The silence in Rafe’s room was suffocating, broken only by the occasional sound of fabric rustling as you adjusted your dress. The argument from earlier still hung heavy in the air. His temper had flared again, and you’d flinched when he moved too close—a reaction neither of you had addressed since.

Now, you stood on opposite sides of the room, pretending the tension wasn’t there. Rafe was in front of the mirror, struggling with his tie. His hands tugged at it roughly, frustration etched into his features. He muttered a curse under his breath, yanking the fabric too hard.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye, torn between keeping your distance and stepping in. Something about the way he fought with the tie—how his shoulders tensed, how his jaw clenched—made you falter.

Taking a hesitant breath, you walked over. “Let me,” you said softly, reaching out before you could second-guess yourself.

Rafe glanced at you, his blue eyes guarded. For a moment, he didn’t move, but then he dropped his hands and stepped back just enough for you to take over.

Your hands were steady as you worked, looping the tie into a proper knot. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look up. The closeness was suffocating and comforting all at once.

“My dad never showed me how to do this,” Rafe murmured suddenly, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable.

You paused for half a second, surprised by the admission. But you didn’t respond, unsure what to say. Instead, you tightened the knot gently, adjusting it until it sat perfectly against his collar.

“There,” you whispered, stepping back.

Rafe stared at you, his expression unreadable. “I never wanted it to get like this,” he muttered, his voice low but vulnerable.

You nodded quickly, turning away to avoid his gaze. But as you moved back to the mirror, you caught the way his hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.