If Only Rafe Cameron X Reader

But At What Cost?

He closes the distance between us in a breath, posture rigid, eyes scanning my face like he's looking for something that might still be soft. He says nothing.

"I defended you," I hiss. "to my brother, my friends, for what, to look like a fool?."

He drags a hand down his face, tension rolling off him in waves. "I didn't want to lose you."

"And what—you thought keeping me in the dark was the best option?" 

"I was protecting you, dammit!" he explodes, and before I can blink, his fist slams into the wall beside him.

The drywall caves with a sickening crunch. Dust floats through the air in a lazy little cloud while my pulse roars in my ears.

A laugh escapes me—sharp, mean, the kind that stings after it lands.

"Go ahead," I sneer, folding my arms. "Fuck up the house if it'll make you feel like a man again."

He freezes for a second, just long enough for me to think maybe he's done. Maybe the tantrum is over.

But it's not.

Rafe grabs the lamp off the dresser and hurls it sideways. It smashes against the wall behind me. Close. A little too close. I flinch before I can stop myself.

The room shifts.

I see it on his face—instant regret. His eyes dart to mine, wide, panicked, like he's only just realized what he's done. Like he knows he crossed a line, and it's already too late.

Because now I'm scared.

Not of him hurting me. I don't think he ever would.

But of who he becomes when the rage takes over.

I stand there momentarily, grounding myself before I speak. "Protecting me huh? Is that what this is?"

"Y/N, I—" he stammers, reaching out for my hand like he can walk himself back from this. Its too late, I'm already headed out of the room.

"Don't follow me," I interject as I walk out the door.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The firelight hits my face before I even reach the end of his driveway.

He's exactly where I hoped he'd be—slouched low in that same dented lawn chair like it's a throne, one half-tied boot planted in the dirt, the other resting on a cinder block. A beer dangles from his fingers, sweating against his knuckles.

"Well damn," he drawls without looking at me. "If it isn't the ghost of bad decisions past."

I huff a laugh. Kind of. "Nice to see you too, Barry."

He finally glances my way, eyes cutting through the dark, lazy and calculating all at once. "You comin' to score or confess?"

I step closer to the fire and shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. "Neither."

"Then you're definitely lost." He takes a swig from his bottle, gaze flicking back to the flames. "Unless you're hiding from something. In which case... welcome back."

I don't answer. I just sit in the plastic chair across from him, the kind with one uneven leg that always wobbles if you breathe too hard.

Barry watches me for a second. Then he tosses me a beer, unceremonious.

I catch it without thinking.

We sit in silence. The crackle of the fire, the buzz of cicadas, the occasional distant bark from someone else's dog. It's the kind of quiet that knows exactly what to say, but chooses not to.