The first time your phone rings, you ignore it. It’s 2am, nothing good happens at 2am. But when it rings again, the name flashing across your screen makes your stomach drop.

Rafe.

You hesitate, staring at the phone in your hand. Rafe Cameron doesn’t call you he barely even acknowledges you unless it’s to smirk or throw out some sarcastic remark. But something about this feels wrong.

You answer.

At first its quiet. Just shallow breathing. But then,

“Can you meet me?”

His voice is strained, like he’s choking on his own words.

“Where?” you ask, already reaching for your hoodie.

“The beach. Please.”

You don’t even hesitate.

By the time you get there rafes stood near the sea, his hands in his pockets.

You approach slowly, unsure of what you’re walking into. “Rafe?”

He looks up at you, and your breath catches. There’s a dark bruise blooming along his jaw, his bottom lip split. His eyes red-rimmed and glassy, are filled with something raw, something you’ve never seen from him before.

you stand beside him. “What happened?”

Rafe exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair. “Someone stole my dad’s watch. Expensive as hell. He—he thought it was me.” His laugh is bitter, humorless. “Of course, he did, right?"

Your heart clenches. You know Ward Cameron isn’t exactly Father of the Year, but this? This is different.

“Did you?” you ask gently.

His head snaps toward you, blue eyes flashing. “Are you serious?” He shakes his head, looking away. “No. But it doesn’t matter. He already made up his mind.”

“Rafe—”

“It was Sarah.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “She stole it. For the Pogues, probably for John B. And she’s fine, you know? Safe. Laughing about it, probably. And I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his bruises, his voice breaking at the end. His hands reach and cover his eyes.