Disarm / Rafe Cameron

04. He Must Love You

He Must Love You
chapter iv.
warnings: VERY light smut, drug use,
groping, mentions of overdosing

LAYNE DREAMT OF RAFE THAT NIGHT, even as he was lying right next to her. She woke up in the middle of the night, at exactly 3:33 A.M, only to turn over and see him soundly sleeping beside her. His chest rose softly while he breathed, and he stuck one leg off the side of her bed. His one hand was still limply holding onto her wrist, while the other laid on his chest. Sweat made his hair stick to his forehead, and Layne wondered if he was having a nightmare. Sometimes she would gently place a hand on his chest to see if he was breathing. He would twitch slightly and then roll over, and she would place her cheek in her hand to stare at his back. Then, eventually, she would press her face into his back and wrap her arms around his torso. He was too deep in sleep to notice or pull away.

At one point, Layne woke up to notice her face in his chest and his arm wrapped loosely around her. Her heart nearly skipped in its beats and she had to blink multiple times to make sure she was awake. She couldn't tell if it was hot in her room or it was just the pair of them—the cicadas and crickets chirping outside her window made her feel slightly less self conscious of her sweat. Rafe didn't seem to care, either—although she was nervous about what would happen when he woke up in the morning. Or how she would sneak him out when her parents started to move at six in the morning.

"Fuck," she heard Rafe grunt, as the sun was peeking through the blinds, and she could hear the water settling outside. There was a brush of a tail against her face, and she opened her eyes to see Luna stretching across his chest. A small smile stretched onto her lips, but disappeared when Rafe moved his arm from under her head to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Luna rubbed her face against his hand, and he moved to pet her head. Layne moved so her arms were leaning on her chest. She thinks this might be the first time they've spent the night together without having sex—maybe there were other times, but they were outweighed by the times he'd come to her house and couldn't get his hands off of her.

He never seemed to enjoy it, either. At least, that is what it seemed like to Layne—whenever she could look at him, he would try and close his eyes or look away from her. Almost as if he was hiding something, or he was too scared to. Layne never mentioned it to him. She suddenly remembered him telling her how he loved her the night before, and how she felt as though she were wading through water. Her response came out forced—he probably noticed. Layne didn't think he meant it, although she couldn't help but feel herself grasping onto him tighter at the thought of him actually loving her. It would make all the bad parts worth it if he loved her. Although, she wouldn't know what to do with it when she had it. Maybe she could blackmail him—or maybe she could love him back. Layne didn't know if she loved him back—maybe she just loved the idea of him loving her.

It was overcast in the morning, and the brief sunlight that shone on his face disappeared behind a heavy, gray cloud, and there were more incoming. He tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but Layne could tell he was just avoiding talking to her. Maybe he was regretting what he said last night—or maybe he felt bad for putting his hands on her. It wouldn't be the first time he did it, but it definitely wasn't the last. Layne checked her arms to see if she had any bruising—there wasn't any, but her arms were red. She ran her fingers over the band-aid.

"What time is it?" he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Layne placed a kiss to his jaw. "Good morning to you, too,"

"Nah, Layne, I'm serious—what time is it,"