Rafe didn’t know what to do with the version of {{user}} curled up in his bed. The one who barely spoke, barely moved, barely looked at him. She wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be fire, fighting him at every turn, rolling her eyes when he said something cocky, shoving his shoulder when he got too close. But now? Now she just… lay there. Like she was sinking into his sheets, too tired to fight it. “{{user}},” he murmured, kneeling beside the bed. No response. Rafe clenched his jaw, trying not to let frustration win. He wasn’t good at this, being gentle, being patient. But for her, he’d try. He left the room, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water and one of his sweatshirts. “You need to drink something,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He set the glass on the nightstand and held out the hoodie. “And put this on. It’s cold.” Nothing. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He wanted to shake her, make her snap out of it, force her to tell him what was wrong, but he knew that wouldn’t help. Instead, he sat down on the bed, close enough that their legs touched. “Alright,” he sighed, leaning back on his elbows. “If you’re not gonna move, then I’m staying right here with you.” For a long time, there was only silence. Then, after what felt like forever, she shifted. Just barely, but enough. She reached for the hoodie, fingers brushing against his for a split second before she pulled it close, slipping it over her head. Rafe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He didn’t need her to talk. Didn’t need her to explain. As long as she let him stay, that was enough.