Rafe knew about your family. How you hate being yelled at. How your childhood wasn’t so picture perfect, just like his. You were both raised by such angry men for fathers, but you react to anger in a different way. As if you were scared of it.

Your relationship with Rafe was a year long already, it was good, he was kinder with you. Softer. Calmer. He doesn’t know how, but he’s comfortable with you. But even now, deep down, there’s still that angry, erratic version of him that lies dormant within him.

Rafe’s talking about Rose, his step-mother, and how she’s not allowing him to speak to his youngest sister, and of course, the very reminder of it irritates him. What irritates him just as badly is the fact that Rose is keeping some of the money his father left behind for herself. He says it belongs to him and Sarah. That it’s not hers, and you listen, like you always do. You try to say something to comfort him, to get him to look at this in a lighter perspective.

Just by your attempt, he paces in his spacious bedroom, his hands moving as he speaks, his nose crinkling in irritation, his brows creasing as his voice is raising before he even knows it.

“You think I want to hear that shit, huh? Consolation does nothing, you hear me? I’m not going to sit here and let Rose keep what isn’t hers!” Rafe’s voice echoes in the room, lingering off the walls as he ends up yelling at you, God, he’s so frustrated and pissed off he doesn’t have much control over his temper.

But as you grow silent, he groans, rubbing his face as the gold ring on his middle finger glistens in the light of the room, his head down while his other hand rests on his hip. He messed up, he feels it weighing over his fuckin’ head.

He looks at you, his expression still strained, you can tell he’s trying to reign himself in. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to yell.” He apologizes, a quiet sigh leaving his lips as he levels himself out, holding his arms out a bit to show you that it was okay. That he wanted you closer.