There's nothing more important than writing what you want to read. Don't worry about who will like your book. Don't worry about what market it can neatly fit into. Don't cut corners or blunt edges to satisfy an imaginary person who might dislike aspects of your art. It's yours. Treat it as a pure expression of your soul. Compromise is for cowards.
Summary: You get sick and refuse to let Matt help you because you don’t want him to get sick, too — the question is, how long can you keep him away?
Pairing: Matt x fem!reader
Warnings: Some gross pneumonia descriptions, light swearing, nothing else!
A/N: So I’ve been away for awhile, and I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been trying to write my own book and I finished the second draft, so taking the time for fan fiction has been on the back burner lately. But of course with the RETURN OF OUR BELOVED KING on She-Hulk, I had to take the time to write something because IM STILL FREAKING OUT GUYS MATT IS BACK AND HES SO AMAZING AND HOT AND ALLSKJF LSDKFJLSKDJFLSDK
hi lizzy !! using the tell me who did this” “who did this to you?” trope could u do sweetheart!fem reader with this and rafe !! 🤍
hi! i already did a story on this, so im making a part two to this!🥰
3.5k words ⟢ part one
the truck ride was quiet, save for the hum of the engine. you stared out the window, expecting rafe to take the usual turns toward your neighborhood. but as the minutes ticked by, your brows furrowed.
“uh, this isn’t the way to my house,” you pointed out, finally breaking the silence.
“i know,” rafe said simply, his gaze locked on the road ahead.
you turned to look at him, your confusion mounting. “then where the hell are we going?”
“my place,” he said flatly, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
“your place? rafe, no. just take me home,” you argued, sitting up straighter.
“for the love of God,” he snapped, pulling into his driveway and putting the truck in park. he turned to look at you, his blue eyes burning with frustration. “stop talking and get out so i can clean you up.”
the way he said it left no room for argument. your mouth opened to retort but snapped shut just as quickly. begrudgingly, you unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed out, following him up the front steps like a scolded child.
inside, the house was quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound. rafe didn’t say much, just jerked his head toward the stairs as he kicked off his shoes. you followed, your steps hesitant as you trailed him into his room.
“sit down,” he ordered, gesturing to the edge of his bed as he rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a first-aid kit.
you sat down, watching as he opened the kit and grabbed a clean cloth and a small bottle of antiseptic. the scent of his cologne lingered in the air, sharp and somehow comforting.
“this might sting,” he warned, crouching in front of you. his touch was surprisingly gentle as he dabbed at the dried blood on your knee.
you winced but stayed still, watching him work. his brows were furrowed in concentration, his usual smugness replaced with something quieter, steadier.
“start talking,” he said after a moment, his tone calmer now. “what happened with ruthie?”
you hesitated, the memory still raw. but there was something in the way rafe looked at you—like he genuinely wanted to know.
“she was saying stuff about kie,” you admitted, your voice soft. “calling her a trashy pogue, saying she was probably stealing from people at the party. i told her to shut the fuck up, and she got in my face. said i was defending kie because i’m just as pathetic as her.”
rafe’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt, just kept cleaning the cut on your knee.
“i told her to back off, and she shoved me. when i didn’t drop it, she swung at me. the rest is kind of a blur,” you finished, looking down at your hands.
“you’ve got a pretty big mouth, you know that?” he muttered, taking your leg gently in his hand to examine the cut on your knee. “and look where it’s gotten you.”
you rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. “yeah, but i still won.”
rafe snorted softly, shaking his head as he worked. “yeah? i bet you think you were tough, huh?” he dabbed at the cut, and you hissed, instinctively jerking your leg.
“hold still,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. his grip on your calf tightened just enough to keep you in place as he cleaned the wound.
“ruthie didn’t walk away looking perfect, if that’s what you’re asking,” you said, a small flicker of pride lighting up in your voice. “you should’ve seen her.”
rafe smirked, glancing up at you briefly before returning his attention to your knee. “don’t worry,” he said, his tone casual but with an edge that made your chest tighten slightly. “i’ll see her. up close.”
the way he said it—calm, measured, but dripping with barely restrained fury—made your stomach twist. you tried to brush it off as typical rafe bravado, but the intensity in his eyes made it clear: he wasn’t joking.
“this is gonna sting,” he warned before gently pressing the damp cloth to your skin.
you winced, gritting your teeth but refusing to pull away this time. he worked slowly, his brows furrowed in concentration as he cleaned away the dried blood and dirt.
“there,” he said, sitting back slightly to look at his work. “now let me see your nose.”
you hesitated but didn’t fight him when he tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your jaw. his eyes narrowed as he studied the dried blood smeared beneath your nostrils. “it’s not broken,” he said after a moment. “just banged up.”
“thanks for the expert diagnosis, dr. cameron,” you muttered, earning a faint chuckle from him.
“hold this,” he said, handing you the damp cloth before pulling out another small ice pack. he wrapped it in a towel and gently pressed it to your swollen eye.
you flinched at the cold, but he held it steady. “don’t be such a baby,” he teased, though his voice lacked any real bite.
“i’m not,” you shot back, your glare softened by the faint tug of a smile.
he smirked again, shaking his head. “you really do have a big mouth,” he said, leaning back against his desk once more.
you matched his smirk with one of your own. “yeah, well, i wouldn’t have it any other way.”
rafe’s expression darkened slightly, but it wasn’t directed at you. “good,” he said simply, his tone quiet but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist.
the cold stung, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off him—his sudden intensity making it hard to breathe.
rafe pulled the ice pack away, out of your grasp, his gaze lingered on your face. his eyes narrowed as his thumb brushed along your jaw, tilting your face to the side.
“hold on,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
“what?” you asked, your voice harsher than you intended.
he didn’t answer at first, leaning in closer. you froze, your breath hitching as his thumb moved just beside the bruise on your cheek. “there’s a cut here,” he said, his tone lower now. “i didn’t see it before.”
“it’s nothing,” you mumbled, trying to pull away, but his hand on your jaw stopped you.
“don’t,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. his blue eyes locked onto yours, holding you in place. “let me clean it.”
you wanted to argue, but the words caught in your throat. you were suddenly hyperaware of how close he was, the sharp line of his jaw just inches from you, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
he grabbed a fresh cloth, wetting it in the bathroom before crouching back in front of you. this time, he didn’t just lean in—he was so close his knees brushed yours, his fingers gently tilting your face toward him.
“stay still,” he murmured, his voice softer now but heavy with something unspoken.
the sting of the antiseptic barely registered. all you could focus on was the way his thumb brushed against your skin, the way his eyes stayed locked on yours even as he worked. the tension in the air was thick, electric, every small movement of his hand sending sparks skittering down your spine.
“you’re staring,” you blurted out, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.
rafe’s lips twitched, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “yeah?” he said, his voice a low drawl. “can you blame me?”
your breath caught, and you opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. his smirk deepened as he pulled the cloth away, his thumb lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer than necessary.
“there,” he said, his voice softer now. “all cleaned up. you’re lucky it’s not deeper.”
you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “thanks,” you mumbled, feeling a little unsteady under his gaze.
rafe didn’t move. he stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on your jaw. his eyes flicked over your face, studying every bruise and cut like they offended him personally.
“she really took you on, huh?” he said after a moment, his tone almost teasing but laced with something darker. “but don’t worry, i’ll take care of her.”
“rafe, you don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off, his thumb brushing once more against your cheek before he stood.
“keep the ice on your eye,” he said, his tone suddenly businesslike as he packed up the first-aid kit.
you watched him move around the room, your mind still spinning from the charged moment you’d just shared. even as he turned away, you could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you, like he wasn’t quite done with whatever was brewing between you.
and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to be.
rafe came back into the room after tossing the bloodied cloths and wrappers in the trash, running a hand through his hair. his shoulders looked less tense now, but his expression was unreadable as he glanced at you sitting there with the ice pack still pressed to your eye.
“you look like you’re about to pass out,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.
“i’m fine,” you muttered in answer, though the exhaustion was catching up with you.
he tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “you can take my bed if you want.”
your eyes snapped to his, narrowing. “no thanks. i’ll take the couch.”
rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “yeah, no. i’d rather have you dirty my bed than the ten-thousand-dollar couch.”
your jaw dropped. “you’re so stuck up.”
“and you’re about to sleep outside if you don’t shut up,” he shot back, but the slight grin on his face betrayed his teasing tone.
“okay, then i’ll walk home,” you said, shrugging, starting to push yourself up from the bed.
rafe’s amused expression immediately shifted to disbelief. “you’re not serious, right?”
you stood, wobbling slightly, and he rolled his eyes before stepping closer. “alright, that’s enough,” he said, lightly pressing his hand to your shoulder and guiding you back down onto the bed.
“lay down,” he said firmly, crossing his arms as he loomed over you. “keep the ice on your eye, but not too long. and put it on your knuckles too, because they’re gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow.”
you frowned, looking down at your hands. now that he mentioned it, the dull ache in your knuckles was growing more noticeable. you sighed, sinking back into the bed and adjusting the ice pack against your eye.
“there,” rafe said, a smug note in his voice as he watched you obey. “was that so hard?”
“shut up,” you grumbled, but your tone lacked any real bite.
he chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair and tossed it over you. “just try not to bleed on my sheets,” he said, his voice softening as he lingered by the edge of the bed.
you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “thanks.”
his gaze softened for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. “yeah, yeah. just don’t get used to it.”
as he turned to leave the room, you settled back against the pillows, exhaustion finally taking over. you might’ve hated to admit it, but being here—being taken care of by rafe—didn’t feel as strange as it should have.
and somehow, that was the most unsettling part of all.
you woke up slowly, the first thing you noticed was the throbbing inside your head. your temples pulsed in time with your heartbeat, and every inch of your body felt like it had been through a war.
lightheadedness crept in as you sat up, forcing you to take a moment to steady yourself.
your knee ached, the sharp pain radiating up your leg with every slight movement. your cheek stung, and the skin around your eye felt tight. tentatively, you reached up to touch it, wincing when your fingers made contact with your skin.
turning your head, you spotted a glass of water on the nightstand with a couple of painkillers neatly placed beside it. a small note was folded underneath them, scrawled in rafe’s sharp handwriting:
take these. don’t be stubborn.
you picked them up and tossed them back quickly, chasing it with a gulp of water. the coolness soothed your dry throat, but the pounding in your head didn’t ease right away.
dragging yourself out of bed, you padded toward the bathroom, each step a reminder of the bruises and cuts decorating your body. your knuckles ached with every flex of your fingers, and you clenched them instinctively, regretting it immediately.
inside the bathroom, the faint light from the small window illuminated the counter.
you noticed your eye wasn’t that swollen anymore, but when you brushed your fingers lightly over the skin, you winced. it was tender and, judging by the dark blue tint you glimpsed at in the mirror across from you.
your cheekbone was tender with a faint scratch, and your knuckles were red and swollen.
“great,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair.
you turned toward the sink, expecting to just splash your face with water, but something on the counter caught your eye: a toothbrush still in its packaging, resting neatly beside the toothpaste.
you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder like someone might catch you. but you needed it, and the sight of your dry, cracked lips in the mirror was enough to convince you.
tearing open the packaging, you squeezed some toothpaste onto the toothbrush and began scrubbing. the minty foam stung your lips, but it was your knuckles that hurt the most. every motion sent a sharp, aching throb through your hands, and you had to grit your teeth to keep from crying out.
“damn it,” you muttered, pausing to flex your fingers gingerly. but you pushed through, brushing until your teeth felt clean enough, then rinsing your mouth and the toothbrush.
leaning against the counter for a moment, you let out a long breath, staring at your reflection. this was… a lot. too much. and yet, you couldn’t help but think about rafe—the way he’d taken care of you last night, the strange softness in his otherwise sharp demeanor.
as much as you wanted to hate it, part of you didn’t mind.
shaking your head, you turned off the light and shuffled back toward the bedroom, trying to ignore the aching in your body—and the confused thoughts swirling in your head.
as you sat on the edge of the bed, debating whether to lie back down or try to shake off your lingering dizziness, muffled voices from downstairs made you freeze.
they weren’t just voices—they were angry, sharp, and escalating quickly.
“what the fuck?” you muttered under your breath, standing up too fast and immediately regretting it. the dizziness hit hard, making you grip the edge of the bed to steady yourself.
you needed to check what was going on, but not in yesterday’s crumpled clothes. opening the dresser on the far side of the room, you shuffled through the contents. most of it was clearly rafe’s—a mix of crisp shirts and athletic gear. but toward the back, you found a pair of dark blue sweats that looked about your size.
and then you spotted it: a pink t-shirt, soft and slightly worn, the kind of thing you instinctively knew wasn’t rafe’s style. sarah’s, you guessed. it didn’t really matter, so you pulled it over your head.
the shouting downstairs grew louder.
“seriously,” you sighed, trying to pull the sweats on without hurting your knee and tying the drawstring before heading toward the stairs.
when you reached the bottom, the voices became distinct.
“why the hell were you helping her, man?” topper’s voice was loud and furious. you peeked around the corner to see him standing toe-to-toe with rafe in the kitchen. his face was becoming red, and his fists were clenched at his sides.
“shut the fuck up before you wake the whole house,” rafe snapped, his voice low but seething.
“the only person here is wheezie,” topper shot back, waving his arms. “and don’t act like that’s the problem. you are!”
rafe took a step closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “you’re the one yelling in my kitchen at eight in the damn morning, top. you need to fucking chill.”
topper didn’t back down. “chill? chill? ruthie said she hit y/n for a reason, bro. why the hell are you even involved? that girl’s not worth this.”
you froze, peering from the shadows as rafe straightened, his shoulders stiffening. “she’s worth not getting jumped by your psycho girlfriend,” he said coolly.
“she’s a fucking pogue!” topper yelled, his face twisting in anger.
rafe laughed, sharp and biting. “she lives on figure eight, you fucking weirdo. what are you even talking about?”
“doesn’t matter,” topper spat. “she’s trash, and if you’re protecting her, you’re just as bad. i’ll fucking kill her when i see her, for what she did to ruthie.”
your stomach dropped, and you instinctively stepped back.
rafe’s laugh was darker this time, the kind of sound that sent chills down your spine. “yeah? i’d like to see you try, bro.”
the kitchen fell silent except for the faint sound of your unsteady breathing. rafe had taken a step forward, his towering frame casting a long shadow over topper.
“you’re pushing it, man,” rafe said, his voice steady and dangerously calm. “if you have a problem with me, take it up with me. but if you so much as look at y/n the wrong way…” he trailed off, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.
topper looked like he wanted to say something, but the tension was suffocating.
you shuffled into view, clearing your throat. “hey,” you said, your voice shaky but loud enough to catch their attention.
both heads snapped toward you.
you watched as topper’s face twisted as his eyes landed on you, cycling through a chaotic mix of emotions—shock, disbelief, anger, and then a bitter fury. his tongue pressed against his cheek as a sharp, humorless laugh escaped him.
“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he sneered, glaring at rafe like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
rafe sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face like he was seconds from snapping. “top, just shut the hell up.” he stepped toward you, his hand brushing your arm to guide you back toward the stairs. “come on. let’s go.”
you frowned, resisting his pull. “wait, what’s going on?”
“she’s here?” topper’s voice was incredulous, loud enough to echo through the kitchen. he pointed at you, his finger shaking. “you’re actually keeping her here? what the fuck, rafe? she’s a pogue! she hangs out with those freaks on the cut—those wannabe rebels with their loser-ass surfboards and groupie bullshit!”
your stomach churned, but you didn’t get a chance to respond before rafe’s expression hardened.
“topper,” he warned, his voice low and deadly.
“no, bro!” topper exploded, gesturing wildly. “don’t stand there and act like she and kie didn’t see it happen last night. you know she’s not worth this!”
rafe’s jaw ticked, and he turned fully to face topper, a dangerous calm washing over him. “you’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out of my house.”
topper let out a disbelieving laugh, his tongue poking his cheek again as he tilted his head. “what the fuck are you doing, man? you’re choosing her? over me?”
“over you and over whatever bullshit you think matters right now,” rafe shot back, his voice sharp and unyielding. “and if you don’t walk out that door in the next five seconds, i’m calling my lawyer. i’ll have you trespassed so fast your head’ll spin.”
topper’s laugh turned into a snarl. “you’re fucking crazy.”
“maybe,” rafe said, his lips curling into a cold smirk. “but i’m also the guy who’ll have you eating court fees for breakfast if you don’t leave my house, now.”
the room fell silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. topper glared at rafe, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. for a moment, you thought he might swing, but then he threw his hands up in exasperation.
“you’re out of your damned mind,” he muttered, turning toward the door before he stopped in his tracks, “and you, you’ll regret this,” he pointed towards you.
the slam of the door echoed through the house as topper left.
rafe turned to you, exhaling slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. “come on,” he said, nodding toward the stairs. “let’s get you back upstairs.”
your brows furrowed as you followed him, still reeling. “what the hell was that?”
“don’t worry about it,” rafe muttered, his voice softer now, but the tension in his posture hadn’t fully eased.
you stood there, looking at rafe, feeling the silence grow thick between you. the weight of the last few minutes, the tension in the air, made it hard to breathe.
“did you and topper... fight because of the ruthie thing?” you asked, the words tasting strange as they left your mouth.
rafe didn’t answer at first. he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched.
you waited, but still, nothing.
“rafe?” you pressed again, stepping closer to him.
he looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, in a low voice, he muttered, “yeah, i was arguing with him.”
your stomach tightened at the thought. “why?”
“why?” rafe scoffed, standing up abruptly. “because that guy has no fucking boundaries. because he's an asshole, and i don’t like the way he treats you.”
you opened your mouth to respond but were cut off by your phone buzzing in your pocket.
you pulled it out, your stomach sinking when you saw the screen light up with ruthie’s name.
before you could even process it, the screen flashed with her message:
ruthie:
“round two? come on, i’ll make sure it’s fair this time.”
you stared at the message, your hands trembling in pain as you locked your phone.
rafe caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, his gaze “she really thinks she can just go after you again?” his voice was like ice, but there was a dangerous edge to it that made your chest tighten.
“rafe, just calm down,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. you took a small step back, but it didn't stop him from pacing across the room, his jaw clenched, his frustration seeping through every muscle in his body.
“calm down?” he repeated, turning to face you, his voice rising. “she’s out there talking shit about you, threatening you—after what happened last night? you think i’m just gonna stand by and let her do that?”
“it’s not worth it,” you said, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “why does it even matter to you, rafe? you argued with topper at eight in the morning. you’re in the middle of your own mess. this... this isn’t your problem.”
he took a step toward you, and you could feel the air between you crackling. “it’s my problem because you’re my problem,” he said, his voice low, his eyes locking onto yours.
you froze at his words, your heart thudding in your chest. the world around you seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. his gaze held something you couldn’t quite place—something fierce, but vulnerable at the same time.
“i’m your problem?” you repeated, almost whispering, trying to wrap your mind around what he was saying.
rafe stepped closer, his breath just a little too close to yours. “yeah, you are.” he reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of your face, his fingers grazing your cheek in a soft, deliberate touch.
you could barely breathe, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin, the heat of his body radiating toward you. every inch of space between you seemed to be disappearing with each passing second.
“rafe,” you whispered, your voice shaky, uncertain.
“i’m not letting anyone hurt you,” he said, his words a promise—an almost reckless determination in his tone.
you were so close to him now that you could feel the intensity of his gaze. everything around you seemed to fall away as the world seemed to hold its breath.
his lips hovered inches from yours, and for a heartbeat, you were both still, both locked in that moment, waiting for something to shift.
and then—
ding.
the sound of your phone vibrating broke the spell.
rafe pulled back, frustration flashing in his eyes as he glanced down at the screen.
you could feel your stomach churn as he read ruthie’s message.
ruthie:
“you’re not getting away that easy. you know you want to.”
hi miss lizzie! i’m very much a sucker for a good “tell me who did this” “who did this to you?” trope. could you maybe write (somewhat)enemy!rafe x reader? maybe topper or some kook did something to her & she’s not sure how, but she finds herself going to rafe about it or maybe he finds her & takes care of whoever it was?? idk maybe just angsty & kinda fluffy ahh!! hope this makes sense 🫡🫡
hi my angel!! i love this omgg, i LOVEEEE that trope as well, oh myyy
part two
the moon casted a pale glow over the winding road as you trudged home from the bonfire, the salty air clinging to your skin. the night had gone south faster than you could have imagined, and now, with a throbbing nose and mascara streaking down your cheeks, you just wanted to disappear into the shadows.
you wiped at your nose again, smearing blood across the back of your hand, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
headlights lit up the road behind you, growing brighter with each passing second. you groaned, stepping further onto the grass shoulder, hoping whoever it was would just keep driving.
but, no such luck.
the truck slowed, and a familiar voice called out, sharp and taunting.
“long night, l/n? or are you practicing for the next kook week 5k?”
rafe fucking cameron. of course.
you didn’t bother looking at him, just kept walking, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.
“seriously? what are you doing out here, l/n? trying to hitch a ride, or just making me feel bad for your poor life choices?”
“hello?” he called again, drawing the truck to a stop alongside you. “what, too good to grace me with one of your snappy comebacks?”
“come on,” he pressed. “at least give me some material for the next time you try to roast me. you’re making it too easy.”
when you didn’t respond, his cocky smirk faded, and something in his voice shifted.
he cut himself off abruptly as you turned your head, and his eyes locked on your bloody nose and tear-streaked face.
“wait—what the hell?” the door slammed, and within seconds, he was in front of you, blocking your path. his sharp eyes darted over your face, taking in the blood trickling from your nose and the tear-streaked remnants of mascara. his jaw tightened.
“who did this to you?” he demanded, his voice low and brimming with an anger that wasn’t directed at you.
you rolled your eyes, stepping around him. “go away, rafe.”
he grabbed your arm—not hard, but firm enough to stop you. “y/n. i’m not fucking joking. who did this?”
you yanked your arm free, glaring up at him. “why do you care? so you can laugh about it with topper and the rest of your kook buddies tomorrow? save it.”
his expression darkened further, the cocky edge gone entirely. “i swear to—tell me who did this before i lose my shit even more.”
you hesitated, torn between anger and confusion. this wasn’t the rafe you knew—the one who always had some snide comment or cutting remark. this rafe looked... furious. protective.
“ruthie,” you finally muttered, crossing your arms tighter. “topper’s girlfriend. she got mad because i didn’t let her trash-talk kie.”
“what the hell did she do?” he pressed, stepping closer, his voice dangerously quiet.
“I defended kie, and ruthie lost it. shoved me, got in my face. whatever. it’s done now, okay?” you snapped, tears threatening to spill again.
“why do you even care, rafe?”
he stared at you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face with a mix of anger and something softer—something you couldn’t quite place.
“because,” he said finally, his voice steady but laced with frustration, “no one gets to do this to you. no one.”
you swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you.
“get in the truck,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
you hesitated, unsure if you should trust the sudden shift in him.
“y/n,” he said again, softer this time, his hand hovering near your arm as if he wasn’t sure whether you’d let him touch you. “let me take you home. and i’ll handle that girl.”
against your better judgment, you nodded, letting him guide you to the passenger seat. as he drove, the silence between you was heavy but oddly comforting.
for once, you didn’t feel the need to push him away. and for once, he didn’t feel the need to pretend he didn’t care.
