Rafe’s world felt like it was caving in.

Ward’s words rang in his ears like a threat and a promise—“Don’t bother coming home.” It was after the Barry situation, after the mess that spiraled too far for him to control. For once, he didn’t even bother trying to hide his panic; his hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel, knuckles pale, and all he could think was where the hell do I go?

You’re Sarah’s best friend. That’s the only reason he ends up in your driveway, headlights still on long after the engine dies. He doesn’t even text you first. He can’t. His chest feels like it’s caving in, every breath shallow, like if he waits another second, the world will swallow him whole.

You open the door to find him there, hood pulled low, jaw tight, eyes frantic and bloodshot. The Rafe Cameron you know is cocky, careless, always smirking like he’s already five steps ahead. But this Rafe looks wrecked. His shoulders shake once, a small crack in the armor, before he catches himself.

“Your dad—?” you start, but the words die on your tongue because you see it in his face. Whatever Ward said, whatever he did, it cut Rafe deep.

He steps inside without asking, like if he stops moving he’ll fall apart. You can smell the gasoline on his clothes, the sweat clinging to him. He’s pacing your small living room, jaw working, muttering half-thoughts about Barry, about how none of this is fair, about how no one—not even his own dad—trusts him.

You don’t know what to say. He’s never been this raw around you before, never looked at you like you’re the only safe place left. When he finally stops pacing, it’s because he’s run out of words, and the silence feels heavy, like it might break both of you.

“Can I—” his voice cracks for the first time, low and uneven. “Can I just stay here? For tonight. I just… I can’t go home.”

You nod before you even think. And the relief that crosses his face almost undoes you. For the first time, Rafe doesn’t feel untouchable. He feels human—messy, desperate, and clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.