046. lovers in the north

( the forty eighth chapter )

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The soft morning light filtered through the blinds, illuminating the room in a warm, golden hue. Olivine stirred, her eyes fluttering open as she felt the familiar weight of Rafe's arm draped over her waist. His chest rose and fell steadily against her back, and she turned her head slightly, catching sight of his face.

His mouth was slightly ajar, soft snores escaping as he slept soundly, his usually tense features relaxed. A small smile tugged at her lips as she rolled over gently, shifting so that she lay on top of him.

The movement stirred him slightly, and his arms instinctively circled her waist, pulling her tightly against his chest. He let out a low, sleepy groan, his nose nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured, his voice rough and heavy with sleep.

Olivine chuckled softly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along his jawline. "I wasn't going anywhere, sleepyhead. Just trying to get comfortable."

"You're plenty comfortable right here," he muttered, tightening his hold on her. His eyes cracked open, blue and hazy as he looked up at her.

She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "You're clingy this morning."

"Can you blame me?" he replied, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. "Waking up with you on top of me? Best way to start the day."

Olivine rolled her eyes but couldn't help the blush creeping across her cheeks. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He hummed, closing his eyes again, clearly not ready to let her go. "I've been called worse."

For a moment, they stayed like that, her body pressed against his, his arms holding her securely. The events of the night before lingered in the back of Rafe's mind, but for now, he focused on her—her warmth, her presence, her steady heartbeat against his chest.

"You're thinking too loud," she teased, brushing a strand of his hair away from his face.

He cracked one eye open again, his expression softening. "Just thinking about how lucky I am."

Olivine raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Rafe Cameron, are you getting sentimental on me?"

"Maybe," he said, smirking lazily. "Don't let it go to your head."

She laughed, the sound filling the room, and Rafe felt a strange sense of peace wash over him. Whatever battles he fought—internally or otherwise—this was his anchor. She was his anchor.

"You hungry?" she asked, shifting slightly, though he refused to loosen his hold on her.

"Starving," he replied, his voice dropping as his gaze met hers. "But not for food."

"Rafe," she groaned, her cheeks turning crimson.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "What? Just stating facts."

She playfully smacked his chest, and he caught her wrist, bringing her hand to his lips. "I'm serious," he said, his tone softening. "You're everything to me, Olivine. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Her heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. She rested her forehead against his, her voice barely above a whisper. "You'll never have to find out."

And for that moment, with her in his arms and the world outside forgotten, Rafe believed her.

Rafe shifted slightly beneath Olivine, his grip on her waist tightening as his expression darkened. The relaxed, sleepy grin faded, replaced by something more serious, almost haunted.

"Oli," he began, his voice low and uncertain, "can I ask you something?"

She blinked at him, surprised by the sudden change in tone. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

His gaze flicked away from her momentarily, as though he were searching for the right words. When his eyes met hers again, they were guarded, yet desperate. "What would you do if... if I hurt someone? Like, really hurt them. To the point that they..." He paused, swallowing hard. "That they died?"

The question hung heavy in the air, and Olivine's brows furrowed in confusion and concern. She shifted to sit up slightly, her hands still resting on his chest as she studied his face. "Rafe, what are you talking about? Why would you ask me something like that?"

"I just... need to know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you still... be on my side?"

Olivine hesitated, her mind racing as she tried to understand where this was coming from. "Rafe, if it was self-defense, or if you were protecting someone—protecting me—I'd be with you. I'd defend you no matter what."

Her voice was steady, but her eyes searched his, trying to gauge what he wasn't saying. "But if it wasn't... If it was something else, I'd need to know why. I'd need to understand."

Rafe exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as he stared at the ceiling. "You'd have to understand," he repeated, almost to himself.

"Yes," she said firmly, reaching out to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "You're not a monster, Rafe. I know you. If you did something like that, there'd be a reason. But you have to tell me—what's going on? Why are you asking me this?"

He didn't answer right away, his eyes locking onto hers as if searching for reassurance. "No reason," he lied, his voice cracking slightly. "Just... hypothetical."

Olivine frowned, clearly unconvinced. "Rafe—"

He cut her off, pulling her back down into his arms and burying his face in the crook of her neck. "Forget I asked," he muttered, his voice muffled against her skin.

But Olivine couldn't forget. The weight of his question settled heavily in her chest, and as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, she knew there was more to his words than he was letting on.

And so, while Rafe held her as if she were his lifeline, Olivine's mind churned with unease, wondering just what he was hiding—and how far she'd be willing to go to stay by his side.

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Olivine stood in front of the mirror, securing her ballet skirt and adjusting the straps of her leotard. She was focused, mentally running through her routine for the day when Rafe's hands slid around her hips, pulling her back into him.

"Skip practice today," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "I've got a date planned for us."

She turned her head slightly, raising a brow at him. "Skip? You know I can't just skip."

He spun her around to face him, his hands still firmly planted on her waist. "You mean to tell me you've never skipped a class? Not even once?" His tone was incredulous, his grin widening when she gave him a sheepish look.

"No, Rafe," she replied, crossing her arms. "I've never skipped. Ballet's expensive, and I can't afford to waste money like that."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he twirled her gently in place. "You're really a nerd, huh? Never skipped anything in your life. I can't believe I'm dating someone so... disciplined." He smirked, the teasing tone in his voice making her roll her eyes.

"Call it what you want," she shot back, trying to suppress a smile. "But I'm not skipping just because you've decided to be romantic today."

He pouted playfully before leaning down to peck her lips. "Fine," he said, releasing her reluctantly. "Go be a responsible adult or whatever. I'll push the date back to tonight."

"Thank you," she said with a grin. Just as she turned to grab her bag, her eyes landed on his hands, still visibly bruised and faintly bloodied. She frowned, stepping closer to inspect them. "What did you do to reopen these?" she asked, her tone sharp with concern.

Rafe smirked, holding his hands up as if they weren't a big deal. "Nothing serious," he replied casually. "Probably just from feeling up on you earlier. You've got, like, three handfuls of ass, and it's a workout kneading it."

Her jaw dropped slightly, a scoff escaping her lips before she lightly smacked his shoulder. "You're impossible," she said, laughing despite herself.

"Yeah, but you love it," he quipped, leaning down to plant another kiss on her forehead.

She shook her head, grabbing her bag and heading for the door. "I'll see you later," she called out, giving him one last glance before disappearing out the door.

Rafe watched her leave, his smirk softening into something more genuine. He flexed his sore hands, a faint pang reminding him of last night. His thoughts flickered briefly to the swamp and the secrets it now held, but he pushed them aside. Tonight would be about Olivine, and nothing else.

Rafe stood by the window for a moment after Olivine left, watching her car disappear down the driveway. The house felt emptier without her in it. He flexed his bruised fingers again, wincing slightly. The sting brought him back to the reality of his choices from the night before.

Dragging a hand through his messy hair, he exhaled heavily. You're fine, he thought to himself. It's over. Just focus on her. She doesn't need to know.

The plan for tonight had to be perfect. He'd already cleared his schedule—made sure there wasn't a single thing to pull him away. This was his way of showing her how much he cared without saying it outright, something he still struggled with.

Hours passed. Olivine returned from ballet, her face slightly flushed from exertion but glowing as she always did after practice. She walked into the house, greeted by the faint scent of cedarwood and the low hum of music coming from the living room.

Rafe was sprawled across the couch, his legs stretched out, but he sat up quickly when he heard her come in. "Hey, ballerina," he greeted, grinning at her.

She dropped her bag by the door and arched a brow. "You've been here the whole time?"

"Waiting for you," he said simply, standing up and brushing his hands on his pants. "I figured you'd be starving after all that twirling or whatever it is you do."

She rolled her eyes, but the faint smile on her lips betrayed her amusement. "You have no idea what ballet is, do you?"

"Not a clue," he admitted with a shrug. "But I'm learning. One day, I'll know all the moves. Swan Dive, Triple Pirouette—"

"None of those are real moves."

"Not yet, but they could be," he joked, walking over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Go clean up. We've got places to be."

"Where?" she asked, tilting her head at him.

"You'll see." His smirk was cryptic, leaving her no choice but to follow his lead.

Olivine emerged from the bathroom a half hour later, and her skin glowing. She wore a casual multicoloured sundress, light and breezy, perfect for an evening outing. Rafe was already waiting for her by the door, his typical cocky grin firmly in place.

"You clean up nice," he remarked, giving her an appreciative once-over. Eyes stuck on her breasts, as they jiggled with her soft movement-quickly adjusting his pants

"Thanks," she said, brushing past him to grab her phone. "Now, are you going to tell me where we're going, or is this one of your 'surprise' dates?"

He shrugged, holding the door open for her. "Just trust me."

She gave him a skeptical look but stepped outside anyway, letting him guide her to his truck. The drive was filled with light banter, his hand resting comfortably on her thigh the entire way.

When they arrived, Olivine stepped out to find herself at the edge of an open field, the faint sound of waves crashing in the distance. Fairy lights were strung along the trees, casting a soft glow over the setup—a picnic blanket laid out with an assortment of food and a small portable speaker playing soft music.

Her lips parted in surprise as she turned to look at Rafe. "You did all this?"

"Don't look so shocked," he teased, stepping up beside her. "I can be thoughtful when I want to be."

She turned back to the scene, her chest tightening at the effort he'd put into this. "Rafe... it's beautiful."

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. "I just wanted to do something special for you. You've been... patient with me lately. More than I deserve."

She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest. "You don't have to do things like this to prove yourself to me," she said softly.

"I know," he replied, his arms coming up to encircle her. "But I want to. I want to show you that I'm serious about this. About us."

Her heart swelled, and for a moment, she couldn't find the words to respond. Instead, she reached up on her tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Let's eat," she said finally, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Whatever you want, ballerina," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her face before leading her toward the picnic setup.

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KIKI SPEAKS ;
not edited !!

a very sweet and shot fluffy chapter before we get to our scheduled chaos planned for the next chapter

word count : 2.2k

ENJOY !!
xoxo kiki 💋💋