The door creaks open, and your smile grows instinctively. Rafe steps into the room, his usual presence enough to make everything else feel lighter. “Hey,” you say softly, holding out your arms from where you’re sprawled on the bed. “Missed you. Come cuddle.”

You expect him to grin, to kick off his shoes, and slide into your arms like he always does. But instead, he hesitates, running a hand through his hair. His movements are slower, more deliberate, and something in his expression feels… off.

The words hit harder than they should, the warmth in your chest fizzling out. Your arms drop, and you sit up slightly, confusion clouding your thoughts. “Rafe?” you whisper, trying to gauge if you misheard.

You freeze, his tone sharper than you’re used to. The space between you feels like miles, the silence that follows suffocating.

“Oh,” you finally manage, your voice smaller than you intended. You lie back slowly, trying to give him the space he clearly needs, even as your chest aches with the shift in his demeanor.

You want to ask what’s wrong, to reach out and fix whatever’s weighing him down. But the wall he’s put up feels impenetrable, and all you can do is lie there, staring at the ceiling, wishing you could pull him back to you.