The sky is painted in soft pastels, waves crashing in the background like a lullaby. You’re curled up on the balcony of his beach house, hair damp from the ocean, skin still warm from the sun. The scent of salt and sunscreen clings to you like him.

You don’t say much. You don’t have to. Rafe’s stretched out beside you, an arm draped lazily over your thigh, fingers tracing mindless patterns into your skin. The joint burns slow between your fingers, untouched for a while now.

The sea breeze lifts strands of your hair, and he tucks them behind your ear without a word, just that focused, soft look in his eyes that he saves only for you. The one that makes everything else feel quiet.

You glance at him and smile. It’s small, barely there, but he catches it like it’s everything.

Then his voice comes—gentle, low, honest in a way that feels rare for him

“You’re my peace… even when I don’t deserve it.”