#THE FEELING IS LOVE MISS PHOEBE LSJDFKSDFSDFSDF

[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.