foggycandystarlight

Rafe had stood there in his fresh civilian clothes, jaw locked, hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

During those first few weeks of basic training, everyone stayed very far away from him. 

Rafe was quiet, but it wasn't a peaceful quiet. It was an angry, suffocating silence that followed wherever he went. He didn't talk to anyone in the bunks, didn't make eye contact in the mess hall, and did his assigned chores with his lips pressed shut, face flat. If someone asked him a question, he’d glare at them until they walked away. The other recruits whispered that he was crazy, or just another asshole rich kid with a shitty temper.

But you saw something else when you looked at him.

You saw the way his eyes darted around when he thought no one was watching, searching for a danger that wasn't there. You saw that heaviness that hung over his shoulders that he couldn’t get rid of. You recognized it because you felt it every single day. Your own parents had shipped you off here after one too many arguments, one too many missed curfews, one too many suspensions, one too many fights, one too many drunken nights, one too many run-in’s with the law—deciding you were too difficult, too disappointing, too much to deal with. 

You spent your first week silently crying into your mattress after lights-out, feeling like you were the only person in the world who didn't fit anywhere.

So watching Rafe sit alone at the far end of the long mess hall tables, picking at his food with his head hung low, you realized he was doing the same thing you were doing—building a wall so high nobody could get close enough to hurt him. Or to care.

Except you decided you weren’t going to let that stop you. For whatever reason.

It was a Tuesday morning, mess hall was loud, filled with the clatter of trays and the chatter of tired recruits. Rafe was sitting at an otherwise empty table in the back corner, shoulders hunched.

You took a deep breath and carried your tray over, ignoring his curious stare as you pulled out the metal chair across from him and sat down, staring at him with a lopsided, yet nervous, smile.

Rafe’s jaw clenched and he huffed before glaring at you. "Seat’s taken," he grunted.

You just breathed, shrugging. "Doesn't look taken to me," you said, pulling your orange juice closer and leaning back. "There are actually eight empty chairs here."

"I'm sittin’ here," he said, his tone a warning. "Go sit with someone else..."

"Mmm…nah," you said, taking a bite of toast and smiling at him. "I like the view over here. Plus, you look like you need the company."

Rafe stared at you like you had just spoken in another language before he paused and scowled, grabbing his tray and standing to leave, but you just giggled, calling after him, "See you at drill, sunshine!"

He didn't turn around, but you saw the way his neck flushed red.

YOU didn't give up. The next day, you sat across from him again. He ignored you again, staring at the wall behind your head, but you didn't care. You rambled about how awful the morning run was, about the drill sergeant’s accent, and how the coffee tasted like rusted nails.

On Thursday, when you were assigned to cleaning the equipment shed together, Rafe spent the first thirty minutes in silence, wiping down training gear.

"Y’know," you said, leaning against a stack of wooden crates and tossing a rag over your shoulder, "if you scowl any harder, your face is gonna get stuck like that… ‘s what my mom used to say anyway."

Rafe stopped wiping down a pack as he slowly turned his head toward you, eyes narrowing. "What's your problem?"

"Don't have one," you said lightly. "What's yours?"

"You," he snapped, taking a step toward you, trying to look intimidating. Rafe was tall, broad-shouldered, all muscle, and his buzzed hair made him look more authoritative—he held himself like someone who was used to pushing people around. "Why are you followin’ me around 'n shit? What d'you want?"

You didn't shrink back, just looked up at him, a small, teasing smile playing on your lips. "I don't want anything.” You told him. “Jus’ think you look lonely. And I'm lonely…” You said, tone still teasing but he didn’t miss the way your face fell in the smallest of motions before you picked it back up like it was nothing. “So we might as well be lonely together."

Rafe blinked, anger flashing in his eyes, but under it, for just a second, he looked caught off guard. Nobody had ever said something like that to him. Nobody had ever looked past his temper or his status to just see him.

He clamped his mouth shut, turned back to his equipment, and muttered, "You're annoying."

"I get that a lot," you answered blithely. "Now hand me that bucket, grizzly."

Rafe paused, his eyebrow twitching as he looked down at you. "Grizzly?" he repeated, "Hell’s that supposed to mean?"

You smirked, wiping down a shelf with your rag. "You're a grizzly bear."

"I'm not a damn bear," he grumbled, though he didn't turn away.

"I beg to differ," you said, leaning back against the crates. "Grizzly bears aren't actually hostile. If needed, they're defensive and aggressive. But they usually prefer to avoid people altogether.” You threw out the information casually. “That's you. You walk around with this giant 'stay away' sign on your forehead," you mocked in a fake-deep tone. "but I’m not buyin’ it."

Rafe stared at you for a long while, jaw working. In his head, a strange feeling hit him. Not because he was mad, but because nobody had ever bothered to analyze him like that before. 

Well, more so, nobody had ever analyzed him without calling him crazy or ruined.

Rafe let out a small breath—not quite a laugh, but the closest thing to it he’d expressed since arriving at base—and passed you the bucket.

SLOWLY, but very surely, the ice began to crack.

It was tiny things at first. Like how he stopped walking away when you sat down at his table. Then, he started waiting a few seconds after finishing his meal, pretending to finish his drink just so he wouldn't leave before you finished your tray. 

And when you tripped during an evening march, it was Rafe’s hand that shot out, snagging the back of your uniform to keep you from hitting the dirt, pulling you upright before quickly letting go and looking away like he hadn't done anything.

"Watch yourself," he grumbled, his cheeks faintly red, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"...Thanks," you breathed, hand holding onto his upper arm for longer than intended. 

He didn't pull away.

Within three weeks, the two of you were inseparable. And because you were no longer sitting alone in the dark corners of the base, other recruits began to find their way toward the warmth you both created.

It started with Maya, a girl from your squad who had been struggling and was too terrified of the instructors to ask for help. You invited her to sit with you and Rafe during dinner. At first, she looked terrified of Rafe, who still kept his jaw set tight, but when he quietly reached over and handed her his slice of cornbread because he noticed she hadn't eaten half her dinner, Maya's eyes softened.

Then came Jax, a funny, pretty talkative guy who was constantly getting assigned extra push-ups for mouthing off, and Sam, a quiet guy who was brilliant at, well, everything.

Before any of you really realized what was happening, the back corner table in the mess hall wasn't the corner for the pair of outcasts anymore.

For the first time in his life, Rafe wasn't surrounded by fake friends who only hung out with him for his name or money, nor was he walking on eggshells trying to appease his father. He was just himself. He laughed—a genuine sound that made your chest ache in the best way possible. He smiled. He cared.

Neither you nor Rafe had ever experienced a real family, your home lives built on conditional love, harsh expectations, and gut-wrenching rejections. But here, you built your own family from scratch.

And as the squad grew closer, something changed between you and Rafe.

It was subtle at first, the kind of change that happens so gradually you don't notice until you're completely engulfed in it with no way out. The friendship that had saved both of you from isolation started to sink its teeth deeper into something else.

It showed up in the small things.

When your squad was lined up for inspection, Rafe would reach over when the instructor wasn't looking and smooth down the wrinkled collar of your uniform. When you were sitting around after hours, talking and complaining about the day, Rafe would sit next to you—so close his side pressed against yours. If you leaned back, his arm would casually stretch out behind you across the back of the bench, your shoulder resting against his chest.

He stopped acting like just a friend.

He started acting like he belonged to you, and you belonged to him.

If another male recruit from a different platoon looked at you for a second too long in the yard, Rafe’s posture would shift. He’d step slightly in front of you, eyes turning dark and narrow until the guy looked away. 

When you were exhausted after a long day, Rafe would catch up to you, wordlessly reach out and grab your heavy pack, slinging it over his own shoulder alongside his own as he struck up a conversation, ignoring your protests.

"Rafe, I can carry my own stuff," you'd huff, looking up at the boy as you walked side by side.

"I know you can," he’d say, not looking back, voice low. "Doesn't mean you have to."

The rest of your friends noticed it almost immediately. Maya would catch Rafe staring at you across the yard with a soft, helpless look in his eyes that he never wore for anyone else, and she'd catch your eye and grin knowingly. Jax would make subtle remarks, teasing Rafe whenever he saved the best seat next to him for you, or whenever Rafe reached out to grab your hand to help you down off the back of a transport truck.

"You guys look like an old married couple," Jax teased one night as you sat on the steps outside of the barracks, Rafe sitting behind you, arms resting on your shoulders while you studied a map. "Seriously. Jus’ make out already."

Your face grew hot as you pretended like the comment didn’t faze you. Rafe glared up at the boy, arms remaining steady on you.

Everyone knew it. They knew that you and Rafe were in love with each other. At the very least.

Everyone knew it except for the two of you—or rather, you both knew it, but neither of you had the courage to say it out loud.

The truth was, you were both terrified.

Neither you nor Rafe had ever had anything good in your lives that didn't eventually get taken away, broken, or ruined by the people who were supposed to care about you. 

Ward had treated Rafe like a failure his entire life, constant disappointment dripping from every word until Rafe believed he was fundamentally unlovable. 

Your parents had treated you like a burden, leaving you with the constant fear that if you showed too much of yourself, people would leave.

This friendship—this deep, beautiful thing you shared with Rafe and your other friends, it was the first pure, good thing either of you had ever had. You were both terrified that if you tried to cross the line, if you called it what it really was, you might shatter it and everything else if it went wrong.

So you stayed in the comfortable, yet painfully aching, grey area of ‘whatever this is’.

THE reality of your pasts always had a way of creeping back in, usually on mail call days.

Fridays were mail days. Everyone would gather, and the commander would stand at the front, calling out names and tossing letters and care packages to the recruits.

It was always a day of excitement for most. Recruits would rip open boxes filled with treats, extra socks, and photos of their families. They'd read letters out loud, laughing about what their families and friends were doing back home or showing off pictures of their pets.

For you and Rafe, it was a sick weekly punishment.

The commander would call your name. You’d step forward, take your single white envelope, and walk back to the shade of the barracks. A few minutes later, Rafe’s name would be called. He picked up his envelope, face hardening back into that same expression he wore when he first arrived.

You both walked away from the noisy crowd, heading somewhere it was quiet. You sat down on an overturned wooden crate, and Rafe leaned against the brick wall beside you, paper rustling in his hands.

You opened yours first. It was a short letter from your mother. You always read their letters in that mocking, authoritative tone.

"I hope you are taking this time to reflect on the choices that led you here. Your father and I are still deeply disappointed in your behavior. We never wanted this for you. We hope the instructors are managing to instill some basic discipline in you, because we certainly couldn't. Do not bother writing back unless it’s without your usual attitude."

A sigh escaped your lips, that familiar ache settling in the center of your throat. You folded the letter back up and shoved it into your pocket, staring down at your dirt-stained combat boots.

Next to you, you heard paper tearing.

You looked up. Rafe’s knuckles were white as he held his letter. His chest was heaving slightly, eyes scanning the page.

"What’s it say?" you asked softly.

Rafe let out a harsh laugh, tossing the paper down into the dirt. "The usual.” He scoffed. “Wants to know if I'm 'acting like a man yet.' Tells me he hasn't decided if he's even coming to graduation. Says if I fail out or cause trouble, he's cuttin' me off. Doesn't ask how I am. Doesn't care..." He shrugged, lips downturned.

But you heard the way his voice cracked on the last word, and he clamped his jaw shut, turning his head away so you wouldn't see the moisture building in his eyes.

You didn't say anything. Words were useless against letters like those. If anyone else knew that, it was you.

Instead, you just stood up and stepped in front of him, closing the space between you as you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face into the front of his green t-shirt.

Rafe went still for a second, catching his breath. Then, with a quiet exhale, he wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into the top of your head, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt, holding onto you.

"I hate him," he whispered, voice trembling against your skin. "God, I hate him."

"...I know," you whispered, running your hands gently up and down his back, feeling the tense muscles gradually relax under your touch. "Trust me, I know..."

Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were soft as his hand came up, thumb lingering on your cheekbone, tracing the skin.

He looked like he wanted to say more—his eyes dropped to your lips, his chest rising and falling heavily—but the fear snapped back into place as he swallowed hard, fingers twitching but not moving away.

He was holding himself back with every muscle in his body, his arm practically trembling from the force of his own restraint. Looking down at you, all Rafe could think about was how unbelievably beautiful you looked, looking up at him with those soft eyes. 

You were always so pretty to him, even with dirt smudged on your jaw or your uniform rumpled. 

Ever since that day you stubbornly refused to leave him alone, he’d had this undeniable soft spot for you. He’d never in his life been so grateful for such an annoying person. 

But he also knew that deep down that you hadn't just approached him on a whim—a part of you had seen through him because you recognized the same pieces of yourself in him before either of you had even spoken a word.

Standing there, breathing each other in, your grips on each other grew tighter. Rafe’s chest burned with each shallow breath. 

He leaned in closer, gaze dropping to your mouth. He almost did it. He’d lowered his head, licking his dry lips as he prepared to press his mouth against yours, when a loud voice echoed around the corner of the brick building calling your names.

"Yo! You guys ‘round here?" Jax's voice cut through the air.

"...We should get back," Rafe said quietly, offering you a weak smile as he took one single step back, hands falling from you.

"Yeah," you breathed, forcing a smile back as you smoothed down your clothes even though they’d been ironed to hell. "Yeah, we should."

AS the weeks went by, the end of the program drew near. Graduation—the tap-out ceremony—only a week away. After, everyone would be reassigned, probably deployed to different bases, or sent home. The future was dark and unknown, stretching out in front of you.

Four days before graduation, you and your friends were hanging out after evening duty. The sun was setting, the sky drowned in shades of orange. Jax and Sam were working on an engine, while Maya was sitting on the hood of a jeep with you, whispering. Rafe was a few yards away, leaning against a workbench, sharpening a knife, eyes constantly flicking over to keep an eye on you.

Maya leaned into your elbow. "So," she murmured, "when are you gonna tell him?"

Your face twisted in the smallest of motions as you squeezed your grease-stained rag in your hands, wiping them. But she could tell by the way you refused to look up at her that you knew exactly what she was talking about, or rather who, before the words even left your mouth. "Tell who what?"

Maya rolled her eyes. "Don't play dumb.” She deadpanned. “Rafe. Graduation is in four days, y’know?” She quirked an eyebrow. “After that…who knows where any of us are going...” She egged on, letting the silence hang, hoping you’d admit to it or admit to something. When you didn’t, she groaned, turning her body towards you. “You have to say something."

"It’s… complicated," you sighed, watching Rafe work, catching his eye for half a second. "What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if it ruins the friendship we have? Or what if we inevitably get separated anyway and it’s useless? I…can't lose him." You admitted, shaking your head, looking down as you played with your fingers. “It’s not worth it…”

Maya looked at you like you had two heads. "Are you crazy? There’s not enough miles in the world to keep that man away from you.” She said, a knowing look on her face. “But if you don't speak up now, you're gonna regret it for the rest of your life."

At the same time, over by the workbench, Jax walked over with his arms crossed, stopping next to Rafe. "Hey, man. Can I ask you somethin’?"

"What?" Rafe grunted, not looking up from his knife.

"What are you doin' about her?" Jax nodded toward where you were sitting on the jeep hood, whispering with Maya.

Rafe’s grip on the tool tightened. "What are you talkin’ about?"

"I’m talking about how graduation is in…” The man checked his watch, tapping the interface. “ninety-six hours, bro," Jax said. "We're all getting deployed or whatever, and you two have been dancin’ around each other for months. You really gonna let her walk away without tellin’ her how you feel?"

Rafe stared down at the metal blade in his hand. His chest felt tight, a sick knot forming in his stomach. "It's not that simple..."

"Yes, it is," The man chuckled. “Y’just don’t want it to be—”

"Look," Rafe snapped, voice harsh, keeping his volume down so you wouldn't hear. "I'm screwed up. We both are…” He huffs, letting the tension in his shoulders relax. “She deserves someone normal, man. If I mess this up, I lose her. I can't... I can't do that."

Jax drew his lips into a thin line, clapping a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. "Bro, you're not screwed up. Either of you. When y’got here, maybe. But she fixed that. And you fixed her.” He emphasizes, looking the Cameron boy in the eyes. “You’re both more than all that now, and if you don't say it…” He winced, shrugging like it pained him. “You're an idiot."

Rafe chewed the inside of his cheek as he looked at Jax, then back over at you. The sun was catching the side of your face, highlighting your smile, and his heart pounded so hard within his chest that it felt physically painful.

OVER the next three days, both of you tried. You really did.

You tried on Wednesday night when you were sitting alone under the moonlight. You’d turned to him, hands trembling, opening your mouth to say it. But the words caught in your throat, choking you, and instead, you just asked him if he was nervous for the final drill. 

He’d smiled, reached out, and squeezed your hand, saying, ‘Nah, not with you here. You make me…I don’t know, feel better. Less nervous ‘bout shit.’

Rafe tried on Thursday night when he walked you back to your barracks after lights out. He’d stopped you before to step foot on the first stair, hand wrapped around you wrist as he stared down into your eyes, breath hitching as his gaze dropped to your lips. He’d opened his mouth, chest heaving, wanting desperately to tell you. But the memory of his father's voice, saying he ‘ruins everything’ echoed in his mind, and he just couldn’t, opting to kiss your forehead gently before telling you goodnight and turning, walking away.

AND then, Graduation Day arrived.

The summer sun beat down mercilessly, making waves of heat rise off the ground. Hundreds of recruits stood in formation, dressed in their operational camouflage uniforms.

The speech was over, families were waiting but you knew better than to look for your own.

The rules of the tap-out ceremony were simple, traditional, and even brutal for some.

Every recruit had to stand in their position at total attention—back straight, chin up, hands clasped behind their backs, eyes fixed ahead. You were not allowed to move, smile, or break posture under any circumstances until someone walked onto the field and tapped you out, releasing you from formation.

Silence fell over the field. Then, hundreds of family members—parents, siblings, spouses—flooded in, laughing, cheering, looking for their people.

You stood in your row, hands locked firmly behind your back, posture stiff. Your heart was pounding in your ears like a war drum. You kept your eyes locked straight ahead, but your heart sank lower and lower as you watched families embrace around you.

Minutes ticked by. Ten. Fifteen.

You saw Maya's mom run up to her, sobbing, clapping her on the shoulders. Maya broke, laughing and hugging her mother. 

You saw Jax get tackled by his three younger brothers. 

You saw Sam get tapped out by his dad with a proud slap on the back.

That’s when it hit you that your parents weren't coming. You’d known it deep down, but feeling it settle into your chest still hurt.

Then, a hand reached out and firmly tapped your right shoulder.

You broke your stance, turning around, half-expecting and half-hoping to see your parents standing there with apologetic smiles.

But it wasn't your parents. It was Maya, with Jax and Sam standing right behind her, all of them wearing huge smiles.

Maya looked at you, her eyes soft. "They really didn't show?"

You swallowed, looking at the three of them before shaking your head, lips curled inward as you willed yourself not to cry. But a tear still fell anyway.

Maya wiped it before she pulled you into a tight hug, Jax throwing his arms around both of you before pulling Sam in too. For a moment, clinging to the brothers and sisters you had made in the mud.

When you pulled back, wiping your eyes, you looked around the field. Families were taking pictures, hugging, laughing.

"...Where's Rafe?" you asked, eyes wide.

Jax pointed toward the far left of the field, a knowing grin growing on his face. "Over there."

You turned your head and looked. And your heart ripped in half.

He was standing alone in the middle of a clearing, completely untouched.

His back was straight, hands still clasped tightly behind his back, staring straight ahead at the empty horizon. Around him, other recruits were hugging their parents, but no one was standing near Rafe.

Nobody had come for him either.

And you could see the tremble in his shoulders, the way his knuckles were turning white behind his back as he held himself together, forced to stand frozen in place while everyone else celebrated around him.

Without saying another word, you turned and walked toward him.

Your boots stomped against the ground, the sound growing louder as you approached. Rafe’s eyes didn't move, protocol dictating that he couldn't. But as you stepped directly into his line of sight, standing in front of him, you saw his eyes flick down to meet yours.

You just stood there, looking at him. He couldn't move. He couldn't reach for you, he couldn't speak. He was entirely at your mercy.

You looked at his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the pain hiding behind his eyes.

In your head, that voice screamed at you to say it. To tell him. 

Inside Rafe’s head, his thoughts were screaming just as loudly, heart thumping so hard he felt dizzy.

You took a deep breath. You wanted to say the words out loud. But as you stood there looking at him, the speech felt unnecessary. Words had hurt both of you your entire lives. Words were cheap.

Actions weren't.

You took a step closer, closing the gap between your bodies. Slowly, you reached around his waist, taking both of his hands out from behind his back.

Rafe’s breath hitched, a sharp intake of air tearing from his lungs as your skin touched his.

You pulled his hands forward, unclenching his tight fingers, and laced your fingers tightly with his.

And then, instead of reaching up to tap his shoulder, you stood up on your tiptoes and leaned in, cupping the side of his neck with one hand while holding his fingers tightly with the other before pressing your lips firmly against his.

For a second, Rafe went still, his brain short-circuiting as the feeling of your warm, soft lips pressed against his registered in his mind.

With a soft broken sob, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him until there wasn't a millimeter of anything between you. He lifted you off your feet slightly, tilting his head and deepening the kiss with a desperate force that made your knees go weak.

His lips were soft, warm, and trembling against yours. Tears escaped his closed eyes, slipping down his cheeks and mixing with yours as you kissed him back just as passionately, your fingers winding around his neck.

Around you, off in the distance, you could hear Jax letting out a loud whistle, and Maya and Sam cheering, but the noise faded into the background.

Rafe tilted your head back, a firm pressure of his hand on the nape of your neck, taking control of your mouth as he slotted his lips over yours again. A low, needy groan rumbled deep in his throat. His other arm locked around your lower back, pulling your hips against his.

Rafe parted your lips with a slide of his tongue. You gasped, the breath sucked out of your lungs, and he drank in the noise, humming in approval against your mouth. You could feel his tongue tracing yours, the desperate friction of your lips sliding together as he deepened the angle, holding your head right where he wanted it.

When Rafe finally pulled back for air, he didn't let go of you. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands clutching the fabric at your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he loosened it. His breathing was shallow, hot air fanning across your lips, his tears wet against your skin.

"I love you," Rafe rasped, the confession tumbling out of him in a rush.

"I love you too," you breathed out, hands clutching the front of his uniform. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't say it sooner—"

"Don't be sorry. Don't," he insisted quickly, shaking his head as his fingers tighten around your waist. "I'm sorry. I should've said it months ago—"

"No, I waited too late." you countered, chest heaving as your hands still pressed against his chest, repeatedly smoothing over it in your own spiral. "Graduation is over, we don't even know where we're going after this—"

"It's never too late," he cut in, voice firm. "We'll figure it out."

"But what if we get separated? What if they deploy us to different places—"

“It’ll never be enough.” Rafe cut you off, one large, calloused hand moving up to firmly cup the back of your neck. "I'll never be far enough away to stop loving you."

"...I'm scared, Rafe," you whispered, voice shaking.

"I'm scared too," he confessed instantly, his own breath hitching though a small smile grew on his face in an effort to calm you. "I'm terrified. But I'm not letting you go." He assured, shaking you slightly in his hold as his expression turned serious, eyes boring into yours.

“Okay,” You nodded, but your mind was still racing, thoughts crashing over each other in a blur. "...I'm gonna keep spiraling," you admitted, lower lip trembling as you stared up at his tear-stained face.

Rafe’s thumb rubbed firmly over the sensitive skin behind your ear. He let out a low, breathless huff against your mouth. "I know you are," he murmured. "How can I make it stop?"

"...Kiss me again,"

Rafe nodded, breathing still shallow as the corner of his lips tugged upwards. "I can do that."

©loveharlow.

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“Need help finding anything, sir?” Your voice travels like a sweet melody across the store. He can’t face you. Not like this. He can’t let you see. Not yet.

“Maybe, in a minute.” He calls back smoothly. But after the initial wave of temptation, another scent emerges from underneath. Slightly thicker. And bitter. Like decay. You were sick. Not in the way that a human would recover from. You coughed into your elbow, the sound snapping him back into his body.

Fangs retreated. Eyes no longer dark. His dead heart felt like it lurched. You were dying. You were new here, and you were dying. Did you know? Is that why you came? And he was just going to come and steal your limited days away? Because Rafe knew once he started with you, he would never, ever stop.

He’d never drank from someone who was dying. Would that poison him? Make him weak? It wasn’t worth it. There was too much risk. Too much Rafe didn’t think he could handle.

Of course, the first man that enters the bookstore that seems remotely your age sends you spiraling. He’s tall. Well-built. Already turning to face the shelves by the time you glance up at him, but you catch beautiful blue eyes. Of course, that starts one of your coughing fits.

It was embarrassing. You just wanted a new start in a new town. To live your life in peace. And be the woman you always wanted to be. No one knew you here. But your illness followed you, rearing its ugly head at the worst times.

He would think you were gross. Or get tired of putting up with your fatigue. Just like all the guys back home. But you were alone here. You’d been alone for a while in life. And it made you lonely. So lonely. And this boy looked so-

“I’ll take this.” A voice says. His voice. You look up to meet those blue eyes again, so bright in the setting sun. His smile is tight. Strained. He heard you coughing. But he looks so stunning in the evening sunlight fading orange through the windows. His features are sharp and cold. Carved with precision. The kind of man your mama would warn you to stay away from, if she was still here.

“Sure.” You grab the book to scan it, staring at it intently. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. A cute boy that reads classics and who clearly is disgusted by you. The world is so cruel. “Card or cash?”

“Card.” He grits out like it hurts him to even speak to you, tossing his card on the counter like you’re beneath him. You take it to hold it up to the reader, fingers shaking. As soon as the machine beeps and prints his receipt, you bag everything and hand it to him. He grabs the bag from the bottom, avoiding your fingers completely.

The man is nice enough to thank you, but he practically sprints out of the store like he couldn’t wait to get away from you. You’d only been moved in for a few weeks, first day at the new job, and already things weren’t going great.

The bell on the front door rings again as new customers enter. You recognize them. Amy and Janice. Two girls also near your age that worked at the hospital and had graduated from the local college downtown. You’d run into them at the diner a few times but also at the local coffee shop next door to the bookstore.

“Hey!” You greet them happily.

“Rafe Cameron shops for books?” Amy comments as she steps up to the register, her hazel eyes glinting. “Couldn’t get any dreamier.”

“Please,” Janice scoffs, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. “He’s such a creep.”

“Is he?” You can’t help but ask.

“He’s always hanging out in the alleyways late at night.” Janice leans in close, pretending to shudder.

“He’s just smoking.” Amy shrugs, her cheeks still pink.

“Which is gross.” Janice rolls her bright green eyes.

“Well, Paula slept with him last weekend. Said he’s the best sex of her life.” Amy’s lips twist into a smirk.

“Explains all the bruises on her neck. But what does she know? She says that about every guy here.”

“I just wouldn’t be surprised if Rafe was that good.” Amy winks at you. “He bartends at Lucky’s across the street. If you want a chance with him.” You feel your cheeks flush deeply at her words, your body getting warm.

“You just like that he’s tall.” Janice drags her friend away. “Focus. We need to get a present, remember?”

The girls shop around while you think about Rafe. The way he looked at you shouldn’t have hurt so much. But every time you tried to start something with a guy, it was like you always ruined it. You were too sick, too broken to be attractive. To be loved.

There had to be a sweet guy somewhere. Even in this small town. But maybe even making some friends would be enough. Like Amy or Janice. They at least talked to you, saying their goodbyes after they bought some fancy journals.

You gaze out the window once the store slows into the night. This town was beautiful. That was part of the reason you chose to move here. Cleaner air that smelled like grass and marsh. The live oak trees a canopy overhead, Spanish moss trees cloaking the town in green. Buildings made with faded brick and old wood that made you feel like they’d been here for ages. And it was walkable. Even though walking long distances was hard for you, your apartment was only a block away from here.

When you lock up for the night, the streets are quiet except for the sound of crickets. Fireflies light your way home. The streets are empty, hardly anyone out late on a weeknight. You only manage to pass one crosswalk when a voice startles you.

“Shouldn’t walk alone at night.” It was that man’s voice. Rafe’s. Your gaze snaps toward the sound, finding him standing in the alley by Lucky’s. And just like Amy mentioned, a cigarette dangles from his lips. But it’s unlit and he makes no effort to light it. His eyes watch you like a predator tracking prey. It makes you shiver. Maybe Janice was right, he was a creep. A handsome creep.

“You shouldn’t smoke.” You counter, continuing to walk to your apartment. He doesn’t say anything else, just exhales like he forced out a laugh. When you make it home to your apartment, alone again for the night, you lock the door behind you.

The next day seems like it’ll be a repeat of the same. Birds singing as you arrive. The scent of books and wood polish filling your nose as you stock shelves and watch the town come to life outside the windows. But as evening falls and things slow again when the sun sets, the bell chimes. One last customer.

“Hi, welcome!” You offer, turning from the shelf you were dusting. “Can I help-” You start, but the words die in your throat. At the door is a man you’ve never seen. His green eyes are red and watery. His chest heaving. His brows knit like he’s in pain. Sweat coating his forehead.

“I-I’m…so hungry.” His voice chokes out. You knew there were homeless people here. Even in a small town. And having them come in was part of having a retail job. It wasn’t a big deal.

“Okay,” You smile again. “I can order you something from Lucky’s. What would you like?”

“No, no, no.” The man shakes his head violently, stepping closer. And that’s when you see it. The knife he’s holding. Your body freezes, ice running through your veins. If you have to run, if you have to fight, would you be strong enough? Or was this it? “I’m sorry,” He says like he’s begging you. “I’m so sorry. I need to do this. I have to do this.”

“It’s okay,” You offer stupidly. “You don’t have to do this. Whoever said-I can help, just tell me-”

“No!” The man takes another labored step closer, knife raised. He inhales deeply, like he’s trying to steady himself. But his eyes roll back, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, just for a second. And whatever this is, it’s not what you thought. It’s an evil, primal urge.

“Please,” Your voice comes out small, and you force yourself to speak louder. “Please don’t. I don’t want to die yet. I came here so that I could live longer. I want to live. I want to be here a little longer,” The words are tumbling out of you now, and he’s just watching, eyes wide. “I want to make friends. I want to fall in love. I’ve never fallen in love. I just wanted to experience it. Just once, please. Please!” You beg, voice cracking. And it’s childish but it’s true. You wanted to experience love. If you couldn’t travel, if you couldn’t have the career you wanted, the life you thought you’d have when you were little, you just wanted love.

The bell chimes again, startling you both. And in a flash, quicker than your mind can comprehend, a figure rushes toward the man. You barely even blink, and the man with the knife is on the ground. And it’s Rafe. It’s Rafe.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! I really don't know if anyone would even like this but I'm so intrigued by vampire Rafe lol. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

On the other hand, you’d shut him out, refusing to soften when you’d remember how he’d opened his eyes during your kiss. It hadn’t even bothered you that he’d kissed you out of the blue as a cover up, it felt like a very Rafe thing for him to do, except you’d actually enjoyed kissing him. It was humiliating for you to enjoy a kiss that he had paid half a mind to, and even more dangerous because you’d found yourself wishing for another one when it’d only do more damage to your already tainted perception of love. So you did the one thing you’d learned to resort to, putting your guard up until you’d got it through your head that it wasn’t meant to be. 

Which was exactly how you found yourselves now, standing at the bustling port to board a ferry using Charlotte and Ethan's reservations. The morning haze still clung stubbornly to both of you, yesterday's awkwardness lingering just enough that neither of you had made much effort to meet the other's gaze.

"What's the point of taking their ferry?" you asked, fighting off the urge to yawn for the tenth time. "Couldn't we just buy our own tickets? It's not like they can't catch the next one."

"Nah." Rafe shook his head, squinting against the morning light. "Completely sold out."

"Seriously?"

"Mhm." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Besides, Char hates heights."

You frowned at the use of her nickname, almost jealous that he still called her that. "What's that got to do with anything? The ferry isn't exactly flying." A small smile tugged at the corner of Rafe’s mouth at your quip.

“Trust me, angel.” Rafe scoffed, a dark, sleepy amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth. “If they don’t get on this ferry, they’d have to take the bus, and that's way worse.” 

"And? Rafe, just get to the point; it’s too early for me to deal with this."

"Five-hour drive." He nodded toward the cliffs stretching along the coastline. "Roads snake right through those mountains with barely any guardrails. She’ll spend the whole ride thinkin' she's gonna die."

“Ah,” You nodded, still not understanding how bad it was from the haze of fatigue you were still in. “Why do you keep calling me angel though?”

"Dunno." He shrugged one shoulder. "Just fits."

You frowned. “That’s… your explanation?”

“Yeah.”

“Rafe.”

He sighed dramatically, like the conversation itself was inconveniencing him. Rafe looked away first, jaw tightening like he regretted saying even that much. “Look, y’keep givin’ people the benefit of the doubt when they don’t deserve it. Especially not that fucker. You’re too damn good for your own good.” He glanced over at you for only a second before looking back toward the water. “You walked into this whole mess still feelin’ bad for the people who blew up your life.”

You stayed quiet before you crossed your arms, only to find Rafe wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was watching the ferry rock gently against the dock.  

“It’s weird,” he murmured. 

“Weird?”

“Yeah.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Most people would’ve burned their shit by now.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Exactly.” His eyes drifted back to yours, softer than you were used to seeing them. “That’s why you remind me of one.”

You blinked. “One what?”

Rafe looked away almost immediately, as if he’d already said too much.

“An angel.”

“Oh.”

He cleared his throat. “Not in a weird way or whatever.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Just…” He gestured vaguely toward you. “Y’got this thing where you keep lookin’ for good in people who haven’t earned it, ‘specially me and I wasn’t exactly giving anybody a reason to like me. Makes me wanna shake some sense into you half the time.”

"Maybe," you said quietly, looking ahead toward the line of passengers in front of the ferry, the salty breeze tugging loose strands of your hair behind your shoulder. "Or maybe I just don't think people should have to earn the right to be cared about."

Rafe frowned.

"What do you mean?"

You shrugged, your fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your thighs to calm yourself down. "I don't know... I just think people spend so much of their lives trying to prove they're worth loving." A small laugh escaped you. "Trying to be successful enough, rich enough, impressive enough, like if they can just become the version everyone expects, then maybe they'll finally deserve it." Rafe’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"But that's exhausting," you continued. "You shouldn't have to perform your whole life just so someone decides you're enough." The words lodged themselves somewhere deep in Rafe's chest as he realized that every deal he'd closed, every luxury he'd afforded, every reservation he'd meticulously planned, and every extravagant gesture he'd made for Charlotte had all been driven by the same exhausting need to prove that he was worthy of being chosen.

“You really believe that?" Rafe piped up, his eyes scanning you as if he were searching for the truth.

"I have to." You smiled, the upcurve of your mouth tinged with a bit of sadness. "Otherwise I'd have to believe my parents only loved me because I did something to earn it."

"Charlotte used to say the same thing," he added after a beat. "Said you were, uh—sweet." To Rafe, the nickname hadn’t just been about the innocence or kindness you carried, but because he couldn’t understand why you’d been less erratic and more forgiving when he struggled to find it himself. 

“I can’t even hate Charlotte sometimes because she was so nice to me,” you whined. “She always made sure I was included, even when Ethan wanted it to just be the two of them. It makes the whole thing feel like a twisted joke.”

Rafe didn't answer. His gaze had shifted past your shoulder, his entire body locking up so suddenly you could practically hear the tension snapping into his spine. You followed his line of sight through the crowd of tourists, and your stomach dropped into a cold, familiar pit. Of course they had gotten there on time. 

Just at the entrance of the terminal were Ethan and Charlotte, weaving through toward the boarding gate, coffees in hand. Charlotte laughed at something Ethan had said, her hand brushing his arm so naturally that it made your chest ache all over again. Your hand flexed, aching to touch him again like you always had for no reason whatsoever, just enjoying the way his warmth felt under your palm. Ethan had his hand slung low on her hip, whispering something against her ear that made her let out a breathy, high-pitched laugh—a sound that used to make your chest warm but now just made you feel entirely hollow. 

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly as you instinctively tried to step behind Rafe’s broad frame to hide. “What are they even doing here so early?”

“Fucking up everything, per usual,” Rafe muttered, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous, dark squint. “Wait here.”

"Rafe, what are you doing?" you whispered, grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt. “Don't make a scene, please. Just let them go.”

“I’m not making a scene,” he said, pulling away from your grip with a cold, sharp finality. “Just wait by the bags.”

Before you could grab his arm to hold him back, Rafe was already moving. He snatched two coffee cups while their owners looked elsewhere, still lukewarm in his palms, his broad shoulders cutting a clean path through the morning crowd. He timed it perfectly, angling his stride right toward Ethan’s side of the luggage pile just as Ethan stepped back to look at the ferry’s schedule on the screen. Within seconds, Rafe pretended to collide hard with an ongoing passer’s shoulder, sending the dark, sticky coffee splashing across the front of Ethan’s pristine cream-colored linen shirt and dripping down onto Charlotte’s white leather travel tote.

“Watch where you’re going,” Ethan snapped, his head whipping around to find the perpetrator, except Rafe had already vanished. Rafe smirked to himself; his jaw was ticked, a dangerous, mocking glint in his eyes as he looked down at the massive stain spreading across Ethan's chest from behind a pillar. 

Charlotte gasped, pulling her stained tote closer to her chest. “Ethan, it’s all over your shirt. It’s going to stain.” Ethan glared into the crowd, trying to find who’d done it, his fists clenching at his sides, while you watched in silence. Your first instinct was to step forward and help him, to dig through your own bag for napkins and apologize on behalf of a stranger, the habit so deeply ingrained that your body almost moved before your mind caught up. You stayed rooted to the spot instead, realizing just how instinctive it had become to put Ethan’s comfort before your own, even after everything he'd done. 

He took a sharp breath, turning to Charlotte. “Come on. I’ll go to the washroom before it sets. Watch the bags.”

“No, I’m coming with you to help get it out,” Charlotte insisted, already grabbing a packet of wet wipes from her purse.

You watched from a distance, your heart hammering against your ribs as Ethan pulled her toward the corridor labelled for the restrooms, the two of them rushing away from the main crowd with calculated, furious steps. Rafe didn't waste a single second to trail behind them the moment they disappeared down the hall. A dark heat flushed across his face; seeing them acting so untouchable and completely oblivious to the wreckage they’d left behind made the ugly part of him scream for a win.

He stalked after them toward the restroom corridor, focusing on what he could. When he reached the heavy wooden door of the private, single-occupancy washroom they’d ducked into, he heard the faint sound of Ethan cursing and the faucet running from the other side. Glancing around, Rafe spotted a heavy, cast-iron crowd-control stanchion resting near the maintenance closet and without a second thought, he grabbed the thick metal post, lifting it with ease. He wedged the heavy base firmly beneath the door handle, jamming the top angle against the opposite tiled wall. He gave it a hard shove to test the weight. It didn't budge an inch, giving himself a pat on the back.  

They were completely locked in from the outside. A slow, smug smirk spread across Rafe's face as he turned on his heel and walked back to you, the sheer pettiness of it injecting a sudden rush of adrenaline into his veins.

"Grab your bag," he ordered, snatching up his own luggage before you could even open your mouth. "C’mon, we gotta go. Now."

"Rafe, seriously, what did you do?" you asked, scrambling to keep up as he practically hauled you toward the boarding gate. “You already spilled coffee on them; what more could you have done?”

“Don’t worry about it, I handled it,” he deadpanned, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “They’re gonna be a little preoccupied for a while.”

“Rafe—”

“Move your feet, unless you want to be the one on the bus.” 

He handed the ticketing agent Charlotte and Ethan’s boarding passes, while you’d kept looking back, with admittedly some fear, to see if they’d caught up yet and claiming their tickets. Rafe glanced to the side to see your face, the unease on your face, when he nudged you, saying your name in a knowing tone. “Trust me.” 

To your surprise, the agent scanned them without a second glance, gesturing for the two of you to head down the ramp.

“Grazie,” Rafe muttered to the agent, pushing you ahead of him onto the vessel.

The heavy horn of the ferry blared, a deep, vibrating rumble that echoed across the water as the iron gates began to close behind you. From somewhere deep back in the terminal, the faint, frantic sound of someone muffledly banging on a heavy bathroom door was entirely swallowed up by the roar of the ship's engines. By the time the ferry pulled away from the dock, the adrenaline had completely faded, leaving you entirely defenceless against the crushing weight of your exhaustion. 

Though there’d been people everywhere, trying to get a picture of the rising sun’s rays against the water, it was quiet, lined with plush, oversized leather seats facing the massive glass windows that looked out over the open, glittering Mediterranean. You sat down next to Rafe, keeping a careful few inches of distance between your shoulders, determined to keep your guard up after the humiliation of yesterday's kiss.

“You’re really not going to tell me what you did back there, are you?” you murmured, resting your chin on your hand as you stared out at the retreating shoreline.

“Nope,” Rafe replied, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. “Less you know, the better. Just consider it handled.”

“So much for partners in crime,” you muttered, already resenting how badly you wanted to know. Rafe, on the other hand, smiled to himself as he realized that he’d somewhat cracked you just enough to start craving for what he’d been chasing from this trip all along. It was slowly becoming less about getting back at the two and more about how he could rile you up and excite you in ways that you hadn’t gotten to experience before. 

“Mhm. Go to sleep,” Rafe mused. The gentle, rhythmic rocking of the boat against the waves combined with the early morning haze was a losing battle. Your eyelids felt like lead, making it hard to keep yourself up to get yourself through the ride. You tried shifting your weight, propping your elbow against the armrest to hold your head up, but within minutes, your defences crumbled entirely.

Your head lolled to the side, dropping heavily onto Rafe’s shoulder, causing him to go entirely still, his breath catching in his throat as the soft weight of your head settled against him. He looked down, watching the way your long eyelashes brushed against the supple curve of your cheek, your features finally relaxed and free of the guarded tension you’d been carrying all morning. You let out a soft, sleepy sigh, your body naturally shifting closer to the heat radiating off him. 

A strange, unfamiliar ache bloomed deep in his chest, warm and somewhat angry at himself that he hadn’t seen this when he’d slept next to you at the last hotel. Carefully, as if he were handling something that might break if he breathed too hard, Rafe slid his arm around your back. He hooked his fingers under your shoulder and gently adjusted you, pulling you entirely into his side so your cheek rested comfortably against the crook of his collarbone.

The realization hit him all at once: how you fit perfectly in the nook of his body. The way you’d comforted yourself into his body unknowingly felt so right, making him forget that he was in a fabricated marriage with you. Rafe couldn’t help but compare how different it was with Charlotte, where every touch felt calculated, like he was trying to hold onto a prize that was constantly trying to slip through his fingers. This felt more authentic, almost exactly what his mother had once said about how the touch of a loved one was always warmer and softer than one of a stranger. 

How was it that the stranger sleeping against his body felt warmer and softer than the woman he was about to marry?

He reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out his phone. He knew he shouldn't do it, that it was a vulnerability he couldn't afford, but he couldn't stop himself. Keeping the camera silent, he angled the screen and took a picture of you sleeping soundly against his chest, your small hand loosely clutching the fabric of his shirt. It was the type of picture he knew his sister, Sarah, would deny that it’d even happened to him, while his other sister, Wheezie, would argue that he was just messing with them. 

Rafe stared at the photo for a long moment before sliding the phone away, a tight-lipped, genuine smile softening his rugged features. He rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of your hair that he’d been thinking about since he woke up. Letting out a long, contented exhale, Rafe closed his eyes, finally letting the steady rhythm of the sea carry him to sleep alongside you for the rest of the ride.

It was all smooth sailing; it should have been: you’d gotten to Positano on time, you’d successfully sabotaged Charlotte and Ethan, you’d set them back enough that you knew you could take their hotel room too. It was all going according to plan. 

Except for Rafe, who’d woken up with a sour mood, pushing you off him the second your eyes fluttered open as though the warmth between you had suddenly become unbearable. It wasn’t like you’d meant to see it, but with a glance at his phone, your eyes caught just enough of Ward's message before he flipped the screen over. 

Ward: Need you back by Thursday

Rafe: Can’t 

Ward: You can. You don't get to disappear because life didn't go your way. Every minute you spend sulking and chasing after her is another minute the other guy wins.

Ward: You’re a Cameron. Act like one.

It was as if someone flicked the switch and he’d gone back to being the same Rafe you once knew—cold, unapproachable, and almost painful to be around. It should’ve been good for your case; you could finally shake the uncertainty and guilt you felt from the kiss, see Rafe for who he was and not let your feelings dictate the way you viewed him. Yet, it was hard to comprehend how he was able to let it dictate his emotions. 

The wheels of your suitcases groaned against the uneven, steep incline of the Positano cobblestones, a sharp, repetitive clicking that seemed to mimic the frantic beating of your heart. Rafe was storming ahead of you, his long strides effortlessly devouring the hill, his broad shoulders hunched forward as if he were trying to physically break through the heavy coastal air. He hadn't uttered a single word to you since you’d left the port, his jaw locked in that rigid, terrifying line you had come to learn meant danger. 

You dragged your bag over a particular jagged stone, the sudden jerk ripping the handle nearly out of your grip. The physical exhaustion from waking up at the crack of dawn, combined with the emotional whiplash of his sudden ice-cold demeanour, finally snapped the last thread of your patience.

“Rafe, slow down!” you called out, your voice laced with raw irritation. “I am not running a marathon up a cliff just because you’re having a temper tantrum.” He stopped dead in his tracks but didn't turn around immediately. When he finally did, his blue eyes were completely clouded over, dark and hostile as they locked onto yours. “‘M not asking you t’run. Walk faster. I’m not trying to spend the whole day melting out here on the street because your ass can’t keep up.”

“What is your problem?” you snapped, pulling your suitcase to a halt between you. You stepped closer to him, entirely unbothered by the warning signs rolling off him in waves, though they felt hotter than the waves of sunlight itself. “Yesterday you were wiping gelato off my face, and this morning you’re treating me like I’m an inconvenience you’re forced to drag around. I didn’t do anything to you, Rafe. So why the hell am I bearing the brunt of whatever your dad said to you?”

Rafe flinched, his eyes flashing with a sudden, volatile heat as his jaw ticked. “You don't know shit about my dad. Don't talk about him.”

“I know enough to see that the second he snaps his fingers, you completely break and you’re suddenly someone else,” you said, your voice dropping into a quiet, cutting register. A bitter, humourless laugh escaped your lips at the glance of his face, biting your tongue as he took in your words. 

“It’s your ego, isn’t it? You’re so terrified of not being the perfect, untouchable Cameron he wants you to be that you’d rather turn into a monster and punish everyone around you than admit a stupid text message can hurt you. Your ego is so incredibly fragile, Rafe, that you’d rather burn down the only good thing about this trip just to prove you feel nothing. I genuinely feel pity for you that you aren’t able to be yourself because you’re constantly under the impression that you have to be someone else to get some respect.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. You could see the exact moment the phrase fragile ego sliced right through his armour; his chest heaved under his linen shirt, his breath catching as his eyes widened slightly, trapped in a rare, stunned silence. 

"I spent eleven years becoming somebody else because Ethan wanted me to. I’m not letting someone else treat me like shit and expect me to be okay with it." Before he could find his voice to snap back, you grabbed your suitcase handle, deliberately steering around his broad frame. “Have fun walking alone,” you muttered, walking away in absolute frustration, the angry clicking of your suitcase wheels echoing loudly against the stone walls.

Rafe stood entirely frozen on the steep road, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the handle of his bag. Your words were ringing in his ears, stripping away the defensive anger he’d built up and leaving him feeling sickeningly exposed. He hated that you were right. He hated that Ward could ruin his life from across an ocean, and he hated even more that he’d taken it out on the one person who had actually looked at him with kindness the day before.

“Signore,” a low, raspy voice broke through his racing thoughts. Rafe blinked, his head snapping toward a small, sun-drenched storefront overflowing with handmade ceramics and intricate silver jewelry. An elderly Italian man with deeply lined skin and kind, sorrowful eyes was leaning against the stone doorframe, wiping his hands on a linen apron. He had witnessed the entire exchange. “You fight?"

“No.” 

The old man chuckled. "You say no," he pointed after you, Rafe watching the way you climbed up the uneven hill as your body shook from the suitcase. "Your wife says yes." Rafe stayed silent, unsure of what to say when he knew he couldn’t say otherwise because of how blatantly obvious it was.

“The fire in a woman is a beautiful thing,” the old man murmured, speaking in slow, heavily accented English as he gestured toward the path you had just taken. “But if you let your own storm fight her fire, you will only look back to find ashes.”

Rafe swallowed hard, his usual defensive walls slipping down from sheer exhaustion. “Yeah, well... I think I already burned it.”

The shopkeeper let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. He reached onto a small velvet tray near his register and walked over to Rafe, holding out a delicate, polished silver charm bracelet adorned with a single, vibrant red coral branch. It didn’t look like something Rafe would personally buy for his partner, it didn’t scream luxury or class the way he knew. 

“Take this; this is for protection and good fortune,” the old man insisted, pressing the cool silver into Rafe’s calloused palm. “Give it to your wife. A beautiful girl like that, she should not walk up the hills of Positano with tears in her heart. Fix it, young man.”

Rafe looked down at the silver catching the sunlight, twinkling as the words your wife sent a strange, heavy tremor straight through his chest. He didn't bother to correct the old man, feeling like it’d hurt either the old man or himself. Instead, he quietly nodded, slipping the delicate bracelet into the deep pocket of his linen pants for later before picking up his pace to catch up to you. By the time you both reached the cliffside hotel, having successfully taken Charlotte and Ethan’s reservation, the heavy silence that hung between you two had shifted from aggressive to quietly tense. You checked into the room without looking at him, still feeling agitated with your heated exchange on your way up, immediately claiming your bags and retreating to the terrace to avoid another fight. 

What a shame, it’s actually a nice view here and I’m stuck with the most conceited man just two steps away. You thought to yourself as you took your phone out to text Sage, unsure of who else you could reach out to.

You: really wish you’d been here on this trip

Sage: trouble in paradise with mister hot pants already? 

You: yeah how tf do you go from wiping gelato off my face to taking your daddy issues out on me at me because you can’t regulate your feelings

Sage: okay so we're calling it daddy issues now. progress.

You: i am NOT calling it that

Sage: babe you literally just did

Sage: anyway I’m gonna need a longer explanation of the gelato thing later, but the other thing? it’s okay to give him a full circumcision, just borrow a butcher knife from a nice nonna

You: thanks sage def not a felony

Sage: lmk if you need help with the leftover dick you need to dispose

You: okayyyy you have yourself a good night now

An hour before dinner, just as the sun began to dip below the horizon and paint the sky in bruised shades of purple and gold, Rafe knocked softly on the glass door. He had changed into a clean dark shirt, his hair still faintly damp. 

“Get ready,” he said roughly, not meeting your eyes. “I want to take you somewhere, I think you’ll like it.” 

You wanted to refuse, tell him to go on his own, except the quiet vulnerability in his voice made it impossible to. It wasn’t hard to notice that he had some sort of remorse, or even more so that from the screenshot alone, he was probably conditioned to the treatment he’d gotten, and for someone who spent every waking second trying to prove he was enough, it suddenly made sense why one message from his father could unravel an entire day.

You hesitated, “Are you gonna pull the same thing as earlier?” 

“No, just… c’mon,” Rafe pleaded. “Please?”

Positano looked entirely different once you were away from the tourist crowds. Rather than expensive boutiques and designer storefronts, Rafe led you down a maze of narrow, hidden stone steps that twisted away from the crowded piazzas, eventually stopping at a secluded, crumbling stone overlook that jutted out over the open sea. Below, the lights of Positano were just beginning to twinkle like fallen stars against the dark water, the rhythmic crash of the waves creating a heavy, peaceful static around you. It was serenity in itself, seeing the landscape and realizing that sometimes, through all the pain, you’ll end up in places you could only ever conjure in your heart. 

Rafe leaned his forearms against the cool stone wall, looking out at the endless horizon rather than at you. “‘M sorry for uh, acting out on you like that,” he softly spoke up, his words oddly heavy with genuine remorse. Except, Rafe couldn’t bring himself to look at you as you remained silent, persisting more to remind yourself that you’d deserved more respect.

He let out a heavy sigh as he then admitted, “I don’t think we really loved each other. At least I know from the entirety of the relationship that I didn’t.” His gravelly voice was incredibly quiet against the sound of the ocean. The abrupt admission made you turn your head, watching the way the fading light caught the sharp angles of his profile.

“What?” you breathed.

“I was only with Charlotte because of her status,” he muttered, a bitter, self-deprecating smile twisting his lips. “I thought... I thought she was exactly what I was supposed to have, y'know? The country club princess, the perfect family name to attach to mine, wifey material that all the guys want. I convinced myself that if I married her, it’d finally look like I had it all together. Like I was a real success in my dad's eyes, like I’d finally won the game.” 

He let out a rough, ragged breath, his fingers tracing a crack in the stone. “But our whole relationship was completely fake, not one ounce of love from her side, barely any from mine. We were just two people lying to ourselves that this fabricated relationship we were in was good enough, that sleeping next to someone who knew everything and nothing about me was good enough. It was just a series of curated photos, expensive dinners, and performing for people who didn't give a shit about either of us.” 

You stepped closer to the ledge, the cool sea breeze tugging at your hair as you absorbed the raw honesty he was giving you. The anger you’d carried up the hill was dissolving, bit by bit, being replaced by an aching empathy for the type of relationship he’d thought was sufficient for him. After a moment, you spoke up softly, “Why did you stay? I’m sure there were so many girls who’d die to have a chance with you.”  

“Well, there was my dad’s approval that I really wanted, that I’d manned up and settled down.” Rafe chewed the slightest peak of his bottom lip before confessing, “Part of me believed that one day she’d warm up and we’d actually love each other.”  

“If you had the chance to love someone again, how would you want it?” It was as if you could see the gears turning in Rafe’s head as he pondered the question. He slowly turned his head, his intensity in his blue eyes more prominent as he looked at you. He reached into his pocket, the callousness of his fingers brushing against the silver bracelet that the man had given him, before deciding to leave it hidden at the bottom of his pocket.  

“Something authentic,” he whispered, his rough voice dropping to a register so low, it made your chest tighten. “The kind that my mom talked about. It just seemed so real, like everything she made love out to be when I was a kid could actually happen. The kind of love that she and my dad had before everything went to hell. No expectations or any of the fake shit. Just someone who actually sees me, and wants me for me, and doesn’t make me feel like I have to earn that right to stay. 

“I know I did a lot of fucked up shit in the past, all the drugs and drinking and punching people-” 

“You still kinda do the last one.”  

“Thanks for pointing that out, Sherlock.” Rafe snarked back, though the small smirk on his face said otherwise before he looked back towards the horizon. “I know what I did, and I know that I tarnished my reputation and my dad’s, but sometimes I wonder when I’ll be done paying for it in his eyes. When I’ll start looking less like a fuck up and more like his son.”  

You found yourself leaning against his side, almost to comfort him as your mind ran all the possibilities of when Rafe might’ve needed someone, only to have to let that need fester into anger. For once, he didn't pull away, instead letting himself lean ever so slightly into your warmth, as though he'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone stay. The sea stretched endlessly in front of you, dark blue fading into black as the last traces of sunlight disappeared over the horizon. Rafe's shoulders remained rigid beneath your touch, as if he were still waiting for the moment you'd tell him he was right, that he was too much work to love. 

Instead, you bumped your shoulder gently against his. "You know," you said quietly, staring out at the water, "I think you're giving your dad way too much power." 

Rafe snorted. "Yeah? Easy for you t'say." 

"No, not really." His eyes shifted toward you as you began again. "I spent years letting Ethan decide how I felt about myself," you admitted. "If he was happy with me, I was happy. If he was distant, I convinced myself it was my fault. Every good day depended on whether he looked at me the way I wanted him to." 

Rafe frowned, "That's different." 

"Not really." You tilted your head against his shoulder. "At some point, you’re going to have to realize that if someone's always moving the finish line, you're never going to reach it." 

The waves crashed below, acting as background noise. "You could become everything Ward wants," you continued softly. "The perfect son, the perfect businessman, the perfect Cameron, but he'd probably just find something else." 

Rafe's jaw tightened because you were right. The truth felt like a bigger pill than he anticipated to swallow. 

"You don't deserve to spend your whole life auditioning for someone who should've loved you in the first place." For a moment, neither of you spoke as Rafe tried to make sense of what life might've looked like if he'd grown up believing that instead of everything Ward had taught him. 

Then Rafe quietly asked, "Y'really believe that?" 

You looked up at him. "Yeah." A flicker of vulnerability, the same one that you’d rarely encountered, flashed across his face before it was gone again. Yet, you’d caught it, which somehow made your heart skip a beat over the thought that you’d given him hope. 

"Alright, angel, enough preachin’ for today," he coughed out, eager to change the topic. “Let’s go get something t’eat.”

Dinner had ended up being at a tiny family-owned restaurant tucked between two climbing stone staircases. There were only a handful of tables, with an old woman running the kitchen while her husband poured wine and argued affectionately with customers in rapid-fire Italian. It felt nothing like the expensive restaurants Ethan used to take you to. 

Somehow, it felt infinitely better. 

“If I didn’t have a small vendetta against Charlotte, I’d so ask her how she found these places.” You said as you walked to your table.  

“She didn’t choose this place,” Rafe said nonchalantly. “I found it. Thought we could do something on our own for a bit.” As he walked ahead, he could feel the smile radiating off your face as you watched him from behind. When the waiter set down the menus, Rafe immediately slid yours toward you with a nod, “Get whatever you want.”  

"I am." You smiled, before scolding yourself that he’d probably said it out of formality.  

"You know," he added after the waiter left. "We could always split 'em." You stared, regardless of how dumbfounded you might’ve come off as. "You share food?" 

"‘Course I share food." 

"Rafe Cameron, you absolutely do not look like someone who shares food. If anything, you probably hog it like you hog the sheets." 

"Aye! That's profiling." The offended look on his face made you laugh hard enough to nearly knock over your water glass, your widened eyes looking at his matching ones as you both continued to laugh. To your surprise, sharing plates came naturally after that, with every few minutes, one of you pushed your dish across the table, insisting the other try a bite, until you both dragged your seats closer to each other to make it easier. It was oddly comfortable, the sort of easy intimacy neither of you had really experienced before. 

That was until halfway through dinner, when your phone buzzed, making you glance down, only to immediately start choking on your drink. 

“Woah,” Rafe looked alarmed as he reached over to see what happened. "The hell happened?" 

You turned the screen toward him, showing Charlotte's newest post on social media. It was apparent that she'd finally reached Positano, with the opening clip being dramatically angled to showcase the wind-blown hair and an expression of pure suffering on her face. For three, long minutes, she’d complained about all the mishaps that’d occurred so far, the last minute hotel bookings they’ve had to make due to their hotel room being taken, losing luggage, the dreaded five hour drive that was trekked, ending it off with a dramatic whine, “For all the shit I paid for, this is so inconsiderate of everyone to do for me and my fiancé.” 

As the video came to an end, you both stared at the screen, when Rafe burst out laughing. A genuine, full-bodied laugh that he’d rarely have, one that surprised himself. 

"Oh. My. God." 

You laughed, mocking in Charlotte’s voice, "’This is literally so inconsiderate of everyone!'" 

"'Luggage issues,'" Rafe repeated, a fake thinking look on his face. "Hmm. Wonder how that happened.”  

"There were tears in her eyes!"  

"Good." 

"Rafe!" 

"What?" 

"You masochist!" You jokingly scolded him when he leaned closer towards you, the bergamot of his cologne clouding all rational thinking that you had left. "Check if Ethan posted." 

At Rafe's insistence, you pull up Ethan's profile, only to find a close-up photo of his stained shirt accompanied by a lengthy complaint about his vacation being ruined. The two of you immediately lost it. You were wiping tears from your eyes by the time you finished reading the caption aloud while Rafe laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. "The universe really does work fast," you managed. "Universe had nothin' to do with it," Rafe replied. The suspicious look you sent him only made his smirk widen.

By the time dinner ended, Positano had completely transformed beneath the moonlight. The narrow streets glowed gold under old lanterns, music drifting from distant bars as you and Rafe wandered back through the winding hillside roads. The higher you climbed, the thinner the crowds became until it was just the two of you, the distant sound of the sea following somewhere below. 

You didn't notice Rafe moving closer at first. Only when his fingers brushed yours once, then again, before finally slipping into your hand. Warm and steady. 

 You glanced down at your joined hands as Rafe cleared his throat. "Road's uneven."  

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Mm."  

"And it's dark, you can barely see a thing."  

"Oh, I agree, very dark."  

"Either of us could fall."  

"Tragic, we can’t let that happen."  

"Exactly," Rafe mused, relishing the warmth of your palm. Neither of you let go after that, as the rest of the walk passed in comfortable silence, your hand tucked inside his as the lights of Positano flickered around you. Now and then your thumb brushed against his skin, and each time Rafe found himself fighting a smile for reasons he hadn’t quite registered while trying to memorize your movements on his skin.

When you finally reached the hotel, exhaustion was beginning to settle into your bones. The property sat high against the cliffs, overlooking the scattered lights of Positano below, and for a moment you were focused solely on getting to bed. Except movement and two familiar voices disturbing the peace of the night from a neighbouring balcony caught your eye, causing you to slow to a stop. Rafe followed your gaze before letting out a low, disbelieving laugh. 

Right beside your hotel, separated by little more than a narrow stone wall, was another hotel in which, standing on one of the balconies, were Ethan and Charlotte. Even from a distance, it was obvious they were arguing, Charlotte animatedly throwing her hands around as she spoke while Ethan looked exhausted, running a hand through his hair as though he'd already had enough of the trip. For several seconds, neither you nor Rafe said anything. 

"You think they’re tired of each other, yet?" Rafe finally asked. 

You snorted. "Knowing those two, it’s another regular day for them." 

"You always were optimistic." That earned him a shove to the shoulder, though his grin only widened. A few moments later, Ethan disappeared back inside, Charlotte following shortly after. Their balcony lights flicked off, leaving nothing behind except an empty terrace overlooking the sea. 

You found yourself staring at it, waiting for the familiar ache to return. The jealousy, grief, and endless wondering about what they were doing and whether they were happier without you. Instead, all you felt was tired from the events of today, your legs pulsing from heaving yourself everywhere. Beside you, Rafe seemed to reach the same realization, as well as another nagging one that he’d sworn he didn’t want to think about. For the first time since the trip began, neither of you lingered, watched, or wondered. 

"C'mon, angel," Rafe said quietly, his voice softer than usual. "We got a long day tomorrow." You glanced at him before nodding. "Yeah."

Together, you turned away from the neighbouring hotel and headed inside, leaving your exes behind on the other side of the wall where they belonged. As Rafe washed up for bed, you sent off a quick text before setting your phone aside. 

You: no need to cut his dick off, he’s actually not that bad (...?)

You: first, he took me to this little quiet family joint for dinner, suggested we share our food, then held my hand the whole walk back because of how uneven the road was like hello??? who are you ??

You: hate to say it but he’s making it really hard to remember why I was supposed to be miserable on this trip

As you placed the screen downwards on the bedside table, for the first time in a very long time, neither of you went to bed thinking about them.

The morning sun hit the cliffs of Positano in shades of gold you’d hadn’t even thought of before, highlighted over the water as you approached the docks near Conca dei Marini. Some part of you couldn’t fathom that you’d actually been having fun despite being in close proximity to Ethan, or that you’d been here just like your parents once said. 

“How do you know which boat they booked for the grotto?” You questioned, the sound of your sandals hitting the wood of the boardwalk.

“You’ll see,” Rafe smirked, guiding you to the edge where a man stood in front of a boat that looked smaller than the rest, only enough to seat two people instead of groups like the other boats. Before you could even utter a word of protest, Rafe stepped smoothly up to the captain, dropping his name effortlessly with an outstretched hand. “Rafe Cameron. We have this booked.” 

The guide didn't hesitate for a second, nodding quickly before gesturing for the two of you to board as Rafe stepped onto the boat first and immediately turned back around to reach for you. His large, warm hand wrapped firmly around yours, steadying you against the sway of the water and pulling you up onto the polished deck. It made your chest tighten all over again when you realized that having your hand in his felt like second nature to you at this point. 

As you pulled closer to the Emerald Grotto, the same conversation you’d had with Ethan popped back into your head, except you’d scoffed at yourself for being so compliant with him. It felt satisfactory, in a way, to be here with one of the few people he was insecure of as you began to see the bright blues from inside.

As much as you loved him, you couldn’t wait for this conversation to be over. 

“He thinks he’s got the world in the palm of his hand because he’s running his daddy’s business and got Lottie, who the fuck boosted his ego?” Ethan wailed as you both were on the ride back from Rafe and Charlotte’s place. “I know she’ll be alright with him, but couldn’t she have chosen a better guy?”

“I really don’t understand why you’re so tense about Rafe, you both are two completely different people, and you know that too.” You tried to comfort him as you looked at the vein popping from his temple.

“Because I can’t let Lottie think that he’s better than me!” Ethan blurted out, making you look out the window while pondering what he’d meant by that. 

Inside the grotto, the water glowed a surreal, radiant turquoise against the dark cavern walls as you sat next to Rafe, marvelling at the scenery while your tour guide paddled the boat in further from the entrance. You felt a nudge to your arm. 

“You’re oddly quiet right now,” Rafe murmured. “What do you think of it?” 

“It’s… everything and nothing as I’d imagined.” You looked around, trying to tattoo the grotto in your mind before it was over. “I’d always wanted to come here, but he never did. Said it was too cliché and went on about how Australia was better.” You turned, slightly shocked to find Rafe studying you as if he’d fail if he didn’t take it all in right now.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. His jaw flexed, small crescents denting his palm from creating a fist to keep himself calm, despite it not happening to Rafe. He shouldn’t have cared, yet it still baffled Rafe that you’d been willing enough to mould your life, your interests, even as far as your hopes and desires, to meet Ethan’s weird framework to life. 

"Lemme ask you somethin'." His eyes stayed on yours. "What d'you actually like?"

You frowned. "What?"

"Not what he liked." He leaned back against the side of the boat. "You. What d'you do when nobody's tellin' you what you're supposed t'be into?" You opened your mouth before realizing you didn't have an answer, something Rafe noticed immediately.

"See?" he said quietly. "That's what I'm talkin' about." He scrubbed a hand over his jaw before asking, this time much softer, "What d'you wish you could do once we get back?"

You smiled faintly, thinking of the hobbies that’d been buried away. “Probably take more time for myself, travel to places that he wasn’t on board for. I’d loved writing for the longest time, always wanted to be a writer too, but Ethan always told me it was a silly, unrealistic hobby, so I buried it.” 

Rafe frowned, his chest tightening with a sudden spike of anger toward Ethan. “He’s a fucking idiot,” Rafe said bluntly. You chuckled, leaning back against the bench of the boat as the sound of water swishing spurred you to share details you hadn’t thought about for years.  

“Yeah, he is. But I think I also just wanted an excuse to escape while still holding onto something familiar. I haven't gone back to my childhood home in ages cause I can't bear the heavy memories it holds. I haven't spoken to my aunts, uncles, or cousins in forever either. I kind of just... separated myself from everything.” 

Rafe watched you quietly, seeing the soft, vulnerable honesty in your eyes, making something shift deep inside him. You weren't like Charlotte—shallow and oddly obsessed with your social status or image. You were deep and complex in ways that intrigued him to continue to dig deeper into your mind and figure you out. 

“I get that, the whole ‘needing a clean slate’ thing,” Rafe admitted softly, his voice echoing in the cave. “If I could, I’d move out of the Outer Banks entirely. Go somewhere far away where nobody knows m’name, how I grew up, where I could just start fresh.” 

“It’s never too late,” you pointed out. 

“Nah, someone’s gotta keep the family business going, I’m in too deep now.” He looked directly into your eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering. “But Ethan missed out. On this and on you.” A warm, fluttery sensation bloomed in your chest. For the rest of the afternoon, Rafe found himself looking at you in a different light. He wasn’t sure how it came to be, yet he found himself thinking of all the ways he could make this trip better for you, like he was trying to make up for the lack on Ethan’s part, just to see you smile again.

By the time night fell, you were both riding a high from dinner, still laughing and bashing your exes about all the weird things they’d done during your relationships over wine. Exhausted but wired, you stepped out onto the balcony in your hotel to feel the cool night air. But as you looked across the narrow stone gap toward the neighbouring terrace, your breath caught in your throat.

The sheer curtains of Charlotte and Ethan’s balcony room were wide open, bathed in the harsh light of their bedroom lamp. Ethan had Charlotte pressed up hard against the glass sliding door, one hand wrapped around her throat while thrusting into her aggressively. You froze, staring for a second before letting out a bitter, disbelieving laugh while your heart was bursting with envy and devastation. 

Rafe stepped out onto the balcony to join you, wanting to see what had provoked your reaction when the day he’d shared with you should have been exciting enough. “What are you looking at— Oh.” He cut himself off as his eyes landed on the scene next door, jaw rigid as he watched the way Charlotte’s mouth hung open. 

“It’s just funny,” you murmured, your voice laced with a raw, lingering sting. “I asked Ethan so many times when we were together to be rougher with me, or at least try it once in bed. He always refused, said to me I was too delicate, that we didn’t need to tire ourselves out like that. And now... look at mister know-it-all...”

Rafe’s head snapped toward you; the possessive heat in his blue eyes flared. He might as well have been sober as a judge when he heard your words, a flame inside of him burning at the thought of you being tossed around in bed, just how you wanted to, by someone who wasn’t him. Rafe felt jealousy before, yet it’d never been as intense as this. 

Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, “D’you wanna see how it’s like, angel?” His voice dropping to a thick and dark register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. 

“Rafe, oh my god, this is not the time to poke fun at me. I’m trying to be vulnerable here.” 

“I'm serious.” Your head turned to see that Rafe truly was serious, his signature intense look that’d added more meaning to his words now than when you’d first registered it. Your throat went completely dry as a sudden, heavy heat pooled low in your belly, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs at the possessive intent in his eyes. 

You hesitated for a second, searching his face for any trace of a joke, but the intoxicating thrill curling through your chest made every last thread of doubt dissolve. “Show me,” you breathed softly, your voice trembling as you surrendered entirely to the electricity between you. 

Without another word, Rafe scooped you up in his arms, his muscles straining as he carried you back into the hotel room. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he kicked the balcony door shut, never breaking the intense eye contact that made your heart race while the decisive thud echoed through the room and sealed you both in your own world. Without giving you a second to think, Rafe leaned forward, placing his lips on yours as he relished the softness of your lips, the way they fit against his perfectly. 

He laid you down on the king-sized bed, the high-thread-count sheets cool against your overheated skin. The moonlight, sharp and silver, cut across the room, illuminating the features on his face you hadn’t focused on until now as he hovered above you. His eyes, normally a clear blue, were now dark, almost black, pooling with desire. They roamed over your body, marking every curve as territory that was yet to be claimed.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled against your lips before claiming them in a bruising kiss that left you breathless. It was bruising and demanding, all teeth and tongue, a messy, consuming dance that left you breathless. There was no gentle exploration, no tentative pecks like Ethan would give. It was as if Rafe was trying to devour you, to taste every part of your mouth, to imprint himself onto you. His hands roamed your body with possessive urgency, mapping every curve as if memorizing you by touch alone. 

His hands roamed your body with possessive urgency, mapping every curve as if memorizing you by touch alone. Every touch felt like a fire leaving its trail, your body heating up from the tips of his fingers. One of his hands tangled roughly in your hair, gripping the strands at the nape of your neck and tilting your head to the angle he wanted, giving him complete control. His other hand roamed your body, not caressing, but gripping and pulling at your clothes until the delicate fabric of your dress ripped with a satisfying tear.

“Rafe!” You exclaimed as you heard your dress hit the floor with a thud, a dizzying thrill shooting straight to your core, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders, your nails digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. 

His mouth left yours, and you gasped for air, your lips swollen and tingling. He didn't give you a moment to recover; instead, his lips moved down your neck, a hot, wet trail that left a path of fire in its wake. He wasn't just kissing; he was sucking hard, marking you. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin where your neck met your shoulder, and you cried out, a sharp mix of pleasure and pain that shot straight to the apex of your thighs. You knew you'd have dark, purple bruises tomorrow, visible signs of his possession, and the thought sent a fresh wave of arousal gushing through you.

"Say my name again," he commanded against your skin, his voice muffled by the flesh he was currently assaulting. "Louder."

"Rafe," you moaned, your voice cracking as he switched to the other side of your neck, determined to leave his mark everywhere.

"That's it, angel. Let ‘em know who's making you feel this good," Rafe groaned, finally pulling back to admire his handiwork. His eyes were satisfied as he looked at the blossoming marks on your skin. His mouth continued its journey downward, kissing and biting at your collarbones, his tongue tracing the hollows of your throat. One hand was still gripping your hip in a bruising hold while the other was tearing at your bra until it gave way, when the cool air hit your exposed breasts, your nipples pebbling instantly. 

"Such pretty tits," he murmured against your skin. "Did he even appreciate these? Did he know how to make you feel good?" Rafe didn't give them time to adjust, instantly latching his mouth onto one nipple, sucking hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before his teeth scraped against it.

"Fuck, Rafe," you cried out, arching your back off the bed, pushing your breast further into his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect, sharp edge of pain that only heightened the pleasure.

Rafe stood back for a moment, his eyes dark with desire as he drank in the sight of you spread out before him. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "All this time wanting what that prick couldn't give you." He shook his head slowly. "Fuckin’ idiot."

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same rough, demanding attention. His hand slid down your stomach, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he hooked them into the waistband of your panties. With one sharp tug, he ripped them clean off, the sound of tearing fabric joining the ragged sounds of your breathing. He tossed the ruined lace aside without a second glance.

His mouth continued its punishing path downward, kissing and biting at your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel. His hands held your thighs in a rough grip, pushing them wide open, baring you completely to him. The vulnerability should have scared you, but it only made you hotter. You could feel his hot breath against your now-slick pussy, and you trembled in anticipation, your entire body humming with a desperate need.

"Please, Rafe," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for.

“Please what, angel?” He pressed, making you thrash as he smirked. 

“Please do it.” 

“Do what?”

“Please put your mouth on me, oh my god!” You wailed. Without warning, his tongue delved into your folds, and your back arched off the bed. He wasn't gentle; he couldn’t be when all he wanted was to devour you until someone had to pull him off. Rafe sucked with a passion that made your eyes roll back in your head, his tongue flat and broad against your clit before he started flicking it rapidly, side to side. It was too much and not enough all at once; the wet, obscene sounds filled the room, and you couldn't bring yourself to feel embarrassed.

Suddenly, his tongue dove into you, tracing the letters of his name against your plush walls like he’d marked you as his. The idea of being marked by him only made you wetter, the aftermath of it evident from how loud your moans had gotten, mewling that had edged Rafe on even further. All when you thought it was over, two fingers pushed inside you, curling to find that spot that made you cry out his name.

"Fuck, Rafe," you moaned, your hands gripping the sheets as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"Atta girl, keep screamin’ my name," he commanded, his voice muffled against you. "Fuckin’ made for my fingers, squeezing them and shit." He alternated between sucking your clit and fucking you with his fingers, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

"Rafe, I- I can't," you gasped, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you tried to anchor yourself against the onslaught. 

"You can, and you will," he demanded, his voice muffled against your flesh. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he added a third finger, stretching you in ways that made you gasp.

"Come for me, angel," he demanded, looking up at you with those piercing blue eyes. "I want to feel this pretty pussy cumming all over my hand." His words sent you over the edge; the dam in your stomach cracked open, and your body convulsed as pleasure, sharp and blinding, washed over you. You cried out his name as your hips bucked wildly, riding his face as wave after wave of your orgasm crashed through you. Rafe didn't stop, his tongue and fingers working you through it, prolonging your pleasure until you were a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him.

"Please," you whimpered, trying to push his head away as the pleasure became almost painful in its intensity. He finally relented, moving up to capture your lips in a deep kiss that tasted of you.

“Good girl,” Rafe cooed, smirking at how flushed and exhausted you’d gotten already. He rose, his chest heaving, his face glistening with your arousal. He looked feral as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as he quickly undid his belt and jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers while throwing his shirt someplace else. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, the reddened tip already leaking precum. 

Rafe was definitely bigger than you'd expected, longer and thicker than Ethan was, and a fresh wave of anticipation, mixed with a little fear, coursed through you. He gave it a few rough strokes before positioning himself at your entrance, teasing your entrance with the tip that made you squirm with need. 

He looked down at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch as he took in the sight of you, the way your hair was spread on the pillow, how you were glistening under the moonlight like you were made of moonshine itself. You watched Rafe grip the base of his cock, holding it as he began to tap the glistening red head against your overstimulated clit, the action making you even wetter and grow more impatient. 

"Rafe," you begged, desperate to feel him inside you.

"What?" he taunted, a smirk playing on his lips. "You’re supposed t’be m’angel. Can’t you have a little patience?"

"No," you cried out, shamelessly. "Please, Rafe, I need you. Now."

“Well, I suppose so,” he groaned, before pushing into you in one swift thrust. You barely had time to mentally prepare yourself as you moaned out loud again, your throat too tight to form words as you felt the blunt head of his cock push against your still-sensitive entrance. He pushed in slowly, deliberately, giving you a moment to feel every inch as he stretched you, filling you completely. Once he was fully seated inside you, his hips flush against yours, he gave you a moment, just a breath, to adjust before setting a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against yours with each thrust.

There was no slow build, no gentle rhythm to find; it was a punishing, passionate pace, each one driving deeper than the last. The bed creaked and slammed against the wall with the force of his movements, and you were suddenly very glad the hotel walls were thick. His hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, holding you in place as he pounded into you, using your body for his pleasure.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight," he grunted, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Did he fuck you like this? Did he make you fill you up like this?” 

"No," you gasped, your nails digging into his back. "N-never—Mphf."

"Never gonna fuck anyone else but me again, m'kay?" he demanded, his voice rough as he continued to pound into you. "This pretty pussy is all mine now." You could only nod, lost in the pleasure that consumed you, when Rafe brought a hand down on your ass, landing a sharp, stinging slap. The pain bloomed into pleasure, making you clench around him.

“I said something, princess.”

With all the energy mustered into you, you breathed out, “Yes, fuck! It's yours. Only yours, Rafey.” 

Rafe's pace grew faster at the sound of the nickname you’d given him, his thrusts harder, deeper, pistoning into you in a way that had your eyes rolling back. His groans and grunts, mixed with wanton moans you’d never heard come from yourself, filled the space between you, a melody that Rafe wished he’d had on repeat for the rest of his life. 

"Rafe," you cried out, your hands scrabbling at the sheets, trying to find something to hold onto as he relentlessly drove into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin was a loud, rhythmic clap in the room, a beat that was punctuated by your desperate cries and Rafe's guttural grunts. He was watching you, his blue eyes locked on your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure and pain.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough and demanding. When your eyes fluttered open to meet his, he brought his other hand up to your face, not gently, but with a firm grip on your jaw. "He doesn't fuck you better than this, does he? Doesn't fuck you better than I can, right angel?"

Your mind was too fogged with pleasure to even form a coherent thought about your ex—all you knew was Rafe. "No," you gasped, the word ripped from your throat. "Never. No one."

Rafe hummed at the thought of it, part of him wishing it’d be his reality, “Mmm, tha’s m’angel. Only I can. Never gonna need anyone else but me after.” Without a warning, Rafe gripped your waist and flipped you over, pushing your head against your pillow, and he continued to drill into you. 

He shifted his angle slightly, and with the next thrust, he began to finally hit that spot deep inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes, his tip kissing your cervix repeatedly. A broken sob escaped your lips, and he knew he'd found it. He adjusted his hips, aiming for that same place with every punishing thrust where he’d collide against the plush of your blushed ass. One of his hands released your hip and snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He began rubbing it in rough, tight circles, the direct stimulation almost too much to bear on top of the intense pleasure from his cock.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against yours, while one hand snaked around to cradle your jaw, making you look at him. “Come here," he whispered, his voice a low, possessive growl. Then, without warning, he spat directly into your open mouth. It was filthy, debauched, yet oddly so intimate that a fresh gush of arousal flooded you. Before you could even process it, he crashed his lips against yours, his tongue forcing its way inside, claiming your mouth as thoroughly as he was claiming your body. 

He shifted his angle slightly, and with the next thrust, he hit that spot deep inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. A broken sob escaped your lips, and he knew he'd found it. He adjusted his hips, aiming for that same place with every punishing thrust. One of his hands released your hip and snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He began rubbing it in rough, tight circles, the direct stimulation almost too much to bear on top of the intense pleasure from his cock.

“I’m close,” you moaned out loud. The coil in your stomach was tightening again, impossibly fast. This orgasm was building from a deeper place, more intense, more all-consuming than the first. You felt like you were being torn apart and put back together, all at his hands. The pleasure was so sharp it was almost painful, a delicious agony that you never wanted to end.

"Cum for me, angel," he commanded, his thumb pressing harder on your clit. "Cum all over my cock. Let me feel you."

That was all it took. Your body went rigid, your back arching against his as a scream tore from your throat. Your vision whited out as waves of pleasure, more powerful than anything you'd ever imagined, crashed over you. Your inner walls clenched and pulsed around him, milking his cock as your orgasm ripped through you. Rafe continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a final, deep groan of your name, he buried himself inside you to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he pulsed, filling you with his hot release.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your combined ragged breaths. You were utterly spent, your body still trembling with the aftershocks. Rafe collapsed on top of you, his full weight a welcome, grounding pressure. You could feel his heart beating against your back, fast and steady, a frantic rhythm that was slowly beginning to calm.

He stayed inside you as he softened, neither of you willing to break the connection just yet. After a moment, he shifted, rolling to the side but keeping you tucked against him. Rafe couldn't see much, but his heart swelled seeing how completely fucked out you were, knowing that he’d done that and even more so he’d wished that he’d preferred this over every time he’d slept with Charlotte. 

He pulled out slowly, and you couldn't suppress a soft whimper at the loss. He immediately pulled you into his arms, your back flush against his chest, his limbs wrapping around you possessively. One of his hands came up to cup your breast, his thumb idly stroking the still-pebbled nipple while the other pulled your face towards him to place a soft kiss against your lips before letting you rest. 

"That okay?" Rafe whispered, his voice hoarse as he peppered pecks on the sweaty skin behind your ear. You could only manage a weak nod, your brain still scrambled from the most intense experience of your life. It took everything in you to hum a satisfied moan, “More than okay. No one’s ever fucked me like that."

A satisfied smirk played on Rafe's lips as he tightened his arms around you. "Damn right."

The morning air along the Path of the Gods was sharp and crisp, carrying the faint scent of wild rosemary and saltwater, but the atmosphere between you and Rafe was thick enough to cut with a knife. The morning was bad enough, coughing up no more than five words to each other and awkward smiles as you saw the aftermath of last night.

“Here’s uh- sorry, I’ll buy you another.” Rafe sheepishly blushed as he handed you your now-tattered dress. 

“Oh, uhm, don’t worry about it.” You felt heat rushing to your cheeks as you handed him his shirt that had a little lipstick stain from you now embedded in the threads.

For the first mile of the steep incline, neither of you said a word. Every step on the dusty gravel felt painfully loud, a heavy, lingering reminder of the night before—of hands pinned against the mattress, harsh whispers against your collarbone, and a raw, unforgiving intensity that had left your body aching in places you hadn't felt in years.

You kept your gaze firmly planted on the winding trail ahead, your heart doing nervous flips every time Rafe’s shoulder brushed against yours whenever the path narrowed. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at him, terrified that one glance at his sharp jawline or those dark blue eyes would bring back the exact memory of how he’d looked towering over you in the dim lamplight.

Rafe, surprisingly, looked just as uncharacteristically tense. He kept his hands jammed deep into his pockets, clearing his throat every few minutes as if he were trying to find something—anything—to say to break the suffocating silence.

“Soooo,” Rafe finally cleared his throat, his gravelly voice startling you out of your head. “Path of the Gods, huh? You, uh, you doing okay back there?” You let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sudden break in tension instantly easing the tightness in your shoulders. “If I collapse, just roll me off the cliff, it’ll be faster.”

A small, genuine smirk finally cracked through Rafe’s guarded expression, his shoulders relaxing as he slowed his stride to match yours. “Not a chance, angel. I’m not playing bowling with your ass.”

“You’re just afraid to lose against me.” 

“Nah, I think you’d be more upset if I won.” Just like that, the awkwardness began to melt away, swallowed up by the rhythmic crunch of your sneakers against the dirt and the breathtaking view of the Amalfi Coast stretching out beneath you.

As the trail flattened out into a sweeping overlook, conversation began to flow with a natural, effortless ease neither of you had anticipated. You learned that beneath the chaotic, dark reputation he carried back home, Rafe actually had two younger sisters—Sarah, who he admitted drove him absolutely insane with her stubbornness, and Wheezie, whom he spoke about with a quiet, surprisingly tender softness that caught you off guard.

“She’s the only one who doesn't look at me like I’m a total lost cause,” Rafe murmured, adjusting his cap against the bright morning sun. “I mean, don't get me wrong, she’s annoying as hell, but… she’s alright.”

In return, the conversation drifted into the absurdities of your past relationships. Rafe recounted the bizarre times Charlotte used to bring him to a girls' night out and had to take care of all six of her drunken friends.

“You think that’s bad?” you snorted, wiping a light bead of sweat from your forehead as you stepped over a large tree root. “Ethan had a full-blown, unhinged obsession with sea turtles.”

Rafe stopped in his tracks, staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “Turtles? Isn’t that harmless though?”

“I am dead serious that it was SO bad, his parents asked me to help stage an intervention,” you laughed, resting your hands on your hips as you looked back at him. “He subscribed to three different marine conservation newsletters, had turtle-shaped coaster sets, and for our one-year anniversary, he almost convinced me to get matching minimalist turtle outline tattoos on our ankles.”

Rafe burst into a loud laugh that echoed off the rock face, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Rafe, I wish I was!” you whined, laughing so hard your chest ached. “I had to fake a needle phobia for two weeks just to get out of it!”

Rafe was still chuckling as he stepped up beside you, the bright, amused glint in his eyes softening his entire face. Seeing him laugh like that, without any edge, malice, or defensive pride, made a strange, golden warmth blossom deep in the center of your chest. It was a terrifyingly sweet feeling, a quiet realization that you weren't just using him to spite Ethan anymore. You actually liked being around him. 

You liked him. 

As the laughter slowly tapered off, a comfortable silence settled between you, though the lingering heat of the previous night still flickered beneath the surface. Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, his expression turning slightly more serious as he looked down at you. “Hey… about last night, though.”

Your heart gave a sudden, nervous thud against your ribs. “Yeah?”

“I just… I want to make sure we’re good,” Rafe said softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, tentative register, hating that he was saying something that wasn’t what he wanted at all. “Last night was… something. But it was just pent-up sexual frustration, right? A lot of spite against Ethan and Charlotte. Fuck, I don’t even remember the last time I got laid.”

Rafe chuckled nervously before continuing again, “I just don't want things to get weird between us, or let it mess up the rest of the trip.”

You swallowed down the tiny, unexpected flutter in your throat, forcing a small, reassuring smile onto your face. “Yeah, yeah. Completely. Just adrenaline and spite. We can’t let it happen again or get between us.”

“Exactly,” Rafe nodded, though his eyes lingered on your lips for a second too long before he turned back toward the trail. “Strictly business.”

“Strictly business,” you repeated, even as a quiet voice in the back of your mind whispered that it was already far too late for that. A part of you felt a little broken that Rafe hadn’t thought much of it other than another fuck, before reminding yourself that it was for the better.

A few hundred yards up the trail, Rafe suddenly froze, catching your arm and pulling you behind a tall stone boulder.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, blinking in confusion.

“Look,” Rafe hissed, pointing a finger toward a pair walking about fifty feet ahead of you. Up ahead, a tall, well-dressed guy in a designer linen shirt was walking alongside a girl with long blonde hair clad in an expensive, matching pastel workout set. From behind, the frame, the hair, and the overall energy they exuded looked undeniably like Ethan and Charlotte.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Rafe smirked, a dangerous, mischievous glint instantly returning to his blue eyes.

“Oh, absolutely,” you grinned, the adrenaline kicking in as you both began silently tailing them up the rocky path.

For nearly fifteen agonizing minutes, you and Rafe ducked behind bushes, stepped quietly over loose gravel, and whispered elaborate plans about how to 'accidentally' bump into them at the summit overlook to ruin their peaceful hike before rushing to hide yourselves. You were practically giddy, the shared secrecy making your chest feel light and weightless.

Once the couple finally reached the scenic clearing at the peak, the man turned around to pull a water bottle from his backpack, revealing a thick, graying mustache and a face that looked absolutely nothing like Ethan. The blonde woman turned beside him, speaking in a heavy French accent as she handed him a camera.

“Oh fuck, that’s not…” Rafe sputtered. 

“Them.” You’d added. Both of you stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, staring at the middle-aged French couple in utter shock before looking at each other. A quiet snort escaped Rafe’s nose while you clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle a shriek of laughter, but it was no use. Within seconds, both of you completely lost it, doubling over behind a stone bench as tears of laughter pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“Fifteen minutes!” you wheezed, clutching your stomach. “We stalked a middle-aged French couple for fifteen minutes! Because of YOU!”

“I thought it was her!” Rafe laughed, rubbing his hand over his face as his shoulders shook. “She had the same walking posture, I swear to God!” As you caught your breath, leaning against the cool stone beside Rafe, the hilarity of the moment slowly settled into something quiet and profoundly peaceful. You looked out over the endless blue horizon of the ocean below, the sun warming your skin, and realized something astonishing: you hadn't thought about Ethan in hours.

There was no lingering bitterness, no heavy ache of betrayal, no anxious feelings of what you’d do without him, and no urge to check your phone to see what he was doing. The grief that had weighed you down for weeks had almost vanished, replaced entirely by the one man sitting beside you who was still fighting off a lingering grin as he looked out at the view.

When Rafe turned his head and caught you staring, he didn't pull away. He just smiled— a soft smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

“What?” he asked quietly. “Nothing,” you murmured, a soft smile tugging at your own lips as a warm, helpless flutter settled in your stomach. “Just having fun.” 

You knew you were in trouble. Serious trouble—because as you sat together on top of the world, watching the sea glisten beneath the Italian sun, you realized you weren't just warming up to the Rafe Cameron anymore.

You were falling for him.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you, but with a quick scan behind you, there was no one there. 

“Hey, you okay?” Rafe questioned, concerned about you, yet you waved it off with a simple, “Yeah, just thought I felt something.”

Little did you know how you’d once known that lingering stare that’d suddenly vanished in thin air.

dividers: @cursed-carmine @saradika-graphics