“I missed you,” he says against my mouth.
“I know,” I reply. “I missedthis.”
We don’t make it far.
The bedroom door swings shut behind us, barely acknowledged. The bed is already made, crisp and inviting, sheets pulled tight in a way that won’t last long. Shoes get kicked off somewhere along the way. Jackets land where they land. We stumble against the mattress with breathless laughter that fades into something heavier, deeper.
Rafe braces himself over me, forehead pressed to mine.
“This is ours,” he says again, like he needs to hear it out loud.
“Yeah.” I grin. “It is.”
The urgency comes from more than want. It’s relief. It’s recognition. It’s months of restraint and carefulness unraveling all at once. We move together, Rafe buried deep inside me, like we’ve been counting down to this moment without admitting it.
His name slips out of me without thought. Mine follows from his mouth like a confession.
“Tell me you’re here,” he says softly.
“I’m here,” I answer immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.
When the moment finally slows, it doesn’t stop so much as soften. The intensity turns heavy, like the aftershock of something seismic. Rafe rests his forehead against mine again, exhaling hard, eyes dark and shining.
“Does this mean our first place together’s been officially christened?” he murmurs.
I smile, stupid and content, the kind of smile I never bother hiding with him. “It sure does.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, lingering like he’s memorizing the moment. Then he collapses beside me, pullingme close until I’m half draped over his chest. My ring catches the light when I shift, and I notice the way his gaze flicks to it.
We lie this way for a while, steadying our pounding hearts, the afternoon light inching its way across the walls.
“This,” he says eventually, voice quiet and sure, “was worth the wait.”
I nod, fingers tracing idle lines along his ribs, grounding us both. “Yeah.”
And for the first time since everything started accelerating faster than I could process, I don’t feel like I’m bracing for the next thing. I feel like I’ve arrived.
I stay tucked against him until the sun moves enough that it feels like time has passed instead of paused. Eventually hunger wins, the way it always does. Rafe groans when I move, but he lets me go, rolling onto his back and scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Worth it,” he mutters.
“Always,” I say, knowing he means ignoring the few unpacked boxes still littering the apartment. Sliding out of bed, I stretch, then tug on a pair of sweatpants. I pause long enough to catch my ring on the light again, a reflex now, checking that it’s there. It is. Steady. Unapologetic.
Rafe watches me with a small, private smile. “I love it when you wear your ring.”
“Me too,” I say simply, my gaze catching his wedding band that’s nestled among the five other rings he wears on both hands.
That seems to be enough. He nods, sits up, and reaches for his own clothes. There’s something domestic about the way we move through the kitchen together afterward, bumping hips, opening cabinets we stocked together, discovering we somehow bought three kinds of mustard and nothing resembling a complete meal.
“We should’ve planned this better,” I say, staring into the fridge.
Rafe peers over my shoulder. “We have cheese.”
“And?”
“And optimism.”
