You and Rafe have a routine.

Whenever he’s angry, or stressed, or feeling downright homicidal, he comes to you. He knocks three times on your apartment door before you let him in, pulling him into your arms.

You’re his rock, his safe space. His.

And then he stays the night. You cuddle, rubbing his back until he falls asleep, just for him to leave you for someone else in the morning.

You’re tidying up right before bed when you hear those three familiar knocks on your front door.