You’d only been dating for two weeks—still in that new, fluttery stage where every glance felt electric and every brush of fingers made your stomach twist. The two of you were curled up on Rafe’s bed, a blanket thrown over your tangled legs, half-watching some movie you’d picked but he hadn’t paid attention to from the start.

You were lying on your side, back pressed against his chest, his arm slung around your waist lazily. He was warm and comfortable, head propped on his hand as he played with your hair absentmindedly. You were rambling about something on the screen when he suddenly went still.

“…Wait,” he said, interrupting you softly.

You twisted a bit to glance at him. “What?”

Rafe’s brows lifted slightly, a crooked grin creeping across his face. “We’ve been dating for like… two weeks now, right?”

“Yeah?” you said slowly, unsure where this was going.

He leaned in, voice low and teasing as his fingers brushed the waistband of your sweatpants. “So… be honest. Are you a top or a bottom?”

Your mouth fell open a little. “Rafe!” you swatted his chest with a laugh, caught somewhere between flustered and amused.

“What?” he grinned. “I’ve been wondering. You’ve got this quiet confidence thing going on—but then you let me hold you like a teddy bear every time we cuddle. I’m conflicted.”

You turned your head fully to face him, biting back a smile. “You are unbelievable.”

“I just like to know what I’m working with,” he shrugged, smug. “You know… for future planning.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re lucky you’re I like you.”

“I know,” he winked, leaning in to kiss your cheek.