The pillow hit Rafe square in the face before he even had a chance to react.

For a moment, he just blinked, his brain trying to catch up with what just happened. You, standing at the edge of his bed, holding a pillow like a weapon, a mischievous grin pulling at your lips.

“Oh, you’re dead,” he muttered, grabbing the nearest pillow.

You barely had time to dodge before he swung, missing you by an inch. Laughing, you ducked, swinging your own pillow at his side. The impact wasn’t much, but it made him stumble, and that was enough to make you burst out laughing.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” Rafe growled, but he was smiling now, eyes alight with something playful, something rare.

He swung again, this time landing a hit to your stomach, sending you falling onto the mattress with a squeal. Before you could scramble up, he was on top of you, pinning you down, pillow pressed against your side.

“Give up?” he asked, panting slightly, his grin widening.

“Never,” you huffed, squirming beneath him.

His eyes flickered down to your face, amusement shifting into something softer. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You smirked. “You love it.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his lips against your forehead before collapsing beside you, pulling you into his arms.

“Truce?” you mumbled against his chest.

“For now,” he muttered, squeezing you closer.