Rafe's palm was warm and comforting as it lightly cradled your own, hesitant in capturing your fingers as though he was concerned you would stop at any moment. He's right, of course, since you remember as you're leaving the house through the back door of the kitchen that you're mad at him.
So caught up in the motions of being caught out sneaking a melody on his family's piano, you'd lost all sense and fallen into his whims as a buffer, but as soon as the swampy, humid air hits your face, you're reminded of what happened at the party.
Still, you attempt to brush it off by acting like it's an accident in order to avoid confrontation, slipping your hand from his to tuck a few stray wisps of hair behind your ear before letting it fall at your side. His eyes dart down to it and his shoulders drop a little but he doesn't speak. Simply keeps walking expectantly of your unquestioning obedience in following him. Maybe you should have at least tried to refuse, but sadly, you weren't in the right mind.
It was important to you to get your shit together. To not be vulnerable.
The mask you so expertly crafted to stifle your telling emotions had been created from a young age where prying adults would smother you until you explained why you were upset, or angry, or frustrated. So many questions all the time. Questions that stopped when you seemed simply content or relaxed - so you perfected the art of schooling your features to match that emotion wherever possible.
Of course, that had all gone to shit from the moment you came back to this fucking place and laid eyes upon adult Rafe Cameron. He'd managed to dip into your soul and wreak havoc upon all of your carefully practiced reservations with the outside world.
More and more you found yourself expressing your true feelings wantonly, not even thinking about hiding it. It was disconcerting to say the least, and you didn't want to think too hard on the small shred of a voice in your mind that secretly enjoyed the freedom of it.
Growing up alone would do that to you.
Rafe doesn't try to talk to you again as you walk, satisfied enough that you'd agreed to come with him without argument. He lifts a hand to help you step over a fallen and rotted piece of tree as you enter the swampy forest at the back of his house but you once again ignore it, frowning. Far be it for you to make anything easy for Rafe Cameron.
This felt like some attempt to win you back onto his side, the feeling enhanced by his so enticing claim on you at the party. You thought about that moment a lot since it happened, thanks to your traitor of a brain. The warm arm snapped tight around your abdomen, the hand splayed out and pressing into soft flesh. The rasp to his voice as he called you his.
It was enough to make knees weak if you let it.
You're so lost in your own head that it doesn't click where he's taking you until you're already there. Night has fallen, the moon beginning to crest further up the inky black of the sky which was dotted with a stunning display of glistening starlight.
It's made more prominent and beautiful by the soft glow of the dozens of fireflies that open up into the clearing in front of you.
Stopping in your tracks, your lips drop open beyond your control, eyes rounding as a memory washes over your mind. The night you promised Rafe you weren't going to leave him.
You know you should speak. Your lips are already open, the ghosts of the words forming on an unwilling tongue, disallowing anything to slip past beyond stuttered breaths and heavy inhales and exhales.
It was just as stunning as you remember, the little bugs hovering and fluttering by like little beacons in the evening air. Rafe steps into view, careful not to be too noisy as to disturb the creatures. His feet carry him in front of you and he turns to face you, his gaze settling on your expression for as long as it takes you to cast your own up to meet it.
It doesn't take long.
Unsurprisingly.
When your eyes meet, you sigh quietly at the vulnerability he's so openly plastering to his features. His blue eyes are rounded and open, allowing you to witness every glimmer of every thought that crosses his mind. Even his brow, so often furrowing, was relaxed and easy, his lips shadowing the ghost of a smile at your awe.
"I'm sorry." Two words, spoken so softly that had the cicadas been any louder, you might not have heard him. Two words, spoken so sincerely that it wrenches at your icy cold heart and pleads with it to feel some shred of the guilt brewing in your gut. For what you felt guilty for, you didn't know, but it lurked there anyway, responding to the rawness of his declaration. Two words, words that you knew must have been hard for him to speak based on the kind of person he had grown to be.
This time, when his hand opens out to you, you allow yourself the selfish luxury of taking it. His fingers flex as he takes in your own and when his shoulder droop again, it's in relief this time, completed upon the slow exhale of a breath he'd been holding.
He guides you further into the clearing and you follow quietly, looking out for any creatures of the night that might terrify you into running back home and never stepping foot out into the wild again. "Watch your step." He mumbles absently as he steps over boulders and shrubs with an ease you both envied and do your best to mimic as he takes you into the center of the clearing where the fireflies are mostly huddled.
Rafe peels off his shirt, leaving him in the white tank top beneath it and his khaki shorts, and lays it out on the ground, only answering your questioning frown with a point that tells you to park your ass on it just as he sets himself down on the ground in front of you.
The buzz of the light bugs fills your ears as they flit around you and the glow that they produce sets Rafe's features off in the most dazzling way. He looked so handsome right now that it made your chest ache with the need to say fuck it and forgive him of everything and take him in your arms right here on the filthy forest floor.
You wished more in that moment than ever before that you were that type of girl.
He reaches out to take your hands in his, his brow creasing just a little in thought like he's warring with his own mind on what to say to not fuck this up as he'd managed to destroy a lot of other situations with you. It wasn't his fault entirely. You could be... difficult.
Sometimes.
Okay, a lot, but it was always deemed necessary to you in order to test the worth of those around you. How much they deserved your precious time and attention.
"I don't know what words to say exactly to make this right, but... I really am sorry." He begins, swallowing, still unable to meet your firm yet quietly assessing gaze. "I have no decent enough excuses for it. I'd been drinking and Top convinced me to snort a few lines with him for fun when you didn't show up, and then I got that text from you and it made me feel--" He cuts himself off with a clearing of his throat as if he doesn't quite want to depart with that information. "I just wanted to party, I didn't even realise Alex had even come over until you showed up."
You want to scoff and roll your eyes as a reflexive response but you somehow manage to not do that and just sit there listening. Go you.
"I know, it sounds like bullshit, but it's honestly the truth. I was so out of it. Then you showed up and I realised what a fucking mistake I'd made. The look on your face..." He finally looks up at you, jaw flexing as he meets your eyes. "I fucking hated it."
There's a pause in the air as he waits for you to say something but you really don't know what to say in that moment. He could be forgiven for it, you suppose, since he was clearly incredibly intoxicated at the time, but that didn't mean it would sting any less. It didn't mean that the humiliation and hurt you'd felt at seeing him with another girl was a pill that was easy to swallow.
What would happen the next time he went to a party without you? Was he doomed to make the same mistake again? 'Not realise' that some random girl was practically straddling him for his attention? The idea of it makes something ugly burn in your gut. You didn't like the thought of that. At all.
"So, I'm sorry. For it all. You don't have to forgive me, but I at least wanted to explain myself." His tone is more resolute now, even if his eyes are desperately searching yours for a crack in the wall you'd built up around yourself. It's so intense that eventually you break the contact, instead dropping your glance to the entwining fingers in your lap. His long fingers threaded through yours, his thumbs dancing a comforting stroke over your knuckles, reaching that part of you that you tried to keep locked up safe.
It was foolish to let him talk you into breaking down your walls again, but even now you know that you will. He had too much of a hold on you and the romantic setting of his heartfelt apology wasn't lost on you either. It definitely helped his argument. And would go down as one of the most sincere and romantic things anyone had ever done for you - right there next to the first time he'd brought you here.
Words were difficult though. Accepting his apology and opening yourself up to that hurt again through verbal confirmation was like ripping out your still beating heart and tossing it into his lap. Dramatic, yes. But that was truly what it felt like.
Despite his affections, he had a lot more maturing to go if he was going to make this work.
That didn't mean you didn't see potential in him all the same. In quiet times like this, he showed you the part of him that you craved more of. The lack of bravado, or need to present himself a typical way for the sake of his friends, was more alluring than any attractiveness he held. His company like this was something you craved all the way to your core.
So, you cave. In the only way you can think how to.
"My mom taught me how to play piano." You mutter after a long moment, offering the proverbial olive branch by discussing something he knows opens you up to him. He doesn't seem to mind your lack of verbal forgiveness either, simply squeezing your fingers gently just once as he leans in to show he's listening to every syllable dropping from your lips. "When I was a kid, she would show me the basics anyway and I'd study her movements for as long as she'd let me. As I got older, she had less time for my lessons but would always come into the room if she heard me playing late at night or when I thought nobody was around." Your lips peel back into a slow, unsteady smile at the many memories of her. "She said that was when I played at my best. When I didn't have to pretend like the music wasn't coming from my soul."
It had taken many years to understand your mothers words but eventually they rang true. Alone, you could play however happily or solemnly as you wanted, without outside input. You could use the instrument as a weapon of your expression - an emotional outlet - as it should have always been used for.
Rafe is reluctant in responding, his lips taking their time in mirroring your echo of a smile. He doesn't pry for you to say more which is a relief in itself. Talking about mom was hard at even the best of times, which this was arguably not in terms of your self control.
But Rafe lost his mom too. He understood.
He moves to speak again, the only indication of how uncomfortable he is at what he has to say being the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows once, following it with a croak in his voice and a gaze that is infinitely more anguished that you'd banked on it being. "It was my moms piano that you were playing." He says and you gasp quietly. Shit. You didn't know that. "Rose tried to have the room remodeled a few years back, but I refused to let her or dad touch anything in it."
Rafe shuffles a little closer, his knee brushing against your own with how close he is. His eyes look at your hands, the way his fingers toy nervously with them. "I was always useless with instruments - not that I ever really tried, of course. But she was... God, she was magnificent." He has that same haunted smile on him that you were sure you had a few moments ago when discussing your own mom. "Each night, she'd sit in that room for an hour or so and just play the most beautiful melodies, and I'd sit in a little chair in the corner and listen. It was the most peaceful I think I've ever been." With a deep breath, blue eyes take you in once more, the look in them freezing you to the spot. "Until tonight."
You weren't even remotely prepared for that or how to respond to it. Fuck. What was it about him that stole any coherent words from your mouth?
"I didn't know. I'm... I'm sorry if it hurt you to see me there; I know I wouldn't be comfortable with someone playing my moms piano with what it meant to me." You offer quietly. It still sat in a much different room of your much different apartment back in New York after your dad tried to sell it. God, the hell you'd given him over that was historic.
But Rafe, he's quick to quell any such thoughts of his own situation. "No. I mean, don't get me wrong, if it was just anyone then yeah, I'd be pissed. The door to that room stays shut for a reason, but baby, you have access to anything you want. You want to play my piano? Please feel fucking free because it was the most incredible thing I think I've seen in a long time. You want to snoop through my room and uncover all my secrets? Go right ahead. I've fucked with your feelings enough without meaning to, I'm all in if that's what it takes for you to trust me again and never look at me like you did at the party."
Oh.
Oh.
It was far more candid than you ever expected of Rafe Cameron. Far more honest and the desperation in those stunning eyes tells you he means every word.
God, you wanted to forgive him so fucking bad.
"What would Tinder Tina think of that? Will she survive without her precious booty call?" It was a low blow but made softer by the smirk you allow to slip onto your lips. You were teasing him, the dig at that night in the hotel amusing now that time had passed.
Rafe delights you with one of his genuine laughs, his head tipping back as his features crease in elation. He was tense tonight with having to be vulnerable to you but was obviously glad that you'd eased some of it from the air. He takes both your hands in one of his as the other rises to cup your jaw, a grin on those plush and inviting lips of his.
Down, girl.
"Consider her, and all the rest of them, blocked. Fuck, I'll even block Rose. My sisters, too. No women in my life but you if that's what it takes, baby."
It's your turn to laugh at how ridiculous the idea might be, something you'd never ask of him, though it did feel good to know that he felt so strongly about it. You lean forward to rest your forehead to his and sigh softly, lids closing as you finally take that final leap.
"Okay. We can work this out. Together."
≖
There's a few texts from Sarah on your phone when you head back to the house but you thumb a quick reply to sate her concerns, ignoring the message after asking if you want her to put your things in Rafe's room.
She thought you'd be changing rooms for the night, obviously. You weren't planning on that.
Not yet, anyway.
There's a peaceful air between the two of you now, a serenity you'd been craving with him that you knew he had the potential for but hadn't quite thrown in for fully just yet. He guides you all the way home, taking your filthy sneakers and leaving them by the door next to his own so their staff could clean them. Then he takes you upstairs and into his room without any sort of pressure or expectations of you other than your company.
"There's a bathroom in there." He points to an adjoining door, half open. "I'll grab you a change of clothes if you want to shower."
God, yes.
Between the humidity and general dirt of the forest, you felt absolutely filthy and in no shape to be around any boys let alone one you were apparently developing feelings for. Oh, fine. Already had very strong and prominent feelings for.
Once you're done in there, a towel wrapped firmly around your freshly cleaned body and damp hair falling over your shoulders, you step back into his plush room to find it lacking him and a pair of boxer shorts and one of his shirts folded up on the bed. It smells both clean and like him - something you relish in - as you pull the clothes onto your body, the material brushing over your skin like the softest touch. You're almost about to let your curiosity win and take him up on his offer of snooping through his room when he comes back with an easy and knee-weakening grin plastered to his face.
"There's my girl. Hey, you."
It's hard to ignore the flutter in your chest at that, or stifle the smile creeping onto your own lips. "Relax, Romeo. Just because I forgave you doesn't mean you can go all possessive on me."
He cocks a brow, half teasing and half serious as he wipes out the distance between you in a few short strides. His thick forearm is banding around your waist to pull you flush against his chest, lips crashing down on your own so quickly that you can hardly catch yourself in time to kiss him back before he pulls away, smirking. "Nice try, sweetheart. You're all mine now. No point playing hard to get when I've already, quite literally, got you."
The muscles in his arms flex around you as if to prove his point and you blush.
Okay. He did have a good point there.
You crane your neck to look up at him properly and take in how different he seems already. There's a relaxation to his visage that wasn't there before, an ease in your presence that makes him somehow hotter than before. You liked this Rafe. This was the Rafe you desired so badly.
His hair was falling into his eyes and you reach up to brush it away. "This is getting long." You comment as you finger the strands, damp themselves. He must have left the room to shower elsewhere.
Hm. Personally, you wouldn't have been against him joining you in his shower, but you respected his attempt at being chivalrous even though he'd been between your legs a few times now.
"Cut it for me." He says plainly like it's not the most ridiculous notion you'd ever heard of. Really? You? Cutting anyone's hair? What a hilarious idea that was, but ... Ah, shit. He's already moving off to find a pair of scissors and a chair to park his ass onto.
He's serious?!
"Rafe, I have no idea how to cut hair. I'm not doing it--"
"Yes you are." He moves over to silence your protests with a quick kiss and a manic grin that refuses any argument you might have. He plants his very delectable behind into the chair and holds the scissors out to you, still grinning like a mad man. "Come on. My hairdresser is a woman and I've already sworn off any other than you, remember? Unless, of course, you want me to call her up and book in an appointment. She does always wear the most low cut--"
"Fine! I'll do it." You snip. He was baiting you and you knew it, but fuck was it working. He's well aware of it too as that grin fucking widens, pleased with himself, earning him a glare and a middle finger which only serves to amuse him further.
Little did he know he was about to look stupid as shit with the worlds worst haircut. Ha. Exactly as he deserves.
With a grumble under your breath about annoying men and stupid hairdressers, you cross the room to stand in front of him. He hands you a comb and a pair of scissors and you get to work trimming the back of his hair. Most of its length was on the top so it was fine for now while you try to make the back and sides as even as you could.
When you circle around to the front to work on the longer top layers, his knees part to allow you closer and his neck cranes so he can look up and watch you work. It definitely did nothing at all for your concentration which was slipping the longer he was transfixed to you. He studies you as if you're some mythical creature come to life and the brush of his fingertips as they dance over the back of your bare thighs almost has you royally fucking up your hard work on his hair.
So far it wasn't looking awful. Definitely nothing even close to professional but enough to get by if he styled it really well himself.
His hands move absently, just feeling your bare flesh as you stand between his legs, his height meaning that his face was just a few inches below your own. If you angled yourself right and leaned just a little, you could taste him again. Have his lips exploring your own and drifting down your neck while he--
Fuck-!
His fingers had dipped beneath the hem of your shorts while you were lost in your own mind, prodding tentatively at your slit. The hum in his throat says he's pleased with what he feels - a wetness pooling just from your own wanton thoughts and his proximity.
He doesn't say anything as you whip your glance down at him, simply raising a challenging brow as if to say go on.
So you do. You take a breath and continue cutting, all while his fingertips dip further into your slick. You want to roll your hips against it, desperately seeking some friction. When he finally applies pressure to your needy clit, you groan and your lids involuntarily flutter shut.
Right as you snip the scissors.
Over a large chunk of his hair.
"Shit!" You breathe, stepping back from his hold and cursing yourself for getting lost in what was clearly him fucking with you. Ugh. Now that one chunk of hair was far shorter than either of you intended it to be and you bite your lip in preparation for his anger, which would be totally valid since you'd just ruined his hair. Fuck, if someone did it to you, you'd rain hell down on them. And their family. And their family's family just to be on the safe side in making sure nobody ever messed with your hair again.
But Rafe simply laughs as he reaches up to feel the damage for himself. He's so pleased with himself for getting to you that he doesn't even care about how he looks, which for an apparently retired womanizer like him, is a big deal. But he only stands and peels free of his shirt, exposing that drool-worthy display of muscle to you before he heads over into the bathroom to retrieve something.
You could hear him rustling but all you can think about is how fucking hot he looked without that goddamn shirt on. How could you have possibly forgotten what he had under the clothes you that you now wanted to burn for good so they never dared cover it again.
But then other people get to see it.
...Nope.
Nevermind.
Clothes can stay.
Your whole body was thrumming with energy, craving every inch of him, especially after those talented fingers had teased you.
When he comes back into the room, you note how stupid you must look just stood there with the scissors in your hand still, in shock over what you'd done and how he'd reacted so calmly to it, but his charming grin relaxes you entirely. He plugs something into the wall outlet and moves the chair closer to it before sitting down again and beckoning you over.
You try to see it but it's masked by his large hand so you head over to him anyway, taking your place between his legs once more. The item is placed into your hand and it takes a moment to recognise the hair trimmer with a guide already applied to it. Rafe's warm palms settle over the backs of your thighs again and pull you in close, rising just a little to settle on the curve of your ass and give it a gentle squeeze.
He had a devious look about him, the smirk he wore sending heat rushing through you with his devilish intent. You hold his gaze, unsure of whether or not he was serious about what he wanted you to do, but then his hand slips beneath your shorts again and you lose all will to argue. His finger dips inside of you and your lips part on a silent moan, something that brings a glint to his darkening eyes as he continues. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick with desire, the low octave of it giving you goosebumps.
"Shave it off, baby. I don't care as long as you're looking at me like that."
≖
(A/N : I couldn't put off buzzcut Rafe any longer, I love him sm. Ugh. )