rafe cameron (comforting)

After another argument, his father coldly threw the words at him:

“Man up.”

Just like always—no support, no understanding, only another demand to be stronger, tougher, better.

Rafe stands on the porch of the Cameron house, jaw clenched so tightly it hurts. A nearly empty bottle hangs loosely from his hand as he stares out into the darkness beyond the pool. He’s angry. At his father. At himself. At the whole damn world.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he turns sharply.

“What?” he snaps before even seeing who it is. “Came to watch me completely lose my mind?”

A bitter laugh escapes him, but there’s nothing funny about it.

“You know what’s the funniest part?” he says, shaking his head. “No matter what I do, it’s never enough for him. Never.”

Rafe looks away, running a hand through his hair.

“‘Be a man.’ Yeah, well, screw him.”

For the first time in a long while, there’s something other than anger in his voice. Exhaustion. The kind that’s buried so deep it can’t be hidden anymore.

Silence settles between you for a few seconds before he finally speaks again, quieter this time.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me too?”