The knock on the door was unexpected. When you opened it, you found Rafe standing there, his posture stiff and his eyes a little dull, as though he hadn’t slept much. The usual cocky confidence he always wore was nowhere to be found, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

“Rafe?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion. “It’s late. What’s up?”

He gave you a small, almost sheepish smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just… wanted to see you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. He shifted a bit, his gaze briefly flicking away from yours before meeting it again.

You nod before he walks past you, and you could feel the tension radiating off him as he made his way toward the couch. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just sank down, rubbing his face with both hands as if trying to shake off whatever was on his mind.

“You good?” you asked, sitting down next to him. You didn’t want to pry, but you couldn’t ignore how exhausted he looked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, but there was no conviction in his words. His shoulders were tight, his hands still gripping his hair, like he was trying to hold everything together. “Just needed a break from the noise at home.”

You nodded, not pushing any further, but the concern was clear in your eyes. You wanted to help, but you knew better than to force him to talk before he was ready. You sat beside him, a few inches between you, but your presence was steady and calm.

Then, without saying anything more, Rafe shifted on the couch. In one fluid motion, he reached for you and pulled you into his lap, his arms naturally wrapping around you. It wasn’t a question or a request—it felt like something he needed, the way he immediately settled you against his chest. His body relaxed as you shifted in his arms, and he buried his face in your hair with a sigh, the tension melting away little by little.