Chapter Text
You are Rafe Cameron's Girlfriend
The First thing you see when you wake up is him lying next to you
Rafe’s alarm pierces through the spacious bedroom like a blaring siren, yanking you out of the peaceful sleep you were just enjoying a few moments ago. Beside you, he remains completely undisturbed, sound asleep with soft snores rumbling through his bare chest. Even after your nagging to make him at least wear a shirt through the cold night, but his rock stubborn head refused to. Blinking your eyes open, you’re greeted by the faint glow of dawn slipping through the small crack in the curtains, the golden rays hinting at the beauty of the window and balcony hidden behind them. The room is still shrouded in darkness, but the alarm’s incessant noise is impossible to ignore.
You twist your body toward the figure lying behind you, burrowing your head into his neck in an attempt to shield your eyes from the invading sunlight and, hopefully, grab his attention desperate for him to silence the loud blaring loud alarm. The sound continues its relentless blaring, yet Rafe remains deeply lost in his dreams, completely unbothered. Frustrated, you reach up and gently tap his chest, hoping to stir him awake. “Baby” you groan, cheek pressed against his shoulders hiding in the nook of his neck. “S’ too loud” you mutter.
He grumbles out a response, his voice huskier than usual from sleep as he shifts his body and stretched out his arms turn off the sounding alarm from his phone. He turns his face to you, bringing back his muscular arm around you. “Baby, its gotta be loud or ill sleep through it. You know im not exactly a morning person” he says. He places his hand on your shoulder and pulls you closer so that you’re laying on top of him, your head laying on his chest.
“Mhmm” you hummed acknowledging what he said. He was already awake now and there’s no stopping that. You know he works harder than anyone you know, and you couldn’t love him harder for it but sometimes you just want to hold onto him for a little while longer.
He could tell that you dont want to get up, the way you cling onto him so tightly not wanting to let go. He lets out a deep sigh “babe, i have to work…” he moves his hand down to your back and runs his thumb over to your side in slow, lazy circles. His other hand playing the strands of your hair, admiring your beauty. Of course you ignore him trying to pretend like he didn’t say anything
After a few moments, he finally stirred, his muscles shifting under your touch as he made an attempt to sit up, breaking the comfort of the early morning. “Wait, no, no,” you protested hastily, your voice tinged with desperation as you reached out instinctively, placing your arm firmly across his chest in an effort to hold him down. Your arm, though far from a match for his strength, pressed against him with all the determination you could muster, as if sheer willpower could outweigh the difference between you. You didn’t want him to leave—not yet, not so early when the sunlight was just beginning to tear through the blinds of your window, and the world outside still felt distant and uninviting. These moments were fleeting, and you weren’t ready to let go of the warmth, the closeness, and the quiet peace that came with having him beside you.
He lets out a slow, deliberate breath, rolling his eyes as he allows you to cling onto him a little longer, knowing full well that he didn’t have the heart to admit the truth that deep down, he’d much rather stay curled up in bed with you, wrapped in the warmth and comfort of your presence, than face the day at work, because it would make leaving your side harder.
“Baby you’re going to have to let me up soon” his hoarse voice was the only sound that filled up the room. You wanted him to stay here and you wanted to act as if the world didn’t have to turn around the sun just for us. “Please? A little while longer” you muster up the energy to say, determined not to let him go.
You wanted him to stay, it was selfish, you knew, but the idea of him leaving, of the world pulling him away, felt unbearable. You wanted to believe that if you held on tight enough, time might freeze just for the two of you.
“Please?” you finally managed to whisper, your voice barely more than a fragile plea. “Just a little while longer,” you added, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze. There was a quiet determination in your tone, a stubbornness that mirrored the grip you still had on him, as if your hands alone could tether him to this moment.
He looked at you, his expression softening as a sigh escaped his lips. His hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “You know you’re making this harder,” he said quietly, his words carrying a mix of sweetness and resignation.
And maybe you were. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not yet.
“I have an early meeting, i shouldn’t be late” there he was again interrupting the silence of this room. You could tell by the faint hesitation in his tone that he didn’t really want to go, that he’d much rather stay right here, tangled up in the sheets with you. But reality wasn’t that kind, and you knew he couldn’t ignore it, not without risking the job he’s so dearly committed.
You groaned, taking your arm back and retreating your side of the bed, the hands that i just had a new manicure yesterday hoping he might notice when your hands grazed his skin or curled into his shirt. You wrapped myself back under the covers, distancing yourself from his cold shoulder.
His eyes wandered, the slow, unhurried movement catching your attention even though you didn’t turn to face him. For a moment, you thought you might have imagined it, but then you saw it—the faintest flicker of recognition as his gaze paused, lingering on your hands. There it was, the reassurance you needed. He saw them, the careful work and thought you’d put into matching his preferences, into aligning a piece of yourself with his world. Did it mean anything to him?
Why didn’t he say anything? you wondered, your heart caught between hope and resignation. Maybe he didn’t know how much it mattered to you, how much those little gestures were your way of trying to bridge the distance that sometimes felt like it grew between you in moments like these. Or maybe he did notice, and it simply didn’t hold the same weight for him. The thought stung, but you quickly pushed it away. His favorite color, carefully chosen to match the outfit he’d picked out for today. It wasn’t a coincidence; it never was. It always meant something, at least to you.
He saw you retreating into your side as he sat up. A soft hum leaving his lips while he scooted to sit closer next to you on the bed, his hand reaching out to hold your cold, bare arm. “Baby, dont be mad. I really have to get to work on time” he would say.
“I know, i know you have a meeting” you echoed. You grumbled and closed your eyes shut back again.
Every morning was the same routine. He’d always wake up before the sun, slipping out of bed quietly so as not to disturb you. The sound of the shower running was your first real sign that he was already getting ready, and soon enough, he’d be dressed in one of his perfectly tailored outfits, looking effortlessly put-together like he always did. It wasn’t fair how good he looked every time, he barely had to try.
By the time he was ready to leave, the house would smell faintly of his cologne, a scent that lingered just enough to remind you he’d been there. Without fail, he’d leave a fresh cup of coffee for you on the kitchen counter. It was always there, waiting for you, even if you didn’t wake up in time to see him leave. Before he stepped out the door, he’d always remember to leave a kiss on your cheek. You’d stay behind, still wrapped up in the warmth of the bed, the sheets carrying the faint trace of him.
He hated that you were mad at him. You were mad at him for going to his job that paid for everything for you, every nice house, your car, expensive clothes, school, and all you could ever want to ask. Yet he still had to wake up, get himself ready, and head out to work.
He reached out down and began to rub your back, in an effort to soothe you. “C’mon, dont be mad at me”
“Mhm” you had forced a smile so he wouldn’t feel bad for leaving you alone yet again and he’d have to leave soon because he would have no time to argue with me.
He wasn’t buying into your fake smile, he knows you more than he knows his self and was always able to tell the difference on what you were putting on.
“Stop that” he would say, he placed his hand on your jaw, his thumb running over your bottom lip.
It was selfish, you know that but you hated that this was your routine, this quiet tug-of-war where the world always won and you always lost. It wasn’t fair, you thought, how time and responsibility seemed to chip away at these stolen mornings, leaving you with less of him than you wanted, less of him than you needed. But what could you do? You couldn’t ask him to stay—not really. You knew how hard he worked, how much he carried, and you couldn’t begrudge him the things he had to do.
"I'm sorry, I have to leave early, but you know I have to work," he said, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. His eyes lingered on your lips, like they were some kind of magnetic pull he couldn’t resist. You could tell he was stalling, caught between what he needed to do and what he wanted. It wasn’t fair—he always said the right thing, but his gaze, his body language, betrayed him. He didn’t want to leave, not really, and yet he was going to, like he did every morning.
You sighed, shifting slightly under the covers but keeping your face turned away, even though you felt the weight of his stare like a touch. "I know... go," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t permission, not really, more like a surrender. This tortuous routine, the constant push and pull between you, was wearing you down in ways you weren’t sure he even noticed. But you noticed. You always noticed.
"Don't be like that," he said, his voice a little more hesitant now, as if he was afraid he’d pushed too far. "You know I hate leaving you like this."
"Do you?" you shot back, the words escaping before you could stop them. You weren’t trying to be cruel, but the question hung in the air, heavier than either of you expected. You pulled the covers tighter around you as if they could shield you.
He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. "You think I like this? You think I wake up every morning excited to walk out that door and leave you here? It's not that simple."
"It feels simple," you replied, finally turning to face him. His expression softened when he saw your face, the faint crease between your brows, the way your lips trembled just slightly.
He sighed, seeing that you were giving up on the argument, his hand left you as he pulled away from you in order to stand up and put his shirt on.