“C’mon, baby. I said I’m sorry,” he pleaded, his once hard, cold glare morphed into a softer gaze. “What else do you want, huh? Name it. C’mon, I’ll do anything.”

Rafe stood at your doorstep, his expression torn and exhausted. His hair was messy, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten.

All because you left him.

You blocked him on everything, simply because the relationship was just getting to you.

He was getting to you.

You stood your ground, crossing your arms across your chest. You raised a skeptical brow at him, jaw clenched. “You’re toxic, Rafe. We’re toxic.”

Rafe shook his head. “No,” he denied harsher than he intended. “God— is there someone else? Is that why you’re doing this?” and here comes his jealousy. His stupid, ignorant jealousy.

“What?! No! Do you even hear yourself?!”

He stared at you, expression unreadable.

“I love you, {{user}}. Y’know that, right?”

You sighed. “Rafe—“

“Just come back home. I miss you,” without even asking, he stepped in, his large, boyish hands splayed on the sides of your waist, tugging you into him gently. “ ‘m sorry. I fucked up, I know that,” his voice was as gentle as his touch, a velvety warmth that filled you as he leaned down, pressing soft kisses along your cheek, neck, shoulder. Anything to distract you. “But just give me another chance. Give us another chance.”

And unfortunately, it always worked.

Because Rafe Cameron always knew just where to touch you, how to touch you— he loved you in ways only he knew how to love you.