angel

the engine idles low and smooth. his car smells like leather and that cologne he wears. woodsy, expensive. it always clings to your clothes hours later, and you can already tell it’s settling into the silk of your dress, into your hair. 

you know you'll have to change the second you get inside. hide the dress in the back of your closet behind the winter coats. take off the bracelet and tuck it into the velvet box at the bottom of your jewelry drawer, under the tangle of cheap necklaces from high school.

the dashboard clock reads 1:47 AM. your dad's alarm goes off at six. four hours and thirteen minutes.

you should go, you know you should. your hand rests on the door handle, cool metal against your palm, but you don't pull it. it feels like cement under your fingers and your throat feels dry.

"you're stalling."

his voice cuts through the quiet, low and amused, and heat crawls up the back of your neck. you don't look at him yet.

"i'm not."

"yeah?" there's a smile in his voice that feels smug and knowing, teasing. "then why are you still here?"

you twist the hem of the silk dress between your fingers—the one he’d handed you through the passenger window two nights ago with nothing but a “wear this friday.” it's way too nice. more expensive than any article of clothing you’d ever owned. the fabric is cool and slippery against your fingertips, the kind of material that catches on rough skin. nothing like the cotton sundresses hanging in your childhood closet.

"i'm going," you say, but you still don't move.

rafe shifts in his seat, the leather creaking softly beneath him. you can feel him looking at you now, that burning attention that makes your skin prickle. he doesn't push. he just waits.

finally, you glance over.

he's leaning back against the driver's seat, one hand draped over the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the fabric perfectly pressed even this late. there's that faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. the dashboard light catches the edge of his jaw, the shadow of stubble there.

"what?" you ask, defensive.

"nothing." his eyes drop to the bracelet on your wrist, then back to your face. the gold catches the light. "just wondering how long you're gonna sit there pretending you wanna leave."

heat crawls up your neck. "i'm not—"

"you are."

"i’m just… savoring it."

"come here." he says it like he already knows you’ll listen. and you do.

you unbuckle your seatbelt, the click loud in the quiet, and shift across the center console, awkward in the cramped space, your knee bumping the gearshift. his hands come up immediately, steadying you, guiding you until you're curled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. his watch presses cool against your shoulder blade through the thin silk.

his arms close around you. the tension in your shoulders releases all at once.

"there," he murmurs.

you close your eyes and breathe him in. the smell of his cologne has already settled into your dress, but this close, you can still find the warmth of his skin beneath it. his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head keeping you tucked against him.

"better?" he asks.

"yeah."

"good."

you let yourself sink into him. somewhere beneath the cologne, you catch the smell of laundry detergent and clean cotton. your cheek presses into the soft fabric of his shirt, and for a little while, neither of you says anything. outside, the neighborhood is asleep. yellow streetlights, sprinklers spraying, nothing moving.

"you looked really pretty tonight," he says after a moment, quieter now.

your face heats. "you already told me that."

"i know." his hand slides down to your wrist, fingers hooking under the bracelet. the metal is warm now from your skin. "doesn't make it less true."

you press your face into his chest, hiding. the fabric of his shirt is soft, expensive. it probably costs more than most things you own.

he huffs a quiet laugh. "shy now?"

"shut up."

"mm." his fingers trace the gold links, one by one. "you're gonna take this off the second you get inside, aren't you?"

you feel the guilt twist in your stomach and you pull back slightly to look at him. "you know why…."

"it's fine." he's smirking again, but there's something sharper underneath. "hide it in that jewelry box. i get it."

"it's not—" you start, but you don't know how to finish. it's not that i don't want them to see. it's that i can't explain where it came from. can't explain you. you glance up at him, the corner of your mouth tugging into a reluctant smile. “you make it sound like i’m hiding evidence.”

he watches you for a second, amusement flickering across his face. “aren’t you?” 

your eyes drift past his shoulder to the dashboard again. 

2:03.

you try not to think about everything that comes next. shoes off at the door. skip the third step so it doesn’t creak. hold your breath past your parents’ room. don’t let the bedroom door click shut—

he tilts his head, studying you. "look at me."

you do. his eyes are dark in the low light, almost black.

"you worry too much," he says, and his hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "they're asleep. you're here. we're good, alright?"

"i know, but—"

"but nothing." his voice drops lower. "stop thinking about the clock."

you try, you really do. but then you start counting. fifteen minutes. ten. five. and then you’ll have to leave him again. climb out of his truck and disappear back into your parents’ house. watch him drive away alone.

"hey." his thumb presses gently into your chin, pulling your focus back. "where’d you go?"

"nowhere. i'm here."

"you sure?"

you nod and he searches your face for another moment, his gaze is steady.

"good." he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. then your temple. the corner of your mouth. each one so carefully placed and unhurried. you go still.

"rafe—"

"what?" he murmurs against your skin.

"i should—"

"should what?" he pulls back just enough to look at you. "go back inside?"

the words hit harder than they should. you look away, focusing on the stitching of his collar.

"i just…” you swallow. “i wish i could…”

he's quiet for a moment. his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

"i know, baby," he says finally. “not yet."

not yet. like it's inevitable. like it's just a matter of time. like one day you'll walk through his front door and stay. and maybe it is.

"but one day," he says, quieter now. "you're gonna wake up beside me and you won't have to leave."

god, you want that so badly it scares you.

to fall asleep with your head on his chest and wake up there too. to feel him pulling you closer before either of you says good morning. to hide your face in his neck while he laughs quietly and kisses your hair. to stay exactly where you are because there’d be nowhere else you had to be. 

"yeah," you whisper.

his eyes flick back to yours. "yeah?"

"yeah."

his hand tightens slightly in your hair, and then he's kissing you.

it's soft at first. but then you make a small sound and pull him closer, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he groans low in his throat. you taste the whiskey from dinner on his breath, warm and sharp, and it makes your head spin.

his hand slides down your back, pressing you against him, and you arch into it. his other hand finds your thigh, fingers splaying wide through the silk. the cool metal of his watch presses against your ribs as he pulls you closer.

"c'mere, sweetheart." he murmurs against your mouth. "closer."

you still weren't used to hearing him call you sweetheart. the first time he did, you'd looked over your shoulder because you were sure he couldn't have been talking to you.

you shift closer, your knee pressing into the seat beside his hip. all you can focus on is him. the crispness of his shirt beneath your palms, the weight of his hand at your waist, the warmth of his body.

you kiss him harder, more desperately, your hands sliding up to his hair. your fingers rest in it, tugging slightly, and he makes a low sound, his hand tightening to an almost bruising grip on your hip.

"jesus…" he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you. the blue of his eyes is almost gone, swallowed by his pupils in the dark. "look at you."

you can't say anything. can't think. you just pull him back down, kissing him like you're running out of time. his hand slides higher on your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, and you gasp into his mouth.

"easy, baby," he murmurs, but there's a smile in his voice. "we've got time."

"do we?" you ask breathlessly, and he laughs—a real laugh, quiet and warm.

"yeah. we do."

he kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, his hand cradling the back of your head. you’re still gripping his shirt, still not ready to let go. you can feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, as fast as yours.

his hand settles at the small of your back before you realize you’ve started to pull away.

you don’t.

“stay a little longer,” he says quietly. “just… twenty more minutes. please.” 

"okay," you whisper, nodding softly.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

he says nothing after that. just pulls you back against him, like the conversation never needed another word. you don't say anything either. just hold him tighter. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and you settle into the space beneath his chin, your dress bunched awkwardly around your legs, his jacket sleeve cool against your bare arm. for the first time all night, you stop thinking about getting home. 

the minutes tick by too fast. the clock on the dashboard glows 2:28, then 2:29. the numbers feel accusatory.

"i really should go," you whisper eventually, even though the words hurt.

his arms tighten around you for just a second before he forces himself to let go.

"i know."

you pull back to look at him. his jaw is tight. his eyes don't leave your face.

he cups your face in both hands and kisses your forehead. soft. lingering. his lips warm against your skin.

"text me when you're inside," he says.

"i will."

"good girl."

you feel heat spread across your cheeks and he smirks, satisfied.

he helps you out of the car, his hand steadying you at the small of your back. the night air is cold against your skin, sharp after the warmth of the car, and you shiver. goosebumps rise on your arms.

he notices immediately.

he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, even though you're only walking a block. it's warm from his body, smells like him, heavy with the weight of expensive fabric. the sleeves hang past your hands.

"rafe, you don't have to—"

"go," he says, nodding toward your house. the porch light is still on. "before i change my mind."

you smile despite yourself. he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your jaw.

but you don't move.

your feet stay planted on the pavement. his jacket heavy on your shoulders, and you can still feel the ghost of his hands on your waist.

he notices. just like he notices everything else about you. his gaze settles on your hands, twisting the sleeve of his jacket.

"you don't wanna go."

it's not a question.

you look up at him and your throat feels tight. you shake your head, just barely.

a few months ago, you would’ve laughed at yourself. you weren’t usually like this. usually saying goodbye was just that—a goodbye. somehow, with him, it always felt like you were leaving something behind.

"c'mere," he murmurs. he doesn’t wait for you to close the distance this time. one hand cups your chin, pulling it up closer to him, and the other settles at your waist before his mouth finds yours again.

you kiss him back, your hand resting against his chest, and when he pulls away his forehead stays pressed to yours. you’d kiss him forever and ever if you could. 

"you gotta go, baby," he whispers. his voice is rough.

"i know."

but neither of you moves. his hands slide down your arms and he squeezes once.

"i’ll see you tomorrow night, alright?" he says.

you nod. your throat is too tight to speak.

"good girl," he murmurs against your hair.

he kisses your forehead. then your temple. then the corner of your mouth. lingering. gentle.

finally, he steps back, his hands falling away from your arms and the cold air rushes in where he was.

you turn and start walking, and you can feel his eyes on you the entire way. the sidewalk is uneven under your heels. his jacket hangs heavy on your shoulders. you don't look back yet because if you do, you'll turn around.

when you reach your front door, you glance back. he's still there, leaning against his car, arms crossed, waiting. making sure you get inside safe.

you slip inside as quietly as you can. the house is dark and silent. the floorboards don't creak. you hold your breath as you pass your parents' bedroom door.

you pull out your phone: inside. safe.

his response comes immediately: good. sleep well, baby. dream about me.

you smile, hiding his jacket in the back of your closet and the bracelet in your jewelry box. the silk dress gets hung carefully on a padded hanger.

tomorrow you'll see him again and for now, that's enough.