The room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the flickering streetlights seeping through the cracked blinds.

The air was thick with the remnants of what just happened—sheets tangled around your legs.

Rafe’s skin still warm against yours. His arm draped lazily over your waist, his chest rising and falling against your back.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, both of you caught in that hazy space between exhaustion and something deeper you couldn’t quite name.

Then, without a word, Rafe reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the crumpled pack of cigarettes, offering you one with that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

it was now cigarettes after sex.

You both sat up, backs resting against the headboard, as he struck a match.

The soft scratch echoed in the quiet room before the flame flared to life, casting a brief glow across his sharp features.

He lit yours first, then his, exhaling slowly as the smoke curled into the thick air between you. For a while, neither of you spoke, just sharing the silence, letting it settle around you like a second skin.

Rafe’s voice broke through, low and rough. “You ever think about just… leaving all this behind?” His eyes stayed on the ceiling, but you felt the weight of his words settle in your chest.

You glanced over at him, watching the way the cigarette hung loosely between his fingers, the soft orange glow illuminating his face.

It wasn’t like Rafe to get deep—not like this. But something about the night, the vulnerability hanging in the air, made it easier to peel back the layers. At this point all it was were deep conversations that were weirdly meaning full.

Minutes passed, maybe hours, as you both sat there, sharing secrets you’d never dared to say out loud before. Rafe talked about his dad, the pressure to be someone he wasn’t, the way he felt like he was drowning most days.