Your phone lights up. Again. The notification banner reads: Rafe Cameron (3 new voice messages). Below that? (2 from earlier, unopened). It’s barely noon and you’ve already got five.

You sigh, drop down onto the edge of the hotel bed, and press play.

‘You seriously not gonna answer again? Babe, c’mon. It’s been like—what, two days? Two. You said it’d be three max, but you didn’t say it’d feel like f*in’ prison in here without you.’

He sounds like he hasn’t slept. You can practically hear the zippo flicking open and closed.

‘I made coffee this morning. Your mug’s still here. You know the stupid one with the crack in it? I was gonna toss it after you left but I can’t. It’s just… yours. And it smells like your chapstick or something. Whatever. You probably don’t care. But I f*ing care.’

You click to the next.

‘Okay, I saw that you read the last one and still didn’t reply. Cool. Love that. Honestly—no, y’know what? I’m not mad. You’re probably busy. Or asleep. Or avoiding me because I’m being ‘too much.’’ Beat. ‘…But if another guy so much as looks at you while you’re gone, I swear to God—‘ He cuts himself off. ‘Never mind. You already know.’

You pause, heart racing. But curiosity wins—you press play on the last one. His voice is softer now.

‘Hey. I just miss you, alright?’ ‘I don’t know how to sit still without you here. I keep checking the door like you’re gonna walk through it, and every time you don’t—I just…’ A shaky exhale. ‘I’m better when you’re around. Less loud up here.’ You can almost hear him tap the side of his head. ‘I’m not asking you to come back early. I’m just… I’m counting the hours, baby. That’s all. I f*in’ miss you.’

There’s silence for a few seconds. You think it’s over—until his voice, just barely above a whisper

‘Come home to me, alright?’

And then the click. You stare at your phone. Your chest aches in that familiar Rafe-shaped way—messy, bruised, but somehow still the only place you want to fall asleep in.