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A breath escapes Phoebe. The state of her bed wasn't an issue, apparently. Rafael was being very gracious— too gracious, about everything, especially for a man who was used to hotels and restaurants and penthouses with Turkish marble and gilded features and exquisitely crafted mattresses that could be softened or firmed with the press of a button.

And Phoebe? The low-class girl who stripped for a living, with a GED and an apartment furnished with utensils from the dollar store?

So far he took that all of her in stride. Passed no judgements.

Phoebe stands there as Rafael lowers himself to the edge of her bed, turns the stuffed blueberry over in his hands as the mattress dips beneath him.

'You don't think they'll mind that I'm here tonight, do you?'

How considerate.

"I don't think they mind."

Phoebe crosses her legs, sinks down atop the bed too. It's cold in Vegas for once, and she finds herself reaching for the blanket at the end of the bed— a quilt, patterned with budding anemones and tulips.

"I already told them about you."

"Thank you for choosing to come here."

Rafael hadn't given it much thought, had he? He'd just gotten in the car and driven himself to Phoebe's apartment. He'd sat in the driveway for a long while, worrying about what she'd think, but the action of driving himself there -- well. There'd really been no thought behind that.

He'd just wanted to see her that night.

When Phoebe led them over to her tiny bed, adorned with stuffed animals, Rafael only smiled.

"It's okay," Rafael said, reaching forward. He picked up the blueberry, gave it a gentle squeeze. "We'll figure it out." Rafael reached for the top of the comforter, peeling it down carefully. He sat on the edge of the bed, blueberry in his lap as he looked up at Phoebe. "You don't think they'll mind that I'm here tonight, do you?" He said, referring to her other ... guests.

[phpruitts]

'Thank you for taking care of me,'

Rafael's hand is bigger than hers, and warmer, and she likes how it feels when his palm envelopes her.

Was this really the hand of a man someone wanted dead? Raf, with those curls. With eyes that were like the meeting of the Pacific and the Atlantic.

It upset her to think that someone had tried to kill them.

But that wasn't for now. That thought wasn't for now. Tonight, tomorrow morning, was all theirs, no wounds or knives or violence was allowed to encroach. Something flickered between them now. Something private. Phoebe squeezes his hand and stands from the couch, Daisy tucked underneath the press of her other bicep.

Phoebe stares up at him, and she doesn't think she's ever received such real, unembellished sincerity from a man before.

"Thank you for choosing to come here."

The trust it must take to show up to someone's door dripping blood.

Phoebe leads Raf to her bed, grimacing as she assesses the size of it, the smattering of stuffies dotting the comforter. A little blueberry. A pot of orchids that had a smiley-face embroidered onto the pot. Good God. Rafael influenced global economies.

"I'm sorry my bed is ... like that." She bumps her head into Rafael's shoulder apologetically. "It's gonna be a bit of a snug fit."

Rafael couldn’t really put a label on it, but that night, something had changed between him and Phoebe. Things felt … more serious. Connected. Intertwined, in a way. And he was happier for it, too.

“Me and Daisy both,” Rafael said, smiling at the pair. He stood from the couch, reaching for Phoebe’s hand. Maybe under different circumstances, he’d carry her and Daisy to the tiny little bed in her apartment, but he didn’t want to risk agitating the wounds on his abdomen. He knew there’d be some significant bruising, and he didn’t want to make it worse.

He extended a hand to Phoebe.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said, voice quiet and sincere.

[phpruitts]

Something warms inside her chest, a bloom of heat that spreads from limb to limb and seeps into every muscle in-between.

'I want to'.

Raf wanted to stay in the morning. He wanted her crowded little table, her homemade breakfast on plates that were second-hand. He wanted her. Despite everything.

Phoebe smiles then, and wonders what she did this past year to deserve a Christmas as wonderful as this.

With company, for once, with a gift that would entirely change her life. With someone willing to give their Christmas morning to her.

She can feel Rafael's muscles tense, then relax as he yawns.

'Should I get you girls to bed?'

God. It was late, wasn't it? Raf probably needed extra sleep, after an injury like that! (And whatever ... circumstances that had caused it).

Phoebe plucks Daisy from her spot on the couch, holds her little pink snout up to her ear for a long moment. Her lips purse.

"—Ah. Yes. Daisy is ready for some sleep."

Rafael wasn’t going to change his mind. He wanted to spend his morning with Phoebe more than anything. He’d never had that feeling before — the desire to spend all of his time with one person. Other than Sam, but that was different, and sometimes he even felt like he needed a break from his twin.

“I’m positive,” he assured Phoebe. "I want to."

He kept his arm wrapped tightly around her, closed his eyes momentarily when he heard her yawn. It was late, and fighting off sleep seemed futile. The sooner they slept, the sooner it’d be morning. They could enjoy their breakfast together.

A nice Christmas morning.

Rafael yawned, too, opened his eyes to look at Phoebe.

“Should I get you girls to bed?”

[phpruitts]

'I’ll take whatever you have. Really,'

As if Phoebe would allow that! Raf was spending his Christmas morning with her, of all people. He spent something as precious as Christmas morning with her, when he had an entire family who loved him.

(Not to mention he'd bought her a fucking car? That was still hard to wrap her head around.)

Of course Phoebe would not just throw something together.

No— she had flour, baking soda, dry ingredients for baking. She had strawberries, and chocolate, and oranges, enough eggs to make several dishes, some loose-leaf tea that wasn't quite so cheap compared to her little cardboard box of Celestial Seasonings. Maybe she could even make french toast. Pull out her citrus juicer from her back cabinet and make fresh O.J.

Rafael could pull out a recipe at random, complete nineteen ingredients, and three hours of cooking time required, and she'd gladly make it.

She'd make him anything. Do anything to make sure he felt utterly catered to, and cared for.

"As long as you're sure," Phoebe begins timidly, pressing thumb hard into the flesh of her palm. "It's okay if you change your mind. You have a family, so I get it."

She swallows. Glances down to Daisy and her little head; Rafael's hand pats it gently. Without Rafael, Daisy and the others bunnies were likely to be her only company for the holiday. A part of her subconscious creeps towards a question, towards memories and an old phone number that is no doubt disconnected, but Phoebe quickly banishes it away. Better to be entirely alone than open herself back to her mother.

Besides— Phoebe wasn't going to be alone.

Raf, beautiful Raf, was going to stay with her tonight, have breakfast with her in the morning at her tiny little table at the far window.

Well. Someone else other than her was the major draw, actually, but Phoebe finds that she doesn't mind.

'I’ve grown to really like Daisy, and I don’t want to miss out on breakfast with her.'

No. She doesn't mind at all. Phoebe just smiles, and curls up against Rafael's abdomen carefully. She felt ... wiped.

"I think this is the first time we've ever hosted anyone for breakfast, so. We're very honored to have you."

Phoebe's mouth cracks open in a shaky yawn.

Of course Rafael wanted to spend Christmas morning with Phoebe. Being away from her on a holiday felt … wrong. That was part of the reason why he’d shown up. It didn’t feel right — being away from her.

“I’ll take whatever you have. Really,” Rafael insisted. He would’ve eaten a frozen breakfast meal. It didn’t really matter to Rafael, even if he was normally very particular about the food that he ate. He just wanted to spend the morning with Phoebe. He wanted to prolong saying goodbye for as long as possible.

He knew that he’d see her again soon after, but … well. Rafael was starting to dread any moment spent away from her.

He really wanted to invite her to spend it with his family, but … unfortunately, Rafael was too much of a coward. And he wouldn’t know what to say. To Phoebe, or his family.

“It’s okay,” he assured Phoebe. “We usually do a really big dinner, and … mama likes to do breakfast really early, and I’m … tired from today.” All of the physical exertion that came with killing a man and being stabbed. Not to mention his and Phoebe’s time on the couch earlier.

“Besides. I’ve grown to really like Daisy, and I don’t want to miss out on breakfast with her.”

Rafael offered Phoebe a tired smile. He patted the rabbit on the head.

“Oh, and you too, I guess.”

[phpruitts]

'Well, she seems very well behaved,'

Phoebe smiles at that— shy and warm, marveling at how much has happened tonight. Patching Rafael up from a fucking knife wound. Showing him her home, even letting him see something so silly and stupid and vulnerable.

He got her a fucking car, too.

Phoebe still couldn't believe that. Found it hard to believe that kind of generosity existed for someone like her.

"Yeah. All the rabbits here are very polite."

In another show of grace, Rafael assures her that he's fine, he doesn't need a drink; he's just a bit tired.

Phoebe nods. Her too. They'd ... expended a good amount of energy on that couch, hadn't they? Her limbs still feel formless, like molasses, all wiggly and useless and comfortably numb. All those post-climax endorphins that just make her want to cuddle Raf.

And then—

'I should let my parents know I won’t be able to make breakfast,'

'I think I’d rather have breakfast with you and Daisy.'

There's Raf's arms, firm and warm and muscled wrapping around her tighter, the pleasant sensation of her bare torso pressing against his. Phoebe's eyes widen. Did he really mean that?

"You—” A beat. "Do you really want to?"

A smile overtakes her, incredulous and shy, a line working its way between her brows, something bursting in her chest, sudden and intense. So many of her Christmas mornings were spent were spent without even a quarter of the joy the mere idea of Rafael staying brought. Her and Raf and Daisy.

"I'll make you cinnamon rolls. Or we can have waffles, like, pecan and maple, or anything you want, I can make whip cream too, or eggs, if you want savory. But—. I'm— I'm not taking you away from your family, am I?"

Apparently, Daisy had been around for several years now. A loyal companion since Phoebe was seventeen years old. Daisy wasn’t the oldest pet, either. It made Rafael wonder about all of them, scattered throughout her apartment. What was the story behind each of them?

Never before did Rafael think he’d show interest in something like this, but then again, he never expected to meet someone like Phoebe, either.

“Well, she seems very well behaved,” Rafael said, looking down at the stuffed rabbit. He smiled and felt … a little silly, indulging in all of this, but he also really didn’t care. It was a private moment, meant only for the two of them.

“I'm such a bad host. And doctor. I haven't asked if you wanted any water, or anything, or tea. Or ... the crappy vodka I have in my fridge too, I guess.”

Rafael smiled in return. He shook his head.

“I’m fine, honestly. Just… a little tired, I guess.”

He didn’t have his watch, or his phone nearby, so he couldn’t check the time. He twisted around to check the clock, and it was well after midnight now. Just a few hours before sunrise.

Rafael certainly wasn’t going to make Christmas morning with his family.

“I should let my parents know I won’t be able to make breakfast,” he said.

Rafael pulled Phoebe closer into his chest.

“I think I’d rather have breakfast with you and Daisy.”

[phpruitts]

Phoebe watches as Rafael places Daisy carefully against the back cushion. Huh. So gentle. It would probably shock most people, to see the things he was capable of like this.

'I can't say I've ever taken care of a rabbit before,'

Thankfully, it was easy enough— make sure they didn't accumulate dust, and rotate the time they spent clutched in Phoebe's arm so none of them got jealous.

But Phoebe couldn't say that. Couldn't admit, that every once in a while, on a particularly bad day, she would sleep with one pinned between her forearm and abdomen.

Rafael has already handled so much with absolute grace, tonight.

'Has Daisy weathered a lot of thunderous nights with you?'

There's more of that warm glow in her chest— gentle, and calm, and pleasant, like the remaining embers of a campfire after a mighty blaze. This night was a first for Phoebe. Before this, she certainly couldn't say she'd ever patched up a knife wound in the early hours of Christmas. And then straddled that patient on the couch. And then, after, discussed the particulars of her stuffed rabbits with the very same patient.

Only with Raf. There's a lot of things that only ever happened with Raf. It was ... disarmingly easy, with him. He had a way of making Phoebe feel calm, and settled, and she hopes somehow she can make him feel that way too.

Phoebe smiles as he plants himself on the couch once more. "Honestly ... I got Daisy when I was seventeen." Far too old, for a stuffie. But Phoebe couldn't help it— there was something comforting about buying the things she was denied as a child. Her mom would spent money meant for the power bill on booze. Phoebe, even when young, was far too realistic to expect any presents at birthday and Christmas. Violet had been the one special exception. "She's not my most ... senior one. But she's very polite. I saved her from a gas station that was far too rough for a someone with her gentle spirit."

A huff of a laugh escapes Phoebe, and she shifts on the couch, pleasantly tired from their activities as she leans her head against Rafael's chest.

"Oh!" Her eyes fly open. "I'm such a bad host. And doctor. I haven't asked if you wanted any water, or anything, or tea. Or ... the crappy vodka I have in my fridge too, I guess."

Apparently all stuffed rabbits were sensitive to loud noises. Ah. He was learning something. Rafael held the plush rabbit in his hands, examined the beast named Daisy carefully.

Rafael wasn’t trying to tease. Not in a bad way, at least. It was harmless, and Rafael couldn’t deny how charming he found all of this. Really. Never before did he think he’d be standing in a woman’s apartment, moments after fucking, with a stuffed rabbit in his arms.

There was a first time for everything.

Rafael placed Daisy on the couch next to Phoebe. For protection, he supposed.

"I can't say I've ever taken care of a rabbit before," he admitted.

Growing up, Rafael only really cared about one thing: his blanket. He apparently used to cry in front of the washer and dryer until it was back in his hands. Were stuffed animals the same for Phoebe?

But if Daisy was important to Phoebe - well, she was important to Rafael, too.

He sat back down on the couch, trying and failing to fight back a yawn. But he had endured a very long day, hadn't he? And there was another ahead of him tomorrow. Rafael turned to look at Phoebe.

“Has Daisy weathered a lot of thunderous nights with you?”

[phpruitts]

'Sam was a psychopath, apparently. A special one. Phoebe tried to avoid Sam, if she could help it, mainly because he always seemed as if he was going to accost Phoebe at any second and ask her about her intentions with his brother. Yeah— that evil grin of his unnerved her. At least Rafael had managed to get some revenge. "I bet you two kept your mother pretty busy."

A grin splits her face.

Yeah. I’ve heard that about stuffed animals, actually. That they can get really scared at loud noises and stuff…'

So Rafael did understand. Phoebe watches as he rises, wanders over the direction of the nearest rabbit. Oh! She tucks her chin atop her knees. Wonders, a bit absently, why the image of Rafael grabbing one of her stuffed rabbits stirred something in her chest.

'You think this one is scared of loud noises?'

He turns the rabbit back towards Phoebe— assesses it with a careful eye of his own. It was funny, seeing a man who influenced state economies hold that velveteen ear between his fingers and evaluate it so carefully. "Oh. That one's Daisy."

Phoebe runs the pad of her finger over the little pink head.

Named after a Gerbera daisy. All of her rabbits were named after flowers, actually, a trend started by her dear Violet— a faithful friend, the most patient, steadfast of listeners who was there for Phoebe when nobody else was. She still remembers the cool, impossibly smooth triangle of her nose. The mauve coloring that was the most perfect shade of purple.

"All the rabbits are sensitive to loud noises actually ... on account of their ears..."

Her eyes flicks her eyes up to Rafael, bearing a smile that wavers between embarrassment and something softer.

God— this was embarrassing, right? The kind of thing a guy might tell his friends about in passing for a harmless laugh. Phoebe hadn't had time to gather them up and banish them into some far corner, but neither could she entirely forsake them, either. For some reason ... Phoebe could not just sit there, as Rafael presented the rabbit to her, and pretend that she didn't have a name of her own. Not now.

There was a part of Phoebe that could not deny there was ... something nice, about being seen. It felt good that this part of her life, however stupid and silly and small existed to someone else besides her. Even her apartment— also silly, and small — felt all the more real for having Rafael inside it. So much of her life was spent in solitude, so many of Phoebe's fears, interests, dreams were kept tight to her chest. Sometimes as a child, when her mom was gone for days on end, Phoebe often wondered if she might disapear because she didn't really exist enough to anyone else. Having Rafael around made her life feel ... real. Raf made her feel like that. She hoped he wouldn't find the rabbits too silly.

"It was thundering. My stuffed animal was scared ... so I thought it would be better for her in the closet."

Rafael’s smile grew bigger, nodding sarcastically.

“Yeah. I’ve heard that about stuffed animals, actually. That they can get really scared at loud noises and stuff…”

Rafael’s eyes wandered around Phoebe’s apartment, spotting several different stuffed animals in different areas. Rafael listened as Phoebe asked about Sam, and whether Raf had ever successfully enacted revenge. He stood from the couch, wandered over to the nearest stuffed animal.

“Sam is a special kind of psychopath. He wouldn’t be fazed by being locked in a closet. But I was very annoying. I got him back.”

Raf grabbed the stuffed rabbit by the ear. He presented it to Phoebe.

“You think this one is scared of loud noises?” He wondered. He inspected the rabbit carefully. “How can you tell?”

[phpruitts]

'How’d you get stuck in there?'

An exhale escapes Phoebe for a moment, a little half-quirk of her lips as she recalls the memory more thoroughly.

Sometimes— and these memories were far less sweet — Phoebe would hide from her mother in the closet. She wasn't a thundering woman, she did not throw dishes or storm about with puffing, angry pants, but she burned like freezing iron, and her terrifying glowers and unexpected slaps scared Phoebe almost as bad as if she'd been screaming.

And so she'd sit in the closet. When her mom drank, whenever her mood soured and the weekend meant Phoebe would have no solace in school, she'd grab her plastic flashlight and read, pressing her hand against the spine of the book until it crackled, head just brushing against the sleeves of second-hand coats, feeling safe, secured in the darkness.

It was— bittersweet, and complicated to think of. She's thankful this particular memory is not one of those ones. Rafael was sweet to her. Rafael always listened to her kindly. But a part of her is glad this is not one of those memories, that she would not have to dance around the truth of the memory — a part of her wonders what would be too much to share, what would hurt too bad to. She'd never ... talked to anyone, about those kinds of things. Rafael was the first person who ever made her consider it. "It was thundering," Phoebe explains, rubbing her ring and pinky finger along the round muscle of Raf's shoulder. "My stuffed animal was scared ... so I thought it would be better for her in the closet."

Yes. All for the benefit of her stuffed animal.

A grin tears her lips apart, another dusting of pink blushing across the bridge of her nose at what was essentially a rather embarrassing admittance.

'Well, you’ve met Sam,'

Phoebe nods. Indeed.

'I’ve been locked in my fair share of closets before, too.'

A little bit of a grimace forms then, a frown of sympathy warring with amusement. That had to be hell— a younger Sam, with more time, and less responsibilities, and no doubt an endless interest in torturing his younger brother.

Phoebe snickers, then kisses his cheek apologetically.

She liked that— getting to see all these layers of Raf.

"Did you ever lock him in closets back?"

Maybe bringing up his childhood was a cop out. Maybe he couldn’t face the other things he wanted to say, and he was afraid Phoebe couldn’t either. So, he offered this instead. Something insignificant and light hearted, but it was something, wasn’t it?

"One time I got stuck in a closet when I was little and cried."

Rafael smiled, tried to imagine what Phoebe might’ve looked like at that time. Little. Big brown eyes and curly hair. Long eyelashes clumped together with tears. And it tore his heart in two.

Rafael found himself wishing that there was a way that he could’ve known her then.

“How’d you get stuck in there?” Rafael wondered. As far as he knew, Phoebe didn’t have siblings, but … he really didn’t know that much about her. He wanted to. And maybe it was his fault for never asking, but he’d do better. He swore that he would.

“My brother was. Uh…”

Rafael trailed off. Shook his head. Laughed.

“Well, you’ve met Sam,” he explained. “I’ve been locked in my fair share of closets before, too.”

[phpruitts]

'I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would make me leave this couch,'

Phoebe's features scrunch, for the briefest of seconds, when Rafael says that. Maybe it's because her throat tightens. Maybe it's because there is this wet prickle behind her eyes.

Maybe it's because she has a hard time believing something so good could be true.

Not when Phoebe ... used to be like that. Shame was a constant companion, and so much of her motivation for moving to Las Vegas, for keeping clean and saving money and doing something with her life sprung almost entirely out of embarrassment of her former self.

When Phoebe was deep in the pit of her addiction? Most days she didn't even feel like a person. Certainly not someone deserving of grace, or affection, or all the consideration it took to buy some a brand new car.

But Rafael had said it all so earnestly. As much as Phoebe's heart thuds against her breastbone, as much as her stomach churns thinking of sharing the empty days of her past, there was ... sincerity, his eyes. She would not blame him one bit, if he ever decided to be done with her, but the affection pooling there in the dark blue of his eyes give her hope.

And so Phoebe has no choice but to kiss Raf again.

'But what if I told you that I used to be scared of the dark as a kid?'

Phoebe's lips twitch.

'Would that change anything? It was pretty pathetic.'

Oh my God! She can't help it— Phoebe's face scrunches even harder, adopting the same look she had whenever she spotted a cat on the street or a watched video about a cute little squirrel. Sweet little Raf, afraid of the dark! Brave Raf, who faced peril with adrenaline and shrugged off knife wounds.

"That's not pathetic."

It was, actually, so incredibly cute. She cups his face.

"I remember there being, like, a lot more monsters growing up back then— especially under the bed."

God. That made a coal glow in her chest, thinking about a sweet, tiny Rafael.

"One time I got stuck in a closet when I was little and cried."

Rafael couldn’t think of a single thing that Phoebe could tell him that would change his mind about her. Is that how she felt about him? Was it possible? She felt safe with him; she trusted him. Rafael had never needed to feel safe before, or — he thought that. But when it came to things like this — sharing things with Phoebe, confronting his emotions — wasn’t it best to do that when he felt safe, too? And didn’t he also feel safe with Phoebe?

“I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would make me leave this couch,” he said, rolling his head onto his shoulder. He looked at Phoebe, realized that there were probably an infinite number of things that he didn’t know about her, but … he wanted to. He wanted to take the time to learn, to study, until he knew them all.

Rafael wanted to be able to recite Phoebe from memory.

“But what if I told you that I used to be scared of the dark as a kid?”

Rafael tried not to smile. What a silly thing to admit, but it sounded like maybe they both needed a second of levity. Admitting the other stuff felt more difficult.

"Would that change anything? It was pretty pathetic."

[phpruitts]

'Thank you,'

Phoebe smiles again, and nods, but there was nothing that she had said that wasn't completely true. Rafael did look out for her. He gave her rides, took her out to dinners with crystalline glasses and carpaccio and expensive wines, but far beyond that, easily the kindest, most important thing to Phoebe ... Rafael did not look at her with condescension or judgement.

She was an ant, really, in a world as big as Rafael's. But that never seemed to influence the way he treated her. Or looked at her. Or spoke to her.

And to Phoebe, that alone was everything.

Rafael wraps an arm around her shoulder, tugs her in close on the couch, and then—

'There’s a lot you don’t know about me,'

'I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,'

Phoebe straightens minutely. There was something subdued in his voice, a little quiet. What did he mean by that?

Work, maybe? Beyond his position in his father's business, handling expansions and investments and shareholder meetings, Phoebe would have to be stupid not to understand there were other aspects of Rafael's career. Serious stuff. Illegal stuff. Phoebe made a point to keep her nose out of where it didn't belong, but she would have to be blind, really, not to suspect that the Dahar's influence extended deep into the city, in avenues that went far beyond hotels or casinos.

But Phoebe had known this from the beginning. When Rafael had first started flirting with her, Phoebe was well aware who he was, and the more time they spent together, the more glimpses Phoebe would get— little things, because Rafael shielded her well, but just the deference he was shown, men coming to him at the club and speaking vaguely about shipments and meetings.

Yeah. Phoebe knew. And there were probably so many more things Rafael had shielded her from, and wouldn't want her to see, and even if Phoebe's mind could fill in the blanks, she just didn't ... care.

Phoebe didn't care if Rafael's daily workload could fill an episode of sensationalized tv.

Rafael was still the person whose first response, when he met Phoebe was, was kindness. But it was still hard to admit this much, wasn't it? It probably took a lot for Rafael to voice that kind of fear.

Her palm brushes along his cheekbone.

"Well. You don't have to share everything with me. If it's something you don't want to do." A beat. "But, uh ... I trust you. I always feel good with you, like safe, in a way I've never felt with other guys. So you should know I won't care about whatever you tell me. I'll still look at you the same."

A smile pulls at her lips, gentle, something flickering warmly behind her eyes as she stared at the man who cared for her so well.

Rafael liked how things were now; Phoebe too. There was nothing that Rafael could ever share with her that would change her opinion of him, or dampen the feelings she felt in her heart.

And Phoebe. Well. If anything, she felt like the fraud here, the one with a thin veneer glossing over an ugly past full of things dark and shameful. The syringes and the evictions and the crunch of glass and all the awful little apartments with awful silences and even more awful yelling, the nights spent with strangers, exchanges that left Phoebe feeling empty and awful. The man who she'd stayed with for weeks, months, who sometimes frightened her so bad she wanted to vomit. And the highs, and the things she did to keep those highs. Years and years of sacrificing everything for her highs.

Yeah. What if she told Rafael all about those things, and he rightfully felt different? Maybe saw her as pathetic, or gross, or someone he just didn't want to associate with.

Rafael had always been so kind to her, completely lacking in judgement, but the fear was still there.

Anxiety churns in her gut. Phoebe looks at that anxiety and does what comes natural now: she tucks her arm into one of Rafael's, and leans her abdomen into his solid frame.

"If it makes you feel better ... there's stuff, about me, that I worry would change your opinion of me."

It seemed obvious, but it hadn’t really occurred to Rafael that Phoebe saw him as something other than just … an intimidating rich asshole. This illusion that there was depth to Rafael felt… strange. It didn’t really seem possible to him. It had felt pretty impossible until Phoebe, and now… well. There were a lot of questions that Rafael wanted answers to, but they wouldn’t come from Phoebe.

Even though she’d offered to help, he had to figure some of it out on his own.

Rafael was nice to her right away. There was just something about Phoebe that drew him to her like a magnet. And over the months, those feelings had only become more intense. As the time went on, there was nothing that Rafael wouldn't have done for her.

“Thank you,” Rafael simply said.

It was endearing that Phoebe was willing to put up a fight about his kindness. She hadn’t seen him at work. Not in the office, but ... his real work. She hadn’t seen him in the hour before he showed up at her apartment. Fists aching and covered in blood. Making a call to dispose of a body on Christmas Eve.

He wrapped an arm around Phoebe, pulled her in close.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he told her. There was. Good and bad. Maybe she assumed, and there were rumors, but she didn’t really know. “I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,” he said, voice quiet.

Would she think of him differently? If all of the rumors were true?

“I like the way things are right now,” he said, voice quiet.

It felt like a scary thing to admit.

[phpruitts]

Phoebe's lips cannot help but stretch into a smile— Raf liked the way she looked in that dress. He liked the way she looked in everything.

It felt like undeserving praise, honestly. ( Especially considering how handsome Rafael was). But it warms the pit of her stomach just the same, and even as Phoebe is bare from the waist-up, a flush seems to overtake her.

And then Raf says something that makes Phoebe's heart twist.

'I don’t think anyone’s ever called me kind,'

There's a strange pulse inside her— a moment where her brows knit together.

Nobody?

Not anyone?

That didn't make sense to Phoebe.

She knew that Rafael was reserved, sometimes, that at work he had to adopt a position of strength and professionalism and steel, but even then— even then she couldn't understand how nobody had ever called Rafael kind.

'I don’t think I am, usually. Most of the time.'

A frown.

Phoebe watches as Rafael stares up at the cieling, brushes his hand along her arm.

'Maybe you're making me kind. I don't know.'

All those times Rafael had made sure Phoebe had gotten back safe from work, even thought the clock was ticking towards three in the morning and he had a million other concerns. The way he showed special consideration for her. The way he smiled at Phoebe. Gave her bracelets with real gems, delicate inlays and gold, worth more than Phoebe's entire rent.

All those times Raf made Phoebe feel more than just some ... ex-addict stripper who had not amounted much to all in her little life.

It was such a big city. Phoebe had nobody at all.

Until she had Rafael.

"Yeah, but you were nice to me right away,"

Phoebe brushes one of his curls towards the shell of his ear.

"It's not like you had to be around me for a while before you started being nice to me ... you were always giving me rides, from like the very beginning. And smiling at me. And you took me to restaurants I'd never even see the lobby of without you."

It made Phoebe feel ... sad, that Rafael might not recognize all the things he already was. There's a strange pulse in her stomach. A beat, and then she leans forward, rests her chin atop Rafael's shoulder and studies him with a little quirk of her lips.

"Yeah. You were always like that, Rafael Dahar. You were the first person who was nice to me here.

Honestly— he was sort of the nice person to be this kind to Phoebe period.

It didn’t matter what Phoebe said. Rafael really did believe that Phoebe worked harder than he did. He had a life of luxury, and if he’d really wanted to, he would’ve been allowed to live off of his parents’ money for the rest of his life. Most of the things he did required little to no effort. Moving big pieces, dealing with annoyances, and making a fuck ton of money. But he knew that she’d insist, so Rafael simply shook his head in response.

But at least Phoebe was smiling again. Brushing her hand against his cheek, telling Rafael that he didn’t have to bring flowers, but helping with the wine was okay. And she’d wear the black silk dress that he got her.

“I love the way you look in that one,” Rafael remarked. He could already see it in his head. Phoebe, standing in the doorway, inviting Rafael inside for dinner. Beautiful silk dress framing her body. Beautiful curls framing her face. “I love the way you look in anything.”

"Do you know that ... you're the kindest person I've ever met."

Phoebe’s next words struck Rafael hard and fast. Oh— she thought he was kind?

Rafael tried to recall the last time someone had said something like that to him, but it was impossible because the memory didn’t exist. People didn’t use words like that to describe Rafael. He was well aware of the image he maintained at work — intimidating, quiet, professional… violent. And outside of work, with his friends, he was … snarky, collected, smooth, generous.

But never kind.

When he thought of kindness, he thought of Phoebe first.

Rafael tilted his head back, stared up at the ceiling.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me kind,” he finally said. He exhaled, something resembling a laugh, but not quite. “I don’t think I am, usually. Most of the time.”

He rubbed at Phoebe’s arm.

“Maybe you're making me kind. I don't know."

[phpruitts]

'You have no idea how badly I wanted to give you something like this.'

Phoebe bites down on the plush of her bottom lip. There's a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth— just thinking about how Rafael had been thinking of her.

He looked at Phoebe and wondered how to make her life easier. This girl he wasn't even technically dating, but still someone he cared for. Still someone he was willing to buy a fucking Mercedes for. There's a pang in her stomach. And then, her brows raising when—

'you work so hard at everything you do, Phoebe. You work harder than I do, and …'

Phoebe's eyes round.

"Rafael Dahar, I do not work harder than you." the very idea of that seemed ... ludicrous. "You operate like, two massive ... businesses, you handle a bajillion dollars."

He accomplished so much! Yes, dancing was physically exhausting, always, and emotionally exhausting, often, but even Phoebe and her extra shifts were nothing compared to the scope and scale of Rafael's work. Still. Just hearing, for once, someone say something like that— it pierced right through Phoebe's heart. She'd packed up her little backpack alone, when she decided to leave her mother, just fifteen years old and underweight and wary and scared. She packed up her little backpack and duffel alone, when she finally decided the bruises and berating and the syringes and the dull, twilight life she'd led with David was not survivable. Moved to a new city, a new state with essentially nothing.

Nothing but medical debt, honestly.

Raf didn't know all of this, but it felt so fucking good just to hear some sort of validation now that she'd started to get her life in order.

Another shaky exhale, and this time Phoebe does smile again.

Maybe Raf didn't know all of this now, but maybe— maybe some of it she could share sometime. Help him to understand why this meant so much to her, after a lifetime of nothing.

'You deserve something like this… you deserve everything.'

Phoebe's knuckle sweeps over his cheek again. An even wider grin overtakes her at his next words. He wanted to do dinner as soon as possible. Rafael would bring the wine, his nice clothes, and he'd even bring her flowers, too.

Another pang strikes her heart.

"The gift is for you!" Phoebe's eyes crinkle. "You don't have to bring me flowers. Though— I tried looking at like, wine charts, and explanations of brands, and it was still way out of my scope, so maybe ... I will let you make sure I don't accidentally pick out something that tastes like bug spray."

"...And I can wear that black silk dress you got me."

She's still blinking away tears, but the look in Phoebe's gaze is nothing but warm. Warm, hot, honestly, blazing with affection and awe. They were sitting close. Mostly bare, and thoroughly undone and stripped, but Phoebe just— really needs to be even closer. She shifts forward. Leans up into Rafael's chest again, the smooth shell of the FOB still clutched inside her palm.

"Do you know that ... you're the kindest person I've ever met."

"This is literally the kind of thing that changes my life."

Rafael felt all of the air leave his lungs, mid kiss.

Phoebe had changed Rafael’s life. She’d made him kinder, more considerate — a hell of a lot more patient. And one day, he’d find the right way to tell her. He’d find the words.

It made him unbelievably happy to know that it was a life changing gift. That she’d indulge in extra groceries, on her own schedule, just because of him. She could go shopping with friends, take it out to brunch whenever she wanted, without having to worry about catching the bus or wasting money on an Uber.

“I’m happy I got to give it to you,” Rafael admitted. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to give you something like this. I don’t know. I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more, honestly? You work so hard at everything you do, Phoebe. You work harder than I do, and …” Rafael trailed off. He shrugged. “You deserve something like this… you deserve everything.”

Rafael smiled gently. The kind of smile that was reserved for Phoebe, and Phoebe alone.

“Let’s do it soon. As soon as we can,” Rafael finally said. He didn’t have his phone in front of him, couldn’t check his calendar, but he’d clear everything out to have a fresh dinner made by her. Already, Rafael was savoring whatever it is she made — a nice, juicy steak — or freshly made pasta. Or a beautiful, flaky salmon — or … a frozen pizza. As long as it was shared with Phoebe, he didn’t care.

“I’ll bring the wine,” he offered. “And I’ll wear something nice.”

Rafael faced her. He continued to rub at the wetness beneath her eyes.

“I’ll bring you flowers, too.”

Did Phoebe know? Could she tell in that moment that there was a chamber in his heart that belonged entirely to Phoebe?

Did Rafael even realize that?

[phpruitts]

Phoebe's teeth click and clack together as her breathes come hard, pausing only when Rafael's hand shifts, tilting her face upward so that their gazes are unobstructed.

'You deserve it more than anyone I know,'

'You deserve more than that.'

There was no way that could be true. There was no that Phoebe could, even in a million years, do enough to earn this kind of gift and this kind of thoughtfulness.

But Rafael had given it to her anyway.

Raf told her, hand still pressed gently against her jaw, that even if he didn't have this kind of wealth, he would still want to make sure Phoebe was taken care of. Kept out of bad weather.

And her chest aches now. Her throat aches now, her chest hurt because of it, because Rafael was so kind, and it felt like all the gratitude was about to burst out of her body.

She sniffles hard. Scrubs her free hand along the curve of her eye socket.

"I— Thank you." What did she even say, in the face of such kindness? There were no words sufficient, but Phoebe starts with the most obvious ones. "I've never had a car before. I honestly thought it would maybe be something I could buy five or ten years from now, but never a new one, and." A shuddering breath, and the smile Phoebe gives Raf is watery. "This is ... silly but I'm so excited to be able to fit more groceries in one trip."

Really— Raf had no idea the extent of his gift. No more planning around bus schedules and sleet, or canceled routes, no more having to limit her purchases based on what she could haul onto the bus. She would never have to worry about strange men leering at her from opposite aisles.

She hiccups.

"This is literally the kind of thing that changes my life."

And so Phoebe raises her hands to cup Raf's jaw, fingers pressing into the slope of that lovely cheekbone, and kisses him, long, slow, passionate, skin still tingling from the height of their climax.

God.

The way he'd smiled at her, when she told him her gift. Even though it was nothing compared to a car, was not even a tenth as nice or as wonderful as his gift, Rafael had still smiled at her, warmly, kissed her face and asked when they could have the dinner.

"Anytime," Phoebe promises, sniffling again. "Literally any day that you're free this week, or later, I'll make sure the, uh, head chef is available."

A shy smile at that. It was impossible to compete with the Michelin starred— no matter how much time she spent — but Phoebe could at least put care into it, right? She could make sure even the herbs she used were ones that Rafael liked. She could make sure it was all cooked to the consistency and doneness that he preferred when they ate out. It was a intimidating, honestly, knowing that Rafael had experienced a lifetime of exquisite cooking, both at home and at restaurants and luxury resorts, but— Raf deserved the effort. Raf deserved to know Phoebe had put time in this, for him, cooking up the best meal her little range and little oven could make.

A night where everything was about Raf— a night that reflected just how much Phoebe thought about this man. How much she—

Well.

All the feeling she had for him.

Rafael hadn’t intended to make Phoebe cry. He knew that it was overwhelming, that maybe the gift was “too much,” and that’s why he’d worried about it. But Phoebe didn’t seem upset with him at all. If anything, it was just … surprising. And she seemed grateful, even if she hadn’t really accepted it yet.

"But I don't deserve it."

Rafael’s face quickly formed into a frown. He shook his head, tilted her chin up so that he could see her face.

“Why would you say that?” He wondered. There was still a lot that he and Phoebe didn’t know about each other, but hearing those words — it physically pained Rafael. It made him upset that Phoebe thought that way. “You deserve it more than anyone I know,” Rafael said, assuring Phoebe. “You deserve more than that.”

And Rafael meant it. If it were up to Rafael, he’d put Phoebe in a new apartment. He’d thought about it. Somewhere bigger, with all the amenities that she could want. Somewhere closer to her job, and to Rafael, and he’d gladly pay for it. Forever, really.

“I have more money than I know what to do with,” he told her. “And even if I didn’t — I’d still want you to have something nice. Something just for you. Something that keeps you safe. Keeps you out of the cold, or the heat. Something to make your life easier.”

Not that Phoebe had a difficult life. It wasn’t a pity gift, or anything like that. He just … wanted her to have something really nice. He hoped it didn’t come off the wrong way.

"I was gonna cook for you. For your gift, I was going to invite you over and make you dinner so you could have a—"

Rafael smiled at Phoebe because that sounded like a perfect gift. The most perfect gift. Rafael kissed the side of her face, again and again, smiling.

“When can we do that?” He wondered. It sounded like the perfect evening. The perfect gift. To have Phoebe prepare a meal for Rafael, to watch her in her own element, doing something kind for him.

It made Rafael’s heart constrict. He had personal chefs. He could dine out at any restaurant in the world. But all he wanted was to taste Phoebe’s food. Outside of his family, no one ever really cooked for Rafael. When his mother and grandmother did, it was a great big gesture of love. They cared for Rafael. They wanted him to be strong and healthy, and … well. The fact that Phoebe wanted to cook for him — it made his insides melt because it sounded so sweet.

[phpruitts]

'It is a car key,'

Phoebe's face twitches a bit then, some intense wave of emotion wracking her body as Rafael confirms that it was in fact a key, a car key, and beyond that, it was a key to a fucking Mercedes.

A Mercedes.

It was white, and Rafael was going to have it delivered to the parking lot of the apartment that morning.

Her throat hurts. It keeps tightening and constricting no matter how much she swallows, and the more Phoebe blinks, the harder the tears seem to spring from her eyes.

'Hey,'

Raf's palm catches the tears slipping down her cheek.

'I wanted to get this for you. For a while now. There’s no strings attached.'

He'd just really wanted to get her a car. An entire car, for a while now, and when he tells Phoebe that he worried about her when she took the bus, at late hours, when the rain poured or when the desert dipped into freezing temperatures, her face contorts again. She— people didn't worry about Phoebe like that.

None of the men she had ever been with cared that her bus route didn't get very close to the one local clinic Phoebe could somewhat afford. Never dropped her off in their car, she remembers having to walk the rest of the way with a fever and dizzied head when her illness got too bad to ignore. Even Phoebe's mother had made Phoebe take the bus to school, alone, since she was old enough to buy her shoes.

And here Rafael had bought her a car, a new car, an expensive car— because he thought about her and her safety.

Phoebe's hand flies up, covers Rafael's hand where it covers her cheek.

"But I don't deserve it."

There's a heavy tremble in her voice.

"That's a whole car, Raf, you shouldn't spend that kind of money on me, you're already so kind to me in every kind of way—"

She swallows. Once. Twice. Her face feels very hot, and Rafael's face blurs through the tears, and even now he looks so handsome, even now he's looking at Phoebe so kindly, and sweetly, reassuring her even as he's given her the kindest gift in the entire fucking world.

How did he do that? Always manage to surprise her so thoroughly. And the fact that Rafael had been thinking about this gift for a while...

He'd kissed her forehead, and Phoebe feels like she might come undone. How can she ever repay the kind of kindness he was always showing her? Raf, of course, never expected anything from his gifts, he just gave to Phoebe without any hesitation or stipulations.

It was a car, a fucking nice car, nicer than Phoebe could ever own imagining, but it really was more than just steel and glass and titanium and wires— it was a representation of the care Raf had for Phoebe. He owed her nothing, and he cared about her like that. Her fingers loosen, ever so slightly, and drop down to curl around his wrist, the warm pulse point, and there's a squeeze of gratitude and awe.

"I was gonna cook for you." Phoebe swallows again. "For your gift, I was going to invite you over and make you dinner so you could have a—"

That lump in her throat. Phoebe had thought it over, for a while, what to get the man who could get everything, with the whole city at his disposal, and she'd decided on cooking him all his favorites, a quite night for the two of them— a date, really, where Phoebe could take care of him, even if it was just in her own way, making sure he felt catered to and cared somewhere private and intimate. But Raf deserves so much more. Raf deserves everything.

Phoebe swallows again, like swallowing around a coal, and tilts her head slightly to press her lips against the edge of Rafael's palm.

Rafael wasn’t sure what Phoebe’s response would be. And he wasn’t sure if she’d even like the car, but Phoebe wasn’t material or selfish in that way. She was kind and appreciative, and Rafael should’ve never been worried about giving it to her in the first place.

“It is a key,” Rafael replied, nodding.

She seemed to be … processing. Rafael smiled at Phoebe gently, took note of the way her hand was shaking. It was a big gift, but … she deserved it. Really.

Rafael worried about her. Whenever it was late, and he was out of town or unable to drive her home. Yes, he could send a car, but — he just worried. He wanted Phoebe to have the freedom of deciding. If she finished her shift at three in the morning, she deserved the option to drive home or go out with friends or drive over to Rafael’s.

“It is a car key,” he told her. “It’s a Mercedes GLE. It’s white. I should’ve planned better and had it outside, but …” Rafael shook his head. He wrapped an arm around Phoebe, pulling her close. “It’ll be out front before you wake up in the morning.”

Phoebe finally glanced up at him, and Rafael realized that she was crying.

It tore his heart in two. He knew they weren’t unhappy tears, but he still hated to see Phoebe this way.

“Hey,” he said, readjusting on the couch. He turned so that his body could face hers. He rested a hand on the side of her face, swiping away at the tears before they could fall.

“I wanted to get this for you. For a while now. There’s no strings attached. I just really want you to have it.”

Rafael leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I don’t like it when you catch the bus so late at night. Or when it’s cold, or rainy, or too hot. It makes me worry about you.“

Another admission there. Rafael worried about Phoebe. Quite often, too. If anything, this was a selfish gift meant to make him feel better. Hah.

“You deserve it, baby.”

[phpruitts]

Phoebe could stay like that forever— even though her couch was not particularly spacious, and they would maybe even need a blanket, or some water, eventually Phoebe was perfectly content to lay atop Rafael's chest until the ending of time.

It just felt so ... right.

He felt so right. Broad and warm and firm. He didn't mind how much Phoebe snuggled into him. If anything, Phoebe thought he might be equally cuddly as well. Rafael Dahar, kingpin of Las Vegas, stroked his hand along the length of Phoebe's neck, deposited a kiss atop the crown of Phoebe's head.

If she could have purred, she would.

'Oh, yeah,'

'It’s Christmas, isn’t it?'

Phoebe, still smiling to herself, manages a rather limp nod.

'That means it’s time for your gift. I should’ve given it to you as soon as I walked in,'

And then he's moving— shifting Phoebe from his body, gently, pulling up on the waistband of his pants before retrieving something from the coat he'd shed earlier. Oh, that was right. Raf had mentioned a gift before! He was already so fucking generous, he already owed her nothing, especially after his promise to come see her every day, but Phoebe would be lying if she said her heartbeat didn't skip a little when Rafael returns to the couch, a small white box clutched close to his abdomen.

There's a minute pause. Phoebe just smiles at him gently. Tucks a ribbon of hair behind her ear with a curious glance.

He extends the little box out to her, and Phoebe plucks it with a quirk of her lips, eyeing the rich crimson ribbon, the rounded white corners that obscured the shape of whatever was inside.

Hmm. It could be anything. Rafael could gift her a rock he found outside, honestly, and Phoebe would be content, but she tugs at the velvet of the wrapping, lifts the lid of the box with curious and, and there, nestled in the center is—

Oh.

Hmm?

"It's a key?"

Phoebe, rendered hazy and formless from their orgasm, stares down at the silver teeth of the key, the smooth black FOB that looked like a river stone.

She blinks. Blinks again. That was most certainly a key, was it not? But ... why would Rafael be giving her a key? And why would that key— very new looking, very pristine — have that circular logo on the handle of it? Phoebe was almost certain she recognized the symbol, a luxury one, but she most have been wrong, the apartment light was playing tricks on her, the late hour had her mind fogged and boggled.

A beat.

Why was Phoebe's hand shaking? And why, when she spoke, did her voice sound so wobbly and thin? Confusion compounds in her chest, and a smile stretches across her face, cautiously, carefully, the question obvious there in the pull of her lips. "...It looks like a car key, Raf."

It just— but it wasn't a car key. Of course it couldn't be a car key. Rafael was wealthy, yes, but Phoebe didn't deserve a car, and she certainly didn't deserve one from Rafael, of all people, who had already taken her to the nicest restaurants in the city, bought her wine, picked her up from the club and deposited safely at home without a single complaint, held her close and called her gorgeous. He'd given Phoebe, for the first time in her fucking life, a Christmas that felt beautiful instead of achingly lonely.

There was no way Rafael had given her a fucking car, because that was too good for Phoebe, and Rafael was too fucking kind to her. Another second passes. Her entire heart seems to flip.

One tear, two, three, plop from Phoebe's eyes and land heavily on her hand, and she swipes at it, hard, for a moment, before finally scraping up the courage to raise her head and look at Rafael in the eye, chin wobbling, lip trembling, brows knit together in disbelief.

Sometimes, after an intense orgasm, Rafael felt exhausted. He could just fall asleep. Tired and overexerted, but — this wasn’t one of those times. How could he sleep after all of this revelation? After all of their intimate declarations for one another? If anything, Rafael felt revitalized. Content. No — happy. Genuinely fucking happy.

Phoebe buried herself into Rafael’s chest, and he took the opportunity to place a hand on the nape of her neck. He rubbed there, very gently, feeling — well, a smile, pressed up against his chest. Rafael smiled, too. He couldn’t stop.

Rafael followed Phoebe’s gaze, over to the clock, which showed that it was nearing two in the morning. Wow. It was late. And he knew that his mother would want him there for breakfast on Christmas morning, but Rafael had already made the decision not to go. If mama knew, she’d understand. She’d encourage it, actually. Rafael wouldn’t miss the dinner.

"...Merry Christmas, Raf."

“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

He kissed the top of her head.

“That means it’s time for your gift. I should’ve given it to you as soon as I walked in,” he said.

As much as he didn’t want to remove himself from the couch, he wanted to give Phoebe her present. He’d been nervous about it. He wondered if it was too much. He remembered asking his friends for advice, in a very … vague manner.

‘Do you think this type of gift is too much for someone?’ He would ask.

And their responses were never really answers. They just interrogated Rafael, wondered who he was asking for.

“One second,” he told her. He gently slid out from beneath her. He pulled up his pants, leaving them unbuttoned, as he walked over to the coat that he’d draped near the front door. He reached inside of the pocket, pulling out a white box, adorned with a satin red bow. Rafael was embarrassed by how long he’d been holding onto that. A few weeks, at least. It hadn’t really been intended as a Christmas gift, but … it’d turned into one.

He’d been so nervous to give it to her, so worried that she might be offended, or take it the wrong way. There were no expectations with this gift. Honestly. He’d just wanted her to have it.

Rafael walked over, sat back down on the couch beside her. He reclined back on the couch, rolled his head to one side. He held the box against his stomach for a few short seconds, noting that he didn’t feel so nervous anymore. He only hoped that she liked it.

Finally, Rafael extended the tiny box to Phoebe.

Inside, Phoebe would find … a key.

A key to her new car.

A brand new white Mercedes GLE. If Rafael had coordinated this better, he could’ve had it parked out front, but. Well. He’d been waiting for the right time, and this part hadn’t been planned. It would be no issue, though. Rafael could have it parked out front by the time they both woke up.

Rafael didn’t like the idea of Phoebe being out in public transportation whenever he wasn’t available to pick her up or drop her off. He wanted her to have something reliable — something paid for. With no strings attached, of course. This was a gift, and he expected nothing in return.

If she decided to walk away from Rafael — well. It didn’t matter. The car was still hers. Totally paid for. It had insurance on it. The registration had been paid for. Everything.

And he’d continue paying for all of it. Any future expenses. It was part of the gift.

“Merry Christmas, Phoebe.”

[phpruitts]

Phoebe wasn't even sure if she was blinking, or seeing, or perhaps even breathing— all of her senses are awash in a wave of golden pleasure, relaxing each muscle, causing each limb on her body to slacken as her orgasm lingers.

God, it was perfect. Sex and intimacy with Raf was always like that, but somehow, atop her ugly little couch, in the dark hours of Christmas morning, they had been able to do something ... even more special together. The confessions. The admissions. The hot, hot declarations of need.

Phoebe's cheeks heat with pleasure remembering what Rafael had said; remembering how he'd promised to see her every day. It was more than Phoebe thought she deserved, but if Rafael wanted to see her that often, was willing to make time in his day to see her ... there was no way Phoebe would be able to refuse.

It was like this for her too. The need. A sort of ache inside her chest that could only be extinguished in one way.

Phoebe exhales weakly as Raf re-positions her on his chest, cheeks flushed and blushed as the pairs breathing slows.

Oh, the way his fingers traveled her spine— more fucking bliss. Perfect bliss, every way he touched her after they'd finished.

'You’re incredible,'

Oh. So it was possible to flush more tonight.

Phoebe blinks, hard, inclines her head upwards a few minuscule degrees to stare at Rafael's jaw. There's a widening, almost shy grin there upon her face.

"Those are all things I would say to you."

And more— Phoebe is practically brainless from her orgasm, flushed with pleasure and comfort and the feeling of safety, but inside her chest and heart are a hundred, thousand fluttering words for him.

She pants. Shifts her head again, burying her face into Rafael's chest— wondering if he can feel her grin. How could she not smile? With this sensation of being held, with this intimacy she built with Raf tonight ... Phoebe very well smile 'til her cheeks hurt.

She kisses a pectoral before resting her cheek atop it once more.

"I'm really glad you came..."

Before all this, the concept of being here at her apartment on Christmas felt so ... dour, and lonely, maddeningly lonely but now all Phoebe can think about how thankful she is. For this little apartment to host them. For being home, when Rafael knocked. For Rafael, for coming to see her at all.

The clock on the wall— a cartoon orange, old, seized from a thrift shop— informs Phoebe that the hour is nearly two o'clock.

"By the way...." A little huff. Another wide grin, a strange little giggle at delivering these words as they lay panting and spent and content from their orgasm. "...Merry Christmas, Raf."

Finishing with Phoebe might’ve been the best feeling in the world, hands down. Nothing could ever come close to it. Rafael was positive. The way she tightened around his cock, the noises she made, the way she looked — overexerted and blissful and fucking beautiful.

They’d done this together. Created this moment of trust and serenity. Rafael was panting, overwhelmed with all of the feeling there. Inside of his chest — the physical sensation of an orgasm, the way his body tightened and flexed as he finished inside of her.

Finally, he was able to relax back onto the couch, still trying to catch his breath. Phoebe’s hand was still resting on the side of his face, and he turned his head to the side slightly, pressing his lips against her fingers. He gently let go over hand, only so that he could wrap his arms around her and pull her into his chest. He kissed the top of her head.

Rafael wanted to say something, but … he didn’t know what. He wanted to thank her for everything, but the moment was charged and he didn’t want to ruin the afterglow by overthinking anything. So he didn’t. He did what felt right, which was to drag his fingers down Phoebe’s spine, soft and slow.

“You’re incredible,” he finally said. That felt… safe. And sincere. “Amazing. Not to mention fucking sexy.”

Rafael stared up at the ceiling. He was smiling. His body felt totally weightless, like he might’ve floated up to the ceiling had Phoebe not been sitting on top of him.

“I’m glad I came over,” he finally said, finally regaining some control of his breathing. “I’m glad you were home.”

[phpruitts]

That was bliss— hearing Rafael groan, in pleasure, maybe even emotion, hearing him reaffirm his promise to see Phoebe ever day plucks strings of pleasure inside of her abdomen, raises the crescendo inside her body to an almost maddening tempo.

Thrusting, rocking her hips, rolling forward against Raf as if she could meld them together permanently.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Phoebe needed him, needed with him an intensity that felt like it was tearing her heart like paper. Needing someone, treasuring them like this... it felt wildly vulnerable, even moreso to express those feelings. Perhaps that's why Rafael's words moved her so much. His admittance, even if he wasn't sure how to word it exactly. Phoebe knew the weight of them. Knew what it must take for Rafael to even say them, someone who was sometimes so reserved, it must matter, right, that must mean—

—That must mean Rafael really cares about Phoebe. He wasn't the type to just ... bullshit, things, for the sake of indulging someone else. God. That hits Phoebe like a fucking battering ram, even though she already knew it, deep down, and for a brief second her nails dig into Rafael's knuckles where their hands are interlaced.

She mattered to Raf. Yeah.

Phoebe mattered to someone for maybe the first time in her life.

It's— overwhelming.

That alone enough is enough to tip her over the edge.

Phoebe watches as Rafael rocks his body to meet hers, to drive himself further in, and her mouth slackens, her pupils widen into a blissful, senseless daze as something hot and taut and gentle and overwhelming and intense all at once washes over to her— he lets his forehead rest against hers and even that feels like searing contact.

His eyes find hers. In the midst of their rocking bodies, the panting, the sweat and the flush and the creaking of the couch, Raf's eyes lock on to her only.

'Now, please. Please.'

Phoebe had brought him in from the doorway— patched him up, as simple as it was, and took care of him. Of course she would take care of him now. Of course she would finish with him now, let this overwhelming, white-hot oblivion crash over her body as the bliss took them both.

"Now, baby, now." Phoebe pants in agreement, thumb still brushing across his cheek soothingly.

Of course they would come together. Nothing else would have made any sense.

And so Phoebe does— she feels Rafael's muscles start to tremble and shake, and so she rocks up, a last, few, desperate times, the pressure on her clit white-hot and overwhelming and everything and god, she's tense, her muscles will never relax and fuck, fuck, fuck.

Phoebe comes with a cry, high, whining, chest heaving as she feels Rafael finish inside her. It's— fucking satisfying. Perfect, actually, knowing he took his pleasure in her body, holding her hand that tightly. He's so sweet. So sweet. And handsome. And when they're like this, pressed together? Sometimes it feels like Raf is really hers.

Is he hers? Maybe he is. Or maybe he can be, if he's not already.

Not that Phoebe can really think right now. It's more just ... sensations, and concepts, and undefined feelings, feelings that rock her to the core and almost disrupt the tempo of her orgasm in a good way. It just feels— more intense, knowing that the man whose lap she straddled was someone she would walk across the entire Great Basin for.

She'd walk across it barefoot, actually.

It's a long orgasm, that almost leaves her exhausted for it's intensity, but beyond that, Phoebe is unable to control the emotions it stokes up inside her— Phoebe feels a prickling behind her eyes, and quickly buries her face into Rafael's neck, lest they develop into tears that actually fall.

But Phoebe feels safe there. She feels perfect, as she comes down from her orgasm, and her thumb never stops the slow arch it makes on Rafael's cheekbone, a reminder, a promise, that she had him. Had him through all of it.

"Come see me every day. Call me at four in the morning and I'll get up for you. Tell me to meet you wherever and I'll go across the entire fucking state."

Rafael groaned. God, he was so fucking close, especially after hearing those promises from Phoebe. The moment felt so fucking sacred and special and Rafael never wanted it to end. Couldn’t they just exist there in her apartment for forever? Rafael had no desire to resume any responsibilities or duties or anything. He just wanted her. He just wanted moments like this, declarations just like this.

“I will,” Rafael said, voice strained, struggling to keep it even. “I will, I’ll see you everyday.”

Phoebe gently pressed a hand to the side of his face, thumb brushing over his skin. It was such a tender gesture. It made Rafael’s heart constrict in a strange way, one that he’d never really felt before.

Oh, Phoebe was special. So fucking special to him. She mattered so much.

"Then come with me. We're gonna come together."

Rafael nodded. He needed that so bad. He’d missed her all fucking day. He’d missed her since he last saw her, and this was the only way to cure that loneliness. This connection — this moment.

"I have you..."

Yeah. She did. She fucking did. She had all of him, and Rafael had never used the word forever before, but it seemed appropriate here. She had him forever. There was no desire to look beyond Phoebe.

His stomach felt so tight. He squeezed her hand, chest heaving as he thought about all that they’d shared with each other that evening. Phoebe had cared for him so tenderly. She’d invited him in, despite showing up unannounced. She thought about him all the time — just as frequently as Rafael thought about her.

And it was all so overwhelming, in the best possible way. His chest felt like it was on fire, like it might give out soon from all the exertion and pleasure and emotion there. Rafael was thrusting upward, desperate to meet her movements, desperate to go as deep as he could.

The first wave of pleasure hit him, and he knew he was so close to finishing. He pressed his forehead against Phoebe, mouth open, sharing a breath with her.

He could’ve looked at her body when he finished. He could’ve focused in on how sexy her hips snapped against him, or the curve of her hips, or her breasts and the way they moved with each of Phoebe’s movements.

But all Rafael wanted to do was look her in the eye. So he did.

He squeezed her fingers.

He looked into her eyes — her sweet, brown eyes, and Rafael thought about how kind they were, how beautiful and sweet and doe-like they were. He thought about earlier, and the emotion that he’d seen in them. Rafael thought about the way Phoebe promised to help him figure things out.

Rafael couldn’t contain himself anymore.

It was all so much, and Phoebe was so special to him —

“Now, please. Please.”

Rafael felt her around his cock, tight and wet, and he didn’t ever think he’d adjust to how good she felt wrapped around him. It was the most delicious feeling in the whole world, and it was made significantly better because Rafael had been looking deep into her eyes.

Rafael groaned as he felt his orgasm spill out of his cock, inside of Phoebe.