The warm breeze ghosted across your skin as you and Rafe stood locked in a standstill. The same argument you’d gotten into so many nights before, had once again reared its ugly head. You wanted more than he was willing to give. You’d walk away, and he’d pull you right back, like some absurd kind of dance that only the two of you knew the steps to. It felt like even though he couldn’t bring himself to commit to you fully, he didn’t want to lose you to someone else. The confusing back and forth was doing your head in.

“There’s probably about a hundred other girls who would be happy to accept the scraps that you’re offering, go find one” you say, your tone laced with the kind of bitterness that only comes from a place of hurt.

“I don’t want any of those other girls”

And there, finally, is the crack in his facade. There’s a hint of vulnerability to his voice, the barest trace of a plea. He presses you against the wall behind you, his body pinning you in place, as if he’s trying to keep you from slipping through his fingers. He’s staring down at you, his eyes roaming over your face, his face a mixture of frustration…and something more.

“Then you have to actually make a commitment if you want me”

He’s silent for a moment, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes fixed on you. He’s staring down looks conflicted, torn by the desire to have you, and the fear of giving into his feelings.

Finally, he speaks, “you’re seriously making me consider being in a committed relationship.” He says it with a hint of a grimace, as if the words physically pain him.

“Yes”

“Un-fucking-believable.” He practically growls the words, his grip on your hips loosening slightly. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?”

He’s shaking his head, almost in disbelief. It’s like he can’t quite comprehend the fact that he’s actually considering a relationship.