Rafe had acted like he understood when you told him you needed some time. Nodded, even smiled. But you knew he didn’t actually get it.

And you were right to be cautious. Things had been… tense lately. Danger was never far away when you were involved. It was smart to step back, keep your guard up, and be careful.

But Rafe didn’t do careful.

By the next day, he was on the road, driving fast and reckless, ignoring everything else just to get to you. He didn’t care about the small risks—the cut on his forehead from a minor accident along the way barely registered. He just needed to see you, make sure you were okay.

When he got to the house, the front door had been left unlocked. Convenient, or maybe fate, because it let him inside without any trouble. Heart hammering, he moved through the quiet rooms, calling your name softly, but exhaustion hit him like a wall and he collapsed near the living room floor, forehead bleeding, breathing hard.

Then you appeared.

Arms raised, eyes sharp, a baseball bat pointed straight at him.

“Rafe?” you said, voice steady, “what are you doing here?”

He groaned, pushing himself onto his knees, blood dripping down his forehead, looking up at you with wide, guilty eyes.

“{{user}}… wait—” he muttered, hands raised a little, trying to show he wasn’t dangerous. “I just… I had to make sure you were safe.”