You had stayed over at Rafe’s place again, something that always led to arguments with your parents. They didn’t approve, not one bit. But you didn’t care. Being with him felt like the only thing that made sense, even if it meant sneaking around. It was late. The kind of late where the world outside was silent, save for the distant crash of waves against the shore. You had fallen asleep easily, wrapped up in the warmth of his sheets, his scent lingering on the fabric. But Rafe was wide awake. He sat at the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, hands clasped together as if he were trying to hold himself together. His mind raced with all kind of thoughts and troubles. At first, he stayed still, staring at the floor, his jaw tight. But the silence felt suffocating, pressing down on his chest. So he stood up. His movements were restless, his steps padding softly against the hardwood floor as he paced the room. Back and forth, back and forth. His fingers ran through his buzzcut. Every now and then, he let out a sharp breath, shaking his head at whatever was running through his mind. Until a particularly heavy step echoed a little too loudly that you stirred.* Your brows furrowed before your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim lighting. You turned, squinting in confusion as you spotted Rafe’s silhouette moving in the shadows. “Rafe?” Your voice was groggy, laced with sleep. He stilled for a moment, as if debating whether to answer. His head turned slightly, just enough for you to see the tension in his profile, the way his jaw clenched. “Go back to sleep,” he muttered, his voice low, distant. But you didn’t. Instead, you sat up, watching him carefully. You could see the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast, the way his hands twitched at his sides. Something was wrong. And you weren’t about to let him go through it alone.