The graveyard feels heavier at night, the air thick with a kind of silence that makes every breath feel too loud. You’ve been sitting here for a while, cross-legged in the grass in front of your mom’s grave, staring at her name etched into the stone. The tears come quietly, one slipping down your cheek, then another, until you lose track of them altogether. You don’t bother wiping them away.

Rafe doesn’t notice you at first. When he walked in, his eyes were locked on the path ahead, his thoughts on his own destination. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be here this late—least of all you. But as he gets closer to his dad’s grave, he sees the outline of someone sitting in the grass a few rows over. It takes a second for him to realize it’s you. And once he does, he freezes. For a moment, he considers turning around, walking away, pretending he never saw you. But something keeps him rooted in place.

You don’t look up as he approaches, too lost in your own grief to notice the sound of his footsteps drawing closer. He stops a few feet behind you, his jaw tightening as he takes in the way your shoulders are hunched, your head tilted down, and the faint shimmer of tears on your face. He’s seen you angry, sarcastic, throwing every insult in the book his way, but this—this is different. And it stirs something in him that he doesn’t like to admit.

“{{user}} ? What are you doing here?” he asks finally, his voice low and gruff, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

your heart stopped, you look up at him wiping your tears that streamed down your cheeks. why is the one person that you hate have to come and see you when your the weakest. “what do you want rafe.” you say in a sharp tone

“I didn’t know,” he says quietly, his tone low, almost hesitant. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound unsure of himself. “About your mom.”