It’s almost midnight when he shows up.

No warning. No apology. Just headlights cutting across your driveway and a soft knock on your window like he didn’t vanish for five days straight.

You open it without saying a word, step back, arms crossed over your hoodie, waiting for something real.

Rafe climbs through like this is normal, like you haven’t spent every night since Wednesday trying not to cry over someone who never even texted back.

He drops onto the edge of your bed, like he belongs here. Like you’re just mad, not heartbroken.

Then he looks up at you, mouth twitching.

“You mad at me now?”

You blink. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs, lazy. “I mean… yeah.”

“You ignored me all week, Rafe. You couldn’t even fucking say where you went.”

“I needed space.”

“And I needed you.”

That makes him flinch — not visibly, but enough. His jaw tightens.

“You don’t get to disappear and come back like nothing happened,” you say. “I’m not just here when it’s easy for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to wait around,” he mutters.

“But you knew I would,” you fire back, voice cracking.

He stands, slow. Walks up to you, close enough for you to feel his breath.

“You’re mad,” he says. “But you’re still letting me in. That’s gotta mean something.”

You push at his chest, tears stinging your eyes. “Stop doing this to me.”

“I can’t,” he breathes. “I don’t know how to stop.”

You shake your head, and the tears start falling. Hot. Angry. Exhausted.

“I keep trying to believe you’ll change.”

He reaches up, thumb brushing under your eye. “I’m not good for you.”

You choke on a bitter laugh. “You think I don’t know that?”

His fingers trace your jaw now, slow. Careful. Like he only knows how to touch you softly after breaking you down.

“I fuck everything up,” he says. “But you… you make it worse. ’Cause I give a fuck about you.”

You’re crying harder now, and he leans in — kissing the tears as they fall, one by one.

“You deserve better,” he says against your skin.

“Then why won’t you let me go?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just pulls you closer, his hoodie slipping off your shoulder as his hands find your waist like they always do.

“You’re my girl,” he murmurs. “Even when I don’t deserve you.”