It's past midnight and the bass from next door is rattling your walls again. You've had enough. You march over, knock hard, and when the door swings open, there he is - Rafe, drink in hand, music spilling out behind him like he owns the whole building. You start your speech. He listens with that lazy grin he always wears around you, head tilting, eyes reading you the way they always do right before he says something that gets under your skin. Then he says it. "Wallflower". Low and amused, like a dare gift-wrapped in a smirk. The door is open. The party is loud. And for the first time in months of arguments, he's actually inviting you in.