You let yourself into Rafe’s house, balancing the supplies you’d picked up in one hand as you close the door behind you with the other. It sounds quiet, and the house is dark, except where the sun streaks in through gaps in the shades. You’re pretty sure it means that he’s still sleeping, and that means it’s going to be a bad day.

You were used to bad days now. Most of your days with Rafe were bad since the biking accident. Rafe had already been prone to anger and violent outbursts before, adding in memory loss from the accident, only elevated his negative emotions. He got frustrated easily. He pushed himself too hard some days, trying to remember everything, then he’d exhausted himself and spend the next few days in bed, sleeping and stewing in his anger and depression.

You were trying to do what the doctor said. Be there for him, be supportive, don’t try to push him. Let his memories come back on their own. Let his brain hell. It was hard. You desperately missed the way he used to look at you, the way you used to interact. You wanted him back, but you were prepared to wait and stand by him, no matter what.

You drop your purse by the door and make your way up the stairs to his room. You push open the door, and sigh as you see the darkness. You force a peppy tone into your voice as you speak.

“Hey sleeping beauty. It’s 3 in the afternoon, and I come bearing snacks and presents!” You sit on the edge of his bed, lightly resting your hand on his side. You move it up to run your fingers through his hair softly. You wanted to wrap your arms around him, to press your lips to his, but you held back, not wanting to push.

“Hmm.” He grumbles, his voice thick with sleep as he pulls himself into a sitting position. You move your hand from his hair and place it in your lap with a sigh. “You didn’t have to come today.” He says gruffly, leaning against the headboard.