It wasn’t a big party—just a few friends at Rafe’s house. Someone was asleep on the couch downstairs, another had left without saying goodbye. The night had simmered down, music fading into the background, leaving only low voices and the clink of half-empty bottles. Somehow, you and Rafe had ended up upstairs, stretched out across his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You lay on top of the covers, your head turned toward him as you let out a quiet yawn.

“You tired?” he asked, glancing at you.

“Mmhm,” you hummed. “But I’m comfortable.”

He gave a low chuckle, not saying anything more. The room fell into a slow, easy silence. Your limbs were heavy with sleep, and his presence beside you felt strangely calming.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “I might fall asleep like this.”

He looked at you, eyes soft. “You can.”

You shifted closer, your cheek resting gently against his chest. His heart jumped beneath your touch, but he didn’t move—barely even breathed. You didn’t say anything else. You were asleep a few seconds later, your hand loosely draped across his side.

Rafe stared up at the ceiling, wide awake now.

He stayed perfectly still. Not because you asked him to, but because something about the moment felt fragile, like any sudden movement might break the quiet magic of it. Your breathing was soft against him, steady. You looked peaceful. Safe.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed moments like this—ones that felt real, unforced.

His arm slowly went numb beneath you, but he didn’t mind. There was a kind of stillness he hadn’t felt in years. One hand hovered just above your back, as if he wanted to hold you closer but didn’t dare to. Instead, he just stayed there, unmoving.

You, asleep on his chest. Him, awake in the dark—guarding the moment like a secret he didn’t want the world to find.