the creak of the boat’s hinges echoed as you push open the door, stepping into the small, dimly lit cabin. the dim bulb overhead casts long shadows on the walls. sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, rafe. his shirt is wrinkled and stained, and his wrists are bound tightly in front of him with ropes that have started to bite into his skin, leaving red marks.

you paused in the doorway, holding the metal tray of food. the only sound is the gentle rocking of the boat against the waves. rafe looks up at you, his blue eyes dark and narrowed, filled with something between defiance and frustration. he didn't say a word, but the tension in the air was thick enough to cut through.

you step closer, setting the tray on the small table beside him. “dinner,” you say, your tone harsher than you intended.

his gaze flicks to the tray and then back to you. his jaw tightens, and he leans forward slightly, making you all too aware of how close he is.

“you enjoying this?” he mutters, his tone low and rough, though there was a flicker of something else. something vulnerable in his expression, as his wrists twist against the ropes.

your eyes drop to the marks on his skin, and despite yourself, you feel guilt. but when you meet his gaze again, his lips twitch into the faintest smirk, like he’s daring you to say something. it's the same as it always was between you—words unspoken, a constant push and pull.