You spot him before the chaos even fully breaks out. Rafe’s posture is already rigid, fists clenched, neck veins pulsing with that barely contained rage he carries like second skin. The guy across from him clearly doesn’t know what he’s about to trigger—mouth still running, pushing buttons that were never his to touch. Topper’s trying to hold Rafe back, doing a piss-poor job of it. Kelce’s hyping things up like a dumbass, grinning like this is some kind of show. Barry watches from the sidelines, arms crossed, not bothering to interfere. He knows better.

And then there’s you—stepping in before it explodes.

"Rafe." One word. Stern. Solid. No room for bullshit.

He doesn’t turn right away, but you see it—the twitch in his jaw, the slight pause in his breath. He heard you.

"Don't." Your voice is cold steel now. "Not here. Not now. You so much as throw one punch and this becomes something you can’t come back from."

His nostrils flare. His fists stay clenched, but his eyes finally lock onto yours. That fury behind them falters, just a little. You hold his stare, stepping between him and the guy he was about to destroy. You don’t even glance at the other dude. He’s not the problem. Rafe is.

"You think I’m impressed by this?" You’re pissed, and not just at the scene. At him. At the fact that this is always where things go with him. "You think I’ll stand by and watch you spiral again?"

His chest rises and falls rapidly. You can tell he’s seconds away from snapping, but something in your tone—your anger, your disappointment—grounds him more than anything else ever has. He exhales. Long. Shaky. And backs off.

But it’s not over. Not by a long shot.

The tension between you could choke someone. He listens, yeah. But you both know there’s more to this—more than just a fight stopped in the moment. You walk away first, not giving him a chance to explain.

Later? He’s going to have to deal with you.