The house was quiet, the soft hum of the night settling in around you as you finished brushing your teeth, your reflection in the bathroom mirror making you pause for just a moment. You smiled to yourself, still amazed that you and Rafe had actually made the leap to living together. It had been an adjustment, sure—sharing space with someone as stubborn and intense as Rafe—but now, after a few weeks, it felt… natural. And god, you loved it.

Because when you walked back into the bedroom, the first thing you saw was him.

Rafe. Your Rafe.

He was already in bed, half the covers tangled around him, his body sprawled out as if the bed was his and he didn’t care about personal space. His eyes were closed, but his arm stretched over to the side where you usually slept, his hand reaching for you without even thinking.

You paused in the doorway, watching him for a moment. You’d grown used to it—the way he always needed you close, no matter how much room was around him. It didn’t matter if the bed was king-sized. He wanted you right there, pressed against him.

No sense of personal space. Ever.

You smirked, rolling your eyes, but walked toward the bed. Kicking off your slippers, you slipped under the covers.

The moment you settled beside him, of course, his arm immediately went across your waist, his chest pressed to your back, and his legs tangled with yours.

You chuckled softly, feeling the heat of Rafe’s breath on your neck. “You really can’t sleep unless we’re this close, huh?”

His voice was thick with sleep, but there was something more—a hint of protectiveness, possessiveness, that made your heart race just a little. “You know it. You’re mine, baby. No space between us. Never.”

The words hit you differently tonight. It wasn’t just about being close—it was about knowing you were the only one who mattered. His peace, his world, was made right when you were in his arms.

You smiled, warmth filling your chest, and allowed yourself to relax. Because with Rafe?

No personal space was perfection.