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If There's Bleach In The Hallways (I Can Start Over) - reality tv star!Rafe Cameron x Reader

I Feel You Underneath My Tongue (Next To Every Word That I Should Have Said): Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Topper gets a distraught you home from your disastrous Hawaiian vacation where you proceed to crumble. You’re, understandably, upset and made even more so when about a week later, Rafe shows up at your place. And as much as you didn’t want to at first? There was too much history there. You had to let him in. And you had to hear him out.

CW/TWs: angst, female reader implied, cursing, toxic relationships afoot, implied previous physical violence, verbal harassment/abuse, implied sexual harassment, not the most edited/reviewed (read: at all)

Words: 5.7k+

Note: God help me I just needed this to be done so apologies that if it's not good I simply needed this out of my draftsssss Rounding out this little thing with pretty boy blondie Drew again. Anywayssssss here’s the second part as promised besties.

You’d hardly been aware of your actions when you’d left Oahu. You’d hardly left the stupid resort Are You The One? was filming at when you’d taken your phone out and found the only familiar contact that felt reliable anymore. Topper’s, of course. You wouldn’t say that you’d won him in your break up with Rafe, exactly. But he was one of your only mutual friends who didn’t for a moment question why you’d initially broken up with him. He’d been the one to console you, understanding that no matter how much you loved him—and dear God, you fucking loved him—you couldn’t be with him anymore. Couldn’t enable his bullshit. It hurt too much...you and Rafe both. Way too fucking much. Even through the haze over your thoughts, you’d recognized that as Topper answered the phone when you called, he wasn’t surprised.

“Top,” you said, voice strangely flat and devoid of emotion.

“What’s up?” he asked, immediately worried based on the sound of your voice. You didn’t answer for a moment, swept up in thought and your throat closing against the threat of you crying. He said your name and you snapped out of it, blinking rapidly. “You okay?”

“No,” you said honestly, gripping your bag in hand at your side tighter. “I’m coming to Kona.”

“You just got there like yesterday,” Topper said hesitantly, clearly anticipating that something bad had happened.

“Yeah. And you were right. I shouldn’t have come in the first place,” you muttered. Topper began to ask but you immediately, curtly, cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m catching the first flight over. I don’t even care how much it costs I need to get the fuck out of here.” You drew in a haggard breath. “I really can’t do this anymore, Top.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he hurried to say. “Don’t freak out. I got you. Did you book a flight?”

“Not yet,” you replied dully.

“Okay. I’ll look at them right now,” he said. You heard the sound quality of the phone shifted as he put you on speaker. He was silent for about a minute before speaking again. “Okay. There’s a flight leaving in two hours from Oahu to Kona. Can you get to the airport quick? I’ll book the ticket for you.”

“Yeah,” you replied, voice hoarse and cracking. You sniffled, suddenly flooded with emotion. “I…thanks, Top.” He said your name softly, sadly and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. “Please…don’t. Not…not now. Please?”

Topper sighed, sounding far more tired than you would’ve preferred. “Okay,” he agreed. “We’ll talk about it later. Just get to the airport. I’m not going to book you a second one if you’re fucking around.”

The attempt to make you laugh failed. Miserably. “Thank you, Top,” you said a final time before hanging up.

You took a few shallow breaths in a desperate attempt to steady yourself, but at the end of the day, it didn’t do much to calm your frazzled nerves. So, instead, you used the keyed up—if erratic—energy to focus on getting to the airport as fast as you could humanly do so. Even safety went out the window. In your haze and desire to be left alone in the meantime, and to avoid being on your phone and risk your own weakness letting you go and look at old pictures of you and Rafe, you didn’t let yourself take your phone from your pocket once you’d shoved it in there. So, instead of doing the logical thing like calling a taxi…taking a bus…literally anything normal? You decided to hitchhike your way there.

Miracle of miracles, you made it to the airport untouched and uninjured by all accounts. With your bag in hand, you shuffled through the airport. You checked in and printed a ticket so you wouldn’t have to turn your phone on. You went through security without even being conscious of your movements. You shuffled to your gate and sat, staring blankly with the extra ten minutes you had before boarding. After you were in your seat, still you didn’t seem to fully fathom what was going on…where you were, even.

When the plane took off, it was like you snapped back into your body.

You wished you hadn’t.

It turned out that trying not to cry on a plane was a lot harder when you were being hit with a torrent of emotions that threatened to sweep you entirely away. And, you also were fairly confident that there was nothing in this world that would be worse…would be more humiliating than sobbing in a plane with some fucking stranger next to you. And the guy next to you, dressed in a crisp business suit, severe look on his face, was already eyeing you as if you were a fucking bomb set to go off. So, the flight was terrible…but hey, you’d expected almost nothing less.

When the plane touched down in Kona, you were ready to scream from relief. You got off as quickly as you could and stood waiting for your baggage, your emotions all over the place and nowhere at all again. You jumped when you felt someone touch your shoulder and whipped around. Unsurprisingly, it was Topper standing behind you with a worried look on his face. Your heart skipped a beat and you frowned back at him before folding yourself into his arms in a tight hug.

“Hey, come on,” Topper said, hugging you back tightly, rubbing your back soothingly. “Let’s get your bag and get to the hotel, okay?”

Angel that he was, Topper grabbed your bag for you as it came around on the belt and then guided you to his rental car. He didn’t badger you as he drove to the hotel or even on the way up to his suite. He managed to keep it together until you reached the room. You didn’t offer a word as you got in the room, instead going directly into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. You took a long, almost scalding hot shower, and stayed as long as you could justify. But, you knew you couldn’t stall any longer.

“You gonna talk to me now?” Topper asked calmly when you finally exited the bathroom.

“I don’t…know what to say,” you replied blankly.

“How about you start with what happened,” he suggested. “I’ve…never seen you like this.”

You were silent for a few moments. You tried to think of what exactly you should say. “You…you were right. This was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have come,” you managed to say. What you’d seen, what you’d heard all ricocheted through your head like a stray bullet and lodged itself in your heart again. You let out a shaky sigh. “It was a fucking terrible idea, Top.”

“What happened?” Topper asked. He moved in front of you, kneeling down. He grabbed your hands and waited until you looked up at him. “It’s me.” He said your name when you looked away to draw your eyes back to him. “Just talk to me. What did he…what happened?” He was cut off for a moment by the buzzing of his phone. He took it out reflexively and looked down. His brow furrowed immediately. “Why did Rafe text me and tell me your dad is there now?” His eyes locked on yours again, his gaze sharper…more concerned now. “Tell me.”

You sighed and briefly closed your eyes at the news. You were glad that Rafe wasn’t alone; that was good news. You still didn’t want to think about…any of this mess. At all. But, you gave Topper a brief synopsis of the mess that had played out. Of Thalia’s psychotic ass. Her hitting Rafe. Rafe being so…downtrodden. You being a mistake, according to Rafe. By the time you were done speaking, Topper looked quite like he was sucking on a rancid lemon.

“Fucking Christ that idiot can never make things easy for himself can he,” Topper muttered. He moved from kneeling in front of you to sit next to you. “That’s fucked. So fucked. I’m sorry.” You shrugged, not letting yourself look over at him. Topper gently nudged your shoulder and said your name softly.

You closed your eyes again and shook your head. “Please don’t,” you said, voice wobbling.

Again, Topper said your name, imploring now. “Come here.”

Despite everything inside you being stubborn, you cracked. You turned into Topper and started sobbing. You sunk into his embrace embarrassingly quickly as you cried, holding onto him like he was your last lifeline in the world; right now he kind of was.

“I can’t believe…” you sobbed, unable to breathe properly, “and he was…”

“I know,” Topper said, running his hand soothingly up and down your back. And he did. You weren’t speaking any coherent thoughts and still it was blindly obvious what was going on—what you were thinking. “I got you.”

And he did. He held you as you sobbed yourself to sleep. He stayed with you as you walked in an emotionless haze through the whole of the following day. He sat by your side in the airport when you were going to be flying home the day after that, monitoring your face for any sign that you were going to break down. He wanted to be there for you. You loved him for it. You…you should’ve loved him more for it. But, you were starting to get to a point of wanting to lash out. It was irrational and it made you hate yourself but you needed to be by yourself for a moment. You needed to lick your wounds and deal with your torched pride. Graciously, you were torn from the reality of Topper’s intense concern by your phone ringing. Less wonderfully, it was your father calling.

“Dad,” you greeted blankly.

“I took care of it,” he said without preamble. “Everything’s being handled. Rafe’s going to be…fine. On the entertainment side, at least.”

“That’s good,” you replied, the words hollow. You stared at the door of your gate, itching for it to open already.

“Rafe’s doing okay otherwise too. I just put him up in a room with me so I could keep an eye on him. He’s been a little out of it, a little quiet. Nothing too bad though,” he explained, unprompted. You bit back the urge to point out that it was probably because he was in the room with your father and not because Rafe was actually okay.

“Oh that’s good,” you repeated. Your dad sighed and then your name slipped from his lips. Immediately you knew you were going to get a pseudo lecture; you tried to stop it. “Dad, just leave it. Please.”

“Listen, honey,” he said softly, ignoring your request. “I just…I need you to know this, okay?” He took your steely silence as a go-ahead to keep speaking. “You don’t understand why he was there, sweetheart. It’s not what you think. He didn’t…he shouldn’t have been. And he didn’t want to be.”

“But he was,” you interrupted, your voice showing emotion for the first time in the conversation.

“And I watched the footage,” your dad rebuked. “I know what was actually going on. I know what was actually said. I combed through hours of footage—any time the camera was on him, confessionals, the house and everything. I read the interviews that went into casting. All of it. I know everything that went on. And, honey, I’m telling you this as your dad. You should hear Rafe out. It isn’t what you think it was. And I know you love him. I know you want to hear him out. Don’t you think you should at least give him the chance to explain without you putting words he never said into his mouth?”

You were saved from having to reply to your father by the gate agent calling for your group to start boarding. “I have to go. My plane is boarding,” you stated curtly before hanging up the phone. You glanced over at Topper who was looking at you with a forcibly uninterested face. You rolled your eyes, cracking a half-smile for the first time in days. You pushed his shoulder weakly before standing up. “Don’t look at me like that, loser.”

“Not looking at you like anything,” Topper lied—poorly, you’d like to add—before rising to his feet as well. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

“Please,” you muttered, following dutifully behind him as you got in line to board.

Despite the brief pockets of joy that you were able to extract on your flight home, when you landed, you were back in this place of despondence and misery. You made your way home in a cab, refusing Topper’s offer for a ride. And when you got home you turned off your phone entirely and laid in your bed in a cocoon of pathetic misery that made you hate yourself all the more. It felt like you were mourning your relationship with Rafe. Just now. After months of not being together. This…this felt final in a strange sort of way. A way that made you sad. It went on for days, you only leaving your bed to do the bare minimum to keep yourself going. Your entire apartment became a den of sadness that you didn’t know when you’d be able to peel yourself out of it.

Often, your mind oscillated between missing Rafe and hating Rafe. Mourning your love for him and longing for it. It was disorienting and infuriating. It felt like it’d never fucking end. You barely were conscious of the fact that people would be concerned that you weren’t answering your phone at all—it didn’t even cross your mind, in truth. You didn’t care. All you could think of was the resigned look on Rafe’s face, the quiet acceptance, when he’d been hit. It wasn’t surprise. It was just…tolerance. It burned you. And if you bitterly contrasted that to the smiles he’d had with you…even when you weren’t together…it made you feel sick.

Reality came knocking again though.

Literally.

When you’d been home and steadfastly ignoring absolutely everything for about a week, there was a knock at your door. As if your brain suddenly registered how long it had been since you’d spoken to…well, anyone…you winced and stood from your couch where you’d settled a few hours earlier. You were certain it was Topper at the door ready to chew you out for scaring him by not answering. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you probably deserved it too. You sighed as you moved to open the door, resigned to being scolded.

“Listen, Top,” you began as soon as you started opening the door.

You immediately fell silent.

That…was not Topper.

That was Rafe.

You were stunned to see him. Far more than you cared to admit it. You glanced him over, feeling a little bit like a computer being forced to reboot. His bleached hair—which had looked annoyingly good on him, even though you hated seeing it—had been cut. Now, with his hair shorter, it looked like he had the frosted tips he’d always made fun of Topper for having when your friend had rocked the look. A stupid detail to focus on by all accounts. But, if you were looking at his hair instead of his face…you might be able to keep it together.

Your name falling from Rafe’s lips was what brought you out of your state. “Can I come in?” he asked, voice strangely gentle.

“I…” you trailed off. You didn’t know how to finish it. I want you to come in and never leave? I don’t think that’s a good idea? I want you to leave? I never want to see you again? No. None of that. So instead you shook your head to clear it. “Umm…sure.” You stepped to the side and let him in, shutting the door behind him. You went back to your spot on the couch and sat, looking at him warily. “What are you doing here?”

Rafe shrugged, not looking at you. He stood awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot in a way that was so unlike him it was jarring. “Topper said you haven’t been answering him,” Rafe explained. “Some, uh, some of your friends called me too. Said you haven’t been answering them either.”

“Phone’s been off,” you replied, shrugging in turn. “Been tired, don’t feel like dealing with everyone else right now.” You gave him a flat look. “Again, why are you here, Rafe?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said, sounding almost apologetic for it.

You blew out a breath and closed your eyes. You leaned your head back against your couch and resisted the bitter urge to laugh. “Here we go,” you muttered. You raised your head and looked at him. “We’re really gonna do this again?” You shook your head. “Rafe I’m tired. Of this. There…what conversation are we going to have that’ll fix anything? Oh yeah. None.”

He bit his lip and shifted, uncomfortable. He looked terrified and it made you feel on edge yourself. “I know. I know…I know you feel that way. But…I…please?” he said. He gave you an imploring look and said your name pointedly. “Please hear me out. This…this whole thing? It isn’t what you think.”

You let out an ugly snort, unable to stop yourself from glaring at him. “Oh, then by all means. Sure. Go ahead and try to sell me on another story, Cameron. This oughta be good, right?” you posed, acidic in presentation. He flinched at the words—the tone—but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for it. You shifted. “And can you sit down for fuck’s sake if you’re gonna tell me some story? You’re making me nervous just standing there.”

Rafe nodded jerkily and immediately sat on the chair next to the couch. His eyes were focused intently on you. “I never wanted this to happen. Any of it. I wanted…I wanted to get better. For…you at first. But…then for me. But that…it didn’t matter at first…when we…when we first broke up,” he began. You didn’t bother reacting, simply raising a brow to prompt him to keep speaking. “In the time that we, uh, weren’t talking after we broke up? When I…when I went on the bender we talked about?” Your nose scrunched up, remembering well the time period that very nearly killed him. “That was when I decided to get clean. When I went to my first meeting. I realized that, uh, not remembering most nights was actually…actually, uh, kind of scary. It wasn’t…helping anymore.”

“Real big of you to realize,” you muttered, shaking your head. You folded your hands tightly in front of you and looked at him. “Look, Rafe, what does this even—”

“Please just let me get through this,” he said, openly sounding like he was begging. “When I was on the bender…I guess I applied to be a contestant. I don’t…remember it. They…I…I only saw my audition tape because of your dad. And I…I was so messed up. Everything on the applications and in the tape were incoherent. I…I don’t know how…” He trailed off, swallowing hard and shook his head. “I didn’t remember applying for the stupid show.” He said your name once more, softer, begging you to hear him and believe him. “I…you know I just wanted you again.”

“I don’t know anything,” you denied, voice cool. “Don’t bring me into this Rafe.”

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck nervously. “They called me and said that I’ve been selected. You…I don’t know. It was going to be a lot of fucking money to get out of it. Money I don’t have. Money that my dad wasn’t gonna front me. I…I needed to go. It was the only way. It…it felt like the only way. I…should’ve just talked to your dad first. There were about fifty clauses that could’ve gotten me out of it.” He shook his head and let out a laugh. “But I went. And…the second I got there I knew how big of a fucking mistake it was.”

His face went sour and he stopped speaking for a moment. His eyes were locked on the coffee table between you two. He wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t blinking. Didn’t look like he was breathing. It went on for a few seconds too long and you shifted.

“Rafe,” you prompted quietly, narrowly resisting the urge to reach out and touch him.

He cleared his throat, snapping out of it. “The second I met…Thalia…I knew she had to be the one for me on the show. The way that she was from the beginning? The…the type of person she was? It was the exact type of person I knew I deserved. And I…it made sense why we’d be a match to the producers. I was…a mess, obviously. But…when you left…as…as you should have…I’m…I’m not discounting that,” he emphasized, “it just changed something. I didn’t think I deserved as good as I got from you. Didn’t think that I deserved anything good. So, when she was awful to me…to anyone in the house? I knew she had to be for me. Because who the fuck else would deserve that?”

You stiffened at his words, looking incredulously at him. “No one!” you interrupted. “Why would you think that way? You…you didn’t…you were not a match the producers are fucking idiots who care about making a show that sells, not about the contestants!”

“I know,” Rafe said quietly. “Doesn’t mean that I deserve good things in life. Because I have been…repeatedly and constantly fucking horrible. I’m…I’m not blind to that. I…there’s a reason people don’t want to help me or give me credit for good things. It’s because I have so much shit to make up for. The tiny slivers of good I do don’t cancel out the heaps of bad I’ve done. I know that. I…I do.”

“What the hell are you saying?” you demanded. “Really! I’m fucking lost here, Rafe! You…you are a fucking idiot, man. All I have ever done is love you and try to get you to let me love you. Literally constantly. Since we were kids Rafe! All I have done is try to make you see that you do deserve credit—that you do deserve help.”

Rafe closed his eyes. “I know you have,” he agreed. “But…that doesn’t make it…right. If I deserved better, don’t you think I’d get it? But you? You? You deserve someone who takes care of you and who loves you. Someone who can stand by your side and be proud and unflinching. Someone who doesn’t care about what other people think.” He let out a laugh—it didn’t sound very amused. “Someone who will actually defend you.” He looked seriously at you. “I couldn’t even step in and say anything when Thalia was bad mouthing you. And you think I’m gonna believe I deserve someone as good as you? Yeah, no. I’m too much of a fucking coward. I never went against her. I deserved to be paraded around that stupid fucking villa by her and…”

He trailed off and you felt sick for a moment. You’d seen the show. It wasn’t hard to guess where she’d dragged Rafe off to or anything of that nature. You clenched and unclenched your jaw, trying to force yourself to relax.

“Tell me something, though, Rafe. Did you…want to be dragged around by her? Did you want anything you…did with her? Just…be honest.” His face scrunched up. “It’s not a trick question. I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” He shook his head. “And how often did she tear into you for no reason? How many times? And…and for that matter, how many times did she put her hands on you and hit you—hurt you?” You gesticulated wildly, trying to help convey your point, but really just helping alleviate some of your frustration. “You didn’t deserve to be paraded around and used. And of course you didn’t go against her!”

“I hurt you,” Rafe said, his tone severe, his eyes dark as he thought of it.

“Dear God,” you groaned. “Yeah, you did fucking hurt me Rafe. Guess what? Normal fucking Tuesday for us when we’re not together, isn’t it? We always manage to fuck up and hurt each other. But guess what, Rafe? You were in an impossible situation. I get that. I know that, even though you apparently don’t.”

“Doesn’t make it okay,” he argued. “I don’t…you shouldn’t forgive me for that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure I’m the one who gets to decide that,” you shot back. You sighed and gave him an imploring look of your own. “Rafe…why would I ever hold it against you? Especially when I know you were trying not to get hit? I’m begging you, for once in your life, use the brain in your pretty little head and think. Why would I ever blame you for that?”

He didn’t look sold. “I don’t know, because I hurt you,” he said as if that were the only thing that mattered in the world. “Because I didn’t prioritize your feelings like I should have.”

So, you changed tactics.

“What would you…” you trailed off. “How would you feel if it were me, Rafe?”

The look on Rafe’s face immediately hardened. “Well, I would have killed him,” he said, voice harsh. “No one’s putting a hand on you.” You nodded, cocking your head to the side. His angry face cracked and he sighed, slumping back into the chair. “I wouldn’t hold it against you. I’d just be…I’d just be worried.”

“Yeah, exactly,” you said softly, looking at him, eyes soft and sad. “Now you know how I feel.” Slowly, you scooted down the couch until you were next to him. You reached out and gently grabbed his hand. He looked at it and then up at you, startled. “Listen to me, okay?” He kept looking at you, attention raptly on you. “I love you, Rafe. I love you so much. I always will. The…nothing about this experience was good for you.” He went to add something but you cut him off. “Or me. But that doesn’t matter—not when you’re the one in the most pain here. And no matter what? It doesn’t change that I love you.”

You watched as tears rose in his eyes. He immediately retracted his hand from your hold and leaned away, his head on the back of the chair. He closed his eyes as if trying to stop the tears, but it didn’t work. You saw the tears sliding down his face even with his eyes closed. He let out a small sob and you felt tears rise in your own eyes—impressive when you’d thought you’d run out of tears for the week. Moving slowly, you reached out again and grabbed both of his hands, holding them and giving a reassuring squeeze. He raised his head after a moment and opened his eyes.

He was sad—so sad.

He was in pain—so much pain.

“I…I don’t think that I…don’t think I could’ve stopped it without you,” he admitted, voice shaky.

You frowned. “I don’t think you would’ve, no,” you agreed, hating it even as the words fell out. “You’re too convinced you deserve that. But you don’t. You deserve love. Real love.”

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes again, squeezing your hands. “Thanks for calling your dad,” he said lamely after a moment.

“I hope he tears them several new fucking assholes,” you replied back quietly. Without much thought behind it, you raised your joined hands up to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to his hands. You heard his breath hitch and your brain caught up with the action. You immediately released him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry. Habit. That was…sorry.”

Slowly himself this time, Rafe reached out and took your hands again, squeezing them. “It’s okay,” he assured you. You squeezed his hands back and offered a small smile. “I am sorry. So sorry. I just…you deserved…you deserve so much better.”

“It’s not…not your fault, Rafe,” you said, at a loss for anything else to say. The words were only partially true and you both knew it.

“I’m still sober, by the way,” Rafe blurted out, seemingly out of nowhere. You furrowed your brow and his face flushed. “I mean…I refused to drink anything or take anything. They…they tried to make me but I refused.” His face was grim and drawn, clearly remembering something. And you had no doubt that those conversations had been awful—even with his stubborn nature, you could only imagine what production crew and cast mates had said to try to get him to drink.

You squeezed your still joined hands and shuffled a little bit closer. You already felt terrible for having thrown that in his face when you were pissed—now you just felt worse. “I’m proud of you,” you said, nodding encouragingly at him. “That’s amazing. I can’t…imagine how hard that was. I know it had to be terrible.”

He gave you a shaky smile and then looked down, the look disappearing. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” he said, eyes locked on his lap. “It all…it all happened so fast. Before I knew what was going on really…I was already on a plane to Hawaii. They took our phones the second we got there. I just…I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“Rafe, I don’t blame you for that part at all. I…I wish you would’ve told me…but, I get it. That…they isolate you. I just…I get it,” you said, unable to form your own coherent thoughts as you absorbed that. You had figured it was something like that, but the confirmation just made your irritation spike.

“Do you…” he began, the words seeming to get stuck on his tongue. “Do you think you can forgive me?”

You looked at him, mystified. “What?” you asked.

He looked up at you again, his eyes wide and fearful. “I know it was terrible and I shouldn’t have asked. I’ve done so much to—” he started rambling.

You cut him off by putting your hand gently over his mouth. A habit you’d long since picked up for when he was talking too damn much or running his mouth like an idiot. And he returned with the habit he’d long since picked up of licking your hand to get it away from him. Unlike your usual response to that though, you didn’t move your hand this time.

“After you have undergone…all of that bullshit on that fucking show…of which I know almost nothing and I still know it was bad…after all that…me forgiving you is what you’re worried about?” you asked incredulously.

You moved your hand at that point and watched his cheeks pink at that question. “Yeah,” he admitted easily enough.

“You…Rafe…I need you to get into fucking therapy,” you said, shaking your head. “Why the hell would I be mad at you for getting taken advantage of? Sober you wasn’t the one who applied. It was fifty thousand dollars on the line that you didn’t have. You were being…abused. Why the hell would I be mad at you? What am I supposed to forgive you for? Being an idiot when you’re drunk or high? Well then sure, baby, that’s forgiven as long as you stop doing it.”

“But—”

“No,” you emphasized. “Rafe, I need you to listen to me. Again, I love you. More than anything. I need you to go to therapy. I need you to take it seriously. I need you to get better. Seeing you hurt like this? Seeing you hurt yourself, let others hurt you…thinking you deserve it? I can’t do that. Baby, I need you to understand that you are, independent of everything, worthy of love and affection. Just as you are now. No changes. And I need you to get that I already do love you. Your friends love you. Hell, my friends still love you after all this shit. The whole damn thing. I need you to know that. You are not alone, you should never be or feel alone. You deserve good things. You deserve us all in your life.”

This time, Rafe’s the one to pull his hands away from you. You see his eyes well up again and notice that his chest was moving erratically. He looked away from you, sniffling and your heart shattered. You moved to the edge of the couch, leaning over into his space slowly, giving him ample time to tell you to fuck off or to move himself. He didn’t.

“Baby,” you implored softly, hand on his knee delicately. He let out a shuddering breath and then you moved closer still and wrapped your arms around him. He froze for a moment, but melted into your embrace, going as far as pulling you fully onto him so he could hug you tighter. You responded in kind by wrapping your arms tightly around him. “I got you.”

“I’m so—”

“Stop apologizing,” you urged. “I don’t want you to be sorry. Not for me.” You pressed a kiss to his temple. You pushed your hurt aside, knowing that it wasn’t at this moment, the biggest hurdle—you’d get there when you got there. He was more important in this moment. “We’ll get you through this. We’ll get through this, baby.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead and let out a sigh, tightening your arms. “Don’t worry, baby. I got you.”

“I love you,” he choked out.

Your heart stuttered in your chest and you forced yourself to keep breathing normally. “I love you too,” you assured him.

You really fucking did—God help you, you did.

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