Rafe, you are not going anywhere until you tell me what happened to you,” Dante said sharply, his hands holding Rafe’s shoulders firmly, his voice low but edged with tension that made Rafe feel cornered even though he was still slumped half against Dante’s chest and half on the bed, the room spinning slightly from the alcohol he had taken earlier and from the residual headache that throbbed behind his eyes.“I-I’m fine,” Rafe slurred, trying to push Dante’s hands off gently, but Dante did not budge. “I-I got this, it’s nothing, really, just a little mess, I-I swear I can handle it,” he mumbled, words trailing because he was still tipsy and aware of Dante’s piercing stare that seemed to see right through him, through the lies and half-truths he was trying to offer.“Nothing?” Dante repeated, tilting his head, his eyes narrowing. “You think these bruises came out of nowhere, Rafe? Tell me the truth. I have all day to wait, so you might as well start talking before I get impatient.”Rafe
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