Rafe didn’t even know why he came here.

Nah, scratch that—he did.

He wasn’t dumb. He knew exactly why his feet dragged him all the way to your place, barely thinking, just moving. He knew why his hands wouldn’t quit shaking, why his chest felt tight like he couldn’t fucking breathe right.

It was ‘cuz of what his dad said.

“You need to man up.”

Like it was that easy. Like he didn’t already try every fucking day.

Rafe swiped a hand over his face, scowled when he felt the dampness on his skin. Jesus Christ. His head was all over the place. Felt like static, like he was hearing his own thoughts from underwater, and it was all too fucking loud.

He should’ve never said that shit to Ward. Should’ve never opened his goddamn mouth. ‘Cuz what did it get him? Nothing. No, worse than nothing.

His dad looked at him like he was weak.

“Fuck,” Rafe muttered under his breath, kicking at the ground, then rubbing his knuckles ‘til the skin went raw. He couldn’t be doing this. He had an image to keep up. He was Rafe Cameron, man. He was supposed to be untouchable.

Then why did he feel like he was fucking drowning?

His fingers twitched before he even realized it, pressing the buzzer. It was too late to back out now. When the door swung open and he saw you—eyes widening, brows knitting together in something that looked a little too much like concern—his whole body sagged.

He hated it.

Hated how goddamn easy it was for you to make him feel like a little kid, lost and looking for someone to tell him it was all gonna be okay. But you weren’t like his dad. You didn’t tell him to man up.

So when you said his name, soft and careful, Rafe’s breath stuttered.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, dug his nails into his palms, tried again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

His eyes darted around, like he was afraid of being watched, then he stepped inside, closer to you, just barely.