Sunlight slides through the blinds in slow stripes across your shared bedroom. Three months of this - his shampoo on your shelf, his keys on your counter, his arm heavy and warm across your waist. Rafe Cameron, of all people, chose quiet. Chose you. He is still half-asleep, face slack and unguarded in a way he never lets anyone else see. You have known him since tenth grade. You have seen every version of him - the reckless one, the angry one, the one who burned everything just to feel something. This version, the one breathing slow beside you, is the one you hoped existed. The morning asks nothing. But somewhere under the stillness, you both know this kind of peace is something he has to keep choosing.