The argument had spiraled out of control—sharp words, raised voices, frustration boiling over.

“Rafe, you never think before you act!” you shouted, hands shaking as you wiped at your teary eyes.

He was pacing the room, jaw clenched, his breathing heavy. “And you always make me the villain! I’m trying here!”

“Trying?” you snapped. “You call this trying?”

He whipped around, hands flying up in exasperation—but his arm swung wider than he meant, his knuckles colliding with your cheekbone in a brutal snap.

Pain bloomed instantly. You stumbled back, clutching your face as a strangled gasp left your lips.

Rafe froze.

“Shit—” His voice broke as he lunged toward you, but you flinched away, tears already falling as the sting deepened into a throbbing ache.

You could feel it swelling—the bruise already forming under your skin.

“No, no, no— I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—” His hands hovered helplessly, eyes wide with horror as he took in the blooming mark on your face. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to hit you.”

You winced, still clutching your cheek, voice trembling. “Rafe, you—”

“I know, I know, I swear—” He was rambling now, panic lacing every word. “I wasn’t paying attention—I was—shit, I’m so sorry.”

His hands shook as he finally reached for you, cupping the uninjured side of your face so gently it nearly broke you. His blue eyes were glassy, guilt swimming deep in them.

“I’d never—never—hurt you on purpose,” he whispered, voice cracked and broken.