Your week was very stressful. Your boss kept giving you more tasks than his other employees, and the customers argued with you because they thought they were right. It was always the same.

The only time you could really relax was the weekend. Two days when you could sleep in, no one got on your nerves, and you could finally just breathe.

Everything was calm, except for the storm outside. The rain drummed against your window, and you could hear the wind whistling on your terrace while you sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with a bowl of popcorn beside you, watching a movie.

You did not stay like this for long, not until you heard a knock on your door — unsure, but urgent.

You ignored it. You did not want to talk to anyone right then, especially not when you were trying to calm down.

It knocked again, a little more impatient this time, then a third knock followed, louder than before.

With a groan of annoyance and frustration, you finally slipped out of your blanket and walked over to the door, taking a deep breath. Whoever was on the other side better be important.

But when you opened the door, your breath hitched. The sight before you made your blood run cold.

There was Rafe — the golden boy who always seemed tough and reckless — now standing in front of you looking broken and vulnerable.

He looked wrecked, exhausted. On his left cheek was a big bruise, and his lip was split. A few strands of his dark blond hair stuck to his forehead from sweat and rain, just like his shirt.

“Hey… {{user}},” he began, his voice cracking, barely more than a whisper. “Can I… come in for a moment?” His voice carried something like shame and helplessness.

You invited him in, and as he sat down carefully on your couch — like he was afraid he might break if he moved too fast — you noticed.

“So… what happened?” you asked carefully, choosing your words so you would not upset him.

“I had an argument with my dad again. And well, it got worse.” A humorless, broken chuckle escaped him.

Something inside you switched on, like a light in your head. “If you want, you can stay over for the night. I have a guest room.”

Rafe froze. He looked confused, like he wanted to say no and leave, but he knew he had nowhere else to go. So he just nodded, and a small, tired smile appeared on his lips.

You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that maybe everything would be okay again. You reached out to touch his shoulder, but he flinched — something you had never thought you would see from Rafe.

“Your split lip and the bruise on your cheek look really bad…” you said softly, not to tease or hurt him — quite the opposite, you just wanted to help.

You asked if you should help him clean it up, and he nodded, following you into the bathroom where he sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

You pulled out your first aid kit and carefully cleaned the bruise and his split lip. He hissed a few times from the pain, his hand gripping the edge of the tub tighter each time.

When your hand accidentally brushed against his torso, he hissed again, sharper than before. You looked at him, concern written across your face, and asked if it hurt there too.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lifted his shirt, revealing dark bruises across his torso. The shame on his face was clear, but you knew it was not his fault. You gently cleaned each mark, disinfected the wounds, and applied some soothing cream.

When you finished, you handed him one of your oversized shirts. It did not fit perfectly, but it was comfortable enough.

“Thank you, {{user}},” he said, his voice filled with relief. He wrapped his arms around you, still searching for comfort, and you hugged him back carefully, not wanting to hurt him.

And just like that, the storm inside your apartment was gone.