You’re Rafe Cameron’s girlfriend.

It still feels strange sometimes to put it into words, not because it isn’t true, but because of how complicated he can be.

To most people, he’s sharp edges and quick tempers, a storm that’s always about to break. But you’ve seen the other side of him, the rare glimpses of quiet, the moments where he lets himself soften.

That’s how last night had been. The two of you had been together all evening, stretched out in his room while the rest of the house slipped into silence.

Conversation had blurred into comfortable quiet, quiet into the warmth of his arms around you, until eventually, without even meaning to, you’d both drifted off in his bed.

Now, hours later, for some reason you wake in the middle of the night. The clock on the nightstand glows 5:00 a.m., casting its red numbers across the dark room.

For a moment, you don’t move. The space feels different than your own bed, firmer mattress, heavier sheets, the faint lingering trace of his cologne in the air.

And then there’s him.

Rafe is asleep beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing filling the quiet. His arm lies loosely across the sheets, his shirtless chest rising and falling with each slow inhale.

In sleep, he looks almost unrecognizable from the boy the world sees during the day, his jaw unclenched, his expression calm, every sharp edge softened by the dark.

The moonlight slipping through the blinds brushes faintly across his features, catching the curve of his cheek, the fall of his hair. Outside, the world is silent. Inside, you lie awake in his bed, caught in the stillness of this fragile hour, watching him sleep.