Being a psychopaths soft spot was a blessing and a curse. It helped for certain situations you’d find yourself in, and then it became an inconvenience for certain arguments in your relationship.

He’d get defensive if you mentioned one mistake he made. So, communication was often ignored, but you knew he’d do anything for you, having proved that several times before. Like protecting you from bullets, defending you, occasionally kicking a Pogue’s ass for you, etc.

He knew it was returned though. He knew you loved him. You just didn’t know express it in the way he did. Like you painted him pictures that now covered the walls in his room, took pictures of sunsets or things throughout your day that you found pretty, and always sending them to him, and giving him pretty rocks that you found. You were gentle in your love. A polar opposite to him, but in the best way possible.

Tonight, Rafe was at his own house, and you were at your own. You guys were on FaceTime how you usually did. You were sat on your bed, typing in some story you were working on, and Rafe was sitting on his bed, playing his video games and watching you occasionally.

All of the lights in your house were off apart from the light of your computer and phone. You were tore from your thoughts at the sound of a window breaking downstairs. You furrowed your eyebrows and picked up your phone, looking at Rafe to see if he heard it too— he did.

“The hell was that?”

Rafe asked quietly, his attention fully focused on you. He watched as you hopped out of bed, muttering for him to call the cops. You quickly locked your door quickly and quietly the sounds of loud rummaging going on downstairs. You walked to your shut off your computer, and threw the blanket back into place before walking to your window, crawling out of it and shutting it behind you. You hid on the roof, making sure you were out of sight from every window. Rafe was already running to his car, ready to come kill whatever bastard broke into your house, no police needed.