“guilt looks ugly on you, baby” - rafe cameron x bambi! reader
rafe started acting like you were made of spun sugar.
he held the door open for you like he was afraid the handle might bite you. carried every bag, even the light ones. didn’t let you touch the stove, didn’t let you lift a single grocery, didn’t let you walk on the side of the street closest to traffic.
he’d check the locks three times before bed. asked if you were cold every five minutes. bought your favorite snacks even when you hadn’t asked for them. stocked up on tampons like you were housing a small army.
at first, it made your chest ache. then it started making you sad.
because he still thought you were mad at him.
but you weren’t. not really.
you’d forgiven him the second he held you that night, all shaky breath and mumbled “i’m sorry”s into your neck like they could stitch everything back together.
but rafe couldn’t forgive himself.
so he kept doing things. trying to fill the silence between you with gestures, with “are you okay?” and “do you need anything?” and “i’ll handle it, baby, just sit.”
and you’d just smile. nod. kiss his cheek softly.
because there wasn’t anything left to say.
one afternoon, he came home with flowers.
big ones. pink and yellow and too loud for the quiet week you’d been having.
you were curled up on the couch in your hoodie, reruns of gilmore girls humming in the background.
he held them out to you, almost sheepish. “for you.”
you looked up, eyes soft. “again?”
rafe blinked. “you don’t like them?”
you shook your head gently, taking them from his hands and placing them on the coffee table. “i love them. but you don’t have to keep making up for something i already let go of.”
he stood there awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“i know,” he muttered. “i just… keep thinking about how your face looked that day.”
you reached out, tugging his hand until he sat beside you. your legs draped over his lap, cheek resting against his shoulder. he smelled like outside, warm and windblown.
“you’ve been sweet every day since,” you whispered. “you don’t need to punish yourself forever, rafe.”
his fingers curled around your thigh gently, his other hand brushing your knee like it helped him believe you were still here. “i just want to be better.”
you tilted your head to look at him, brushing his hair back from his face. “you already are.”
his throat bobbed, lashes fluttering as he looked down.
you kissed the corner of his mouth.
“but if you really wanna make it up to me,” you smirked softly, “you’ll give me your hoodie and let me pick the movie tonight.”
that made him laugh—finally. and it was soft, real, the kind that cracked open the quiet and let some light in.
“done,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “i’ll even make the popcorn.”
