Rafe never thought much about the things he said. Words rolled off his tongue effortlessly—sharp, thoughtless, and laced with indifference. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. He just didn’t see why you let things get to you so easily.

“Seriously, do you always have to be so damn sensitive?” he muttered, barely sparing you a glance as he scrolled through his phone.

You stood there, silent, stomach twisting at the careless remark. You weren’t expecting an apology. You never did. Rafe had a way of making you feel like you were the problem, like your feelings were an inconvenience rather than something to be considered.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s not like I’m hiding you,” he added, voice impatient. “I just don’t see the point of posting you everywhere. Feels kinda desperate.”

The words sank deep, like invisible cuts across your skin. Desperate. As if wanting to feel acknowledged, wanting to be seen, was some sort of flaw.

Rafe didn’t notice the way your shoulders tensed or how your fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater. He didn’t notice the way your breath hitched or the way you bit your lip to keep from saying something stupid.

Instead, he kept talking, unaware that every word chipped away at something inside you.

“God, it’s like you need constant validation,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “You really should work on that.”

You swallowed hard, throat burning with the words you wanted to say but knew wouldn’t make a difference. How could he not see it? How could he not realize that all you wanted was to feel enough—for him, for yourself, for something.

But Rafe was already moving on, distracted by a text, a notification—something, anything more important than this moment.