My boyfriend treated me like I was nothing, like I was just some object he could push around. And Rafe… he always hated it. He never said much, but I could see it in his eyes every time I told him how badly things were going. I always called him when something went wrong, and he always listened. But I never thought of him as anything more than a friend.

That night, the party was loud, chaotic, and everyone was drunk. I was trying to keep my boyfriend calm, trying not to ruin the night, when the argument started. I can’t even remember what it was about - just little words, little jabs - but then he shoved me. I hit the floor, and the room spun.

“Hey!”

Rafe was already there, moving through the crowd faster than I could blink. He stepped in front of us, eyes blazing. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Stay out of it!” my boyfriend yelled, slurring his words.

“Stay out of it?” Rafe shot back. “You just shoved her! Do you even hear yourself?”

“She’s mine, stay away, man!” my boyfriend snapped, throwing insults I could barely catch over the music.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Say that again. I dare you.”

“You’re always looking at her, thinking you can have her!” my boyfriend spat, and that was the final straw.

The crowd erupted around us, yelling, laughing, egging them on. I watched Rafe move, and in seconds they were tumbling into each other, fists flailing, struggling to get the upper hand. I couldn’t keep track of who hit first, who moved where - just the sounds of punches and grunts and people cheering. It was chaos, a blur of motion, and I froze in the middle, heart pounding.

Finally, it stopped. My boyfriend was on the edge of the crowd, cursing, and Rafe stood in front of me. His lip was bleeding, knuckles scraped, a bruise already forming on his cheek. He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling, but the moment his eyes found mine, everything else fell away.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough, low, urgent.

I couldn’t answer. My chest was tight, adrenaline still surging, my hands trembling slightly as he lifted me to my feet, steadying me. I looked at him - at his bloodied lip, the bruises forming on his face, the way he’d risked himself for me.

And then, without thinking, I kissed him.