower this time, resting carefully on your waist. not trapping. holding.

“you think i don’t choose you?” he asks, voice rough.

you don’t answer. because choosing shouldn’t hurt this much.

his forehead drops against yours, breath shaky now — stripped of arrogance, stripped of control.

“you know what happens when i let people get too close,” he murmurs. “you know what i’ve done.”

the unspoken hangs between you. peterkin. the gunshot. everything after. everything before

his grip tightens slightly “i’m trying,” he says. “with you… i’m actually trying.”

and suddenly he sounds younger. not nineteen — but not healed either, just terrified.

his nose brushes yours, eyes searching your face like he’s afraid you’re already halfway gone.

“how deep do you want this to go, huh?” he whispers“because when i love someone…”

his voice falters.

danger flickers there again. devotion sharpened into something consuming “…i don’t know how to do it halfway. healthy”

his lips press against yours — not desperate, not angry — but heavy. lingering. like confession instead of apology.

and you realize the real problem isn’t that rafe refuses to love you.

it’s that loving you, for him, has never meant safety. only depth. only obsession

more more of this rafe… taglist

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He watches you move, hips lifting back into a stretch, momentarily easing the war waging in his mind. He exhales through his nose, chest tightening, muscles flexing without him meaning to as he adjusts the waistband of his gym shorts, the movement subtle but not accidental.

And you do. Your cheeks burn as you catch him in the act, his baby blue eyes finding yours as he adjusts the cap on his head, biceps swelling with the movement. You bite your lip and smile, fanning the fire of his ego, not knowing just how much he needed the reminder.

He looks down at his phone, opening TikTok for an ab exercise, only to be hit with a University of Michigan hockey post like a slap in the fucking face.

A slow-motion game day edit—your ex stepping off the team bus in a tailored charcoal suit, headphones on, jaw chiseled, the caption reading Hobey Baker Candidate looking sharp. #GoBlue.

The scene around him looks sickeningly familiar as he steps off the bus in front of the rink—your arena. Too close for comfort. Rafe scrolls past, jaw so tight it could crack, jealousy scraping at the last bit of his patience.

His eyes flick back to you, watching as you choose another song, your back arched slightly as you reach for your phone on the mat in front of you, and for a split second he wonders if you’re stretching for a better angle—or if you just got a text…

Maybe one from ghosts of punchable boyfriends past who would seize the opportunity of proximity if given a fuckin’ chance. I mean, he would. And maybe knowing exactly how your ex operates is what makes it feel that much heavier. The thought claws at him, turning the sweat on his skin cold.

He scrolls again, intending to shake it off, landing on a workout video. Fucking finally. He blows out a tight breath, watching the video play, some guy on the screen struggling through a basic core exercise, the caption below it reading #plankuntilfailure.

Whatever.

He scrolls to the next video, and as the algorithm does what algorithms do, some girl stares into the void with digital hearts beaming in her eyes, white text scrolling across the screen, “my genuine reaction to him sending me a plank until failure video.”

Rafe clicks into the comments—met with an endless section of “me too girls” and “this is my whole FYP.” He looks up at himself in the mirror, assessing the situation, seeing himself staring back—a mess of jealousy and post-workout sweat, an old frat T-shirt tucked into a pair of Champion shorts that had seen better days.

He doesn’t do this shit. He doesn’t film workouts for validation. He doesn’t set his phone up at the gym and pretend it’s casual. That second-guessing comes to a halt at the simple sound of a giggle.

Your laugh bubbles in the corner of the room, soft and distracted, the kind of sound you make when something amuses you. When he looks up, you’re smiling down at your screen, shoulders relaxed, completely unaware of the way this has him scrambling.

He doesn’t ask what you’re looking at. He doesn’t need to. The timing alone is more than enough. He’s already dropping to his knees, propping his phone up against his water bottle, and pressing record.

Your brows furrow, head tilting curiously as you hear a sound you never thought you’d hear coming from your boyfriend’s phone. “What are you doing, baby?” You ask, and he answers with a grin—slow, devastating, the kind that says whatever it is, he’s doing it for you.

He glances up at himself on the screen for a second before letting his head drop between his broad shoulders.

Every muscle in his shirtless body cuts into sharp lines, shoulders flexing under his skin as he stabilizes himself. His jaw locks so tight you can see the muscle tick beneath his cheekbone, teeth grinding as his core trembles but refuses to give.

His biceps swell, veins mapping tight, tanned skin glistening with a post-workout sheen. The veins along his forearms stand raised and angry, his hands fisting against the floor like he’s holding himself together by sheer will.

His gold chain sways with each breath, sweat clinging to the ends of his hair where it peeks out from beneath his backward hat. A drop of sweat slides down the column of his throat and disappears beneath the chain, and your eyes track it without meaning to.

Minutes pass, and you can’t help but stare, the soft sounds of his strain growing louder by the second. The tension alone pulls you in, leaving you sprawled on the mat with your chin in your hands, staring at him shamelessly.

He glances up at you through the mirror, exhausted but smirking, and you recognize that same strained breath—one you’ve heard before when he’s hovering over you, body braced, muscles shaking for entirely different reasons.

“Rafe?” You ask, giggling softly.

“Don’t worry about it, pretty,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice even, but it comes out rough and deliciously broken as he braces through the tension.

Sweat gathers at his temples, sliding down the side of his face. The chain flickers with every tremble of his muscles. He groans low, back bowing slightly before he corrects his form and blows out a sharp breath.

His abs twitch visibly when he corrects his form, ribs expanding as he drags in a breath through his teeth, shoulders shaking but never collapsing. “Fuck me,” he growls.

“Seriously?” You laugh, closing the distance and settling onto the floor beside him.

“God—Goddamnit,” he stammers as he finally gives in, muscles giving out and sending him flat to the cool gym floor. His head drops into his arms, shoulders still trembling as he lets out a tired laugh.

He reaches forward and taps the screen, stopping the recording, flipping his hat to the front before rolling onto his back closer to you.

His arms fall limp at his sides—abs carved and tight, V-lines disappearing into his shorts, fabric darkened with sweat. His thighs are still tense from holding himself up, muscles defined even in exhaustion, and it does absolutely nothing to help your composure.

His chain sticks twisted against his chest, slick with sweat, your initial resting against his collarbone. He exhales slowly, eyelids lifting until his gaze meets yours.

“What was that?” You ask, suspicious now.

He turns the screen toward you, showing you the full recording. “I’m making a thing,” he says casually.

“A thing?”

He points weakly at the screen. “That. Plank, baby. Plank ’til failure.”

“Excuse me?” You laugh, plucking the phone from his hand. You save the draft, send it to yourself, then delete it from his phone. “I think not.”

“What the fuck, baby?” He chuckles as you hand the phone back to him, a satisfied, exhausted smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You reach down, fixing the chain on his chest, letting your touch linger, feeling his heart beat underneath. “Nobody’s seeing that,” you whisper. “Only me.”

He bites his cheek, holding back his wide smile, tipping his head so the brim of his hat hides his face from yours momentarily so you don’t see just how bad he’s blushing.

“For real?” He asks, quieter now, waiting for an answer, but he’s met with silence, just a look that screams “there’s no fucking way I’d let the world see that”.

He chuckles and sighs as he reaches for you to pull you the rest of the way in, rolling onto his side to get closer. He props himself up on his elbow, studying you for a moment, his eyes landing on your lips so you lean in, stealing a soft kiss.

Rafe lingers by your lips, nose brushing against yours. “I might’ve gotten a little jealous,” he admits like a secret—like it pains him to say.

“Jealous?” You ask softly as your hand slides up the back of his neck, playing with his hair. “Of who—”

“If I see one more hockey edit I’m gonna lose my shit,” he mutters, laughing lightly because he knows he sounds ridiculous—and he knows exactly how you feel about him. He doesn’t have to worry.

“Rafe,” you breathe, asking for his focus but you already have it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he hums, his southern accent bleeding through his words as his hand settles on your thigh.

“I don’t give a shit about anyone besides you.”

He exhales, then smirks faintly. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you hum as he tilts his chin up for a kiss.

“I don’t play when it comes to you,” he mumbles, under his breath.

“Neither do I,” you answer back, feeling him smile against your lips. “Why do you think I deleted it, hmm?”

“Sent it to yourself, pretty.”

“Never said I wasn’t a slut for you,” you whisper and he laughs into one more kiss, drawing back just a little, his hand drifting around to your lower back.

“You wanna go out tonight, sweetheart?” He asks as his thumb plays with the waistband of your leggings, snapping it playfully.

“Like a date?” You ask sweetly, making the corner of his mouth quirk into a smile.

“‘Course. We gotta clean up first, yeah?” He asks, but it’s loaded. “Shower?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it, but he’s having none of that. Lifting his hand up enough to let it smack your ass with a playful snap.

“Come over to my place,” you add casually, like you didn’t just shift the entire energy of the room. “It’s closer.”

He chuckles under his breath, already reaching for his shirt and his phone.

“My girl.”

⭐️new tag list on my pinned post ⭐️ @rafesthroatbaby @hockeygirlyyyy @karlydiary @drewstarkeyswife-7 @ornellastreet @cokewithcameron @loserboysandlithium @buckybarnessweetheart @torturedpoetism @slut-4-rafey @americanboz0 @taliescapes @rcameronlova1 @slxttfadustin @cdiaz18 @tangledinmyfeelings @harrrrystylesslut @rafecamlovr @st8rkey @obsessedwrafe @my-name-is-baby @dollforafe @fiercetigerpoison @seulbeomie @pillowprincess4him @moondustbaby @celestialreid @premiumshitt @gigislover08 @lilithblackkk @babygoddam @harringtonsbowgirl @yesimeasyy @angelicameron @ashleyytatum @stace-041193 @rafesbabygirlx @lhhlver @raf3cam3r0n @rafesbuzzcutseason @jscasmth @bunnyx2 @virgilsgurl @diasnohibng @ariieeesworld @ilovehughbiggs @wisewarriorlycanthrope @willowpains @esmerai-artemis

It was August. The summer sun of the Outer Banks beats down on you through the balcony doors, the heat clinging to your skin as you swipe the sweat from your forehead. Even inside, with AC it was impossible to not be uncomfortable on the hottest days. 

Currently, you're packing for a trip back home. As much as you loved your new life in North Carolina, you couldn't wait to get back– even for a short amount of time and be in the familiar comfort of your family. 

Colorado had been your home your entire life, up until a year ago. Center of the US, brutal winters with inch after inch of snow. Tolerable summers that just never gave you what you craved. You were lucky enough to have a pool in the backyard but your heart always yearned for the beach. The sand beneath your feet, the waves carrying you, like you weighed nothing.

You always felt like you were destined for warmth. Sun soaked days and salt kissed air. Not the gray covered skies and high altitude of Colorado had to offer. So when a job opportunity opened up for you in the Outer Banks, you took it without hesitation– packing up your life and doing something for yourself for once. 

You had only been there for a few months when you had met Rafe. 

It was an uneventful day at first, nothing but routine. Another lunch at a small cafe for pastries and coffee with some coworkers. One full of the usual laughter, banter about work. You had gotten up to grab your order from the counter– turning too fast trying to return to your table, when you collided into him and accidentally spilled coffee right onto his shoes. 

You froze. You were completely mortified. 

“I- I am so sorry.” You rushed to grab napkins, to do anything to help the literal mess you caused. 

You expected a blow up from a simple mistake. Instead, a soft laugh slipped from his lips. When your eyes met his icy blues you were hooked instantly. 

You took every inch of him in before your brain could catch up to what you were doing.. His chiseled jaw, his soft lips pulled into either a smirk or a playful grin, the way his muscles were bulging beneath his sleeves. And somehow, the way this man could pull off a buzz cut like no other. 

He didn’t seem bothered. He didn’t seem angry. If anything he just seemed amused. How could something so humiliating for you be so funny to him? He just made some joke like “hope it was vanilla at least.” 

You had offered to buy him new shoes— an incredibly stupid offer, when you noticed the Prada logo stamped on the top of them. as if you could afford them on your entry level salary. 

Before you could embarrass yourself any further, he stopped you. Instead of asking for new shoes, he asked for your number and a chance to get to know you.

From there, you and Rafe’s relationship blossomed. Texts turned into late night calls. Calls turned into dates. Weeks blurred into months. Drawers in his bedroom permanently held things of yours and after a year his home also became yours. 

Some may say it was quick, but for the two of you it was perfect. Natural.

Now, Rafe’s luggage sat on the other side of the bed. Polos and khaki pants were folded neatly beside one another. Very different to yours, a beautiful chaotic mess. Your nerves translated in your packing. This was the first time Rafe was coming home with you. 

He had spoken to your parents over the phone. Meeting them face to face virtually over facetime. They had fallen in love with him as quickly as you did. You were thankful for that. But this reunion meant– overprotective siblings, overbearing grandparents. Drunk uncles. Too many cousins to count with two hands. 

It was a lot to think about. Something you were able to shut off leading up to the event, but now it was here and now the sun and heat you craved your entire life felt as if it was suffocating you. You heard a door open behind you and your mind was put at ease.

Rafe walked out of the bathroom with a small bag of toiletries in his hands. “You almost ready?”

You shoved in the last of your things, closing the lid and zipping it shut. “All done.” A smile on both of your faces appeared and he mimicked the same with his bag, taking both of yours in his hands like they weighed nothing.

“Flight’s in 2 hours, if we head out now, we can stop and get some coffee,” he paused for a moment. A sly smirk creeped across his face as he shot you a wink, “if you can handle your caffeine this time.” 

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, playfully shoving his shoulder, nudging him towards the door, “after you sir, and this time it will be a vanilla latte.” 

Rafe let out a sarcastic groan and shook his head, a warm smile still plastered on his face. He would always bring up that day when he met you. Never in a cruel way. Just teasing, it's always been one of his favorite memories to relive with you. In retaliation, you never missed a chance to throw out a sir here and there. Mocking the way his employees use the title towards him. 

It makes him visibly cringe. Makes him feel like his father, a reminder of how they all called him sir before Rafe. 

The more you've learned about him this past year, the more you learned about how he tried to be everything his father wasn't. He ran the company tight, but no one had to walk on eggshells around him. No one had to worry about the back end, illegal deal Ward would pull under the table. He ran the company with honesty and trust. 

You had met his sister a few months ago, she wasn't shy about letting you in on the person that Rafe used to be. Although he wasn't happy about it at first, and you were a bit shocked, it only made things between you stronger. Sarah had acknowledged his journey to being better and they were closer than ever now. 

The jokes between you were nothing more than jokes. Just playful banter. Things with you and Rafe were always light and easy. A reminder for him that things no longer needed to be the way they used to 

You’re curled up on the couch of the private jet, your head in Rafe’s lap– perks of dating the CEO, you suppose. The iced coffees you picked up sat finished on the table. Ice half melted, condensation forming a puddle around each. The nerves only picked up the closer you got to home. 

“I hope they all like you.” 

Rafe looked down at you, his fingers halting in your hair as he stopped twirling it between them. “You think they have a reason not to?” 

You knew his words weren’t accusatory. You knew your parents already loved him. you knew there wasn’t anything to actually worry about. “No, none. They’re just a lot. And there’s a lot of them. So it’s a lot of a lot.” 

“It’ll be fine. You and I both. I mean, no one can resist the Cameron charm.” You swat his harm and he cant help but laugh. 

You know he’s right. There’s nothing to be worried about. Your family was lovely. They could just be overwhelming. If it was just your immediate family this wouldn’t bother you. This was at least fifty or sixty all in one backyard. Like you said– a lot of a lot. 

The plane landed right on time. You deboarded quickly, bags in hand you made your way over to arrivals, where you spotted your parents immediately. You ran to your mom and threw your arms around her. You felt your dad’s arms wrap around the both of you. 

It was an overwhelming feeling. With their jobs it was near impossible for them to visit you. With you just starting a new job, it was entirely impossible for you to take the time off. They were everything and more to you, not seeming this for this long had been hard, and even though it’s just for the weekend, it felt amazing. 

After a few moments, you pulled back. Stepping out of the way to introduce Rafe. Your mom instantly engulfed him into a hug of their own. Your dad eached out his hand for him to shake. “Thank you for taking care of our girl, Rafe.” 

“She makes everything easy, if anything– she's the one that takes care of me.” Your dad let out a loud laugh. There’s that charm. ;)

“You’re even more handsome in person Rafe, I see why she fell so hard.” 

Your eyes rolled so hard, but you couldn’t help the smile that formed. ‘Enough mom. Can we get going? We only have a few hours and I need a shower.” 

Your dad stepped to the side allowing you and your mom to walk ahead. He stayed back with Rafe as they talked about all sorts of things. Same pairing in the car, when the two sat up front continuing the conversation. 

Your mom leaned over to you, fingers wrapping around your hand and gave it a light squeeze, speaking at a whisper, “I think he’s great honey, I’m happy for you.”

The party was in full motion. You and Rafe had been separated instantly. The guys in your family took him under their wing. He looked very at home. Every little while your eyes would meet. He looked so at home. It did nothing but warm your heart. 

The women in your family were all crowded around you. Commenting on your glow– partly your tan but mostly the hypothetical glow of your new relationship. It was true, Rafe did have you glowing. He made life so easy for you. Everything felt so balanced since he came into your life. 

They asked about everything. Your nerves had settled a long time ago. Everyone gushed over him. You indulged in every bit of it. Filling them in on the humiliating– for you and you only– first interaction. Then onto the dates and how he asked you to be his girlfriend. Your life in the Outer Banks, how his sisters and friends welcomed you. 

Then onto more of the quiet things he does. The way he knows you prefer your eggs sunny side rather than scrambled, that you preferred the right side of the bed, so he learned to prefer the left. He respects your boundaries, he knows that you like to feel independent, so he never makes you feel like you need to do everything. 

Or how he could pick up on little cues. Like when he’d notice when you’d feel overwhelmed in public, he would pull you off to the side and leave you room to breathe. When you’d feel unsure of yourself, he’d be your number one supporter. If something had you upset, instead of overcrowding or forcing you to speak about it, he’d sit close by, talk about nonsense to take your mind off whatever it is. Only allowing you to bring it up when you’re ready. 

They all loved him. His family had loved you, and now yours, him. 

Your aunt had just patted your shoulder, wishing you a good night and a good job for finding someone like Rafe. Her words lingered in your mind as she walked away. You couldn’t fight the grin that formed.

Glancing over at him, your heart warmed. He’s laughing at something your older cousin just said. You were so content with how the day went. He was right about the Cameron charm. Everyone loved him. He fell into place like he’d been around them all his life. 

You stood and made your way over. 

The night had dwindled down, your family had slowly begun to leave. You tapped Rafe’s back, bringing his attention from your cousin to you. His eyes soften as he looks up at you. 

“Come with me, I wanna show you something.” He nods a quick goodbye to your cousin and takes your hand in his. 

You crossed the grass, making your way over to a secluded area of the yard. Tucked away in the quiet of the Colorado night, was a tiny home built wrapped around the trunk of a quaking aspen. 

The lights were on. Your dad had probably known you’d end up here at some point during the night. The outdoor lights twinkled, brightening up the area just enough to feel magical. 

As you step inside, you're welcomed in by the nostalgia the room holds. Years of your life were held here. Photos, stuffed animals, an entire corner dedicated to when you were obsessed with Britney Spears. 

Rafe separated from you immediately, taking in it all. Eager to learn the history of you.

You walk around the treehouse too looking at everything that your parents had left the exact same, it’s hard not to reminisce. However, your plan to come here was not for that reason, “you know-” 

You paused, waiting to catch Rafe’s attention from the photos that hung on the opposite wall. He hummed in response. “I lost my virginity in this treehouse.” 

His entire attention was now on you. His hand coming up to his chin, rubbing into the stubble with a smile. He lets out a breathy laugh, “Oh yeah? My sweet and innocent girl used to fuck in her treehouse?” 

You smile and slowly make your way towards him. “Oh yeah,” you mimic his words. “A few times actually,” your hands come up to his chest to motion him so he walks backwards. “Right on this beanbag here,” giving him a steady shove so he falls right onto it. 

You slipped off your dress, revealing a sultry matching blue set. Rafe didn’t hesitate even one second before ripping off his own shirt. already fighting with his belt buckle to get that off too. 

You sat down beside him, gripping the back of his neck and pulling him in, pressing your lips against his with hunger. Your tongues battled for dominance. Your teeth sunk into his bottom lip when he got distracted even slightly. His hand abandoned his belt, finding their place on your waist kneading the flesh beneath his fingertips. 

Without breaking the kiss, Rafe moved from next to you to kneeling in front of the beanbag. Your hands helped where he left off, successfully unbuckling his belt. Then unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down. Once freed, your hands wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking him. 

He gently laid you back down, moving your hand off of him, replacing it with his. His other moved your panties to the side. His knuckles grazing through the slickness of your cunt. “Fuck you’re so soaked for me.” 

“Can’t help it, being apart from you all night, seeing how good you looked across the yard, I needed you.” You gasped as he entered you. 

Rafe began to slowly pump into you. “Naughty fucking girl. Thinking about me inside you, while I'm trying to talk to your uncles? What are we gonna do with you?” 

“Fuck– fuck me harder.” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he began to thrash his hips into yours. Rafe always liked to take charge in bed, and you never minded, but when you asked for something he was never shy to comply. 

The noises shared between the both of you bounced off the wood of the room. Moans, grunts, skin to skin contact. You mentally thank god you’re far away from the house and whoever else still might be here.

He hit that spot right every time. Sweat slicked across your skin. Rafe held his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes were focused on you unraveling beneath him. His hold on your hips was tight, but you didn’t mind. The pleasure was too good. 

His rhythm was on the brink of punishment, relentless as he chased his own high. Each thrust pulled a cry out of you. He leaned down, pace never letting up. “Like that?” 

It took you a moment to find any words. His voice was so god damn sexy, it only amplified the feeling inside you. When you thought you could speak, he nudged that spongy spot again and all that came out was another broken moan. 

Your eyes screwed shut, the coil in your stomach was tightening and it was only a matter of time before it snapped. His hand found your hair, tugging at it, grabbing your attention. “You look at me when I fuck you.” 

You forced your eyes open. Through blurred vision from tears, you found his eyes. Those icy blues staring back at you. His jaw was slack and his breath was heavy. He looked so intense in the best way. Your shaky hand moved up to his jaw, as if to touch him like you thought he wasn’t real. He was such a dream. You’d never get tired of the intimate moments with him. He moved down, his lips meeting yours. 

Even in moments like these he’d find ways to be tender. 

Your legs spread wider, giving him better access. While your hand moved between you, swirling your clit. You knew he was close and you wanted to meet him at the end at the same time. You could feel his movements growing sloppier. 

The intense pleasure finally sent you over the edge. Your swore you saw stars as you came. Your legs shook as the waves of euphoria crashed through you. He wasn’t far behind, his own control was in a looking battle when he hitched himself deep inside you, letting out a guttural moan. 

His body shuddered and you could feel his cock twitch insde you as he released. For a long moment he stayed just like that. Buried in you, both fighting to catch your breaths. He dropped himself onto you and you could feel his heart beating fast against your chest. Your hand stroked his back. 

Eventually he rolled off you. You adjusted your underwear back in place as he fixed himself. You could already feel the knots formed in your hair but you couldn’t care. You were in a state of bliss. You were staring at the ceiling when you heard a chuckle next to you that made you look over to Rafe. 

“So… am I the best you ever had in your little treehouse?”

tags: @maybejj @papercranesandinkstains @doeeyedcrucifix @prettytheyswag @moondustbaby @outersbanksgirly @torturedpoetism @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @runawayrafetrain @currentresidentinhell @jenna0rtegaswife @ijustwantttoread @ijustwanttoreadlols @slut-4-rafey @akobx @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @sc05 @k4yr14 @chromeheartsbaby @jennieonline @vaelyann @rafeyy @macbaetwo @sweetnastybunny @seraphiccrafe @spnbbunnyy @sithapprentice @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @anamiad00msday

You had just finished applying the last dusting of blush. Standing back from your vanity desk to the floor length mirror in the corner of your room. Making sure to add a spritz of his favorite perfume and smoothing down the edges of your dress, when you hear a think outside. 

By the time you step off your porch you can already see him, leaning against the passenger side door with a big goofy smile and lit up eyes the second he looks in your direction. Once you reach him, he wastes no time closing the space, cupping both of your cheeks in his hand and pressing his lips to yours. 

Once he pulls back, he holds you there, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones, it gives him time to indulge in the vision that you are. 

“Fucking beautiful,” the words slip out, his voice raspy. You could hear how full of love they were. 

He opens the passenger side door for you. Making a light jog to the drivers side. The second the car started and he was pulling away from your house, his hand found its place in your thigh. Yours laid on top of his as you rub circles onto his knuckles with your thumb. 

A smile grows on your face. You never thought there would be a day the untouchable Rafe Cameron would break. Especially by you. The island's biggest player. The one all the people went to at parties for drugs. “Are you happy?” 

Today marks 6 months sober for him and to celebrate he wanted to spend the day with you. Just you. He couldn’t think of anyone else who deserved to celebrate this achievement with him other than you. 

He looks over to you briefly, making sure to keep the car steady, “never been so before in my life.” 

Something about you struck Rafe in a way he never thought possible. You listened. You saw him. You were the only one truly there for him. It all happened by accident, when conversation struck when at the beach with friends when everyone decided to go into the water except you two. It was simple -  but it was good. It was something he needed. 

Reaching your destination, you’re in awe immediately. Waves of purple and green stretch out for what seems like miles. Rafe opens your door and leaves his hand for you to grab as you hop down from his truck. The smell of lavender hits you immediately. From the bed of the truck Rafe grabs a blanket and a picnic basket.

Lavender was your favorite. You always had bouquets of it in your house, it was the key note in all your perfumes. Something Rafe had grown love on you as well. It was a color that now brought him a new sense of life. A scent that brought him a new high. Whenever he saw it, he thought of you, and any demon that was trying to claw its way through was banished. 

You make your way past others, finding a remote spot at the bottom of a hill. The tall plants gave you the perfect amount of privacy, making it seem like it was just the two of you and the lavender blessed breeze. Rafe sets out the blanket and grabs your hand to pull you down to sit. 

“I got some of your favorites,” as he immediately digs into the basket. He ends up pulling out a mango iced tea bottle, a bowl of mixed berries, and your favorite sandwich from the cafe you had on your first date. 

He wasn’t sober then but he was trying. You knew that. He struggled, attempted to get clean but would relapse in only a few days. You stayed by his side during this time. A close presence but not in a suffocating way. A silent support. Someone to lean on. 

Your first date was planned in early winter. The cafe was a cozy hole in the wall place on the outskirts of the island the two of you found by accident. He knew that’s where he wanted to bring you. You had grown more serious over the last couple of weeks and Rafe wanted something special but not over extravagant. It fit you perfectly. 

The night before he spent with Barry binging on drugs that costed him more than he had on him. He had a weak moment of restraint after a fight with his dad. The same bullshit, different day. He hated it, but he couldn’t help it. 

He ended up oversleeping, missing the time to pick you up. Picking up his phone he saw a few missed calls and texts from you. He had thought he ruined it. You’d seen him as nothing but useless— a waste of time. He shot up from Barry’s worn out catch and raced toward his car, no matter how much every inch of his body ached. But it didn’t matter. You did. 

He had gotten home showered, changed and was back out the door in record time. He showed up to your house to see you sitting on the front porch. You didn’t look up, even after hearing the tires roll over the gravel. 

He hesitated before stepping out, to him you looked disappointed. But once he did and your head lifted and your eyes met his, a smile was etched on your face. It wasn’t what he was expecting. He was waiting for a dozen questions, a look of pity mixed with concern. But you didn’t give that to him. 

You intertwined your finger with his as your lips met. When you pulled back he let out a sigh of relief. You never wanted him to feel cornered, under pressure, and it was something that he wasn’t used to. It made him feel like he mattered, even something so small. That was when he knew you were his. 

———-

You ate in silence, taking in the moment. There didn’t need to be constant discussion between the two of you. There was a mutual peace of just being there that did all the talking. 

By the time you were done, the sun had lowered just a bit. A chill ran through the plants, hitting the back of your neck. A slight shiver, one you thought would go unnoticed, but nothing could go over Rafe's head when it came to you. 

His arm wrapped around you, pulling you into him. Your legs crossed over his and your head found its place in the crook of his neck. “I’m proud of you.” 

Rafe shifted his head to look down at you. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard those words from anyone in his family. Making them worth even more coming from you. The first time was when you picked him up from an inpatient rehab. He had just completed 2 months there. You were the only one who ever showed up for him on visit days. 

“Not a big deal,” he spoke quietly, looking back into the field. 

Your hand brushed his cheek, pulling him back towards you, forcing him to meet your eyes. “It’s a huge deal, you don’t get to downplay this accomplishment.” 

“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” 

Your heartbeat raced. You never did something like that before. Be the person someone leaned on. You had friends sure, but you never felt like the type of person they’d go to for help. You were happy to be there for Rafe, even in the worst of times. You balanced accountability with compassion. 

You helped him realize that this journey was only for himself, not for you or anyone else just to prove a point that he could. He got there on his own. You were just behind him, with your arms out just in case he needed someone to fall back on. 

“It was all you, and I think you deserve a gift for that.”

Before Rafe could question what that meant, you broke away from his grasp and kneeled in front of him, leaning over oh so slightly as your hands ran up his thighs. His jaw was slack and he eyes were locked on you. Your fingers wrapped around his belt buckle. Slowly, antagonizingly, undoing it. 

He was already hard, his bulge was straining against the fabric of his jeans. When you freed him, his head threw back. His cock sprung out, his tip was red and already glistening with precum. 

Licking your palm and wrapping your fingers around him, you slid your hand up and down, still keeping up that infuriating slow pace. He was warm against your palm. Each stroke fueled a fire in him, causing his hips to buck against your hand for more friction.

He didn’t even have a chance to rebuttal something sarcastic about your teasing before your lips met the tip with a kiss. His precum leaving behind a salty taste, you lick up while looking straight into his eyes.

Your tongue began to swirl against him, he hummed at the feeling. A guttural kind of sound.This man was never shy about being vocal. You brought your tongue from his base back up to the tip, before wrapping your lips around him completely. You sink down on him deeper and deeper, the swollen head of his cock, tickling the back of your throat. 

You bob your head, his cock kept disappearing down your throat. One hand still on him, stroking what you couldn’t fit. Your other hand came up to cup his balls. Rafe’s feet were planted on the ground as he thrusted up into your mouth, working in tandem with your movements. One hand was in your hair, encouraging you.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groaned before taking his bottom lip between his teeth. You looked up at him through tear coated lashes. You could see how flushed his cheeks were– how much he was holding back. You squeezed his balls slightly, eliciting another moan from him. 

You could feel him getting closer just by the way he twitched in your mouth and the grip on your hair tightened ever so slightly. You wanted him to finish. Taking a deep inhale through the nose, you relaxed your throat, taking him in further until your nose was pressed to his pubic bone. 

Before anything else could… conclude, Rafe sat up– gently pulling you off of him. He was close, too close to be finished already. He didn’t want it that way. He wanted you, eyes locked onto each other. Him inside you. 

You had sat back up on your knees, taking a deep breath, wiping off the drool from the corners of your mouth. As you regained composure, Rafe grabbed your waist and flipped you around so that he was now hovering over you on your back. He took a moment to cup your face and brush his thumb along your cheek bone, wiping a stray tear away in the process. 

After that was over, his mouth was on yours. His tongue swiping across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission for entrance. Your tongues clashed, before he moved away and he trailed kisses down your neck. His hands roamed, slowly moving across your chest, feeling your hardened nipples under your dress. 

“I can’t just cum in your mouth, i need to fucking feel you,” he whispered into your ear, as he placed himself in between your legs. Now, it was your turn to buck your hips into him. You were soaked immediately. Hearing him and knowing how much he wanted you, you don’t think you’ve ever experienced this. His hands travel further down, fingers pressing against your clothed clit. Definitely feel the wetness he’s caused you. 

“Rafe I need you,” your voice is weak. Your desperate need for him had the entire field around you blurred. 

“You need some patience, baby” Rafe’s lips brushed your neck, the words tickling, forming goosebumps all over your skin. All while his fingers still slowly circled your clit. 

“I ca-” the words died in your throat as he added a bit more pressure that spot. Your head pressed in the ground. 

“What do you need from me?” 

With the heat building inside of you, desperation kicks in even more. “F-fuck. You. Your mouth, your fingers, your cock. Anything.” 

Your hands fumbled to pull down his pants more before realization hits you. He doesn’t have a chance to make any other advances as you shift away. Pointing a finger to his chest, pushing him back. He stared at you confused, but you spoke before he could question anything again. 

“This is still your special day, get back on your back.” He smirked, but obliged anyway.

Cocky as ever he laid back down, hand stretched beneath his head, smiling up at you as you straddled his waist. You took no time, sliding your thong to the side and sinking down onto him. Your head fell back, staring into the sky. for a second you remembered where you were and how crazy this was. That was until Rafe’s hand slid up your thighs, underneath the flow of your dress and gripped your hips pulling you forward slightly. 

Now it was your turn to moan. 

Another breeze picks up and lavender hits you, you feel warm in every way. He lets you set your own pace. You rock your hips slowly, taking your time. Repeating it over and over. Your clits drags along the base of his cock, only making the pleasure better.

Sex with Rafe has always been amazing. He’s always been good at fucking you until your brain is a scrambled mess and your words coming out mumbled and breathless. You’ve never experienced this with him before. Just in the moment, everything slowed down. It was more thrilling than being completely senseless. 

What you didn’t know is that this was all a new experience for him now. The new found clarity lets him feel everything. He’s aware of every movement, every feeling. Every sense of his has been ignited. He’s no longer numb to the feeling. No longer looking for a rush. 

His eyes stay on you. Filled with some sort of admiration, as if he couldn’t believe that you were real. That you were really there with him. He analyzes every little thing about you. The way your jaw stays slacked, the way your face twitches, when he hits the right spot. The way you catch yourself against your chest because it feels so good, you need some sort of support to keep upright. 

“S’ fucking gorgeous when you ride me like that.” 

“You feel so fucking good, Rafe,” a grin forms on your face as you look down at him. Eyes locked and focused on him for a short second– before you took a long deep roll against him causing him to push against your g-spot, causing your eyes to squeeze shut. 

The pressure begins to grow between both of you. Your fingers grip his shirt hard, positively wrinkling it from your strength. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You feel every inch of him. It’s complete bliss. 

Rafe lifts his upper body, now face to face with you. His arms wrap around your waist, as yours wrap around his neck. He lowers the top to your dress, taking a nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingertips. This only fuels your building orgasm even more. 

Rafe’s teeth sink into your chest, his arm around your waist tightens, just like his hand in your hair before and his body is beginning to tremble. Tell-tale sign that he’s on the brink. You keep up your movements, Your moans tangle together in the breeze, your head rests against his shoulder. 

You know you're close, but with the head you just gave Rafe, you know he’ll cum before you. To help speed you up, your left hand reaches between you and you begin to rub tight circles on your clit. Rafe watches as you please yourself in awe. 

After a few more deliberate rolls of your hips, Rafe lets out a loud moan and his arms shake around you as his hot cum shoots a steady stream up into you. The feeling is electric, his energy syncs with the tremble of your own orgasm. Your now unsteady hands continue to rub messy circles on your clit to help you ride the wave. The burn of your legs from your position evaporates as pure euphoria washes over both of you. 

Rafe holds onto you, like you’d disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Your breaths are the only sound, other than the lavender swaying around you. You press a quick kiss to his neck, sealing the moment. Perfect end to a perfect day. 

You hear Rafe chuckle and you pull back to look at him, wondering what’s so funny. 

“I can’t wait for my year token.”

note: idk how I came up with this. I had a different direction I wanted it to go but randomly wrote about Rafe being sober and took it from there and then wanted to post - couldn't - and went back in a rewrote some of it and added way too much

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