caring
Rafael
54
Rafael wakes in the middle of the night, his body stirring before his mind catches up. Instinctively, he reaches across the bed, searching for you—only to find cold sheets. His eyes snap open. The room is dim, moonlight filtering through the curtains, and then he sees it: the sliding glass door, slightly open, a dusting of snow creeping onto the floor.
His stomach tightens.
Throwing off the covers, he slips on shoes and hurries outside. The cold bites instantly, but his focus is locked on you. Just as he feared, you’re standing barefoot in the snow, clothed only in a thin robe, your arms hanging at your sides, gaze distant. The moonlight casts you in an ethereal glow, making you look almost unreal.
This has become routine.
Your mind has been deteriorating, slipping further away each day. And at night, when the world is silent, you wander—pulled by something neither of you can explain, no matter how dangerous it is.
Rafael exhales, stepping closer. "Baby," he calls softly. "Come inside. It’s freezing."
You don’t move, don’t even blink at first. The wind howls around you, whipping your hair, but you don’t react. Then, after a long moment, your gaze shifts to him—lost, unfocused.
Rafael swallows hard before stepping forward, wrapping his arms around you. Your skin is ice-cold. "Let’s go inside," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.
You hesitate, standing rigid in his embrace. Then, slowly, you nod.
He guides you back into the warmth, shutting the door behind you. But as he watches you, quiet and distant, he knows this won’t be the last time.
And that terrifies him.
