Rafe Cameron Imagines

Never Alone Again Finale🤍

The days that followed were slow, heavy, and filled with uncertainty. The conversation with Rafe had opened something inside you, something you weren't sure you were ready to face. But despite the fear, despite the overwhelming weight of it all, there was one thing you knew for certain—Rafe wasn't leaving.

He was serious about getting you help. He didn't push, didn't force, but every time he looked at you, you could see the quiet determination in his eyes. He wanted you to be okay. He needed you to be okay. And maybe, just maybe, you were beginning to believe you could be.

Tonight, though, everything felt heavy again. The thoughts hadn't disappeared; they never did. But you weren't alone in them anymore.

You were curled up in bed, wrapped in one of Rafe's sweatshirts, the sleeves covering your hands as you stared blankly at the ceiling. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the bedside lamp. The weight on your chest hadn't lifted, but it didn't crush you the way it had before.

Rafe lay beside you, propped up on his elbow, watching you closely. He had been like this for the past few days—always near, always making sure you knew he was there.

"You're thinking too much," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

A soft, tired smile pulled at your lips. "When am I not?"

Rafe sighed, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your arm. "Talk to me, baby."

You swallowed hard, knowing he deserved honesty. "It's still there. The thoughts. The... urges."

Rafe's hand stilled, and for a moment, he didn't speak. He just processed, taking in your words as if they physically pained him. "But you haven't done anything?"

You shook your head. "No. Not since that night."

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he let out a breath, but the concern in his eyes didn't fade. "I know it's not easy. I know it doesn't just go away overnight. But I'm proud of you, love."

Your throat tightened at the softness in his voice. "I don't feel like there's anything to be proud of."

"There is," Rafe said firmly. "You're fighting. Even if it doesn't feel like enough, even if it feels like you're still drowning—you're here. You're talking to me. You're trying. And that means everything."

You turned to look at him fully, taking in the sincerity in his expression. He meant every word, and somehow, that meant more than you could ever put into words.

A beat of silence passed before you whispered, "I think I want to try."

Rafe blinked. "Try what?"

You exhaled shakily. "Therapy. Getting help." The words felt foreign on your tongue, but saying them out loud made them feel real.

Rafe's eyes softened, relief washing over his features. He nodded slowly, as if making sure you weren't just saying it for him. "Are you sure?"

"No," you admitted, voice small. "But I think I need to."

Rafe's hand slid up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "You're not alone in this. We'll find someone together, okay? Someone who understands. Someone who can help."

Tears burned in your eyes, but they weren't from pain this time. They were from something else—hope.

"Okay," you murmured.

Rafe smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "One step at a time, baby."

You nodded, closing your eyes as you leaned into him, allowing yourself to sink into the warmth of his embrace.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter. The darkness was still there, lingering at the edges, but it wasn't all-consuming.

Because you weren't fighting alone anymore.

And you never would be again.