“Here you go, home sweet home” Rafe looks down at you, half asleep, completely drunk and totally adorable, nestled in his arms as he carries you over the threshold into his room. You’d been an absolute mess tonight; bossy, confrontational and argumentative. But through it all, he’d found himself unable to stay away.

this love’s possessing me but I don’t mind at all

“Mmpf” you mumble as he deposits you onto his bed. You lay your head against his pillows with a grin, looking up at him.

“I’m a fun drunk, aren’t I, Rafe?”

“Sure you are, Princess” he agrees, a small chuckle escaping his lips, remembering your antics that night. He sits down on the bed next to you, softly brushing your hair away from your face.

His hand stills as he brushes over one of your freckles. A memory surfaces, unbidden. He used to spend lazy afternoons counting your freckles, pretending to lose count so he’d have to start over; an excuse to keep touching you.

you’re like the only thing that I see

You have a few more now than you did in those days, and he can’t help the pang of sadness that that realization causes. It’s a reminder that time is no one’s friend, it moves on without you. You both would keep changing, until the day came that there was more you didn’t know about each other than you did. A quiet sigh leaves his lips, his thumb still brushing over your freckles in a light caress.

You shift in the bed, looking up at him. His feather light touch is sending bolts of electricity through your body, and the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something to cherish is causing you to fight the urge to touch him. You have to remind yourself that he’s only taking care of you because you’re drunk. If you were sober, he’d have sent you home with the rest of the partygoers.

“You’re killing me, princess” his voice was quiet, the words slipping out in a low grumble. His thumb stopped its path over your freckles, but he didn’t move his hand, leaving it there to rest against your skin.