You find yourself in Rafe Cameron’s bedroom, the air heavy with the faint smell of cologne and saltwater drifting in from the open window.

He’s sitting on his bed, shirt discarded carelessly on the floor, tension obvious in the way his shoulders rise and fall. For some reason you’re standing behind him, hands brushing against his warm skin as you start to work at the knots in his back.

Rafe glances over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips, though his eyes betray a flicker of genuine curiosity.

“Didn’t think you were the type to play personal masseuse” he mutters, voice low and teasing.

You roll your eyes, pressing harder into his shoulder blade until he lets out a quiet groan. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just too tense for your own good” you reply, tone sharp but laced with amusement.

He shifts slightly, giving you more space, his usual cocky demeanor softening at the rare vulnerability of letting someone this close. His smirk lingers, though there’s something less guarded behind it now.

The room is quiet, save for your hands working over his back and the unspoken tension hanging in the air.