bet I can still melt your world

you glance up from your phone. “oh, what an honor it is to watch the princess’ play.” you mock, lips curling into something mischievous. he scoffs, rolling his eyes, and eliciting a chuckle from you. “i’m watching enough.” you rephrase.

he huffs out a quiet laugh. “yeah, sure.”

topper glances between you and rafe, sensing the mysterious force field. a snarky remark lingers on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it back, opting to say, “yo, rafe, you’re up” instead. after all, he’d rather not get his jaw broken today.

rafe steps forward, adjusting his grip. the crack of the club against the ball is sharp—sharp enough to strengthen your growing headache. the ball flies farther than it needs to, disappearing into the distance.

kelce whistles, snapping his fingers. “damn. someone woke up angry today.”

rafe doesn’t answer, but his knuckles are white underneath his gloves. he rolls his shoulders back, exhaling thickly before stepping away.

you tilt your head slightly, studying him. his jaw is tight, shoulders stiff, and there’s something restless in the way he moves. you try not to imagine the sea of thoughts in his head. “nice shot,” you call lightly.

he glances back at you for half a second. his expression softens just barely, then hardens again. “s’not bad.”

you smile anyway.

topper goes next, missing the shot by inches. kelce laughs and they start bickering, voices blending into the lazy hum of the afternoon. rafe leans back against the cart beside you, close enough to feel heat radiating from him, but not touching. for a moment, neither of you speak. then he says it, “you been busy lately.”

you blink once, spine straightening almost on cue. “busy?”

“yeah.” rafe doesn’t look at you when he says it. he picks at the tape on his glove instead, thumb worrying the edge until it starts to peel. his gaze stays fixed on the fairway, tracking topper and kelce like they’re the safer thing to watch. “don’t see you around much anymore.”

you shift slightly on the cart seat, the leather warm beneath your legs. “i’ve been out.”

he nods once, slow, though the words dry his throat. “with who?”

you turn your head toward him this time. he still doesn’t look back. “people.”

the word lands between you heavier than it should. he lets out a small scoff, barely a sound, but it cuts. the thought of who those people are irritates him on principle. “right.”

the wind moves across the course, ruffling your hair, and lifting the grass in soft waves. the cart hums faintly beneath you. everything around you feels normal, untouched. between you and rafe, it feels fragile.

you lift your coffee, the ice clinking faintly against the plastic. your hand is steady, even if your thoughts aren’t. “you interrogating me now?” it’s meant to be light-hearted, like always, but it hits a little harsher than usual.

his eyes flick to you for half a second—gaze dark but curious—before sliding away again. “no.”

you tilt your head, eyes studying his. “could’ve fooled me.”

his jaw tightens just enough that you notice it. he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he presses the tape back down on his glove. “just askin’,” he says finally. it’s the way he says it that makes it sound like he’s asking something else entirely. you don’t push and he doesn’t explain.

soon after, the quiet settles back in, thinner now, stretched taut between you like a tightrope neither of you want to cross. you watch him quietly. there’s a bluish hue underneath his heavy eyes, hidden poorly by his ray bans. his lips are reddened and cracked, and his messy hair is tucked under a baseball cap.

“maybank still hangin’ around?” he asks suddenly, breaking your thoughts.

you stiffen, just slightly. the name sounds wrong coming out of his mouth. “yeah,” you say. “why?”

rafe’s lips press together. he gives a curt nod, like he heard it, it just doesn’t process correctly. “no reason.”

you wait, but he doesn’t continue. suddenly, the silence is a hand around your throat. “he’s funny,” you add, softer. “you’d like him if you didn’t already hate him.”

that earns you a look. rafe turns fully toward you, leaning his elbow on the cart’s frame. “i don’t hate him.” but his lips purse as he says it.

you raise an eyebrow. “you literally shoved him across the beach last time you saw him.”

he exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, like he was replaying the moment in his head. “he was in my way.”

“mhm, sure.” you murmur, flipping your sunglasses back onto your face.

his gaze sharpens at that. for a second, his mask falls. something green and angry paints his face, but it falls just as quickly as it appeared. “you always gotta argue?” he mutters.

you tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “only when you’re wrong.”

he stares at you, like he’s trying to decide whether to be amused or annoyed. eventually, he looks away again. topper calls his name from across the green. rafe pushes off the cart and walks toward them without another word. you watch him go, eyes on him like a moth to a flame. his stride is controlled, confident, but there’s tension in every step, like he’s carrying something heavy no one else can see.

kelce says something that makes topper bark out in laughter. rafe doesn’t even flinch. he hits his next shot and it’s even harder than the last. you lean back against the seat, staring up at the sky. you miss him. not the version standing on the grass in a polo shirt and expensive shoes. you miss the rafe who laughs too loud in the car. the rafe who lets you steal his hoodies. the rafe who looks at you like the world makes sense when you’re near. you miss your rafe.

topper and kelce walk ahead again, talking animatedly, occasionally shoving each other back and forth. rafe lingers behind for a moment, then turns back toward you.

he stops beside the cart. “you still mad at me?” he asks quietly.

the question lands softer than you expect. you hesitate. “don’t think i can ever be too mad at you,” you say after a second. the sentence is almost too honest. your gaze falls to your hands, examining every crease and wrinkle.

he studies your face, searching for something. yet, all he can find is your beauty. the sun shines directly on you, highlighting your beautiful tone and warming your cheeks. his throat bobs before he speaks again. “you sure?”

you nod, but your voice isn’t as certain as you want it to be. “yeah.” your finger scratches at your nails.

he rolls his neck, staring up at the open sky. “you got real quiet after the other night,” he pushes, moving into shaky territory.

you lift your head to look at him again. “i was tired.”

“of what?”

you don’t answer. his lips press into a thin line. he looks past you, out over the course, like he’s trying to find the right words somewhere in the distance. “you act like i did somethin’,” he mutters.

you almost laugh. “didn’t you?”

he meets your eyes this time. for a second, neither of you breathe. kelce and topper call his name again, impatient now. rafe straightens, slipping the mask back over his face. “we’re almost done,” he said under his breath, stepping away.

you watch him walk back toward the others, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. the sun glints off the clubs, dialogue carries across the green, and you sit there, alone on the cart, condensation turning the tips of your fingers red, and the quiet realization that something between you and rafe is no longer where it used to be.

~

by the time the game ends, the sun has shifted just enough to take the edge off the heat. another hour passes in small, forgettable pieces—your legs swinging lazily off the side of the cart, men around you arguing over shots, rafe hitting balls harder than necessary. your iced coffee melts slowly, watered down and bitter by the time you finish it. conversation never quite finds its footing again. everything between you and rafe stays indifferent.

eventually, topper claps his hands together, “drinks,” he announces. it’s more a decision than an invite, as if a little liquor will solve the world’s problems. rafe doesn’t look at you when he says, “you comin’?” but you nod anyway.

the conditioned air hits you the moment you step into the country club bar. the atmosphere is different. rich, fake laughter bounces off the walls, heavy credit cards clack onto polished, marble countertops, and everyone judges everything within eyesight. you take a deep breath before moving again.

you’ve grown up here. you’ve learned the choreography by heart. you’ve mastered the polite smiles and the effortless laughter. you’ve danced through charity galas and birthday dinners, hugged or air-kissed nearly everyone in the room, memorized their last names, their vacation houses, their curated versions of happiness. but beneath the gloss, it all feels strangely distant. it’s a house you technically own but never quite learned how to live in

your footsteps echo faintly against the floor as you walk in beside rafe, your shoulder almost brushing his arm but never quite touching. topper and kelce drift ahead, already greeting people they know. rafe slows slightly, matching your pace without sparing a glance. proximity is instinct even when communication isn’t.

your gaze scans the room, filtering out the wasted space, and landing on them. the pogues stand near one of the tall tables by the windows. they’re in the corner, but not exactly hidden. around them, people whisper hushed remarks and scrunch their noses, but the pogue’s completely disregard it.

john b leans back against the spotless glass, attention focused on sarah. kie and pope exchange chatter, both holding a soda instead of a drink. jj is perched on the edge of a chair, legs stretched out like he owns the place anyway, one hand wrapped around a glass with a mini umbrella he probably didn’t pay for.

something in your chest lifts before you can stop it. your eyes light up like a child, lips curving into a girlish grin. it’s subtle, but it’s different from anything rafe’s seen on your face all afternoon. your hand lifts before you even think about it and you wave. jj notices first and on instinct, he straightens. his eyebrows lift in surprise and his mouth curves into a grin. john b and sarah follow his gaze and wave with a warm smile. pope gives you a shy half-smile. kie almost greets you, then her eyes shift to rafe who towers besides you, and she stiffens.

for a moment, your shoulders feel lighter. rafe notices immediately. his gaze follows yours and the change in him is instant. “you gotta be kidding me,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

you glance at him. “what?”

he doesn’t look away from them. his lips press into a thin line. “how the hell did they get in here?”

“rafe,” you say quietly.

he scoffs, finally turning his head toward you like you’ve interrupted something important. “probably sarah,” he mutters, gaze drifting back toward the bar. “tryin’ to be nice and invitin’ everyone in.”

“stop.” your voice is soft, but there’s something in it that doesn’t bend.

his eyes flick back to them, then to you again. there’s a brief pause—just long enough for you to see the thought cross his face, the moment where he almost swallows it. “they shouldn’t be here.”

the words land heavier than they should. your chest tightens, breath shortening in small, controlled increments. “and why not?” you snap, cocking your head forward.

he rolls his eyes, irritation flashing across his face like he’s tired of explaining something obvious. “you know exactly what i mean.”

you huff, taking a step back. “they’re not doing anything.” your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails pressing into your palms.

“yeah, and?” he shoots back instantly, moving back into your space, like he’s been waiting for the opening. “doesn’t mean they belong here.”

for a second, you just stare at him. disbelief seeps in slowly, poisoning your features. “wow.”

his brows knit together, offended more than confused. “what?”

“you really hear yourself sometimes?” a humorless laugh escapes your lips.

he exhales through his nose, jaw tightening. “don’t start.”

“don’t start?” you echo, incredulous now. onlookers turn their heads. “rafe, you’re literally judging them for existing.”

his eyes flick around, noticing the growing stares. his jaw tightens as his voice drops. “you’re gettin’ real defensive.”

you cross your arms, shoulders lifting just slightly. “maybe because you’re being an asshole.”

for a moment, the air between you feels too thin to breathe. his gaze studies your face like he’s trying to understand something that doesn’t make sense to him. “so what,” he says slowly, “they your new best friends now?”

you inhale sharply, stepping back. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“means i see you light up when you look at them,” his tone flat but precise. “didn’t see that happen once today.”

your throat goes dry. “that’s not fair,” you say.

he tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “fair?”

“you’re twisting things.”

“i’m just sayin’,” he retorts.

you laugh humorlessly under your breath. “you’re unbelievable.”

his lips twitch like he might smile, but it never reaches his eyes. “yeah? you’re the one wavin’ at them in the middle of the country club.”

“and?” you challenge.

he stares at you for a second too long. “and you don’t usually do things without a reason.”

you blink…he notices. the silence stretches, heavy enough to make your shoulders slump. kelce calls your names from the bar, impatient now. rafe doesn’t move his gaze from you, and when he finally does, his muscles tense. “get a drink,” he mutters, already turning away. “we’re leavin’ soon.”

you watch him walk toward kelce, posture straight, expression locked back into place. the bar feels colder than it did a moment ago. you glance back toward the pogues, and meet jj’s curious gaze. he tilts his head, lips pursed, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn’t fit. eventually, you follow rafe’s lead, eyes glued to your shoes as you make your way behind him.

~

you don’t stay long after that. rafe barely talks, but thankfully topper and kelce are loud enough to fill the space. every so often you sneak a glance towards rafe to which he never reciprocates. when he finally taps your wrist lightly, it startles you. “let’s go,” it’s the first thing he’s said to you in an hour. you blink slowly before nodding, even though part of you doesn’t want to.

when he reaches the car, he yanks the passenger door open hard enough for it to creak, then steps back, nodding toward the seat like it’s instinct. you hesitate for half a second, and feel heat bloom in your cheeks anyway. it makes you angry at yourself. angry that you still notice the softness buried under his temper, the way he never forgets the small things even when he’s furious with you. and that’s what messes with you the most.

when he settles into the driver’s seat, he doesn’t pester you to buckle your seatbelt or hand you his phone to put on music, he just drives. for a few seconds, the only sound is the crunch of gravel beneath the tires and the faint buzz of cicadas in the trees.

“you mad at me?” he asks for the second time today. his idle leg bounces up and down as he awaits a response.

you stare out the window, allowing a moment to pass before you reply. “should i be?”

he glances at you once, then back at the road. “you’ve been lookin’ at me like i kicked your dog.”

you swallow, fingers tapping on your thigh. “maybe i just don’t like the way you talk about people.”

his jaw tightens. “i’m not wrong.” there it is—the narcissist edge creeping in.

you turn toward him. “that’s the problem.” he doesn’t answer, just keeps his gaze on the narrow stretch of road ahead. the rest of the drive passes in silence. it’s not the usual, comfortable kind. it’s not the kind that’s filled with occasional compliments or a light brush of his hand on your leg. it’s the kind that looms like a shadow. that follows you all the way up the driveway to tannyhill. the kind that walks into his house with you and that follows you upstairs.

“you stayin’ long?” he asks the question merely to fill the quiet. his hand lifts to scratch the back of his neck as he walks behind you.

“don’t know,” you shrug, not bothering to turn around. he hums in response, trailing quickly behind you.

the hallway outside rafe’s room is dim, lit only by the thin strip of light spilling from beneath his door. tannyhill is too quiet at night—it always has been. rafe reaches past you and pushes his door open. that’s when the smell hits you. alcohol and metal burns your nose as you breathe in. the door inches open slowly to reveal him, a pit forms in your stomach.

barry is sitting on the edge of rafe’s desk like he owns the place, boots up on the chair, gun resting casually in his hand like it’s just another accessory. his head tilts when he sees you. “well,” he drawls, lips curling slow. “look what you dragged home.”

your stomach drops. rafe freezes beside you for half a second. then his shoulders stiffen. “what the hell are you doin’ here?” he snaps, stepping forward instinctively, putting himself in front of you.

barry’s eyes flick to you, then back to rafe. he doesn’t move the gun, doesn’t even bother pretending this is friendly. “you know why i’m here.”

rafe exhales sharply through his nose. “we talked about this.”

“yeah,” barry says lightly, hopping off the desk. the gun dangles loose in his hand now, swinging with every step he takes toward you. “we talked. you didn’t pay.”

your fingers curl into the fabric of rafe’s sleeve without you realizing it. “barry,” rafe says, voice low, controlled in such a way that means he’s losing control internally. “not tonight.”

barry stops a few feet away from you. he looks you up and down like you’re part of the equation now, like you’re something he can use. “cute,” he murmurs. “didn’t know you were bringin’ witnesses into our little business deals now.”

rafe’s hand tightens at his side. “don’t look at her,” he growls, hands shaking in anger.

barry smiles at that. “where’s the money, rafe?” the question hangs in the air, heavy and ugly.

you feel it before you understand it—the shift. there’s a crack in rafe’s armor. there’s a realization that this isn’t something he can talk his way out of. “i told you i needed time,” rafe mutters, jaw flexing. barry lifts the gun just slightly. it’s not dramatic nor rushed, but just enough to make the message clear. your breath stutters and rafe moves instantly. “don’t,” he snaps.

barry’s eyes flicker, amused. “don’t what?”

rafe’s voice drops to something raw. “don’t bring her into this.”

for a moment, the room is too small. your heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might break through your ribs. your mind keeps trying to convince you this isn’t real, that this is some messed-up performance, that someone is going to laugh and tell you it’s a joke.

barry sighs, bored. “i don’t care about your girlfriend, man. i care about my money.”

rafe swallows, fingers tapping rapidly against his side. finally, he slowly walks past you, crosses the room, and opens the drawer beneath his bed. his back is to you, shoulders tense. after rummaging through his treasures, he pulls out a thick envelope. barry watches him the entire time.

rafe tosses it onto the desk. it lands with a dull thud. barry opens it, flips through the bills, nodding once, satisfied. “see?” he says lightly. “that wasn’t so hard.” he glances at you one last time and smirks. “nice meetin’ you, sweetheart.” then, he turns and leaves, boots heavy against the hallway floor. the door shuts behind him.

silence crashes into the room. for a second, neither of you move. then your body gives out. your knees buckle like someone cut the strings holding you upright. you stumble forward, hands flying out blindly until they hit rafe’s chest. he catches you instantly, but it’s too late.

your breath shatters. “what-what was that?” your voice comes out broken, unrecognizable.

rafe’s arms tighten around you, but he looks like he’s the one about to fall apart. “hey,” he murmurs, too softly. “hey, hey…you’re okay.”

you’re not.

your hands clutch his shirt like you’re drowning and he’s the only thing above water. “rafe,” you gasp. “he had a gun. he-he was—” your words collapse into sobs. they tear out of you violently, ugly and uncontrollable. your chest convulses with every breath. tears blur your vision until the room becomes a smear of shadows and gold.

rafe stiffens when he hears you cry like that. it’s different from the other times. this isn’t sadness. no, this is terror—and he’s the one who caused it.

he presses his forehead against your hair, hands gripping your arms like he’s trying to keep you together physically. “i didn’t mean for you to see that,” he says hoarsely, blinking back his own tears. “i didn’t mean for him to show up.”

you shake your head, crying harder. “i hate this,” you choke. “i hate-i hate what you’re doing. i hate what you’re becoming.” the words spill out before you can stop them.

rafe flinches like you slapped him. his arms loosen for half a second. then they wrap around you even tighter than before.

“don’t say that,” he whispers softly. his tone isn’t angry or insulted—it’s utterly desperate.

you pull back to look at him. his face is pale, eyes glassy, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful. he’s trying to hold himself together the same way he always does. suddenly, you see it—middle school, asphalt burning under the sun, and the sickening sound of skin scraping pavement when his bike went out from under him. you threw your bike to the ground, rushing over to his side. he bit his lip so hard it turned white, refusing to cry because you were there. he’d looked at you the exact same way then.

“i was so scared,” you sob. “i thought he was gonna—” your sentence dissolves into tears again. rafe’s hands slide up to your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, shaky, not wiping the tears.

“i wouldn’t let that happen,” he reassures. the words sound feverish, like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “you hear me? i’d never let that happen to you.”

you laugh through your sobs, but there’s no humor in it. “you already did,” you whisper.

that hits him like a brick, shattering his heart on impact. his expression collapses. he pulls you back into him, harder this time, like if he holds you tightly enough you won’t be able to leave.

your cries echo against his shoulder. his hand trembles at your back. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs over and over, voice cracking. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” it’s not a promise or an apology, it’s a confession. you feel his chest hitch beneath your cheek. then his body jerks forward—he’s crying. he cries in shaky breaths that he doesn’t bother hiding. the realization hits you harder than anything barry did. he’s losing you…and he knows it.

you pull back slowly. his hands linger on your arms like he’s afraid to let go. your voice comes out small now, stripped of anger, stripped of fear, stripped of everything except truth. “i can’t do this anymore.”

the words hang between you like smoke. rafe stares at you. i can’t do this anymore. rafe stares at you like he didn’t hear them at first. “what?” he breathes.

you swallow, throat burning. your hands slip from his shirt, fingers loosening one by one, like letting go of something you’ve held too tightly for too long. the space between you feels unnatural. dangerous. “i can’t,” you repeat, steadier now. “this—” you gesture vaguely at the room, at him, at everything. “this isn’t normal. it’s not safe. it’s not—”

“don’t,” he cuts in, voice breaking mid-word. his hands reach for you again, but you step back before he can touch you. that’s when something in him cracks. “don’t walk away from me,” he says, too fast. “don’t do that.”

you shake your head slowly, tears still clinging to your lashes but no longer falling. something inside you has shifted. “rafe, look at me,” you whisper. “i’m scared of your life. i’m scared of the people in it. i’m scared of what happens when i’m standing next to you.”

his lips part, but nothing comes out. his eyes flicker, frantic, searching your face for the version of you that used to soften when he looked like this. he doesn’t find her.

“that’s not normal,” you continue. the word normal feels heavy in your mouth, like it’s lost all meaning in this friendship. “loving someone, being friends with someone,” you pause to exhale slowly. “it shouldn’t feel like this.”

“it doesn’t,” he insists immediately. “it doesn’t feel like this all the time. you know that.”

you let out a shaky breath. “but it does enough.”

suddenly, the house feels too big around the two of you. tannyhill has never felt so empty. you glance past him, toward the door. that’s when he realizes you mean it.

“wait,” he says, panic bleeding into his voice. “wait-where are you goin’?” you step around him, slow at first. rafe spins around. “don’t.” the sound is dull when he hits the floor. you freeze, turning slowly. your breath hitches when you see him. he’s on his knees, eyes bloodshot, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, face painted with fear of abandonment.

“please,” he whispers. the word barely makes it out. he’s looking up at you, hair falling into his face, chest heaving like he’s been running from something he can’t outrun. his hands hover in the air, unsure whether to reach for you or beg. “don’t go,” he says again, louder now. “don’t leave me like this.”

your heart twists painfully, but it doesn’t change your direction. “rafe,” you say softly.

he shakes his head, tears finally spilling over. “i’ll fix it. i swear. i’ll fix everything. i’ll stop-i’ll-just don’t leave, okay? don’t do this.”

you take a step closer, not to him, but to the door. the distance between you is unbearable. “oh, rafe,” you say gently. his breath stutters. “this isn’t love anymore,” you whisper.

his hands curl into fists against the floor. “i love you,” he says, voice cracking on the word like it physically hurts.

your eyes close for a second. “i know,” you reply, then, you turn the handle.

behind you, his voice breaks completely. “don’t please—”

the door closes softly behind you and your footsteps lighten as you move away from him. inside the room, rafe doesn’t move. he stays there on his knees, staring at the door like it might open if he stares hard enough—it never does.

“just askin’.” his grip tightens anyway.

you hum, lifting a solo cup to your lips. rafe turns back to topper, engaging in a conversation that doesn’t interest you. he doesn’t move when people pass too close, just shifts you instead. every time someone looks at you a second too long, his hand presses firmer at your hip, thumb digging in like a warning he doesn’t bother voicing.

“you’re being weird,” you murmur.

“i’m not,” he scoffs immediately. you laugh, light and soft, and it settles something in him. for a moment, the noise in his head goes quiet. you’re warm and you’re here and you’re his—maybe not out loud, but he knows.

then, a guy drifts over. he’s tall and cute, with brunette curls framing his tan face. it’s when rafe’s deep in conversation that the boy says, “hey.”

rafe stops mid sentence, not even bothering to look at him. “move.” he mutters.

the guy blinks. “what?”

“she’s busy.”

you elbow rafe in the ribs. “i can talk to people.”

his body doesn’t move much, but you feel the shift anyway. his muscles go tight under you and his jaw locks down like he’s biting back something sharper. “you don’t want to,” he says, low and certain, like it’s a fact he’s already decided.

the guy hesitates. there’s a subtle shift in his eyes. the air around him goes still, dangerous in a way that doesn’t need shouting. whatever the guy came over to say dissolves on his tongue. he lifts his hands in something like surrender and backs off, swallowed by the crowd and the noise like he was never there at all.

you exhale, the tension easing just enough to notice it was there. “you’re insane,” you murmur, half a laugh caught in your throat as you slap his chest lightly. “now, what if he was my soulmate,” you tease, suppressing a deep grin. “and you just ruined my only chance at love?”

that hits him like a punch in the stomach. his jaw tightens. “and you really think you’re gonna find your soulmate while sitting on my lap?” rafe’s chin dips, his voice dropping with it. his eyes stay on you, dark, intent, like the rest of the party doesn’t exist.

you don’t argue and you don’t move. your hand lingers where it landed, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his shirt. a moment passes and the music swells, but rafe doesn’t look away. something unsettled shifts behind his eyes. his grip on you loosens, then tightens again, like he can’t decide which version of himself to be.

“hey,” he says, quieter now. you tilt your head, waiting. his mouth opens and closes. he swallows, jaw working like he’s trying to force the words into the right order. his thumb presses into your hip. “i wanted to-”

“rafe.”

barry’s voice slices through the room, sudden and ugly, and whatever rafe was about to say shatters on impact. his expression hardens instantly. and just like that, the moment is gone.

you feel it before you see it. rafe stiffens beneath you, muscles going taut, that dangerous focus snapping into place. “don’t,” you say quietly, already knowing.

rafe exhales through his nose. “i gotta handle somethin’.”

you slide off his lap, the absence immediate. “you always say that.”

barry smirks, eyes flicking to you. rafe shoots him a look that shuts it down fast. “oh hello, mrs. country club.”

rafe stiffens at the name, hands curling into fists. “five minutes,” rafe says, voice stern as he’s already stepping back. “stay here.” he’s gone before you can answer, shoving barry along with him. rafe doesn’t even look back when he leaves. that’s what stings the most. you watch him disappear into the darker edge of the party.

your chest tightens. you hate this part of him. not the loud rafe, not the sarcastic rafe, not the boy who drives you around with the and lets you steal his hoodies. you hate the version of him that slips away so easily, that moves through shadows. the version that makes deals with people like barry.

someone bumps into you, jostling your shoulder. you barely react. “he always do that?”

the voice comes from your left, and when you turn jj maybank is standing there, beer in hand, eyes flicking briefly toward where rafe disappeared, then back to you. his expression isn’t mocking, just curious.

“do what?” you ask, even though you know exactly what he means.

“vanish,” he says with a shrug. “like batman, but if batman was an asshole drug dealer.”

“he’s not a drug dealer.” the defense comes out quick, like a reflex you didn’t choose.

jj cocks his head with an awkward laugh. “ok…” he lifts his hands slightly, backing off just an inch. “hit a sore spot,” he murmurs, low enough that you don’t quite catch it.

the words linger anyway.

you stare down at your cup, the plastic warm in your hand, and something uncomfortable twists in your stomach. you don’t really know why you said it like that—why you always say it like that. why his name feels like something you have to protect, even when you don’t agree with what he does. even when part of you knows jj isn’t completely wrong.

rafe does disappear. rafe does things you don’t understand. things you don’t like. so why does it feel wrong to let anyone say it out loud? you swallow, jaw tightening, caught somewhere between loyalty and honesty, between the boy you know and the version everyone else sees.

before you can untangle the thought, jj’s voice cuts back in, lighter now, like he’s deliberately changing the subject. “there it is,” he says, grinning. “thought i lost you for a second.”

you roll your eyes, but it doesn’t have the usual spark. your gaze drifts back toward the shadows without meaning to.

jj notices and he steps closer, entering your space. “relax,” he says lightly. “if he’s doin’ business with barry, it’s probably just somethin’ stupid…or illegal…or both.”

you huff out a breath. “that’s not comforting.”

“wasn’t tryin’ to be.” he tilts his head, studying you. “you always look this sad at parties, or is that a new thing?”

you blink at him. “i’m not sad.”

“mm.” jj hums, unconvinced. “you’re usually naturally fun. right now, you’re tryin’ to be fun. there’s a difference.”

that hits too close. you glance away, picking at the label on your cup. “you don’t know me.”

“true.” his voice drops slightly. “but i know people who pretend they’re fine when they’re not.”

you don’t respond. instead, you let him talk. jj tells you about some stupid thing pope did earlier, about john b almost lighting himself on fire with lighter fluid, about kie yelling at him for stealing her drink. he’s animated when he talks, hands moving, eyes bright, smile warm and pure. it’s impossible not to get pulled into it. slowly, the tight feeling in your chest loosens.

“so,” jj says, nudging your arm with his elbow, mirroring your earlier move with rafe. “guard dog gone. you finally free?”

you scoff. “i’ve told you before, he’s not my guard dog.”

“yeah?” jj’s eyebrow lifts. “weren’t you sitting on his lap twenty minutes ago?”

you open your mouth to argue…then the air changes. you feel him before you see him. rafe steps back into the light like he’s crossing some invisible line, the noise of the party rushing back around him. his expression is unreadable, eyes darker than before, jaw set like he’s chewing on something bitter.

his gaze finds you instantly. then he sees jj who’s standing too close and smiling too easily. he’s talking to you like he belongs there, and something in rafe’s face shifts. his forehead creases, his nose flares, and his entire demeanor stiffens. this time, his possession isn’t so subtle.

his eyes stay on you as he walks closer, slow and heavy. jj notices too, but his grin doesn’t fade—if anything, it sharpens. suddenly, in the span of ten seconds, the night feels a lot less warm.

rafe stops a few feet away. he’s close enough that you can feel him, yet, not touching you. his presence is heavy, gaze locked on jj first, then sliding back to you. his teeth clench. his hands disappear into his pockets like he’s holding himself still. “maybank,” he says, voice flat.

jj lifts his beer slightly, nodding his head. “cameron.”

the air between them tightens. rafe doesn’t look at him again. his eyes stay on you. “you done here?”

the question is casual on the surface, but it lands wrong. not really a question. more like a decision he’s already made. you hesitate to respond ever-so-slightly but rafe notices everything about you—jj does too.

“we’re actually headin’ out,” jj says easily, stepping half a step closer to your side, hand hovering over your shoulder. “sarah and the rest of us are goin’ back to the chateau.” rafe lets out a quiet scoff, barely audible. his gaze flicks to jj for a fraction of a second, then back to you. “you comin’?” jj asks, softer now, like rafe wasn’t even there. “you’re welcome, y’know.”

for a moment, no one speaks. the music keeps playing. the bottles keep clinking. someone laughs somewhere behind you. rafe watches you like he already knows the answer. like the idea of you choosing anything else is almost insulting.

your chest tightens…and you look at him. you look at the boy who you’ve known forever. the boy who says he loves you. the boy who you call your best friend. the boy who cages you in with his arms and calls it protection. the boy who assumes you’ll always be there when he turns around.

your fingers curl tighter around your cup. you feel guilt pit in your stomach. then you feel tired—tired of shrinking yourself for him. “i think,” you say quietly, the words coming out slower than you mean them to, “i’m gonna go with them.” you don’t look at him when you say it. “i’ll see you later, rafe.”

the sentence lands heavy. i’ll see you later. not tomorrow or in an hour, just later. rafe doesn’t move; he doesn’t blink. for a second, you think he might say something. something mean or something desperate. something that would make it easier to stay, but he doesn’t.

jj nods once, subtle, like he’s pretending this isn’t a victory. “cool,” he says lightly. “truck’s over there.” he turns and starts walking. following suit, you pass rafe slowly, close enough that your arm brushes his chest. you feel his gaze on you the whole time, an unmistakable heat burning into your skull.

you glance back just once before exiting the house and rafe is still standing there, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared, watching you the same way you watched him earlier—heading into the direction of something neither of you will ever understand.

the party lights catch in his eyes, and for the first time, rafe cameron doesn’t follow.

The party in Rafe’s house was loud; you could barely squeeze through people with Sarah clinging onto your arm while you tried to find Rafe. You saw his buzzed head over the crowd, as he was seemingly higher above everybody else, and you tried your best to not trip over random drunk kooks while going towards him.

That other part of the house seemed like a breath of fresh air; your eyes locked with Topper’s, who was talking to Rafe, and you managed a friendly smile as you stepped closer to the circle of his friends, ready to say something. That was until you stopped sooner than your brain could actually process the words that reached you, until Topper started talking to Rafe, who was oblivious of your presence, throwing glances at you like he wanted you to hear it. 

“...Like, bro, I know the prize is good, but I didn’t think you would actually spend three months with her.” The words washed over you like a bucket of ice-cold water, you froze in place, furrowing for a second and thinking that you were just imagining things. But Sarah’s quiet “what the hell?” snapped you back into reality. 

“I told y’all—” Rafe started, irritation bleeding into his voice as he rolled the bottle between his fingers, jaw tight.

“Shit.” Kelce chimed in, laughing. “Poor girl, she’s already hooked. He doesn’t even gotta entertain her anymore. Game’s over.”

“Nah, Cameron just wanted to fuck.” Another voice said. Your ears started ringing, throat suddenly felt tight from the tears forming in your eyes. All of the guys started laughing like there was something funny about it, when all you could feel was the forming hole in your chest. 

“Stop fucking saying that.” Rafe grumbled, clearly not happy about it, yet still not denying the whole bet thing. Topper leaned in, smirk wide, clearly fueled by the chaos. “Aw, come on, man. Don’t act all holy now. We all saw how she was all over you after you hit it. Was the pussy worth the wasted time, at least?”

Rafe’s hand shot out before he even realized it, shoving Topper back so hard he nearly stumbled into the wall. “I said to shut your fucking mouth before I—” 

“You can’t be serious, Rafe.” That was the moment Sarah spoke up, disgusted and surprised by the audacity. You felt all of the eyes landing on you instantly, even though you could swear that they started this conversation in the first place just because of you, just to humiliate you and get some kind of satisfaction from it. 

Though when Rafe turned around, the bottle in his hand hit the floor, all the color from his face drained instantly, and his eyes were big and petrified. He shook his head no, walking towards you with hands in front of him, as he was ready to start explaining, apologizing—doing whatever it takes to recover from this mess. 

But your eyes, still fixated on him, got filled with tears instantly, no matter how hard you tried to even your breathing. Your vision was blurred, and your face and neck started burning from pure humiliation because these people around you were still gawking at the scene like there was something funny. You didn’t even let Rafe open his mouth before your hand slipped from Sarah’s grip, and you ran towards the exit, pushing through people. 

“No, please wait!” You heard Rafe’s voice behind you, his hand briefly catching yours before he was separated from you by the random couple who couldn’t move from his way. 

You pushed the wooden door outside, the breeze kissed your wet cheeks while you breathed hard, trying to figure out where to go and what to do. But then he was right behind you again, though this time his presence didn’t bring you peace like it did for the past three months; now it suffocated you, it made you feel disgusted with yourself for ever falling into such a stupid and obvious trap. 

“Let me explain—” Rafe started, eyes apologetic, while his hand touched your upper arm to bring you closer. 

“Don’t touch me!” You almost screamed, yanking your hand back like his touch burned you. 

“Please—” 

“No! G-get away from me.” You cried, stepping back, hiding from him, and he thought that sight alone—of you scared, ashamed, and in tears—might kill him right then and there. “You—you made a bet on me. You… slept with me and laughed about it with your friends.”  Your voice cracked, shaking with rage and humiliation, tears streaming freely now. You couldn’t let him say a word. You didn’t want to hear his excuses, his apologies—nothing.

Rafe froze, his lips opening, but you cut him off, stepping back and shaking your head violently. “I don’t want to hear it, Rafe! Don’t touch me! Don’t—just don’t.” His fists clenched, his jaw tightening, and his whole body seemed like it wanted to storm forward and do anything to make you listen, but you weren’t giving him the chance.

“Come on.” Sarah appeared suddenly, grabbing your elbow gently but with authority and not even sparing her brother a glance. “We’re leaving. Now.” You didn’t argue. You let her pull you away, your sobs muffled against her shoulder.

Rafe’s voice followed you, desperate and angry. “Wait—please—” 

But he was left alone, just looking at you going further and further away from him. 

He let out a shaky breath as the reality of everything now fully hit him. This was the end. You would never forgive him for the shit that he’d done—for the lie, the humiliation, the laughter of his friends, and for the damn bet itself. Rafe sat on the cold concrete, swearing at himself and replaying the memories that now seemed like the only thing left that he had of you.

He remembered when he first properly talked to you, not in big crowds of mutual friends, but really talked. That little crush that he secretly had on you didn’t help the situation either. Because of the way you smiled at him and let him sit beside you, while he tried to charm you, or the moment you started laughing and looking at him with those eyes, he knew he was fucked. The whole plan to just get to know you just to prove himself wrong about liking you, and the bet itself, seemed like the most useless thing from that moment on. 

He remembered taking you on dates, and not the expensive, over-the-top ones, but coffee dates, picnics at the beach, and walks around the island during the night when you both couldn’t stop thinking about each other and just wanted a chance to talk. It was when he knew the prize didn’t matter anymore, that he had lost it in more ways than one, but it was the last thing he cared about when he could finally spend time with you. 

He remembered the way you looked at him like no one else ever had—like you were listening, like you were interested, like things that he said and felt mattered to you. And you could pick up on everything that upset him, making the ache in his chest just a little bit easier with a simple touch of your hand against his. 

He remembered kissing you for the first time. And second… and all of the others that came after that, because your lips, your body pressed to his, your hands on his face or around his neck, and your smile when you pulled back? Yeah, that was totally fucking up his mind. 

He remembered the sight of you under him when one night those kisses turned into more, drowning in his pillows and leaving your scent there long after you were gone. That look in your soft and trusting eyes when you let him take control, when they studied his body above you with that weird twinkle in them. Your skin was so soft and delicate under his hands, so he couldn’t stop himself from touching you every second.

He remembered how his lips trailed along your chest, collarbones, neck, your face, peppering you with kisses against his own will—because you were intoxicating in the best way possible. And the moment he reached your lips, the way a power stronger than him lured him closer to you. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough of your taste and the feeling of your mouth moving against his. 

He remembered the way you felt, the way your nails scratched his back and tugged at his hair, the way you whispered his name, and the way your body was melting into him. 

And when you two reached the end? His name rolled off your tongue so sweetly and easily, making goosebumps cover his skin. Your hands tugged him down until his weight dropped on top of you—chest to chest, heavy breathing, and sweaty. Rafe couldn’t move, didn’t want to; with his face buried against your neck and hands holding your body, he cursed himself for ever taking part in that stupid bet or even thinking that sleeping with you would take the edge off. 

Because now he knew, more than ever, that he was totally hooked onto you, and it wasn’t just physical attraction—it never was.

Even before getting into his room, Rafe knew that he should stop. Should just tell you the truth and pray that you would forgive him for even trying to play with your feelings, because at that moment the realization that he wanted all of it to be real hit him like a ton of bricks. Yet, the other voice in his head just couldn’t let him ruin it, couldn’t bring himself to risk it. Not right now. Not when you were clinging to him and intoxicating him with your presence, when it felt so intimate and real. 

He would tell you. He would confess. Just not right now. 

That was the memory he couldn’t stop from playing on the loop. Not because it was the best sex in his life, even though it definitely was, but because he ruined it in the worst way possible, making it seem like it was nothing for him, when in fact it was everything. 

When Rafe returned back into the main room, he swore everything seemed and felt ten times worse. From the loud music that made his head ache to his annoying friends as they were pulling him closer into their circle. Top’s heavy arm landed around his neck, and Rafe ground his teeth against each other to stop himself from pushing his friend away. 

“Damn, Cameron.” Kelce said, clapping him on the shoulder a little too hard. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Topper laughed, wide and careless, swinging him from side to side. “Told you. Three months was generous.”

Some other guys laughed, nodding their heads in approval, praising him like he had done something extraordinary. Rafe didn’t move; he just looked at them with disgust, wondering how he could fall so low. 

They took his silence as him being humble, and that was the worst part, because everything inside him was bubbling from the way they treated you like a joke.

Kelce leaned closer and grinned like an idiot, thinking that the way you ran away was a confirmation of the end of your relationship. “Now that she’s really done with, she freaky or just… vanilla?” 

Rafe’s nostrils flared at Kelce’s words, hands pushed away both him and Topper, who stumbled back with an amused laugh. He couldn’t even name the things that he felt at that moment, but the need to shut them up was burning him alive—something that he had never experienced before. 

“I swear to God, if you say another word about her, I’m gonna break your jaw.”

“Woah, woah, dude!” The laughter stuttered, confused. “We’re just sayin’, you won.” 

“I didn’t win shit.” 

Kelce scoffed. “Bro, we saw her reaction like ten minutes ago. We know you hit it, so the money is yours.”

Rafe’s hands curled into fists before he pressed them against his eyes, angry all over again with the way they were estimating you. With the way they talked about you, like you were just a body, just something he used for fun. 

Were they really that ignorant and just… fucking stupid? He could still see your face, clear as day, the moment he realized you were behind him—the initial shock, disbelief, and then acceptance, all while tears were glimmering in your eyes and the look in them made his blood run cold. 

They hurt you. He hurt you. Even if he didn’t mean to and long ago decided to quit this damn bet, he still was dumb enough to participate in it to begin with. Looking back now, Rafe was disgusted with himself more than ever for being just another frat guy and for proving everyone’s point and all the rumors about him. 

Disgusted that you told him that you saw a better side of him, yet he humiliated you in the worst way possible. 

Topper sighed, annoyed now. “Look, man. No one forced you. You said yes. You played the game.”

“I know that it’s my fault. But who fucking asked you to run your mouth in front of her? You knew she was right behind me.” He snapped again, grabbing a random cup from the table nearby and drowning the strong-smelling liquid. 

​​Kelce rolled his eyes. “Don’t pin that on us. You should’ve told her sooner if you were feeling all guilty about it.”  

“I know what I should’ve done, I wanted to do it tonight.” Rafe yelled back, tossing the cup on the floor. “I fucking told you that I was done, that you won, and I don’t need your shit. You—you fucking knew she was standing behind me. You knew! That she could hear you. And you did that on purpose, huh?” He was getting angrier, louder, his usual fiery temper being fueled by the memory of your face plastered in his head and by the way all of his friends seemed like they couldn’t care less about everything. 

“Chill out, man. It was supposed to be fun, just a joke.” One of the other guys chuckled nonchalantly, fully oblivious that all of them were just minutes away from Rafe lashing out. 

“You actin’ like you’re in love or some shit.” Topper said half-joking, but it made Rafe freeze instantly. His face became deadly still, contrasting with the way his heart started bumping against his ribs like crazy. He licked his lips nervously—a gesture that none of the guys noticed, or, at least, couldn’t interpret in the right way—and then his eyes narrowed like a sudden realization hit him. 

“Get out.” He said plainly. 

“What?” A few voices asked back. 

“I said—get out.” He stepped back, keeping his eyes locked on the group in front of him, then reaching to turn the annoying and blasting music off. All of the other heads turned to him in question, as it was way too early for Cameron's famous party to be over. “Everyone. Get the fuck out of my house. Now.” He screamed louder, making sure that everyone could hear him. 

People looked at each other confused, but seeing how dead-serious Rafe was, they started slowly leaving the mansion, whispering to each other and throwing confused glances at him. 

“Dude, you can’t be serious, we—“ Topper started, but Rafe didn’t let him finish. 

“Am I not fucking clear?”

And just like that, it took a few more minutes for Rafe to finally be left alone. He slammed the front door, turning around and then sliding down on the floor right then and there. 

The house was empty now, except for the countless bottles, cups, random confetti, and just a mess left by people he would rather not even see. Now he was alone. Alone with his thoughts, sitting with his head in his hands, he cursed himself again and again. 

It felt like you and whatever trust you had in him were his opportunity to do something special—something just for him and not for the crowd and snobs he had been surrounded with his whole life. If he played it right, if he just approached you like a normal human being the moment you caught his eyes, before the whole bet, it could’ve been different now. It could’ve been different if he at least had enough courage to tell you the truth before his friends ran their mouths, if he explained everything to you—that he did bet on you, that he was sorry, that he knew you deserved better, that he still wanted you more than anything. 

But he didn’t. And now he was paying for it. 

•••

Before you opened the door, you knew who was standing behind it, yet seeing Rafe for the first time since that party felt really weird. By the way his eyes went wide, you figured he expected to be ignored again, the way he was all the other times he came and knocked, desperately wishing he could just talk to you and explain everything. For some reason, this time your inner voice told you to finally face him, because the gnawing feeling and thoughts about everything started to become more than you could handle. 

After that night you went through all the spectrum of emotions—from shock to sadness to anger to constant self-picking. You couldn’t believe, and didn’t want to, that all of it was fake. That all the rumors and all the warnings you heard about Rafe were true. Because how could he possibly play it that well, to the point that you truly and wholeheartedly thought that you saw the real him—soft and caring, sweet in the moments when other people weren’t around? 

So when the truth came to the surface, when Topper started talking about it in front of Rafe and all of their friends, you felt like you were betrayed. Because, apparently, all of these things were just a play. You were just a bet and an opportunity for Rafe to get whatever prize they agreed on. Meaning that you made all that up in your head, and for these past few days you couldn’t help but feel disgusted with yourself. 

“I— I wasn’t expecting you to open the door.” Rafe’s hoarse voice pulled you back into reality, and you blinked a few times to focus on the face that you now hated and missed at the same time. Your eyes studied him just for a few moments before falling to the giant bouquet of flowers he held in one of his hands. It was really massive, definitely the biggest and most expensive of all he ever bought for you. “These are for you.” 

He held the bouquet out, but you shook your head no. “You’re trying to buy my forgiveness?” Your voice sounded way too raspy and fragile even for your own ears, and you didn’t miss the way Rafe’s lips pursed for a second in what seemed like sadness. 

“No. It's the least I could do. But you like flowers, and I thought you deserved something beautiful after I fucked everything up.” 

“Oh, you mean after you publicly humiliated me and laughed about it with your friends?” You shot back immediately, noticing the way he took a deep breath, lowering flowers back to his side and nodding to himself like he knew he deserved it. 

“I didn't laugh with them. I kicked them out that night and haven’t talked to them ever since, because— Fuck, just let me explain everything? Please.” You hesitated. Every instinct screamed to shut the door in his face, to protect what was left of your pride. But another part of you—the stupid, soft part that still remembered his hands warm on your waist, his forehead pressed to yours when he kissed you so softly it made you melt against him—stepped aside.

“Just because I want the whole story. Five minutes.” You said, opening the door wider. “That’s it.”

He walked into the familiar space of your house, going into the kitchen and feeling slightly dizzy from the scent that was unmistakably just yours—the one that he got used to over such a short time and now craved like crazy. The flowers were placed on the counter carefully, like Rafe was making a point that they were just for you and he had no intention of leaving with them. 

You stood at a safe distance in front of him, your hands crossed over your chest, and eyes waiting for him to start speaking. 

“There was a bet.” He finally started, standing almost awkwardly in front of you—something that you had never seen before and that was so unusual for him. “That I can sleep with you. And I accepted it because I was already crushing on you and thought that it would just get you out of my system.”

“Wow.” Hearing it being said by him hurt ten times more than you expected. “So… The main goal was to get me into your bed?” You whispered, your voice much calmer than you felt inside. 

He hesitated. “That’s what we agreed on, yes… But when it happened between us, I did it not because I wanted to win anything, but because it was you and…it was just real to me.”

“That’s still fucked up.”

“I know! I know how stupid that was, that I agreed to playing with someone’s feelings just because I was scared of my own.” He groaned, rubbing his buzzed head in a way he always did when everything became too much. You hated that you picked up on those signs. 

“Well, you sure as hell didn’t care about my feelings when you hid the truth from me. Now I don’t even know what was true and what you were just acting.” You stopped when a lump in your throat made your voice sound weak. “I feel like everything was just a game, that it means nothing, and that I’m just an idiot who fell for the charm.”

“I was lying to myself, and I was lying to them, but not to you. Never to you.” Rafe’s eyes started shining when he stepped just a bit closer, as if out of habit trying to reach out to you. “Since the moment we started talking, everything that I said and done, every time I held your hand or kissed you, when we were together that night… It was me. These were my real feelings for you.”

 “I knew I was done with the bet when we just talked for half an hour that first time and you gave me your number. God— I knew I wouldn’t be able to fake it or to hurt you because the real you was even better than the one I admired from afar. I told them I was done, they knew that I wanted to tell the truth that night at a party. But fucking Topper thought it would be fun to talk about it when you walked into the room.”

Your breath was uneven as you tried to hold back your tears, to not crumble in front of him. You held yourself tighter, unable to speak for a few moments, and hated the fact that despite the heartbreak, despite the pain and tons of self-doubt this situation had brought you, you couldn’t see anything but sincerity in Rafe’s eyes. 

“How much did you tell them? Because the things that they said… I felt humiliated, Rafe. They laughed that they knew everything about us, about me, and I swear if you told them—“

“No! Hell no, I didn’t. That wasn’t part of the deal.” He shook his head, and hands flew in the air in defense. “I was supposed to show them proof of us sleeping together, but I didn’t. I swear on fucking everything that they know nothing about us or about you. I didn’t care to tell them a single thing because I was scared they would ruin everything with you. And they proved me right.” You stayed silent, chewing on your lip when relief and another wave of unmistakable sadness washed over you. Rafe’s voice softened when he continued. “I’m so sorry, baby. For lying, for hiding it from you, for the things that you heard from them. You were not just a body, you were the only thing that I was looking forward to every single day. And I know how much it hurt you, so I’m not asking you to forgive me now, but just know that I’ll do anything to win your trust back.”

You started crying again, hating yourself and him for everything that was happening. You tried to wipe the tears as they were rolling down your cheeks, sniffing every few seconds. And Rafe just stood there helpless and heartbroken, because he knew that now he had no right to even touch you. 

“You did hurt me. I was blaming myself for it during all these days…”

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered again.

“…And I hear what you’re saying, but it doesn’t fix how I feel right now. I can’t trust you. Not now. I need time away from you. 

Rafe’s face fell even though he expected those exact words, even though he knew he deserved it. He nodded, studying you once again and wondering whether it was the last time he had the opportunity to be so close to you.

“I understand.”

•••

When you stood at the fluorescent lights of some creepy-looking gas station far away even from the cut, you didn’t know whether the goosebumps on your skin were from the unusually chilly Outer Banks night or because the atmosphere of the place genuinely petrified you. 

You didn’t mean to end up there, but your sudden decision to just go somewhere alone and clear up your mind came to you out of nowhere, and you hit the road when the sun was almost setting. On your way back, everything went well, up until the moment you heard a weird noise under your car and it started swaying weirdly. You managed to make it to the gas station that was nearby, only to find out that you had a flat tire. And you didn’t have a spare. 

You looked around you cautiously, seeing nothing except the gas station itself and vast empty space all around you. Not a single soul except for the man that you could faintly see through the front window. Trying to calm yourself down, you tried to think rationally. It was late, you had no spare—and even if you did, you didn’t know how to deal with it—and you quite literally had no idea how to get back to your house safely. 

It was probably a bad decision, but with slightly trembling hands and an uneasy feeling, you went inside of the gas station. The middle-aged man behind the counter looked you up and down the moment you walked in, and you knew that it didn’t mean any good. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his greasy, overgrown hair constantly falling over his eyes, and he brushed it away with weird, childlike movements. 

“Evenin’.” He smiled, slightly leaning over. 

“Um— I have a flat tire and was wondering if you know someone who can fix it? Like a mechanic, perhaps?” You mumbled, slowly looking around the dimly lit room with half of the lights blinking like in the worst horror movie. 

“Nah, there are no car repairs nearby. Phone’s not workin’. But I can take a look…” His eyes slowly looked down your body again, and it made you feel physically sick, as every part of your brain screamed at you to get away from that place as fast as possible. “For a price, of course.” 

You blinked at him, mortified, before taking a step back and clutching a phone harder in your hands. “I think I’m good.” 

You rushed out of the building, going back to your car and locking yourself inside. Your heart was pounding harder with every second as you cursed yourself for even leaving the house today. Looking down at your phone, your eyes locked on the dying battery that was currently at twelve percent before quickly opening your contacts and scrolling through them. 

He was your first thought. No matter what, it was like an instinct that developed over the few months you were together. You spend another minute looking at the phone numbers of your girlfriends who, honestly, couldn’t help you in any way, and… that was pretty much it. 

The notification about low battery lit up on the phone, and before you could think about it longer, the survival instinct hit you and you called Rafe on autopilot. Because he was safe, he could help you, he wouldn’t just hang up on you even after all those days you spent without any contact. 

“Hello?” His slightly surprised voice answered on the second ring, and you let out a shaky breath from the slight feeling of relief that it brought you. “Are you okay?” He asked, as if sensing your distress even being miles away.

“I’m—” Your breath shook. “Rafe, I’m stuck. My tire blew. I’m at this gas station, I don’t even know where I am, and there’s this guy, and he’s—he’s weird, and I’m scared.”

“What?” The word came sharp, all softness gone. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know exactly. But it’s the road up north, further away from the cut… Rafe, I don’t know what to do, my phone is dying.” You half whispered, resting your head against the wheel and looking down at your phone. Eight percent. 

He stayed silent for a few moments, yet you could hear the rummaging and slamming of the doors on the other end. “Up north… Do you remember that diner we stopped at before our date? Have you seen it on your way?”

You furrowed for a few seconds, remembering that night when Rafe promised you to show you a cool place outside of the town. It was dark, so you didn’t know where you were going, and you didn’t care as long as it was with him, but you stopped at the diner to get some food. That night you took a picture of the sign because it was fluorescent pink—the one that you had never seen before… except today on your way here.”

“I did! I saw it, like, fifteen minutes before ending up here.” You breathed shakily. “I’m at five percent, Rafe.”

“Good. That’s good.” His voice was gruff, the engine of the car softly murmuring in the background. “Lock the doors and don’t open them, okay? I know where you are. I’m gonna be there in fifteen, I promise. You—“

The call ended, and you stared back at your own reflection on the screen. Now it was deadly silent, but at least you hoped that Rafe could find you before anyone else could. You stayed in the same position with your head down for a while, thinking that maybe this way you wouldn’t overthink and see the moving shadows outside, that you could focus on your breathing and not the creepy dude that could probably see your car through the window. 

The knock made you jump, your heart rate skyrocketing when the face of the same guy looked at you at a much closer distance than you would prefer. The man from the gas station was standing right by your window now, face lit from below by the ugly fluorescent lights, features sharper and meaner up close. He bent down a little, peering inside your car like you were some kind of display.

“Hey.” He said, knocking again, harder this time. “You sure you don’t want help? It’s cold out here. Ain’t safe for a girl to sit alone at night.”

Your stomach twisted. You shook your head quickly, not trusting your voice, and mouthed no. He frowned, eyes sliding over you in a way that made your skin crawl.

“C’mon.” He pressed, trying the door handle. It didn’t budge, but the sound alone made your breath hitch. “I’m just tryin’ to be nice.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. You grabbed your dead phone instinctively, even though the screen was black now, useless. You felt a lump in your throat and tears burning your eyes because, quite literally, you were trapped—there was nothing you could do or say to make him go away, there was no one who could help you and protect you if he decided to do something. 

You grabbed the door handle from the inside as if it could help you to keep it closed while he was pulling at it from the outside, and that was the moment when the headlights blinked at you from another car—the one that made your body sink against your driving seat on instinct.

Rafe’s truck roared near your car, gravel screeching under the weight, as he parked nearby, instantly jumping out. The moment he saw another figure, clearly a man, towering over your car, he saw red. His nostrils flared, jaw tightened, and fists clenched and ready to deal with the guy if he started acting up. 

“Get the fuck away from her.” Rafe’s voice boomed in the empty space, and the man stepped back with a fake-innocent smile. He was shorter and seemingly more clumsy, so when Rafe shoved him back and stepped between your car and him, the man shrank himself, not being so confident now.

“Relax, man, I was talkin’ with a pretty woman in need.”

“You will be the one in need if you don’t get the fuck away from my girl’s car.” 

The man’s eyes slightly widened at the tone of Rafe’s voice. He stepped back with hands still in the air, not looking at you anymore, and instead keeping his eyes on Rafe, who was looking at him like a predator on his prey. And the moment the guy walked back into the building, slow and cautious, Rafe’s demeanor changed instantly—he still felt the leftover of that sudden anger that enveloped him, but when he turned around and looked down and saw your face, he let out a shaken breath. 

You unlocked the door, getting out on trembling legs. Your eyes were hungry, taking Rafe in. All those days after he left your house, you spent thinking about the whole situation, hyperanalyzing every detail and trying to figure out your emotions. Yet, no matter any concerns that your mind raised, the one prominent thought you kept coming back to was that you missed Rafe. It was as simple as that. You missed his presence, his voice, his touch, the way he treated you… And now, being incredibly shaken and scared, there was no second thought before you fell into his arms—the only place that seemed safe enough. 

You melted against him, you touched him for the first time in weeks, and it made his head short-circuit. He froze for half a second, like his body needed permission from his brain to believe this was real. Then he wrapped you up. Hard and desperate. One arm around your shoulders, the other pressed flat to your lower back, anchoring you to him like if he let go you’d disappear again. Your face buried itself into his chest, nose pressing against worn cotton and the familiar scent that made your throat tighten instantly. Rafe’s chin dropped to the top of your head, his breath shaky as hell.

“You’re okay.” He murmured, not even sure whether he was saying it to you or himself. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Your fingers curled into his hoodie on instinct, and you didn’t even realize you were shaking until he did—until his hand started rubbing slow, grounding circles over your back, like he was afraid that he was not allowed to touch you anymore. Not after the way he betrayed your trust.

“I was so scared. ” You whispered, the words muffled. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“I’m so happy that you did, bab—” He cut himself off, wincing when the usual nickname almost rolled off his tongue. “I’m sorry.” 

You pulled away slowly, shaking your head, and trying to recollect yourself despite the growing pit of your stomach—now not from fear, but from the weird situation that you and Rafe ended up in. 

The silence stretched; the distance between you felt awkward when you both locked eyes on each other but didn’t know how to deal with everything. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and Rafe finally spoke up. “I know a guy. I’m gonna call him to tow the car and take care of it, ‘kay?” He didn't wait for your reply before walking a few steps away to make a phone call, talking with a guy in a hushed tone, but he kept throwing glances at you as if to make sure that you were still there and okay. 

“He’s gonna be here in fifteen. We can—”

“I’ll pay you back.” You cut him off.

“What?” He laughed, genuinely confused.

“It’s late, we’re in the middle of nowhere, and repairing itself... I know it’s expensive, and I’m not gonna ask you to cover that.” Your eyes kept darting everywhere, suddenly exposed in front of him.

“It’s not your problem. You’re not paying anything because I’m taking care of it.”

“But Rafe—”

“No.” He said firmer, not missing the way your lips pouted. “Now, let’s get into the truck.” You barely had time to react before he was already opening the passenger door of his car, the inside glowing warm and safe compared to the sickly fluorescent lights outside. “Please. It’s cold, and I want you where I can see you.”

The second you climbed in, the warmth hit you, and with it your hands started shaking before you could stop them, fingers curling uselessly in your sleeves. When Rafe got into the driver’s seat, his presence and his familiar scent enveloped you. You could feel his eyes locked in on you—soft, steady, and caring—while he waited for the smallest sign from you.

He reached forward slowly; his fingers brushed yours where they rested in your lap, tentative, asking. When you didn’t pull away, his hand closed around yours fully in an anchoring way that made you suck in a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“You okay?” Rafe asked softly.

“I don’t know. I was so scared, and my phone was dying, and…” You stopped yourself to think, to check in with yourself that it was actually what you wanted to say. “The only thing that felt right was to call you.”

“I’m glad you did. No matter what happened between us, I’m here. Always.” He leaned a little bit closer to you, head dipping lower to catch your eyes. His hand squeezed yours twice, and you squeezed it back, making a soft smile appear on Rafe’s lips.

The tow truck’s headlights appeared in the distance, cutting through the dark. Rafe glanced at them, then back at you, reluctant to let go, needing a few more moments with your hands in his, with you finally close to him after so many days without any contact.

“This doesn’t fix anything.” You said softly.

“No.” He agreed. “But I will fix it.”

Before you could overthink it, you tilted your head and pressed a slow, gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. Barely there. Soft. But enough for his heart to make a leap. Enough for his breath to hitch and lips to start tingling from the simple touch. 

He smiled and for a second didn’t say anything at all. He just looked at you, eyes flicking from your lips back to your eyes, like he was grounding himself there. His thumb brushed over your knuckles once, slow and absentminded, as he clearly wanted to do or say more but stopped himself to not overstep that fragile line. 

“I’m gonna take care of everything and will be right back, okay?”

Rafe remembers the movie, and not only because of all the nudity in it. He remembers the parts that would make you laugh, like when Natalie and David sat in the car with her nephew dressed as an octopus between them. He remembers how much you would talk about visiting the south of France when Jamie travels there to write his book. He remembers how choked up you get while Karen is crying in her bedroom when she realizes her husband bought the necklace for another woman (but if he ever called you out on it you weren't crying, okay?)

One of your favorite things about the movie, he recalls, is that not every story has a picture-perfect ending. Sarah abandons her dream of hooking up with Karl after two years because her love for her brother takes priority over a guy who hasn’t shown interest in her until now. Mark pours his heart out to Juliet on her doorstep on Christmas Eve, amounting to all but one kiss, and he finalizes it’s time to move on. Rafe couldn’t really understand why.

Because it’s realistic, you had explained to him. Not everything in life ends with a happy ending. Sometimes you just have to accept the ending you are given and move on.

Weird.

Why didn’t Mark keep fighting? Why didn’t he tell Juliet that he loved her sooner, and why oh why did he give her the cold shoulder all those years? Rafe knows he would’ve kept fighting for the love of his life, just as he has been for the past few years, but the realization that that the ending you are given sometimes just…is was a hard pill for him to swallow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Christmas time on Figure Eight amounted to one thing and one thing only: the Island Club’s annual Christmas party. It was wintertimes’ equivalent to Midsummer’s, meaning any and every elite on the island dress in their finest black suit attire and gather together. The evening, like most of the Eight’s gatherings, was really just an excuse for the patriarchs to brag about their success in the past year over lots and lots of alcohol.

It was one of the times of year you hated most. Not only was the entire thing a giant waste of time, food, and natural resources, but also another excuse for your mother to nit-pick your body and, well…everything about you.

“Just let me see it again,” she called out from behind your shut bedroom door.

You turned around from your mirror, eyeing the black velvet floor-length gown from behind. The slit up the left side exposed your leg all the way to mid-thigh, showing off your legs that became significantly more toned since walking to class everyday. The plush material lay snugly against your hips, and if you squint you might even be able to pretend you have an hourglass figure. It did flatter you, although you probably wouldn’t have been bold enough to pick this ensemble out yourself had it been your choice.

To your mothers credit, being significantly younger than most other Figure Eight moms helped her taste in fashion align more with your age range, although her fake breasts and chiseled jawline from twenty years of not eating and Botox would probably fill out the sweetheart neckline better than you, but it was the best you’d felt in a long time. Thinking back, it was probably the most confident you’d felt before one of these events ever.

Maybe the time apart cleaned the slate of your self-confidence.

She didn’t wait for you to respond, just yanked the door handle open. Her face twisted in disgust. “How much weight have you put on since you started college?”

Maybe being away for so long gave you a false sense of hope.

She tugged at the back fabric, even though it fit fine. “I shouldn’t ‘ve had Stacy give you an updo,” she sighed. She pushed on the spot right between your shoulder blades and you curled your hands into fists. “Just don’t hunch over all night like you normally do and the rolls won’t be as noticeable.”

You rolled your eyes, stomping towards your closet where you pulled out a pair of short gold heels. You weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of an answer.

She huffed at your lack of retort, taking a sip from her wine glass. “We leave in ten minutes, and you better still be wearing this when you walk down those steps.”

She knew her daughter a little too well as she confirmed her suspicions before exiting your bedroom. You changed your clothes into sweatpants and one of your dad’s old t-shirts too many times at the last second, risking either running late to the function or having the daughter of one of Kildare’s most powerful families show up like she was dressed for bed. Now that you were an adult, you needed to come up with some new tactics in order to spite her.

As you strapped your heels in place you began to question the outfit. You turned around in the mirror wondering if your back rolls really were that noticeable. Could you pull your hair down and curl it in time to hide them?

You turned again, smoothing the fabric on your midsection and swallowing the lump in your throat. Was that a shadow, or was that really how much your belly poked out? Would people think you were pregnant? Would you have to spend the evening accepting congratulations on behalf of the chicken tikka-child you were about to bring into this world?

God damnit, you sniffled, cursing your traitorous tear ducts. You weren’t supposed to let her upset you. Though you were now an adult, home from college four states away, your mother held a power over you like a vise around your neck. As much as you told yourself not to let her opinion affect you, it always did.

You shook your head, hoping the thoughts would escape like an Etch-A-Sketch. You pulled some earrings out of your jewelry box, tugging them through the holes. What would people think of your outfit? What would he think? Did it look like you were trying too hard or overdressing? You knew you should’ve gone with the emerald satin slip dress instead, or better yet, you should’ve spent Christmas break alone in your dorm.

“Y/N, c’mon, we’re going to be late,” your father called from down the hall, oblivious to the prior interaction.

There were many reasons you came home over break, and he was the biggest one.

You grabbed your clutch and phone from your bed, pasting on a smile and wiping a rogue tear away before heading down the stairs.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I hate these fucking things, Rafe thought as he tugged on the sleeves of his tuxedo. Less than an hour in and Rafe had already answered the same questions fifteen times (Where do you go to school? UNC. Following in your father’s footsteps, eh? He’d stifle out a grimace and nod, taking a sip from the whiskey glass he was able to get by paying off one of the caterers. Are you still playing football? Yes, but not for long if the school decides to investigate the bag of coke Coach found in my locker).

Ward wasn’t exactly thrilled to have Rafe home on the brink of expulsion from his alma mater, nor was he happy that Rafe already spent his next semesters’ rent on paying off a crack debt to Barry. Sarah wasn’t talking to him (but what else was new) and Wheezie was too busy trying to get the attention of a student she liked in class to bother with him.

The only one of his friends who deigned to show up so far was Topper, who was too busy trying to flirt with Sarah to keep Rafe company. That was until he saw your family walk though the French doors into the common room. Your mother and father walked in like he was John F Kennedy and she was Jackie, much like Ward and Rose and every other prominent family on the island. And there, trailing ten steps behind with his favorite scowl etched permanently on your face, entered his salvation.

Once the patrons were finished clapping at your entrance and your eyes were rolled back from inside your head, Rafe took long, confident strides towards you. He hadn’t seen you in months, and this is how you dared to show up on him? Wearing that dress? He swore his heart would give out.

“Y/N, sweetheart, how are you?” The alcohol coursing through his veins gave him much more feigned confidence than he expected, reaching in for a hug.

“You don’t get to call me that, Rafe,” you started, your chin jutting into the shoulder of his jacket, and God, he could feel your breasts press against his chest through the white button down. Please don’t look down. Please don’t look down.

“I’m doing well, though,” you continued when you pulled away. “How did your first semester go?”

“Really good,” he answered, trying to keep his eyes glued to your face instead of what lay directly below. Looking at your face wasn't much better though, with your sparkling eyes narrowed in him and sharp brows, or that cute chin and those pouty lips—

“It was good,” he coughed, taking a sip from his glass. “Really good. Missed you, though.” He threw you a wink and would blame it on the whiskey if needed.

You rolled your eyes but stiffened suddenly. Your mother passed by the two of you and whispered something in your ear. Your jaw ticked and the tension in the air between the two of you was thick like molasses.

Your mother moved on from you without acknowledging Rafe, like she had more important matters to attend to.

Rafe grabbed your land and brought it between you, meeting your gaze in the middle.

What’s wrong? His eyes spoke for him.

Drop it, yours seemed to reply.

He coughed awkwardly. “How about we get you a drink?”

You nodded and forced out a smile. “I think that would be best.”

By the time Kelce, Mallory, Sean, and Kristen arrived, you were well into your first cosmo and Rafe was about five corny pick-up lines deep. But it was the alcohol, he told himself, and not the way he literally couldn’t keep his tongue from slipping every time he glanced down at your neck or even dared to go lower. It had to be illegal for you to look that good, and he told you so after his third drink.

“Nothing about you has changed, Rafe,” you teased him, sending him a wayward glance when you caught his eyes lingering on your cleavage.

“You’re right,” he agreed, leaning his elbows against the bar, bringing his face inches away from yours. “I’m still hopelessly and completely in love with you.”

You rolled your eyes, but not quick enough after your breath hitched, making Rafe break out into a grin.

“I’m going to get another drink,” you hastened, pushing off the counter and walking away toward Rafe’s preferred bartender, the one supplying him and his friends drinks all night thanks to the wad of one hundred dollar bills Rafe handed him at the beginning of the night.

Rafe was too caught up watching your hips sway absentmindedly to notice the boy creeping up on him. Throwing an arm around him, Kelce ruffled Rafe’s perfectly pressed lapels, earning him a sharp jab to the gut.

“God damn,” Kelce whistled, eyeing your backside along with Rafe. “Hard to believe that is our Y/N.”

“I know,” Rafe agreed as he watched you lean on the counter while asking for another drink. The hungry look the bartender gave your cleavage made his fists clench.

“Whoa, easy lover boy,” Kelce laughed, noticing his white knuckles. He poked a spot on Rafe’s cheek. “I think you got some drool there.”

Rafe pushed the boy off and traversed through the crowd to reach you. He thought the number of times the bartender’s gaze dropped down to your chest was far too many, and since when did it take that long to make a cosmopolitan?

His footsteps faltered when your mother grabbed your arm and dragged you to a nearby corner. Rafe couldn’t get close enough to hear what you were saying without being obvious, but the way your brows furrowed at her words made Rafe later wish he had stepped in.

He grabbed your drink from the bar for you, shooting the Pogue with the wandering eyes behind it a menacing look before getting himself another.

“Thank you,” you told him breathlessly when you reappeared at his side a moment later, taking the drink from his grasp and downing half of it.

“You okay?” He quirked at your frowned lips.

You nodded, your mouth still full of the mixed drink. “I’m fine. She’s just being…herself.”

He nodded in understanding while he took his own drink from the bartender, placing a firm hand on the small of your back just to spite him.

“Let’s just get drunk tonight, alright?” He asked you. You nodded enthusiastically, dragging him by the arm back to your friends.

The next couple hours were spent munching on an array of appetizers you couldn’t pronounce and drinking the Island Club out of Grey Goose. Rafe kept close to you, wary of any more encounters with your mother. When you wanted another skewer of fancy cheese, he’d get it for you. When you went to the bathroom he’d hold your drink. When you decided you’d had enough of the crowd and needed some fresh air, he escorted you.

The two of you stepped onto the covered patio of the Club where only a few patrons lingered around the edges, either escaping the stuffy air like you or sneaking a cigarette from their spouses. Rafe followed you to an unoccupied chair around an electric fire pit, taking a seat on the chair adjacent yours.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked solemnly, eyes boring into yours, and shrugged off his jacket, placing it around your shoulders.

“Of course.” You twisted your head, tugging relentlessly at the puckered fabric of your waist. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem…distant,” he admitted, his fingers trailing around the rim of his whiskey glass.

“Well yeah,” you laughed forcibly. “Who doesn’t hate these parties?”

Rafe shook his head at your attempt to deflect. “I know you, Y/N. Something’s bothering you.”

“Boundaries, Rafe.”

“Okay,” he accepted. “But I’m here for you if you want to share.”

You met his eyes across the flames, your face lighting up in the most beautiful shade of orange he’d ever seen. Your sharp features and hardened eyes seemed softer in the glow of the fire. Every feature on your angelic face was perfectly placed, even down to the smidge of mascara right below your left eye. Every freckle, every hair falling out of your updo, every bead of sweat gathered on your upper lip from the fire—it was all perfect, like God himself created you for the sole purpose to make Rafe’s heart stop.

“I know,” you admitted softly, and he hoped you meant it.

“Y/N, there you are,” a cruel voice chastised. Rafe turned his head to meet the bird-like face of your mother, storming over to your seat like she was going to drag you away by the hair.

“Mom, what the fu—” you started, her bony hand tugging at the sleeve of Rafe’s jacket.

“A word?” She asked you, but clearly it wasn’t a choice.

You rose, fixing Rafe an apologetic glance and followed your mother to the edge of the railing.

He knew it was rude to stare, but his eyes didn’t stray from you once. Not when you crossed your arms, holding onto the sleeves of his jacket with your thumb and forefingers, or when your mother seemed to get angrier after whatever you retorted with. He saw the whole thing, like when she fiddled with the neckline of your dress and tucked a rogue hair back into its place. He also saw both of you storm away in opposing directions, like the two hard-headed women you were wanting to both have the last word.

He stood as you approached, one arm clutching the jacket around your shoulders and the other wiping your cheek.

“What happened?” He asked, placing his hands gently on your shoulders to keep you from running away.

“She wants nothing to do with me for months and then the one night we have to put on a show, she’s up my ass about how I look,” you confessed, sniffling and shaking your head.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting your head. “You look beautiful. What is she talking about?”

You shook your head again. “It doesn’t matter. It’s never enough for her.”

His heart shattered. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his chest while you cried your frustrations out.

You wiped your nose again. “Anyway, I have to go. The parents are coming over for drinks after the party, like they haven’t had enough of those already,” you explained with a laugh. “I’m sure Ward and Rose are coming.”

Rafe nodded, understanding the customary meaning of ‘drinks’ at your house after an Island Club event, where all your parents would gather around and talk shit about everyone they just encountered at the previous shit-talking event. Such busybodies.

“Well, listen, I can take you home if you want to stay,” he offered. “You don't have to go home with her.”

Was Rafe in any position to be driving right now? No, but he would figure out a way if that meant he got to spend a minute longer with you.

“No, it’s okay,” you said, shrugging his coat off your shoulders and giving it back to him.

Rafe faltered, wanting to push more but also wanting to respect your boundaries the way you requested earlier.

You grabbed your clutch from the side table, tugging at your dress while you spoke. “Thank you, Rafe. It was really good to see you.”

You were gone in a flash, breaking his wasted heart right down the middle as he picked up his drink and downed it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Oh, God. I am so in the wrong. A classic fool,” Harry told Karen, caught by his wife with his infidelity.

“Yes, but you’ve also made a fool out of me, and you’ve made the life I lead foolish, too!”

You sniffled and wiped away the tear streaking your cheek.

God, if you didn’t know how that feels.

Too many times have you felt the way Karen does, the earth-shattering pain that comes with realizing you’ll never be the first choice. After that, you see that everything you’ve ever done seems insignificant. You’ll never be the one someone would learn a language for, or break through TSA checkpoints just to see one last time.

You’re so unlovable. No one will ever want to go back to your place after an office Christmas party or suffer through a stupid elementary school play with you just because your nephew is in it.

You’re fat, and ugly, and you have a terrible personality and no one wants to be around you. You shouldn’t even be eating the Christmas cookies you snuck into your room but you are. Here you are, spending your Saturday night blubbering like an idiot at your laptop screen while mind-numbing chatter of your parents’ drunken friends flow downstairs. Who could ever want you—

Tap…tap…taptap

You flung up your window with a premonition, staring down at the blue-eyed boy.

“Rafe, not again—”

Your words faltered at the sound of your phone ringing from its place on your nightstand.

“Come downstairs,” he said once you picked up his call. Before you could respond, he hung up.

You checked yourself in the mirror quickly, wiping the mascara as best you could from where you neglected to take off your makeup when you arrived home. The only thing you managed to do after your mother’s reprimand was change into a t-shirt and shorts and hide under the covers, hoping if you burrowed enough you could hibernate until it was time to go back to school.

You tiptoed down the stairs as quietly as you could, your footsteps muffled by Mrs Beauregard’s obnoxious cackle. You opened the front door slightly enough to block the wind from entering the foyer of your home, cut off only by your bare legs.

Outside stood the very tousled head of blonde hair and pair of eyes sparkling under the yellow porch light, looking boyishly handsome as always.

“Rafe, what—”

He cut you off again by pressing his forefinger to his lips, pulling out his phone to play Silent Night.

The only thing that could tear your eyes away from him was the rustling of heavy paper, and you noticed in his hands were a stack of posters.

With any luck, by next year the first one read.

I’ll be going out with the most beautiful girl in the world

You

You felt your cheeks heat up and the longing eyes and cheeky smirk he gave you.

But for now, let me me say

Without hope or agenda

You smiled softly.

Just because it’s Christmas—

(And at Christmas you tell the truth)

Your heart fluttered in time with a hummingbird's wings; you could feel your pulse in your throat, in your ears, down to your toes—

To me, you are perfect

There was no hiding the tear escaping your eye or bottom lip you chewed endlessly on. You couldn’t escape his fixed gaze, eyeing you like one of the seven wonders of the world adorned in an old t-shirt and pilled sleep shorts. There was no escaping this truth, prominent like a daisy on a gravestone or a lighthouse in a storm—

You are in love with Rafe Cameron.

And my wasted heart belongs wholly to you

And will love you until my very last breath.

He might just actually love you back.

You weren’t the type of girl to have poems or love songs written about them. You didn’t exactly radiate warm and fuzzy emotions wherever you went, or charm a man to his knees, yet Rafe wants your heart anyways. When he spoke to you tonight, you could pretend like you’re endearing enough to captivate a man like him.

Merry Christmas.

You smiled at him, and he smiled back. Though no words were spoken in that moment (or the weeks that passed—you swore time stood still on that porch), what you were thinking didn’t need to be spoken aloud. You knew in your heart Rafe meant every word, because somehow he always knew what you needed to hear.

Your stupor was interrupted when he picked up his cue cards, shutting off his music and turning to go home.

You didn’t need to say anything, but you wanted to. You couldn’t end the night like this, not when Rafe made you feel like you were something worthy for once. How could you ever express this feeling into words when words would never be enough?

Your feet seemed to move faster than your head, bare toes sliding against the wooden deck. If you had to pull a splinter out from between your toes later, so be it. It would be worth it.

You caught up to his slow strides, planting yourself right in front of him, hands pressed to his chest.

He faltered, surprised by either the sudden movement or your enthusiasm, a rare emotional outpouring from you.

You threw your arms around him before he could protest, breathing in the familiar suede and bergamot you’d longed for these past months.

You didn’t know how long you stayed, your arms wrapped tightly around Rafe and his awkwardly trying to reciprocate, bulky cue cards be damned. As it turns out, time also seemed to stand still on the stone walkway leading to your home, or maybe time just stood still wherever there was you and Rafe Cameron.

“Merry Christmas, Rafe,” you mumbled into his coat, his black tuxedo long discarded, leaving him to look like the high school boy who made your stomach flip in his corduroy jacket.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he murmured into your hair, the updo your mother's stylist spent an hour on falling out into pieces too big to be considered effortless.

You finally pulled away because you knew if you didn’t now, you never would. He grinned at you, the tips of his ears turning a red the shade of holly berries, that dimple you love ever so prominent like a star on top of a Christmas tree. You smiled at him once before trudging back into your home, where the air was warmer and the expectations astronomically higher.

It didn’t matter that your eye makeup was smeared in every direction, or your hair a mess or your clothes wrinkled from wearing them the night before. As you and Rafe turned back to look at each other, you at the door and he at your gate, you knew.

You could pretend, even if just for tonight, you are Rafe Cameron’s everything, because he is already yours.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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