the rain tapped gently against the trailer windows, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and green. you were curled up on the floor in front of the couch, your legs tucked under you, scrolling through your phone with a blanket draped around your shoulders. the scent of rafe’s cologne still lingered in the air — sharp, clean, something like cedar and comfort.

rafe sat behind you, one leg hanging off the couch, the other bent up as he leaned forward just enough to reach you. he’d been quiet for a while, his fingers gently playing with your hair, twirling loose strands around and occasionally letting one fall just to start again. it was calming. he didn’t say much when he was in moods like this — soft, present, and completely yours.

then, in a low voice, barely above the sound of the rain, he said it.

“can i braid your hair?”

you blinked. “what?”

he shrugged like it was nothing, but the tips of his ears were pink. “i dunno. i just… i wanna try. looks like it’d feel nice.”

you bit back a smile. “sure.”

you handed him the brush without even needing to move — he always brought everything close when you were together, like he knew you’d never want to get up. he started brushing your hair slowly, clumsily, but with so much care it made your chest ache. he took his time, running the brush through gently, occasionally smoothing it with his hands. when he started braiding, it was… a little chaotic.

“wait. is it three pieces? or four?” you laughed. “three. you’ve never done this before?” “obviously not. my sisters would’ve smacked me if i messed with their hair.” “lucky me then.”

he muttered something under his breath, something like “you have no idea,” but you didn’t ask. you just sat there, letting him learn. he redid the braid three times before he was satisfied, and when he finished, he reached for your phone.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, craning your neck. “taking a pic. it’s cute. you look… really soft right now.”

you felt your face warm, but you didn’t say anything.

then he leaned forward, pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and rested his chin there for a second.

“i wanna do this every day,” he mumbled. “not just the hair thing. this. us. like this.”

you reached up and touched his arm lightly, fingers sliding across his forearm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“then do it every day.”

and he did. after that, he asked to braid your hair every chance he got — when you were watching movies, when he was anxious, when you were quiet together. the braids were never perfect, but the love in them was.

and sometimes, you caught him looking at you like he couldn’t believe you said yes to him — like you were something soft in a world that had never been kind to him.

he never said it outright, but in every crooked braid and every quiet kiss against your hair, rafe cameron told you: you make me better just by being here.