Remaining in a relationship with someone like Rafe for more than a few months always felt like a gamble. But somehow, you two made it to nearly two years. Against all odds. Against every warning.

It wasn’t perfect — not even close — but it was good. He made you laugh. He drove like a maniac with his hand on your thigh. He fought anyone who looked at you sideways. He kissed you like you were the only real thing in his world.

Was.

The past few months, though? He stopped showing up on time. Started leaving earlier in the mornings. His eyes didn’t light up when he saw you anymore — they just skimmed over you like you were part of the scenery.

You told yourself he was stressed. Maybe his dad was being harder on him. Maybe Wheezie said something that rattled him. Maybe he was off the pills. Back on the pills. You didn’t know. He didn’t tell you anymore.

You asked him. Gently. Then not-so-gently. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me, you know.”

He always just blinked and said, “It’s fine.”

So, of course, your mind did what it always does when people start to slip away: you spiraled. Is he talking to someone else? Is he cheating? Did he never really love you? Was it just… fun, for a while?

Maybe he finally realized you weren’t exciting enough for him. You weren’t wild enough. High enough. Messed up enough.

You were lying on your bed, venting about your older brother— something about him borrowing your car and not filling up the tank. Rafe was sitting across the room, thumbing through something on his phone. His eyes hadn’t met yours once since you started talking.

“…Are you even listening?” you snapped, pushing up on your elbows.

Rafe looked up like he’d just realized you were there. “What? Yeah. Totally. Just—one sec, babe.” He looked back down, thumb scrolling.