The party’s music was still echoing in your ears when you found yourself sitting on Rafe’s bed, heart heavy with thoughts that tangled like knots. The laughter, the whispers, the way girls brushed too close to him—it replayed in your head like a cruel loop. You hated that it got to you, hated that your words sometimes came out sharp when all you really felt was fear. Fear of losing him. Fear that this, the warmth of being his, was too good to last.

You sat there, staring at the floor, your arms wrapped around yourself as if you could hold the ache inside. And yet, Rafe wasn’t oblivious. He never was, not with you. The door clicked shut behind him, shutting out the world, and suddenly it was just the two of you—his presence grounding, steady, like the tide you always knew would return.

When his hands cupped your face, they were warm, calloused, and impossibly gentle. You looked up, almost ashamed, eyes shining with the weight of everything unsaid. But Rafe didn’t let you hide. His gaze burned steady into yours, not with frustration or annoyance, but with a depth that made your chest ache.

“I just wanna be yours. Only yours.” His voice was soft but firm, like a vow that left no room for doubt.

Your breath caught, the world narrowing down to the sincerity in his eyes. That fear of not being enough, of being overshadowed, it loosened its grip just a little. You pressed a shaky kiss to his palm, tasting salt from your own tears you hadn’t realized had fallen. His lips brushed your forehead, slow and lingering, as though he was sealing the promise into your skin.

And in that fragile moment, your jealousy didn’t feel ugly anymore—it felt human. It felt like proof of how much you cared. And Rafe, in his own steady way, reminded you that none of the noise outside mattered. Not the girls, not the stares. It was just you. Him. This.

The ache softened, replaced by something fragile but bright: hope. And you smiled—weak, but real.