#GOD LFKJSDKLFDSFSDF

[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."