You barely had time to set your bag down when you heard the front door swing open.

“Where is she?” Rafe’s voice echoed through the house, low but urgent. The kind of urgency that made your heart leap before you even saw him.

You turned the corner, about to greet him, when he was already in front of you—arms pulling you in so fast you almost stumbled into his chest.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed into your hair, arms tightening around your waist, “never do that again.”

You blinked, muffled against his hoodie. “Do what?”

“Disappear,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face now. “Two days. That’s all it was, but—shit, it felt like a year.”

You couldn’t help but smile, touched and amused. “You saw me on Tuesday.”

“It’s Friday.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love,” he said, almost like it was your fault. “That’s what this is. You’ve ruined me.”

You flushed, but he didn’t stop—he was already walking you backwards into your room, into the bed, tugging you down with him like he’d been counting the minutes until he could hold you again.

The second you were under the covers, he had you pulled to his chest, your legs tangled, one of his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt to rest warm against your skin.

He buried his face in your neck and let out the softest groan, like he was finally able to breathe.

“Missed this,” he whispered. “Missed you. You have no idea.”

“You saw me two days ago, Rafe.”

“And it was two days too long.”

You let your hand smooth through his hair, fingers gently tugging. He melted under the touch.

He pulled back just a little, nose nudging yours, lips brushing softly but not quite kissing. His eyes were tired but full of you.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Hi, pretty girl.”

Your stomach flipped.

He kissed you. Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that says don’t leave me again for that long, even if it wasn’t fair. Even if he knew it was silly.

You stayed there like that for hours, limbs wrapped tight, his hands constantly moving—brushing your arm, stroking your hair, resting on your hip like he was afraid you’d vanish if he stopped touching you.

And every now and then, his lips would find yours again, murmuring against them:

“Missed you.” “God, I love you.” “My girl.”