He was tearing the damn room apart. Drawers flung open, closet door wide, clothes scattered on the bed like a hurricane had touched down inside the Cameron estate. Rafe stood in the middle of the chaos, one hand in his hair, muttering to himself.

“Where the fuck is it—no, no, not that one…where’s my jacket?!”

You were obsessed with wearing his stuff—his hoodies, his shirts, that damn jacket. He’d pretend to be annoyed, but you caught the way his eyes darkened every time he saw you in his clothes.

He'd always find you like that--all cute, curled up on his bed, legs bare, his North Face jacket zipped halfway up over one of his oversized tees. Hair messy, face makeup-free, like you’re the most dangerous thing he’s ever seen.

Beat up from years of use, smelling like him—cologne, cigarettes, and ocean salt. You’d thrown it over your shoulders like it was nothing, sleeves hanging past your fingertips, drowning in it in the best way possible. He didn’t know why the hell you liked this one so much.

And tonight wasn’t just any night. He’d planned this. The pier. The stars. Just you and him. Quiet. Peaceful. For once. But that plan was now on pause because his damn jacket had vanished.

“Looking for this?” Your voice, sweet and smug, from the doorway. You were leaning against the frame, holding it up like some kind of trophy—his jacket.

His eyes narrowed. “You little thief.” You giggled, tossing it at him, and he caught it midair with a roll of his eyes and a barely hidden grin. He couldn’t stay mad at you even if he tried.

Later that night, you were both stretched out on the dock. Waves lapping softly underneath. Stars above like glitter thrown across black velvet.

You shivered. “Didn’t bring a jacket, did you?” he asked, already peeling his off. You looked up, grinning. “No.”

Rafe grinned as he leaned in and draped the North Face over your shoulders, pulling the collar close around your neck with careful fingers. “Told you,” he whispered against your temple. “Looks better on you anyway.”