You had been dating Rafe for months now, and honestly, your neediness was a bit much for him. You always wanted to be around him, constantly seeking his affection, and it grated on his nerves. Every morning, his phone lit up with a stream of messages from you. You insisted on calling and meeting up all the time, never giving him a moment of peace.

It drove him mad—but for some inexplicable reason, he couldn't bring himself to break up with you. Deep down, though he'd never confess it, he had developed a soft spot for you.

Tonight, you were staying over at Rafe's house. But the entire evening, you felt ignored as he was preoccupied with everything else, barely acknowledging your presence.

Around midnight, you finally mustered the courage to enter his room. He was at his desk, buried in paperwork, his back to you.

Hearing the door creak open, he turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Can't you see I'm busy?" he snapped, his voice dripping with irritation. You flinched, mumbling a quiet apology, feeling a lump form in your throat.

Rafe stared at you for a moment, his expression hard. But then he noticed the hurt in your eyes. With an exasperated sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and softened his tone slightly. "Alright, come here," he muttered, his voice still rough but with a hint of reluctance.