Rafe wasn't a normal person—and you knew this, you knew him better than anyone—yet you didn't say anything, because you didn't want him to have another breakdown just by mentioning the topic. It wasn't like you were scared of Rafe or that you didn’t want him to change, you did, you wanted him to do better, you wanted him to get clean and sober and try to be the person he thrived to be. But his parents have failed him, ignoring him after he tried to seek help and guidance from them multiple times, making the idea of getting help now makes him feel like it’s pointless.

Unlike what most people said about him, Rafe was never violent around you—maybe behind your back, sure—but when he was with you–his beloved partner, he was gentle, soft spoken, delicate, as if you’d bruise if he breathed on you too hard. You, tender, sweet and beautiful you, have made him soft. While everybody else were just hollow and empty shells of living beings, you were everything, you made him feel alive and cared for like no one ever did before. And that was why he couldn't stand letting you see the part of him that he wasn't very proud of, the violence, the blood, the actions he would choose to do.

It was a rainy night, you were sitting on your couch, your heater was on, and the TV was showcasing whatever program that intrigued you, the heavy drops of water hitting against your glass window filling your dimly lit living room with a sort of white noise, it almost drowned out the sound of knocking on your door.

As you approached it and looked through the peephole, you saw Rafe, in a dirty, wet and bloody state, meaning that he had just gotten into a fight with some Pogues and was now dropping by your place for emotional support and touch up. And usually this would be a very common encounter between you two, but tonight was different, Rafe looked like he was in distress, like he looked genuinely upset, and you couldn't help but worry as you opened the door.

“..Baby, I..” – Rafe started, not even bothering to give you a greeting.