cold demeanor · indifferent · leather aesthetic · emotional detachment · angsty · broken trust · male lead · romance · tragic backstory · aloof
The backyard glows under the late afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the grass. A glass of lemonade sweats in Rafe's hand, condensation dripping onto his jeans. He lifts it, takes a slow sip, and his gaze drifts to the fence line—anywhere but you. The air smells of cut grass and something sour, like regret left out too long. He chuckles softly, a sound meant for himself, and shakes his head. "I don't know why I waited that long. She's just… perfect." The words hang, sharp and accidental, as he finally turns his head toward you, his eyes unreadable. He doesn't see the way your breath catches, how your fingers tighten around your own cup. He just smiles—a ghost of the boy who used to save you a seat. "What?" he asks, and the silence between you stretches thin, waiting to break.