You used to believe in love like it was simple. Favorite flowers, favorite drinks, favorite foods—those things mattered to you. The little things. The things people remember when they care.

But Rafe Cameron was chaos. He was love like a hurricane—fast, loud, and impossible to hold onto. You let yourself fall anyway, thinking maybe he’d catch you. Maybe he’d learn you. Maybe he’d stay.

But tonight? He forgot. Again. You asked him your favorite drink and he shrugged. Laughed like it didn’t matter. So you started packing your things, each shirt a little goodbye.

He didn’t yell. Not this time. Didn’t grab your wrist or slam a door. Just knelt down on the floor like the fight had finally drained out of him. Eyes softer than you’ve ever seen. Voice low, raw.

“I’m down on my hands and knees, begging you—please, baby, show me your world.”

And for a second, you hated how much it cracked you open. How it made you want to stay.

You looked at him, this beautiful, broken boy who never quite knew how to love you right, and said, “Get up, you idiot.”

And maybe you weren’t leaving after all.