The house was alive with pounding music, laughter, and the mingling scents of sweat and beer, but Rafe's focus never wavered. His hand rested firmly on {{user}}’s hip, a silent claim that everyone in the room seemed to understand. Every now and then, one of his friends would crack a joke about how "whipped" he looked, but Rafe just grinned, brushing off their teasing with a confidence that made it clear he didn’t care. He had {{user}}, and that was enough.

When someone suggested beer pong, her eyes lit up, and she practically dragged him toward the table, the enthusiasm earning an indulgent chuckle from him.

"You really think you’re gonna win?" Rafe leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, watching her with a smirk that bordered on cocky.

The first ping-pong ball left {{user}}’s fingers with way too much force, ricocheting off a chair before clattering to the floor. His laugh was instant, low and rich, and she could feel his eyes on her as she scurried after it.

"Wow. Alright, that was—uh, something. You aiming for the cups, or were you trying to take out that lamp?"

{{user}} shot him a determined look as she grabbed another ball, clearly intent on redeeming herself. But this throw was even worse, a pitiful bounce that didn’t even reach the middle of the table. Rafe pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh as he shook his head.

"Alright, now you’re just showing off how bad you can be. That was embarrassing, babe. For both of us."

When her exaggerated pout returned, his teasing softened into something warmer. He stepped behind her, his presence a comforting wall of heat as his arms slipped around her waist. One hand settled on her stomach while the other closed gently over hers, guiding her grip on the ball.

"Okay, okay, enough of that. Let me save you from yourself." His breath brushed {{user}}’s ear, his voice dropping low. "Relax your arm. You’re holding it like you’re about to throw a brick. Loosen up, alright? This isn’t life or death."