Kiara and Rafe's Guide to Dating

lesson six: leave your issues at the door, don't let it fuck things up.

Lesson 6: Leave your issues at the door, don't let it fuck things up.

All my life, there you go

Oh, please stay, just this once

Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second Song - Strfkr

The reservation was at 4PM, Rafe got there 5 minutes early. It was now 4:39PM and Ward still hadn't shown up yet.

Rafe scoffs behind his glass of Sauvignon Blanc. He had been prepared for this, knowing how it was going to go down but at the last minute doubt crept in—maybe his father had changed?

Fortunately, Rafe's intuition had been correct. Ward would still play these games, making everything a move on his chessboard that no one knew they were forced to participate in.

"Rafe," The man known as his father stands at the end of the table, probably expecting Rafe to get up to greet him properly. Rafe stays seated.

"Dad," Rafe tilts his jaw slightly, giving him a nod.

Ward huffs out a bemused scoff and the sound places Rafe back to nights in his study where he could never do enough, be enough, for him. The air he would expel out of his body to express every ounce of disdain his words wouldn't be able to.

It was effective.

Rafe would try harder and fail harder. The ground was always something Ward managed to pull from his feet at the last moment. There was no appeasing him, or even coming close.

Once Ward flags down the waiter and tells him to bring them two steaks, medium rare, he smiles at Rafe and relaxes in his seat.

Ward narrows his eyes at the setting sun, clicking his tongue. "There's no point beating around the bush so—"

The words from his mouth would never be I miss you son, I'm sorry for all the time we wasted, come home. But wasn't there always that possibility when someone was so desperate to hear that?

"You can't be here."

Rafe grits his teeth, "I was invited."

Ward laughs, merrily, like Rafe had said the funniest punchline he's ever heard. The sound pierces him, the armor he spent years cracking under that familiar sound. Ward never laughed with him, always at him.

"I'm sure you're old enough now to understand a courtesy invite," Ward's eyes filled with pity and humor, "I've at least raised Sarah right."

When he was younger, this would've been a competition. To see how much better Rafe could be, to try to best Sarah at everything, and strive for something imaginary. It wasn't until he looked around and saw that Sarah was none the wiser and this rivalry had always been puppeteer by Ward.

"She's still got a heart." Rafe knows not to engage with him and give him the reaction Ward so desperately wants.

Ward assesses Rafe, finally looking at him. His cold eyes don't capture the way his son has grown, they capture the way he still hasn't measured up. They pity him because even in his self-imposed freedom, he's still under Ward's thumb and he knows it. "You think you're the good guy?"

Rafe's jaw ticks at that and Ward's lips part in an amused Ah.

"Tell me Rafe," Ward leans forward in his seat, forcing Rafe to sit back to create distance even with the table between them, "How exactly are you the good guy? From where I'm sitting, you're just someone who ran away when things got hard."