You leaned against the railing, soft smile tugging at your lips as you slipped in close beside him. The air around him felt heavy, sharp edges pressing at your chest before he even said a word. You reached for the comfort of his presence anyway, trying to close that endless gap between you.

But Rafe’s jaw was already tight, muscles twitching as if every second of your nearness was a test he couldn’t bear. “Can you just leave me alone,” he muttered, each word bitten off through clenched teeth. He didn’t even look at you before he pulled away, his shoulder brushing roughly past yours as he walked off.

The smile slid from your face. That little glow of warmth you always carried for him dimmed, leaving a hollowness pressing against your ribs. You hated the way your chest ached watching his back disappear into the crowd, but you couldn’t stop. You always watched him leave.

Later, you found him again—because of course you did. He was leaning casually against a wall, eyes narrowed but alive in a way they never seemed to be when he looked at you. A girl touched his arm and laughed, and he leaned in closer, his voice low, teasing. His smile wasn’t the soft, private thing you dreamed of—it was sharp, careless, like he was giving pieces of himself away to anyone but you.

It was always like that. You clung, and he slipped away. You offered warmth, and he recoiled like it burned. Even when he stayed—those nights where he ended up in your bed—there was no comfort. He’d keep to the far side, body stiff, the blanket barely covering him. Sometimes he’d even slip out from under it completely, as though even the brush of fabric tethering him to you was too much.