okay but the tension that would’ve been in the room or even waiting room when rafe showed up??
yes, and ykw, i wanna write this
rafe's hands are shaking when he walks up the reception's desk. the low beeps of pagers hung on nurses and low-volume buzz of the waiting room's tv contrasts the racing beats of his heart.
the receptionist looks up at him, offering a gentle smile as rafe picks up the plastic pen and scrawled his name across the sheet. it's terrible. he doesn't even know he completed the rest of cameron before it flattens into a long scribbled line. when he lays the writing instrument back down on clipboard, the woman picks it up—reciting his name before asking for his purpose of visit.
she types something into the ancient computer, which blinks and blinks with anticipation before a catalog prints. the woman recites your name—to clarify, to check, or to taunt him, he doesn't know—before iterating your room number.
he's never made his way down the hallway so quick.
his hands are clammy by his side. his pulse in his throat. he can feel the heavy weight of each step behind his gait, the way he's moving closer and closer to your room. and just as he's about two doors away, someone opens the door—and cleo slides out.
her eyes widen at she sees you. before it shifts into a protected look and she marches up to you. "she's not—"
"rafe, you should leave—"
he didn't know how much time he can repeat it before he snaps. he's already hanging on a thin line, one on the verge of breaking with just the right tug, and cleo is pulling the thread with precision. he doesn't boast hatred for the pogue, not by a long shot—because he knows all this defensiveness comes from being your appointed best friend—but he won't lie and say she didn't tick him off.
cleo wires her jaw shut, running her hands down her cargo pants. she looks away, rafe seeing nothing but the hardened profile of her face, as she contemplates. she's acting as if she's security. as if the person inside that room—you—needed protection from him. it surges a line of irritation up his chest, and rafe can't stop himself before saying.
cleo's expression snaps to rafe and a heat of defiance flickers through her gaze. "needs you?" she repeats lowly, the slip of her bahamian accent cutting at her punctuation. "she needed you hours ago, rafe. you weren't there."
"you didn't know or you didn't care?"
rafe huffs at the accusation. "i told you, my dad took my phone—"
"sure," cleo scoffs, before crossing her arms. "and all those other times you didn't respond to her, that was daddy's fault too?"
he says nothing. can offer nothing. he doesn't know how much cleo knows about your relationship with him, but he won't put it past her to know too much.
and him not being able to say anything? it's because she's not wrong.
that's the worse fucking part.
rafe claps his hands together. almost timidly. almost in desperate. before he looks at the girl who blocks his path. "look. i know you don't trust me, and i get it—but that's my girl. that's my kid. and whether or not you want me in there isn't up to you, it's her. just let me see her, once." and he pauses, before he adds. the plead on his tongue. "please."
cleo says nothing. for the longest time. and each stretch of a second—fuck, even a millisecond—feels like a knife to the gut. he just wants to see you. see your face. make sure, in some capacity, that you're okay. that's all he needs to know. he'll be damned if he left the hospital without it.
and finally, she concedes. cleo steps to the side, allowing rafe to grab the knob of the door with a twist. and slowly, with his pulse still in his throat, he steps inside.
cleo follows quietly behind.
the room is sterile and white. the windows are covered with a sheen curtain, and there's a consistent beat that echoes from the monitor. a low hum buzzes from the corner of the room—the tv flipped to a random channel—and as rafe's eyes cascades down everything else first, he finally lands on you.
you laid on the hospital bed. emotionless. wordless. breathless. the IV is hooked to your arm as you stared into the vast nothingness of the world, blankness that coats your features and an resignation he never see on your face.
you didn't see him at first. didn't even acknowledge the change in cleo leaving the room before returning. but as your eyes lift up, climbing up the slow built of your boyfriend—your ex-boyfriend—your breath finally hitches in your throat as you reach his face.
this is ass, ok, i written this in like 20 mins because i have to go to work <3
