#rafe x sofia

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"Come on, baby. Just once. Just let me feel you."

It had been Rafe's favorite thing to beg for since the start of your relationship. His obsession. His mission.

Every time he had you underneath him, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his hands gripping at your waist or your wrists or your throat—he'd ask. He'd plead. He'd run his lips over your ear, whispering filthy promises about how good it would feel, how much better it would be, how you’d never want to go back.

And every time, you told him no.

You liked making him work for it. You liked the way his jaw clenched, the way his grip got tighter, the way his frustration seeped into every rough thrust. Because Rafe Cameron didn’t lose, and telling him no? That made him desperate to win.

But tonight?

Tonight, you felt mean.

Maybe it was the way he’d been looking at you all night, the way his hands had barely left your body, like he was starving. Maybe it was the way he pulled you onto his lap the second you got to his house, hands palming your ass, lips dragging along your jaw. Maybe it was the way you wanted to ruin him.

So, when he kissed you breathless and muttered against your lips, "Please, baby, just once," you smirked.

"Fine."

Rafe froze. His pupils dilated so fast you thought he might pass out. His lips parted, brows pulling together like he was trying to process what he just heard.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "You heard me."

And then?

He lost his fucking mind.

The second his cock pressed inside, with nothing in between, he let out a sound you’d never heard before. Like an actual, feral groan, deep in his chest, his body shuddering against yours as he bottomed out.

"Fuck," he gasped, dropping his head to your shoulder. His hands gripped your thighs like he wanted to bruise them, like he needed to ground himself. "Fuck. You feel—Jesus."

His breath was hot against your neck, his whole body shaking with restraint. Like he wanted to ruin you, but he was trying—failing—to keep himself together.

"You good?" you teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

Rafe let out a low, humorless laugh before he pulled back to look at you. His blue eyes were dark, wild, possessive.

"Oh, baby," he rasped, voice dripping with something dangerous. His hand slid up your body, fingers wrapping around your throat, tilting your chin up. "You just fucked up."

Rafe didn’t move for a second. He just stayed there, buried inside you to the hilt, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt around him. Like he was already dreading the moment he had to pull out.

“Holy shit,” he rasped, voice all shaky and breathless.

You smirked, just a little, running your hands up his arms. “What? You’re not gonna punk out on me, are you?”

That snapped something in him.

Rafe let out a choked laugh, but there was nothing funny about the way he gripped your waist. “You think I’m gonna tap out? Oh, baby.” His fingers dug into your skin, holding you down. “I’m just trying not to bust the second I move.”

You laughed, but the sound cut off when he rolled his hips—just once, slow, deep.

His whole body shuddered. His head dropped forward, forehead pressing into yours, his jaw clenching like he was physically fighting his own body.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, voice wrecked. His breath came out in short, sharp bursts, and his grip on you only got tighter. “Oh my God, this is—this is so much better—”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, dragging your nails up his back. “C’mon, baby,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “I thought you were dying for this. Don’t tell me you can’t handle it.”

That did it.

Rafe’s hands jerked your hips up, making you gasp, making you feel just how hard he was struggling to keep it together.

“You love running that mouth, don’t you?” he gritted out, glaring down at you. “Think you’re so fucking funny.”

You smirked up at him, dragging your fingers through his hair. “You begged for this, Cameron. If you can’t handle it, just say so.”

That was the final straw.

Rafe let out a sharp breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were still talking, still teasing him when he was this close to fucking losing it.

“Okay,” he muttered, half to himself, like he was officially done playing nice. His hand wrapped around your throat, pressing you into the mattress, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eyes when he said—

“Don’t fucking move.”

Then, he pulled out—all the way—before slamming back in, forcing a gasp from your lips as he stretched you again.

Rafe let out a broken groan, his body shuddering as he tried—tried—not to let it get the best of him. But you were so tight, so fucking warm, and there was nothing, nothing, in between.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Baby, I swear to God, I can’t—”

You laughed, breathless. “Already?”

His grip tightened around your throat in warning. “Shut up,” he muttered, voice shaking.

You did, but only because you were too distracted by the way he was trembling above you, holding himself back, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw popped.

You could feel how desperate he was. You could see the way his abs tensed, his muscles flexing as he fought for every ounce of self-control he had.

He wanted to ruin you. He needed to.

But he was so close, and it was killing him.

Rafe let out a shaky breath, glaring down at you. “I hate you,” he muttered, his voice all breathless and wrecked.

You smirked. “No, you don’t.”

And then, you moved. Just a little. Just enough to make him jerk inside you, to make his whole body seize up.

"Alright, princess, we don’t want you burning up, do we?” he murmurs, gently applying the cream to her chubby cheeks. His touch is so soft, filled with care, as Mabel giggles, her tiny hands reaching for his face. You smile, pressing a kiss to the top of Mabel’s head. She gurgles happily, her tiny feet kicking as she looks around, wide-eyed and curious. You turn away, heading toward the closet where your bikini is draped over a chair. The fabric feels cool in your hands as you slip it on, the rich colour contrasting with your skin.

“So,” you begin, your voice casual but carrying a note of seriousness, “I was thinking… about that business opportunity that came up last week.” You glance over your shoulder as Rafe’s eyes flick up from Mabel, curiosity piqued. “The investment thing?” “Yeah,” you say, fumbling a little as you try to tie the back of your bikini. “I really think you should go for it." He stands, moving closer, his eyes shifting between your face and your chest as you adjust it.

"Turn around," he mutters, his hands brushing against your back as he pulls the strings into a neat knot. His fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary, and when you glance at the mirror, you catch the way his eyes roam over you—an intensity in his gaze that sends a slight shiver through you. "You really think it’s that good of a deal?" he asks, his voice low, his hands hovering at your waist. You meet his gaze through the mirror, feeling the heat of his hands lingering at the small of your back.

"Yeah, don't you?" You adjust the bikini strap on your shoulder. His hands drop to rest lightly on your hips, and for a second, he doesn't' respond. Lightly biting your lip as you wait for a response, he meets your gaze in the mirror, a slight smirk playing on his lips. His eyes stay locked on you, a mix of thoughtfulness and something more. "I think you should go for it." Rafe’s eyes darken with thought, but his smirk doesn’t fade. He pulls you a little closer, his grip firm but gentle, his chest pressing against your back.

“God, this is just landing right in my lap, isn’t it?” His tone is a mixture of amusement and consideration. You give him a playful look over your shoulder. “That’s what I’ve been saying. You’d be stupid not to take it.” He chuckles, his breath warm against the side of your neck as his lips brush against your skin, slowly at first. “You always know how to push me in the right direction,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice sending a warmth down your spine.

His hands glide up from your hips to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. You let out a soft breath, your heart quickening as his kisses trail lower. "You could make so much freakin’ money, Rafe,” you say, your voice a little breathless. Rafe grins against your skin, “Could I, now?” His voice is a teasing drawl as his lips move along your skin, causing a ripple of warmth to spread through you. You laugh softly, leaning back against him. “I’m serious!"

“So am I,” he whispers, his kisses slow and deliberate. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, his touch firm but tender. But just as you start to sink into the moment, Mabel lets out a whine, breaking through the intimate bubble. You both pause, exchanging a look before bursting into quiet laughter. Rafe pulls away first, shaking his head as he glances at Mabel. “Perfect timing, huh?” he says, his smirk playful but affectionate.

You walk over to Mabel, scooping her into your arms as she quiets down instantly, snuggling into your chest. “Guess we’re not the only ones who need attention,” you joke, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Rafe grins, his eyes following you. “She’s just jealous,” he says, tossing a towel into the beach bag. Rafe smirks, watching the two of you, his earlier intensity replaced with something softer. You laugh, bouncing Mabel lightly in your arms as she grabs onto your bikini strap with her tiny hand.

“Can you blame her? You spoil me,” you tease, glancing up at him. Rafe leans against the counter, his eyes never leaving you. “I’ll think about that deal,” he says, his voice a little more serious now. “Sounds like it could be good… for all of us.” You nod, bouncing Mabel lightly in your arms. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.” You say, brushing Mabel's hair. Rafe steps closer, wrapping one arm around your waist, pulling both you and Mabel into his chest as he presses a soft kiss to your head.

You saw her alone, sitting in a corner, with a half-finished drink in her hand. She didn't seem comfortable in that place, as if she was out of place. Maybe that was what caught your attention. Unlike other girls, Sofia didn't seem to desperately want to fit in. There was something authentic about her, something that intrigued you.

"What are you doing here alone?" you asked her as you sat down next to her. Your tone was casual, as if you had known her all your life.

Sofia looked up and smiled at you, shy but warm.

"I don't know... I think this isn't my place."

"Well, sometimes, what we think isn't our place ends up being the best place of all," you answered, and without waiting for an invitation, you stayed there.

From that night on, you and Sofia became inseparable. She was quieter, more reserved, but that worked. Your explosive energy was complemented by her calm, and soon you were doing everything together: from afternoons on the beach to nighttime escapades to places where the Kooks didn’t dare to go.

It was inevitable that Sofia began to integrate more into your world. But she also began to enter theirs. Maybe too much.

The first time she told you she was dating Rafe Cameron, you felt like the world stopped for a moment.

“Rafe Cameron?” you repeated in disbelief as you looked in the mirror, touching up your eyeliner.

You were in your room, getting ready for another party. The air smelled of perfume and freshly opened makeup. Sofia was sitting on your bed, nervously playing with the hem of her dress.

“Yeah… I know he’s not exactly the kind of guy you like.”

He wasn’t. He never was. Rafe Cameron was the perfect definition of everything you despised about the Kooks. Arrogant, controlling, with that air of superiority that drove you crazy. And although you didn't say it openly, you knew he looked at you with disdain every time you coincided somewhere. As if you were usurping a space that didn't belong to you.

You took a deep breath, adjusting the necklace that adorned your neck, and decided not to say what you really thought.

“If it makes you happy… then fine.”

Sofia looked at you with a mix of relief and gratitude. You knew how much your opinion mattered to her, and you weren’t going to be the one to take that happiness away from her, even though something inside you told you it wasn’t going to end well.

Later that night the party was at its highest point. Music was booming from the speakers, laughter and conversations mixed with the sound of the sea gently lapping against the shore. The dim lights and strategically placed torches gave an almost magical air to the private beach where the Kooks were celebrating once again. Everything was perfect, at least in appearance.

You were there, as always, impeccable. Every accessory was in its place, every strand of your hair perfectly arranged, and your smile was as dazzling as ever.

But from the moment you walked through the door, Sofia was glued to Rafe Cameron.

He was leaning against one of the makeshift bars, a bottle of beer in his hand and that cocky grin he never seemed to be able to erase. Sofia, beside him, looked different. More radiant, perhaps, but also more… restrained. As if he somehow controlled her every move.

It bothered you. You couldn’t help it. You had arrived expecting to spend the night together, like you used to before Rafe came into the equation. But there she was, practically glued to him, laughing at his comments, looking at him as if the rest of the party didn’t exist.

You sipped a glass of white wine and forced yourself to smile when a couple of acquaintances came over to say hello. You chatted, laughed, and pretended you didn’t care. Because at the end of the day, you understood. He was her boyfriend. If you had one, you’d probably do the same. If you had a Rafe Cameron who looked at you like you were the only important thing in the world, you wouldn’t leave him alone either.

Still, you couldn’t help the pang of discomfort that settled in your chest every time you saw them together. It was like Sofia was slowly disappearing into Rafe’s shadow.

Someone offered you a drink, and you accepted with a flirtatious smile, because that was what you did. You always knew how to have fun, how to attract glances, how to make sure no one noticed that something was bothering you.

But as the night progressed, you realized that your eyes kept returning to them. To Rafe, who had his arm around her as if to make it clear that she belonged to him. To Sofia, who didn’t seem to notice anyone else.

“Are you going to stay there all night, or are you going to dance?” a boy’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned around and recognized him by sight. A Kook, of course, one of those who always tried to get close to you when you were alone.

You smiled at him, playful.

“What if I tell you that I prefer to stay here?”

He laughed, but insisted.

“Come on, I promise you'll have fun.”

You hesitated for a second, your eyes looking back at Sofia. She was still glued to Rafe, oblivious to everything else.

“Okay” you finally agreed, putting your drink aside. “Let's see if it's true.”

You went out onto the dance floor and let yourself go. Because if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was enjoy the moment, at least in appearance. You danced, you laughed, you let the music envelop you. But every time you turned, every time you moved to the rhythm of the music, you could feel Rafe's gaze on you. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling.

For an instant, your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, cold, as if he were evaluating you. It wasn't the first time he did it. He always seemed to observe you that way, as if he wanted to remind you that you didn't belong in his world, that you were nothing more than an intruder.

But you didn't give him the pleasure of looking away. You held his gaze, defiant, with a smile on your lips, as if you didn't care in the least what he thought. Because at the end of the day, if you had learned anything, it was not to show weakness.

The music continued, the lights continued to flicker, and the night continued.

When the music began to slow down and tiredness settled in your body, you decided that it was enough for that night. You had danced, drank, and smiled enough to keep up appearances. You looked once more to where Sofia and Rafe were, still together, as if the rest of the party didn't exist.

You sighed, resigned. It wasn't your place to interrupt that moment. You knew that if you came closer, Sofia would want you to stay, but honestly, you had no energy left to keep pretending that everything was fine.

"See you tomorrow," you murmured to a couple of acquaintances as you left. No one stopped you, because they knew that when you decided to leave, there was nothing that would make you change your mind.

You took the path to your house, enjoying the fresh air that calmed the heat accumulated on your skin. The silence of the night welcomed you with open arms, and it didn't take long for you to slip under the sheets, leaving behind the noise, the lights, and the discomfort that had followed you throughout the evening.

The next morning, your phone rang earlier than expected. Sofia.

"Good morning," you said hoarsely, still half asleep.

"Good morning," she answered, with an energy that made you frown. "Are you awake?"

“Now yes. What's up?”

“I'm at Rafe's house. I thought you could come. There's a pool, some food... We could spend the day here.”

You bit your lower lip, hesitating for a second. The idea of ​​spending the day at Rafe's house wasn't exactly your ideal plan. The Cameron house had always seemed more like a display of power than a home. Every corner was designed to impress, to make it clear that they were the pinnacle of the Kooks. And although you knew how to move in that environment, it wasn't your favorite place.

“Sure, give me some time to get ready and I'll go.”

“Perfect. I'll wait for you.”

You hung up the phone and stood up slowly, stretching your arms over your head as you thought about what to wear.

You opted for a long, light white dress, which highlighted your tan and fell perfectly. You chose a white bikini as well, simple but elegant. You made sure your hair was styled to perfection, letting some soft waves fall to frame your face.

A touch of natural makeup, just enough to highlight your eyes and lips, but not over the top. You chose a small bag, where you kept the essentials: sunscreen, sunglasses, and your phone.

You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror, adjusting the dress and the necklace that discreetly glistened on your collarbone.

You grabbed your keys, placed your sunglasses on your head, and left the house.

When you arrived, Sofia ran out to greet you before you could knock on the door, her radiant smile lighting up her face.

“You’re here!” she said excitedly, extending her arms towards you.

“Of course I do!” you replied with an equally wide smile as you walked over to hug her.

The hug was warm and genuine. Sofia had always had that energy that made you feel welcome, like everything else disappeared when you were together. She pulled away slightly to look at you.

“You look amazing.”

“You do too,” you said sincerely, noticing how her face glowed despite the simplicity of her outfit. “You always look good when you’re happy, though.”

Sofia blushed a little and laughed softly. You knew exactly why she was so happy. You didn’t have to be an expert at reading gestures to figure it out: Rafe.

“Come on, we’re in the back,” she said, taking you by the arm and leading you to the pool.

They walked through the house until they reached the spacious backyard. The pool sparkled in the sun, surrounded by lounge chairs, umbrellas, and luxurious furniture. Everything was perfectly arranged, as if they had taken the scene from a magazine.

And there he was.

He was sitting by the pool, a beer in his hand, sunglasses covering his eyes. He looked carefree, like the whole world revolved around him. His hair perfectly combed, body relaxed but always in control.

Your eyes met his for a brief second as you crossed the garden. His gaze was cold, distant, as always.

“Hi, Rafe,” you said in a polite tone, keeping the smile light.

He barely raised his hand in a vague greeting, not even bothering to take off his glasses.

“Hey.”

Nothing more. A short, dry greeting, as if you were there out of mere courtesy. Then, he turned his attention back to the conversation he was having with one of his friends, as if your presence was insignificant.

You expected it. Rafe had never treated you with more than minimal courtesy, and that was when he felt like it.

You took a deep breath and turned to Sofia, who didn’t seem to notice her boyfriend’s coldness.

“Come on, I’ll show you where to put your stuff,” Sofia said excitedly, leading you to one of the lounge chairs. 

After you put all your stuff down, Sofia spoke to you again. 

“Come on, let’s go to the pool,” Sofia said, pulling you by the hand. “It’s hot, and the water is perfect.”

You nodded and took off your white dress, revealing the bikini you had chosen so carefully. 

The afternoon passed more peacefully than you had anticipated. The sun bathed the pool in a golden glow, and the soft music coming from the strategically placed speakers made everything seem like something out of a postcard. You and Sofia spent hours laughing, swimming, and enjoying the cold drinks you had brought. At times, the awkwardness that had accompanied you upon arrival seemed to fade away. 

Rafe and his friends were nearby, but they kept their distance, busy in their own bubble of conversations. 

At some point, Sofia stood up. 

“I’m going inside to get something to eat.” Do you want me to get you something?

“No, I’m fine,” you replied with a smile. You didn’t want to move. The sun, the water, and the atmosphere had relaxed you more than you expected. Sofia gave you a quick smile before disappearing through the sliding door into the house.

You were left alone, enjoying the moment. The cold glass in your hand, the soft murmur of the water in the pool, and the warmth of the sun on your skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the tranquility envelop you.

However, that calm was interrupted when you felt a slight tug on your hair. You frowned, opening your eyes. You had leaned against one of the umbrellas, and without realizing it, one of the fringes at the edge of the fabric had become entangled in your hair. You pulled gently, trying to free it, but it didn’t work. The lock of hair was still firmly caught.

You sighed, frustrated. Normally, Sofia would be there to help you in a second, but now she wasn't. You tried once more, this time with a little more force, but you only managed to get it more tangled.

"Perfect..." you murmured sarcastically, resigned to waiting for Sofia to return.

"Trouble?"

The male voice, low and slightly amused, startled you. Rafe.

He was a few steps away from you, with his hands in his pockets and that expression on his face that seemed to mix boredom with curiosity. He was watching you with those cold blue eyes that had always made you nervous, as if he was entertained by your little fight with the umbrella.

"Nothing I can't handle," you said quickly, trying to keep control. You didn't want to give him the pleasure of thinking you needed help. You gently tugged on the lock of hair again, but it still wouldn't come loose.

"Yeah, sure. You're handling it perfectly," he replied in a sarcastic tone, as he moved a little closer.

You looked at him, trying to keep your composure.

“Sofia will be here in a minute, don’t worry.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, stopping right in front of you. The proximity made your skin crawl slightly.

“Or I can help you.”

For a moment, you were tempted to turn him down again. The idea of ​​accepting Rafe Cameron’s help was… strange. He wasn’t exactly the kind of person to selflessly offer help. But the reality was that Sofia would probably take a little longer, and you didn’t want to be stuck there anymore, humiliating yourself in front of him.

You sighed, reluctantly giving in.

“Okay… but don’t make it worse.”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

That’s exactly what worries me, you thought. But you didn’t say anything.

Rafe moved behind you, and you felt his hands move closer to your hair. His fingers were surprisingly deft and precise, touching just enough to untangle the trapped lock of hair. You were surprised by how gently he worked, without tugging or causing pain. His closeness was undeniable, and for an instant, you were aware of the warmth of his body, the faint scent of mint, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Almost…” he murmured as his fingers slid through the last knot. Finally, the lock of hair came free.

You pulled away slightly, turning to face him.

“Thank you.”

He simply nodded, wearing that neutral expression he always seemed to carry with him. Before he could say anything else, you pointed towards one of the lounge chairs.

“Can you pass me the brooch I left there?”

Rafe calmly walked over to the lounge chair, picked up the small white brooch, and handed it to you. There were no snide comments or haughty looks this time. It was strange.

“Thanks again,” you said as you pinned your hair back, trying to ignore the slight nervousness the interaction had left you with.

“You’re welcome.”

And that was it. No more words, no lingering stares. Rafe returned to his spot by the pool, as if nothing had happened. You stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. There was something about his expression that didn’t fit with the image you had of him.

But you decided not to think about it too much.

Then the night came faster than you had expected. The party at the Camerons’ continued, but the atmosphere was much more relaxed. The pool lights created a soft glow over the water, reflecting the stars that were beginning to peek out in the night sky. You and Sofia retreated from the hustle and bustle of the party, looking for a respite.

“That was great, wasn’t it?” Sofia said, her voice filled with an energy that couldn’t be hidden.

You nodded as you walked over to one of the chairs near the pool, sitting down to enjoy the cool night air.

“Yeah, it was fun. Although, you know, always a little awkward with… some of the Kooks,” you replied, glancing sideways at Rafe, who was still talking to his friends in the distance.

Sofia laughed softly, as if those social tensions didn’t affect her as much as they did you. For her, being with Rafe was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re staying, right?” Sofia asked, with an eager look, as if she needed to hear the affirmative answer.

You didn’t know what Sofia had in mind for the next day, but her excitement was contagious. You looked at Rafe from a distance, and although you didn’t say it out loud, you knew that if Sofia asked you for something, you would do it.

“Sure, why not?” “I want you to come with us tomorrow,” you replied, though a small spark of doubt lit up inside you. What exactly were they going to do the next day?

“Perfect,” Sofia said with a satisfied smile, as if she had achieved what she wanted. She then leaned slightly towards you, lowering her voice. “I want you to come with us tomorrow. Rafe is going to go racing on his motorcycle. He said he has no problem with you staying the night, if that’s okay with you. Would you like to join us tomorrow?”

You sat there thoughtfully for a moment. The idea of ​​spending another day with Rafe, back in his world of privilege, seemed strange to you. But it was also hard for you to say no to Sofia, especially when you saw how excited she was.

“Okay. What does it matter?” you replied, resigned to the idea of ​​spending the day with them.

The next morning came quickly, and the sun was already rising high when you woke up. The Cameron house was quiet at that hour, with most people still sleeping after the party the night before. When you checked your bag, you realized you didn't have anything suitable for what Sofia had proposed. The shorts and the t-shirt with the embroidery seemed like a comfortable option, but nothing too dressed up.

Sofia walked into the room you had stayed in, seeing that you were still getting organized.

"Are you ready?" she asked with her usual enthusiasm.

"Almost. I just... don't have anything to wear," you mentioned, looking at the clothes you had brought, a little out of place for a motorcycle ride.

"Don't worry!" Sofia said with a mischievous smile. "I'll lend you something. Those shorts are fine, you just need a comfortable t-shirt, right?"

Before you could answer, Sofia turned around and pulled a white t-shirt out of her closet. It wasn't anything over the top, but the edge of the t-shirt was adorned with small floral embroidery. Which might look plain, but it looked incredibly nice.

"Here, this should fit you well," she said as she handed you the t-shirt.

You looked at her, grateful, as you put it on. The fabric was soft and cool, something you needed for the morning heat. Then, you pulled on your shorts, arranged your hair the best way you could, and looked at yourself in the mirror.

When you left the room, Sofia was already ready, her hair perfectly coiffed and her energy bubbling.

“Let’s go!” she said, running towards the door. There was no way you could cope with her enthusiasm.

The two of you headed to the beach, where Rafe was already there, next to his bike. It was a sight in itself. Rafe’s bike, shiny and almost imposing looking, contrasted with his relaxed stance, as if the bike was an extension of him.

Rafe glanced at you briefly when you arrived, his expression somewhat unreadable.

The race began with a roar, and the feeling of speed on Rafe’s bike was electrifying. The wind whipped through your face as the sound of the engine mixed with the adrenaline in the air. Rafe was incredibly focused, and Sofia was smiling non-stop. 

As you continued down the road, you realized how skilled Rafe was. Every turn was taken with astonishing precision, and his ability to maneuver the bike quickly was evident. You and Sofia shared excited glances, both shouting words of encouragement, though you knew the real show was watching him. 

Finally, when the finish line was in sight, Rafe hit the gas. The bike roared as it took the final turn, and it wasn't long before he crossed the finish line with an undisputed victory. 

You and Sofia burst into cheers, though it was clear that Rafe's victory was what really mattered to her. She looked proud, and with good reason. Rafe had won in impeccable fashion, and the feeling of excitement was palpable.

Sofia stepped forward to hug him, while you stayed a step behind, observing the moment. Rafe's face reflected satisfaction. He didn't seem surprised by the victory, as if it was something expected.

You stared at Rafe for a moment, observing his relaxed face as he talked to Sofia about the race, but you quickly decided to leave those thoughts behind. There was something in his attitude that didn't quite fit, and you knew it wasn't worth wasting time on things that didn't make sense. The excitement of the day had already reached its peak, and you preferred to enjoy the moment.

You turned around, looking at Sofia, who had already begun to plan what they would do next.

"Let's celebrate!" Sofia said enthusiastically, interrupting your brief moment of introspection.

It wasn't an invitation, but an affirmation, and before you could respond, she had already taken you by the hand, gently pulling you towards where the others were. The celebratory atmosphere was in full swing: loud music, laughter, and an air of satisfaction permeating everything around them. When they arrived, everyone was there, enjoying Rafe's triumph, and even though you weren't part of that inner circle, you couldn't help but be swept up in the energy emanating from them. 

You sat next to Sofia on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, watching as people gathered around Rafe to congratulate him. The way he accepted the congratulations, calm and almost distant, seemed so natural to you, as if he was already used to being the center of attention. But something in you told you it wasn't that simple. There was an invisible barrier between you and him, as if the distance wasn't just physical, but emotional as well. 

But that night, you decided to let it be. You sat there, enjoying Sofia's company, and without thinking too much about it, you began to soak in the atmosphere. 

People started moving towards the dance floor, the music was getting livelier, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood. Sofia, still full of energy, looked at you with a knowing smile.

“Shall we dance?” she asked, without waiting for an answer, already getting up from the lounger.

You stood up after her, feeling that, at least for that night, you should enjoy yourself without thinking too much about anything else. Somehow, by surrounding yourself with the happiness of Sofia and the others, the feeling of awkwardness began to fade.

The day continued with a festive atmosphere, the music vibrating in the air. You and Sofia had completely let loose, laughing and dancing without a care, until suddenly Rafe approached her. On his face was a subtle smile, one of those smiles that you only see when someone has a deep connection with another person.

“Dance?” he said to Sofia, and she was quick to smile, her eyes shining.

You watched them as they glided to the center of the dance floor, their bodies moving to the beat of the music as if they were one. Something inside you, a mix of admiration and envy, stirred. There was something about the way Rafe looked after Sofia that made you think you might have misjudged him. After all, not everyone was willing to show that kind of tenderness in public. Maybe Rafe wasn't as cold as you had initially thought. 

You stared for a moment, but you didn't let yourself get caught up in those emotions. You decided not to think about it too much. Instead of just standing there watching, you let yourself go with the energy of the party and joined one of Rafe's friends who was nearby. He was outgoing and not afraid to chat, so the conversation flowed naturally. 

You laughed, you enjoyed yourself, and everything kept moving forward without your mind stopping on the images of Sofia and Rafe. But when you looked at yourself, you noticed something that worried you: the way that, with each encounter, you began to see more clearly how attentive Rafe and Sofia could be to each other. It wasn’t just a physical attraction, but something deeper, a connection you hadn’t anticipated. There was an understanding between them, something that seemed to flow effortlessly. And that, somehow, bothered you more than you wanted to admit.

Days passed, and as time went on, you started to see yourself closer and closer to them. Outings became common, and although at first you were a kind of guest in their circle, little by little you began to feel like you were part of it. You saw yourself walking along the beach with them, sharing laughs while watching Rafe throw out a sarcastic joke that made you laugh like never before. The atmosphere between the group was relaxed, fun, and you seemed to fit in perfectly. Almost as well as if you were one of the Kooks, as if you had always been part of that life. 

But something kept nagging at your head, a small knot in your stomach that kept growing. You realized that every time Rafe and Sofia looked at each other or subtly touched each other, a pang of jealousy ran through your body. How had you not noticed that before? How had you not seen how happy it made Sofia just to have him by her side? It was like a spark always surrounded them, and you wanted to be a part of that, of that security and affection that was evident on the surface.

You thought to yourself that maybe, just maybe, you had misjudged him. Rafe wasn't just the arrogant boy you had met at the beginning. There was something about his attitude towards Sofia that made you question everything you thought about him. You could see how he cared for her, how he took his time to make sure she was comfortable, how his eyes always looked for her in the middle of the crowd.

One afternoon, when everyone was on a terrace, and Rafe had approached to offer you a drink, you realized how much your perception of him had changed. There was a softness in his gaze, one you hadn't noticed before, and although it was something that confused you, you also admired it. You felt foolish for having kept yourself distant all this time, and a little jealous too, because deep down you knew you wanted something like that for yourself.

However, you just smiled and thanked him for the drink, not saying anything about what you were really thinking. It was easy to look at everything from the outside, but much harder to deal with what you felt on the inside. You were surrounded by friends, but the small discomfort you felt in your chest never completely went away. You wondered if you could ever be as lucky as Sofia, if you would ever find something that made you feel as alive and safe. 

That same day at night, after several hours of laughter, music, and drinks, the atmosphere at Rafe’s house was still lively. Sofia, as always, was in her element, enjoying the company of the two of you, but you already felt the energy starting to drain away. You had drunk more than you thought, and although it wasn’t enough to lose control, you did start to feel fatigue building up in your body. 

“I’m going to sleep,” you said to Sofia, who looked at you with a cheerful smile. 

“Sure, honey. The room is ready for you. Get some rest” he answered, still smiling.

You walked towards the stairs as you entered the halls of the house. It was a large and luxurious space, and the room you used when you stayed there was decorated with sophisticated details.

But before you reached the room, suddenly, you ran into Rafe. He was coming down the stairs, with a glass in his hand, apparently in a good mood, without the arrogant air he used to have. He stopped when he saw you and, as if he hadn't seen you coming, both of you collided a little. It was a strange moment: your body brushed against his, almost as if you were going to trip, but you managed to keep your balance with difficulty. However, what really made you feel uncomfortable was the look you exchanged. The air between the two of you became heavy for a moment, as if something had happened unintentionally.

Rafe, with a knowing smile on his face, was quick to let out a small laugh, as if he found the situation funny, and that only increased your discomfort. Your face instantly flushed, and for a second you thought you had gotten yourself into one of those awkward situations you always try to avoid.

“Wow, I didn’t see you coming,” he said, still with that carefree smile. His tone wasn’t mocking, but somehow his laugh felt like mockery.

Your mind raced and you didn’t know how to react, you just muttered something that didn’t make much sense, like an “I’m sorry” or an “excuse me,” and without thinking much, you rushed to the bedroom. The door closed behind you, and you instantly felt the awkwardness take over you. You lay down on the bed, covering your face with your hands and thinking about how you had handled the situation.

For a moment, you stood there, trying to calm your breathing, but Rafe's laughter still echoed in your head. You knew it hadn't been anything serious, but still, something about his attitude made you feel like you'd made a mistake by being so close to him. Why did it have that effect on you? The thought of being so close, in such a strange situation, didn't leave you calm.

In the end, you just sank into the comfort of the bed, trying to drown out the uncomfortable thoughts.

The next morning you woke up at dawn, although the sun hadn't yet reached its highest point. You felt a little disoriented at first, the echo of the laughter from the night before still echoing in your head, mixed with the feeling of discomfort that the encounter with Rafe had left you with. But, in the end, you got up the courage to get up and made yourself comfortable a little. You changed into something more comfortable but decent: a simple t-shirt and some shorts. You wanted to dress casually, but you also knew that it wasn't the time to be disheveled.

You walked down the stairs and headed towards the kitchen. The house was quiet, as if everyone was still deep in their rest after the night. You decided to sit in one of the chairs, looking at the soft lights that filtered through the window, observing the garden that stretched outside. Everything was so quiet that it brought you peace.

You were waiting for Sofia, you knew that she would soon appear, probably with a dazzling smile and something interesting to tell, but time passed and it wasn't her who appeared. Instead of Sofia, it was Rafe who entered the kitchen. At first you didn't notice him at all, but when you looked up, your eyes met his. He was still wearing the shirt he had worn the night before. Rafe looked at you with a slight smile, as if nothing strange had happened the night before.

"Good morning," he said, his voice low and calm.

You felt a knot in your stomach, and without thinking about it too much, shame washed over you again. You remembered what had happened the night before: the laughter, the unexpected shock, how uncomfortable you had felt. You blushed and, with a sigh, decided to talk about it, as a way to let go of what was weighing you down.

“Hey, Rafe... I'm sorry about last night,” you said quickly, not knowing if it was really necessary, but you needed to get those words out. You felt stupid for having created such silly tension, but you couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort anymore.

Rafe raised his eyebrows for a moment, as if he didn't understand why you were apologizing, but his expression quickly softened.

“You don't have to apologize,” he replied, smiling calmly. His tone was so relaxed that it reassured you, almost as if the situation hadn't been as awkward as you thought. “It was nothing.”

That, in a way, relieved you, although you still felt a little embarrassed inside. But what really surprised you was how you kept talking to him, as if all of that had never happened. Despite the initial awkwardness, something about his presence made you feel calmer. You realized how easy it was to talk to him. The words flowed naturally, without the nerves you had felt before. They talked about trivial things at first: the house, his life, they had even talked about what you had thought of him when Sofia said they were dating. 

The conversation slowly relaxed, without tension. You found yourself smiling more than you had planned, enjoying the talk without the awkwardness from before having room to grow. Rafe wasn't pressuring, he didn't make awkward comments, he just spoke with an ease that made you feel at peace, as if there were no expectations. 

A few minutes passed, or maybe more, and you were surprised by how much you were enjoying talking to him. You had never imagined that you would have such a relaxed conversation with someone like him.

You were about to make one more comment when Sofia finally appeared. She entered the kitchen with a big smile, clearly full of energy, as always.

“Good morning!” she exclaimed, approaching the table and hugging you immediately. “How was your night? Did you rest well?”

She and Rafe looked at each other for a moment, exchanging a knowing smile that made it obvious how comfortable they were together.

“Yes, everything is fine,” you said to Sofia, smiling. “Just resting.”

Sofia looked at you curiously, as if she felt there was something more between you and Rafe, but she didn’t say anything. The feeling of being there with them, as part of the group, grew stronger. It was strange how the dynamics of that house absorbed you little by little, even when you weren’t completely sure where you fit in.

A few days had passed since that conversation in the kitchen, and although the calm between you and Rafe remained, something in you urged you to step away a little. You didn't have a specific reason, you just felt the need to disconnect from it all. You had your own business to attend to, things you had put aside while enjoying the company of Sofia and the others.

Rafe's house, the parties, all of that was left in the background as you immersed yourself in your own thoughts. The days passed without you going near Rafe's or Sofia's house, without you seeing them or even caring about how they were spending their time. You kept yourself busy, focused on other things: personal tasks, things you had had to put off because you were caught up in the flow of the Kooks' social life. You found yourself returning to your routines.

It had been a while since you disconnected a little from everything. The need to return to your own space had faded, and now, at the end of those days of silence, something was urging you to return. You thought about Sofia and how, even though you had been away, you knew she was still your friend. The idea of ​​her now living with Rafe, as quickly as she had, seemed a little strange to you, but in the end, it was her life, her decisions. You decided it was time to go back, to meet them, although you didn't know exactly what to expect. 

Arriving at Rafe's house, the stillness in the air made you feel that something wasn't right. The door was ajar, and inside, there was an unusual calm. Everything was silent. You assumed that Sofia wouldn't be home; she had probably gone out. 

But as you moved towards the living room, you came across a scene you hadn't expected. Rafe was there, alone, in the center of the room. His posture tense, his hands shaking slightly. The first hint of something strange was that the phone in his hand was still in the air, dangling in his hand. It looked like he had received a call that had left him shaken. You could clearly see his labored breathing, his eyes scanning the room as if he was looking for something or someone, but at the same time as if he couldn't find it. The atmosphere in the house felt heavy, laden with something dark that you couldn't quite place.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to interrupt, but you couldn't just leave either. You assumed the call he'd received had left him in that state, though you weren't sure what it had been. The silence between the two of you was awkward, and as you thought about what to do, you cautiously approached.

You called his name.

"Rafe..." you said softly, trying not to startle him any more than he already was.

He glanced at you quickly, and his gaze, far from the arrogance he usually had, was filled with anxiety and some anger. His face was marked by a concern you hadn't seen before, and for a moment, he didn't seem like the Rafe Cameron you knew.

The tension in the air increased, and when he opened his mouth to speak, his voice sounded raspy, almost desperate.

"Go away!" he shouted, his tone a little higher than expected. The sound of his voice, so full of anxiety, made you take a step back, although, despite the sudden fear, something in you told you that you shouldn't leave.

You stood there, motionless for a moment, feeling your heart beating faster than normal. Rafe's panic was palpable, and the last thing you wanted to do was push him further. But, at the same time, you knew you couldn't just leave him like that.

"Rafe," you said, this time with a calmness that you didn't feel, but that you knew you needed for him to calm down. "I'm not going to leave."

His expression changed for a second, and he stared at you, as if trying to process what you had just said. A couple of seconds of tension filled the space between the two of you, but you didn't let him speak, taking advantage of the moment to move a little closer to him.

"It's okay, I understand that you don't feel well," you added, almost in a protective tone, although you said it without really knowing why. You didn’t know him as well as Sofia, but somehow, you cared for him more than you thought.

He took a deep breath, still shaken, and for a moment you thought you wouldn’t make it. But then, something in his gaze changed. His body, which was so stiff and tense, relaxed just a little, as if he was letting the words you had said reach him.

You moved a little closer, this time without him asking you to.

“How can I help you?” you asked softly. You knew that, in those moments, sometimes all you need is someone to be there, without pushing too hard.

Rafe looked at you a little confused, as if he wasn’t sure how to handle the situation, and then lowered his head, with a grimace of frustration.

“I don’t know…” he murmured, his voice still deep. “It’s just that… I got a call…”

You could see on his face that whatever had happened on that call had really affected him. You didn't say anything else, just waited for him to gather his thoughts, for him to feel ready to talk.

A few minutes passed in which the silence stretched out, and in that time, you were simply there, in the same room, giving him space, but showing him that you weren't willing to abandon him. Finally, he looked up, and in a low voice, he said:

“Thank you…”

You looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, you could see Rafe without the layer of arrogance and superiority that he always showed. You realized that, in that moment, he wasn't the self-assured boy that he had always been. He was just a person, vulnerable, dealing with something that he couldn't handle on his own.

You stayed with him as long as he needed, making sure that he wasn't alone in that moment. You didn't know what had happened with the call, or what was going to happen next, but a part of you understood something new about Rafe.

After that moment, something changed between you and Rafe, something that neither of you had anticipated. From that night on, you became the only person capable of understanding him in his darkest moments, without the need for words, without the typical facade of security that he used to have. What happened between you was something silent, almost imperceptible, but enough to leave a mark on both of you. 

At first, Rafe didn't admit it out loud, he didn't even make it clear in his gestures, but there was something in his behavior that was beginning to change. The days passed, and while Sofia continued to be busy with her things, you began to see a side of Rafe that you had never imagined. He became quieter, more introspective, but instead of the usual practical jokes and air of arrogance, there were now moments when he looked simply lost, as if you were the only one in the world who understood what he was really feeling. And you, somehow, began to understand it too.

There was something about the way he looked at you when his thoughts seemed to be beyond his control, when the shadows of his past or his problems came back to haunt him. There was something that told you not to judge him, something that urged you to stay calm and empathetic, even when the situation seemed out of place. Whenever he seemed on the verge of losing control, you knew what to do, how to approach him without making him feel vulnerable or weak. You knew when to step back and when to offer him your company without needing to talk too much. 

One afternoon, several days after that first meeting when you calmed him down, Rafe came home late, more undone than usual. He had had a fight with some of Sofia’s friends, and although no one in the house mentioned anything, you knew. It was as if everything he was trying to hide was crudely on display for you. When you entered the living room, he found you staring at the floor, shoulders slumped, and that expression only he could put on: a mix of repressed rage and deep sadness.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, without pushing. You knew those words, though simple, could have more impact than you thought.

Rafe looked up, a little surprised by the calmness of your voice. Normally, he would have responded with a wry smile or a scathing comment, but instead, he looked at you and just said,

“I’m not.”

The tone was low, almost inaudible, as if he were revealing something he had never let slip before. You sat next to him without saying anything else, not forcing him to speak, but willing to stay there if he needed to vent. At that moment, you knew something had changed between the two of you.

The silence stretched out, but it wasn’t awkward. You knew Rafe didn’t need you to tell him what he should do or how he should feel. He just needed time, the space to be vulnerable without feeling judged, and in that space, you were the only one who could understand him. You didn’t need words to recognize the small gestures that betrayed him: the way his hand shook slightly or how his breathing quickened when something affected him too much. Those small details were what allowed you to see what others didn’t. 

As time went by, Rafe began to seek you out more often. Although he didn’t say it directly, you began to notice that there were times when he would simply approach you without a clear reason, without looking for a conversation, just so you would be close. On more than one occasion, he found you sitting on the couch, lost in your thoughts, and without saying anything, he sat next to you. No explanations were needed, because you both understood that just being together, without the need for words, was enough. 

There were days when he couldn’t hide what he felt, and without warning, the walls he had built around himself began to crumble. One day, after a particularly bad fight with Sofia, he came into the house, late at night. His face was tense, but there was something different about him. He didn’t yell, he didn’t hurl reproaches, but he just stood in the doorway, staring at you in silence, waiting for you to say something. And you did, you knew that what he needed was something that no one else gave him: reassurance.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” you asked calmly, as you always did.

Rafe took a deep breath, letting the weight of his thoughts surround him for a moment. Finally, he slumped down on the couch, eyes closed, not wanting to show what he felt. But you knew. You knew that, even if he didn’t say it, he was seeking comfort, not in words, but in the way you looked at him, in how your actions offered him respite.

“Sometimes…” he said, in a whisper, while looking straight ahead, not really seeing you. “I feel like I'm alone, even when I'm surrounded by people.”

You didn't need to say anything else. You knew that what he had revealed wasn't something he wanted to share with many, but with you, he felt safe. Sometimes, just knowing that someone understood him gave him the comfort he so desperately needed.

That was the dynamic between you: you didn't need to always talk, or understand everything. You just needed to be there, to be the only one who, in his darkest moments, could offer him a soft light, without pressure, just letting time and space do their work. And in that silent understanding, you became the only person capable of understanding Rafe in his entirety, in his most fragile and dark moments, when no one else dared to enter.

Despite everything you shared with Rafe, there was something inside you that you couldn't ignore. A desire, an attraction that, even though you tried to hide it, kept emerging with every gesture, with every word he said to you in those moments when his guard was down. You found yourself watching him more than you should have, noticing the little details that had previously gone unnoticed: how the light played in his hair, the way he laughed, or how his tone of voice changed when he was relaxed, when he felt like he didn’t have to be the same old Rafe, the one everyone admired or feared. 

At first, you tried to ignore it. You said it was just the closeness, the way things had developed between the three of you, and that it was a passing phase. But it wasn’t just that. Every time he smiled at you or looked at you in a warmer way, you felt a tug in your chest that you couldn’t control. There was something else in you that was building, something that terrified you. 

You thought about Sofia, how happy she was with him, how much she had supported you in everything, and it tormented you to feel what you felt for Rafe. You felt guilty, like you were betraying a friendship you had cared for for so long. She didn’t deserve that, you thought. Sofia had always been loyal, fun, and even though she could be impulsive and a little blind at times, you saw her happy, devoted to Rafe, trusting him in a way you never could.

There were times when, after talking to Rafe, you were left alone, with thoughts running wild in your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, about the way he made you feel special, about how his closeness disarmed you, how there was something in his fragility that attracted you, a side that no one else saw, but you did. You felt at a crossroads, trapped between what you felt and what you knew you couldn’t do.

It wasn’t just a physical attraction, it was something deeper. Something that made you want to hold him longer than a friend should. Something that asked you to be there for him in a way that went beyond friendship. It was the desire to be close to him, to take care of him, to become his refuge, and it terrified you how much you loved him without being able to control it. 

At first, you tried to suppress it. Every time you felt that need to be closer to him, to share more moments, you tried to convince yourself that it was just a phase, that it was because of the closeness of the last few months. But the more you denied it, the stronger that feeling became inside you, like it was an undercurrent that grew every time he looked at you with those dark, intense eyes. Those eyes that disarmed you, that seemed to see beyond your facade, beyond your friendship. 

Sometimes, you felt like you were walking on a tightrope. You knew that every moment you spent with Rafe, every conversation, every gesture, brought you closer to something you couldn't allow yourself. But you couldn't help it. The desire, the attraction, everything you felt for him, was growing inside you, and no matter how many times you told yourself it was a betrayal, that you should stay away, you couldn't stop thinking about what happened when he was around.

Scattered around are old tables covered in whatever random plates everyone could find, candles and colorful glass vases you’d all found in a dusty antique store—which was unsuprisingly very much not as picked apart as most stores are nowadays. Each vase holds a handful of wildflowers and flowers grown around the community, some arranged neatly, others just plopped right in by kids.

It doesn’t matter. It’s all still so beautiful.

At the front stands the wooden arch John B and Pope built. It leans just slightly to the left if you look too hard, but it’s sturdy, wrapped in pieces of twine holding together bundles of wildflowers, all handpicked and tied on by Sarah, Cleo, Kiara, Maggie and Beth.

Rafe sits in the front row, the chair to his left reserved for Sarah and in the one to his right sits Sofia.

He'd quickly grown close to her over his last three trade runs to Oceanside and on the last trip she'd asked to come back with him to see his community.

And it's safe to say that she's impressed.

There’s a kind of quiet awe in her expression as she looks around, taking in how the people of Alexandria had put so much love and care into the celebration and made it look like the world had never ended at all.

Rafe is leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees as he proudly watches her admire everything. His posture is relaxed in a way that used to be rare for him.

“This is really beautiful,” she says quietly, smiling. Then she laughs, a little shocked at the situation. “Even before everything... never in my life did I think I'd be attending JJ Maybank's wedding, of all people.”

Rafe snorts and shakes his head in agreement. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Inside Poguelandia 4.0, you stand in front of the full size mirror in John B and Sarah's room, fidgeting with the shell charm on the bracelet JJ gave you. 

Kiara is carefully weaving a small braid into your hair. “You look insane,” she smiles.

“You said that already,” you laugh nervously before adjusting the dried daisy crown sitting on your head. The same one you made on you and JJ's first date. You’d tied a thin lace ribbon around the back, the bow resting softly against your hair.

“I know,” Kiara says, eyes shining a bit. “I’m saying it again.”

Behind you, Sarah lets out a soft laugh, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, also a little teary eyed. “He’s actually gonna lose his everloving mind. Like, fully malfunction.”

Cleo nods in agreement from where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “I give him five seconds before he starts cryin’.”

You let out a nervous breath, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric of your dress.

Kiara grins. “It's gonna be like that time at the party a few months ago—the night you got together, when he saw you in that dress he found? But times a thousand.”

You giggle, covering your face for a second. “Oh my god.”

Sarah grins. “Yeah, we saw it the second we walked in with you. He just sat there like—” She mimicks him, staring blankly with her mouth dropped slightly open.

You can't help but giggle at that.

Cleo snorts. “Rudeboy looked like he’d just seen a ghost.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but your cheeks are warm.

Your dress is soft and white. It flows gently when you move, tiny floral details scattered across the fabric, lace lining the bottom. Nothing too fancy—just a vintage Gunne Sax you'd found hanging in that same antique store as the vases. And you immediately knew that it was the one.

You sit for a second on the bed beside Cleo to pull on your cowgirl boots—JJ’s favorite—smoothing the dress down over them once you stand again.

Sarah and Kiara step back, taking you in.

“You ready?” Kiara asks gently.

You take a breath then nod.

“Yeah,” you say, a small smile breaking through. “I’m ready.”

Cleo grins. “Girl, you’ve been ready for years.”

You let out a quiet, shy laugh at that, glancing down for just a second. “…Yeah.”

Beneath the wooden arch, JJ shifts nervously on his feet. He keeps rubbing the back of his neck and tugging at the sleeves of the white button-down shirt he was bullied into wearing.

“Relax,” John B whispers beside him.

“I am relaxed,” JJ mutters.

“You look like you’re about to throw up,” Pope snorts quietly.

JJ shoots him a look. “I might.”

John B grins.

Then the music starts softly from the speaker behind the chairs.

Everyone turns.

And then you appear.

And JJ freezes completely. Absolutely fully malfunctioning.

You step onto the path slowly, sunlight catching the white fabric of your dress and the flowers in your hair.

For a second he honestly forgets how to breathe. He looks exactly how the girls had predicted: His mouth parts a little, like his brain just stopped working. His eyes immediately become glassy.

John B nudges him. “Close your mouth, bro.”

He doesn’t. He just stares at you with shiny eyes like you’re the most unbelievable thing he’s ever seen. Because you are and always have been, but now you look like this just for him.

By the time you reach the arch, he lets out a quiet breath that sounds almost like a laugh.

“Wow.”

You smile shyly up at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he breathes. “You look…” he starts, then stops.

You smile softly. “What?”

He shakes his head like he can’t even process it. “Like a fuckin' angel.”

Your cheeks warm. “And you clean up pretty good,” you tease.

He huffs a quiet laugh, still staring at you like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

Rosita takes a picture with your Polaroid camera so he can.

“Yeah well,” he murmurs, voice rough, “had to for my girl.”

Standing just beside the arch is Father Gabriel, holding a worn little bible in his hands. He smiles warmly at both of you before turning to the crowd.

“Friends, family… survivors,” he begins.

A quiet chuckle moves through the croud.

“We’ve all seen more darkness than we ever thought possible. We’ve lost homes, people we love, and the lives we thought we would live.” His voice softens. “But every now and then, even in a broken world… something beautiful grows. Flowers still grow through cracked pavement. And love still grows in the middle of chaos.”

Your hand finds JJ’s and his fingers instantly lace with yours. You're both trying not to cry.

“These two didn’t find love in a peaceful world. They found it while fighting to survive. While protecting each other. While believing in a future most people had given up on.” He smiles slightly. “And that makes today even more meaningful.” He looks between you. “JJ. Y/N. You have written your own vows?”

JJ lets out a quiet sigh. “Yeah… kinda.”

You squeeze his hand encouragingly.

Father Gabriel nods. “JJ, would you like to go first?”

JJ glances at the crowd. At the Pogues.

Then back to you.

He clears his throat. “Alright… uh…”

A few people smile.

“I'm honestly kinda nervous. Everyone’s looking at me and I—yeah. Okay.“ He looks down at your hands tangled together and takes a deep breath. “You’re squeezing my hand. That helps. Don’t stop doin' that.”

You let out a breathy giggle and squeeze his hand harder.

“I had something written down... but I kinda forgot half of it when you started walkin' down that aisle.”

Soft laughter ripples through the chairs.

He looks at you again, eyes softening. “So I’ll just say it... I spent most of my life thinking nothing good ever really stuck around,” he says quietly, the joking tone gone now. “But you did.”

Your eyes sting a little.

“I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up and this won’t be real. Like any second someone’s gonna tap me on the shoulder and say, “Hey, Maybank, this part isn’t for you.” But then I look at you and you’re right here. You always have been.”

Your lip wobbles a little at this. And you're not the only one.

“I don’t remember a version of my life where you weren’t in it. I remember scraped knees and sunburns and you laughing at me when I did something stupid—which was, uh, a lot. Still is.”

A lot of people laugh at this, which makes JJ laugh a little.

“And somehow you stayed. You always stay. You stuck around when things were bad. When we were running. When everything went to hell.” His thumb rubs gently across your knuckles. “You’ve always been my best friend… my partner… my person… way before we ever admitted it.”

Your friends nod knowingly. As do some of Rick's group.

He smiles faintly. “I promise I’ll keep you safe as long as I’m breathing. I promise I’ll make you laugh even when everything sucks. And I promise… I’ll never run away from you again.”

Your throat tightens and a tear runs down your cheek, which he quickly wipes away.

He leans closer, voice softer now. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” He exhales. “I love you. Always have.”

You’re crying a little by the time he finishes. “I love you too,” you whisper.

Father Gabriel gently turns to you. “And you?”

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. JJ immediately subtly takes one with you, guiding you like always.

“Well,” you say, laughing nervously, “he definitely ruined my speech.”

The crowd laughs.

JJ grins sheepishly.

You look at him, eyes warm.

“I, um… I didn’t write anything down,” you say, your voice a little shaky, then look at JJ. “And if I start crying, just—don’t make fun of me. Because I'm close.”

JJ lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, already smiling at you like you’ve hung the moon.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs.

“He definitely would,” John B snorts.

A couple people laugh—JJ flips them off without even looking, which only makes you smile more.

You take a breath.

“I didn’t think we’d end up here. Not like this.”

JJ’s expression softens instantly. He’s not joking anymore—just staring at you, completely locked in.

“I mean… we’ve basically been glued to each other forever,” you continue, voice steadier now, “but actually standing here and saying it out loud feels… kinda unreal.”

He nods a little, like he can’t even argue with that.

“You’ve always been my favorite person. Even before everything… you were the one I ran to. The one I laughed with the most. The one I trusted with anything and everything I had going on.”

JJ swallows hard, his jaw tightening just slightly.

“And then the world ended…” you say softly, glancing down for a second before looking back at him, “and somehow you still made me feel safe. And somehow you made it feel like it didn't really end. Like... right now... I feel it's just starting.”

He swallows, eyes filling more. So do yours.

You take a second before continuing.

“I’ve loved you... way longer than you realize,” you admit. “You were always the person I wanted beside me.” You squeeze his hand again, tighter. “You’re reckless. You’re stubborn. And sometimes you’re unbelievably annoying.”

He laughs and smiles wide at this. A lot of people do.

“But I honestly love that about you. And also you’re also the bravest person I know. And you make people feel safe. You make them feel like they matter. And you’ve always done that for me.” Your voice softens. “I promise I’ll stay with you no matter how hard things get. I promise I’ll remind you that you’re worth loving… even when you forget.”

JJ really looks like he might cry now.

“And I promise that wherever we end up… as long as it’s with you… I’ll be happy.” You smile through your tears. “I love you, JJ.”

“I love you too,” he chokes out in a whisper.

For a moment everything is completely quiet.

Father Gabriel smiles warmly.

“Well,” he says gently, “I think the world could use a little more of that.”

He closes his book.

“By the authority given to me by this community… and by the faith we hold in one another… it is my joy to pronounce you husband and wife.” He nods toward JJ. “You may kiss your bride.”

JJ doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into him and kisses you hard, and it's obvious that he’s been dreaming about this exact moment for years.

The crowd erupts around you with cheers, whistles and laughter.

When he pulls back, JJ presses his forehead to yours, grinning like the happiest man alive.

“Hi, wife,” he whispers just loud enough for you.

You laugh breathlessly. “Hi, husband.”

At dinner, the girls give their speeches, then Pope, then John B.

John B stand with a drink in his hand.

“Alright,” he says loudly. “I guess I gotta say something.”

Groans and laughter ripple through the group.

JJ drops his head immediately. “Oh god.”

John B grins. “Like Y/N, I’ve known JJ pretty much my whole life. Which means I can confidently say two things.” He holds up two fingers. “One: he’s the most loyal guy you’ll ever meet.” He points at JJ. “Like ride-or-die loyal. The kind of guy who’ll get into a fight for you before even asking what happened.”

A few people laugh knowingly.

“And two,” he continues, “he’s an idiot.”

Everyone laughs louder.

JJ flips him off from his chair.

John B smirks. “I mean seriously. Everyone knew these two were in love before they did.” He gestures between you and JJ. “I think we told them they should just be together about… what? A thousand times?”

“At least,” Sarah calls out.

“Probably more,” Kiara adds.

John B lifts his glass. “But somehow they still took forever to figure it out.” He looks at JJ. “You got there eventually though, man.”

JJ shrugs with a crooked smile. “Worth the wait.”

You snuggle your into his shoulder for a second and his hand moves to squeeze your knee.

John B softens a little. “You guys have survived the apocalypse together, even on your own at one point,” he says. “If that’s not proof you’re meant to be, I don’t know what is.” He raises his glass. “To JJ and Y/N.”

Everyone lifts their drinks. “To JJ and Y/N!”

JJ leans toward you as the cheering dies down.

“See?” he murmurs. “Public humiliation. Just like I said.”

You laugh and kiss his cheek. “You'll survive.”

After dinner, people are laughing, talking over each other, moving tables, pouring drinks into mismatched cups. The fairy lights the Pogues have hung through the trees to make it look like the Chateau have started to glow now that the sun’s dipping lower.

You’ve barely had a second to breathe.

Someone’s hugging you, someone else is congratulating you, Sarah’s dragging you toward the makeshift dance area—and then suddenly JJ’s hand is in yours.

“C’mon,” he says, already pulling you with along.

You laugh, stumbling after him. “JJ—where are we—?”

“Just trust me. You do, right?” He grins over his shoulder.

“Of course, idiot, that's why I just married you,” you giggle.

He leads you down the street, past one of the houses, into the narrow space between two of them.

The second you’re out of sight he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting all day. Your back hits the side of the house, and you laugh into his mouth before kissing him back just as hard, hands gripping his now half unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer. His hands find your waist, then your ass, then your face, like he can’t decide where to hold you, like he just needs to touch you.

You’re both smiling into it, half laughing, half breathless. It’s messy and happy. And a little desperate.

When you finally pull back, it’s only because you have to breathe and you rest your forehead against his, both of you a little flushed and dazed.

“Did you just pull me back here to make out with me?” you ask, breathless, a grin tugging at your lips. Then you shrug a little. “Not that I have a problem with that.”

JJ huffs out a quiet laugh, still way too close to your face. “That’s… yeah, that’s the main reason,” he admits.

You laugh and chew on your lip as you look up at him, eyes sparkling.

“But also—hold on.” He steps back suddenly, glancing around like he’s about to do something sketchy—which, knowing him, he probably is.

“JJ—what are you—”

He ducks behind a bush.

You blink. “…What the hell are—”

Then he pops back up, looking entirely too pleased with himself and holding a jar.

Your jaw drops. “No way.”

He shakes it slightly, the liquid inside sloshing around. “Way.”

You cover your mouth, already laughing. “JJ—”

“Found it a few days ago,” he says, walking back over. “Figured we deserved a little… celebration.”

You nod. “Can't disagree with that. But... you do remember what happened last time we drank a bunch of moonshine together, right?”

His grin turns a little crooked at that. “Yeah... I do.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, teasing. “You tryin' to get me drunk so I'll sleep with you, Maybank?”

He leans in just a little, voice dropping like he’s letting you in on something. “That’s kinda the goal,” he says. “If that's what it takes.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head at him. “Please,” you tease, nudging his chest lightly. “That is not what it takes. I’m actually pretty easy when it comes to you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah?” he says, laughing under his breath. “That so?”

You just shrug, trying to look casual, but you’re already smiling too hard to pull it off.

He steps a little closer again, eyes dragging over your face before they flick back up to meet yours, something softer sneaking into his expression.

“Also… you realize you’re a Maybank now too right?”

That hits you way harder than it should. Your smile falters for a second, not because you don’t like it, but because you really do. A lot. Your eyes drop, a quiet, happy little laugh slipping out as you shake your head, almost shy all of a sudden.

“Yeah?” you murmur, glancing back up at him.

“Yup. Y/N Maybank.”  He smiles proudly at how that sounds and twists the lid off, then takes a sip first and immediately winces. “Eeyuck.”

You laugh. “Give it here.” You take a sip and shake your head in disgust, then choke and shove it back at him, both of you laughing now. “Still disgusting.”

“Right?” he grins.

You’re still laughing when he leans in again to kiss you. This one's slower, softer, but just as full of something warm and giddy. As your tongue brushes against his, suddenly the moonshine doesn't taste as bad.

You linger there for another second—just the two of you, tucked away from everything else, married, a little tipsy already, and completely wrapped up in each other.

Then you both take two more big gulps and you grab his hand again.

“C’mon,” you say, tugging him. “I wanna dance.”

Back at the reception, you and JJ very quickly fall right back into something familiar. You become the double disaster that used to belong to bonfires at the Boneyard and parties and long nights at the Chateau. Only now, there's kissing. A lot of kissing. Every few seconds, one of you is grabbing the other and pulling them in like you can’t quite believe this is real.

You spin in the grass, your dress catching the light from the fire as JJ pulls you back in, laughing into your mouth before kissing you again and again, messy and uncoordinated. He nearly trips over his own feet trying to dip you and you both just collapse into laughter, clinging to each other to stay upright like you always have.

Off to the side, sitting in the grass on a blanket, Sofia watches with a soft smile, leaning into Rafe a little as the fire crackles in front of them.

“That,” she says, nodding toward you two as you run around wreaking havoc like two twin tornadoes, dancing with anybody and everybody, “is exactly how I remember them from back home.”

The Pogues scattered around them snort in agreement as they watch the two of you.

“Yeah,” Rafe says, watching you and JJ like he can’t decide whether to be amused or exasperated. “Idiots.”

Sofia bumps her shoulder into his. “Now they’re idiots in love,” she says. “It’s adorable.”

“Debatable,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile there.

Back by the fire, JJ suddenly stops mid terrible dance move like he’s just had the greatest idea of his life.

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing your hand, words slurring just a little. “I’m gonna go talk to Daryl.”

You blink at him, already laughing. “Leave that man alone.”

But you follow anyway.

Daryl’s sitting off at one of the tables, slightly removed from the chaos, a cigarette between his fingers as he watches everything with that same quiet, observant look.

JJ drops into the chair across from him. “Oh hey, Daryl.”

You plop straight into his lap, arms looping lazily around his neck, your cheek brushing his. “I told him to leave you alone,” you say, smiling.

Daryl exhales smoke, glancing between the two of you. “S’fine,” he mutters, face softer. “Congrats.”

“Thanks,” you both say at the same time, which makes you laugh again.

JJ points at the cigarette. “Lemme hit that.”

Daryl huffs a quiet laugh and hands it over.

You snort, watching JJ like you already know he’s about to say something stupid. He takes a drag, then shrugs when you give him a look. “What? Drunk cigs don’t count.”

“Yes they do,” you shoot back immediately—then glance at Daryl. “Can I?”

He just snorts again. “Sure. Your day.”

JJ holds it up to your lips, his hand steady on your waist as you lean in and take a drag, exhaling with a small laugh before he passes it back.

There’s a beat of quiet, comfortable and warm.

Then JJ leans forward slightly, pointing at Daryl and looking at you like he’s about to expose a secret. “He was the first one who knew about the ring.”

Your eyebrows lift instantly. “Whattt?”

Daryl shrugs. “Told me when he was bleedin’ out,” he says. “After he went back out to get you that damn dress.”

Your expression softens immediately, bottom lip poking out just a little as you look at JJ.

JJ avoids your eyes for half a second, suddenly very interested in the candles on the table.

“Before you were even together,” Daryl adds. He’s silent for a second before his lips twitch a little. “So when’re you two havin’ a kid?”

You choke on a laugh.

JJ doesn’t even hesitate. “Tonight.”

You smack his chest lightly. “No we are absolutely not. We’re pumpin’ the brakes on that one.”

JJ grins then he looks back at Daryl, eyes lighting up again. “Guess what I’m gonna name it.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow. “What.”

“Daryl.”

He immediately shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Oh, we are,” JJ says, nodding firmly.

You blink at him, amused. “Are we?”

“Yeah. Even if it’s a girl.”

Daryl lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head again.

JJ lights up, pointing at him. “I made him laugh. I made Daryl Dixon laugh. This is the best day of my life.”

Daryl’s face goes completely blank again in an instant.

JJ turns to you, grabbing your arm. “You saw that, right?”

You shake your head innocently. “I saw nothing.”

That earns you the tiniest, quick smile from Daryl before he looks away again and JJ just stares at you like you’re the funniest, best thing he’s ever seen, one hand tightening around your waist as he leans in to kiss you, right there in front of him, like he can’t help it.

Later that night, after more drinking and dancing and talking with friends, JJ quietly takes your hand again.

“Ok, c’mon.”

“Where are we going now?” you giggle.

“Just c'mon.”

He leads you away from the party, down the street to the steps of your front porch. The steps where he'd first told you he loved you.

“Well?” you smile.

JJ turns to face you. For a second he just looks at you again—the dress, the flowers in your hair, the little smile on your face.

His wife.

The thought still seems unreal to him.

“Just wanted to be alone for a second.”

You smile softly. “Same. I'm exhausted.”

“You know,” he says slowly, “I thought the best day of my life was when we found this place.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“Turns out it’s today.”

Your heart melts a little. “You’re being very sweet right now,” you tease softly.

“Don’t get used to it.”

You snort and shake your head. “You're sweet to me, like, all the time.”

He reaches up and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I try... Mrs. Maybank,” he says quietly.

Your stomach flips. “That’s weird.”

“Yeah?”

“But I like it.”

JJ grins. “Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me. Like forever... forever ever.”

You slide your arms around his neck, swaying into him a little. “I’ve been stuck with you for years.”

He immediately leans down and kisses you for what has to be the billionth time tonight—slow at first, like he’s savoring it, then a little deeper when you smile against his mouth.

“Ready to go back?” he murmurs when he finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours.

You glance out toward the distant music, the laughter, the glow of the fire.

“No.”

JJ’s smile turns softer. Curious and a little amused. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Think they'll be fine without us.”

His hands settle on your waist, thumbs brushing against your sides. “Where do you wanna go then, Princess?”

You tilt your head, eyes flicking up to his, something playful and a little dangerous in your smile. “I think you know where I wanna go.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Oh yeah? Tooooo... to make that baby?” he teases.

You shake your head, laughing under your breath, leaning in close enough that your lips brush his when you speak.

“Maybe not a baby,” you murmur. “But… make something.”

He hums at that, eyes darkening in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Like what?” he asks, even though he clearly already knows.

You nudge his shoulder, smiling. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb.”

JJ lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Then his laugh fades into something quieter, more focused as his eyes stay on yours.

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “I think I do.”

There’s a shift in him—subtle, but you feel it instantly. His gaze drops, dragging slowly over you, taking in the dress, the way it hugs you, the way you’re standing just a little too close to him.

Then he steps in again, one hand sliding to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath catch.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, like he’s considering something, “I really like this dress.”

You smile a little, still half laughing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes flicking back up to yours, even darker now. “But…” His hand slides lower, bunching the fabric just slightly in his fist. “I think I’d like it a lot more—” his voice drops, rougher, closer to your ear now “—if you were sittin’ on the edge of the bed…”

Your breath stutters slightly.

“…and my head was underneath it... my face between your thighs.”

The idea of that immediately sends a sharp wave of heat straight through you. Your fingers tighten where they’re resting on his shoulders.

“JJ…” you breathe, but there’s no resistance in it. None at all.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, searching your face for half a second—and whatever he sees there, and the way your throat bobs when you swallow, makes something in his expression soften and sharpen all at once.

His thumb brushes along your jaw. “You’re all mine,” he says quietly. “You know that?”

Your stomach flips hard. You nod before you can even think about it, a small, breathless “yeah” slipping out of you, your body already leaning into his.

God, you love this side of him.

You love being claimed.

That seems to undo him a little.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, a hint of a smile pulling at his mouth, but his voice stays low. “Say it, baby. Wanna hear it come out of those pretty lips of yours.”

You swallow, eyes flicking between his. “I’m all yours.”

His grip on you tightens just slightly. “Good. And I'm all yours.” He glances down at your feet, then back up, smirking. “I’d carry you... but... I am highly highly intoxicated.”

You laugh, bumping your forehead into his. “Yeah, let’s not risk it.”

“Next time,” he promises.

“Next time.”

He leans in again, kissing you a slowly. Warm, lingering, his hand sliding up your back. And when you finally pull away, it’s definitely not to go back to the party.

Part 5

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩𖦹⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

A/N: pls I bawled my eyes out writing their vows, ya'll😭 I love them with all my little heart

Also, my pastor mother knows I'm "writing a zombie book" so I sent her Father Gabriel's part and she pastor approved it hehe💕 Love that

Because it’s December 1st.

One month and sixteen days since you last spoke to Rafe.

The time has passed in slow blinks. Days bleeding into each other, then suddenly speeding up as the city lit up for the holidays. Red bows on lamp posts. Pine wreaths in store windows. Couples sharing warm drinks. Everything smells like cinnamon and pine needles and sugar, like warmth and love and memory.

And you have no one to share it with.

The coffee doesn’t help. The noise doesn’t help. The lights only make the absence feel louder.

You’re not angry anymore, just… hollow. There’s no big fight to replay in your head. Just a hundred moments where things could’ve been said but weren’t. A silence that turned into distance. And now it feels like he’s on a different planet, and you’re still orbiting the places where he used to be.

“You good?” Allegra asks gently, breaking the quiet again.

You nod again, this time with a forced little smile. “Yeah. Let’s go ice skating.” And maybe, just for a couple hours, you can pretend the season doesn’t sting so much.

-

You weren’t expecting the call. Not from him. Not after a month and sixteen days of nothing. Not after the unread texts and missed calls turned into silence. Not after you had finally, finally- begun to let the ache dull into something manageable. But then his name lit up your phone while you were standing in a department store, holding a cashmere scarf meant for Becca.

Rafe.

You stared at the screen so long it went dark.

When you finally answered, your voice was quiet. “Hello?”

He didn’t say your name like a question, not like he used to. Just: “Hey. Got a minute?”

His voice did something to your chest. And despite the thousand reasons you should have walked away, you found yourself sitting in your parked car outside the store an hour later, engine off, coffee cooling in the cupholder as you listened to him talk. The conversation was careful. Polite. Like two people trying not to spook each other.

He told you things he didn’t have to. That it still felt weird waking up and not having you around. That he missed hearing your voice, your dumb TV preferences, your random mid-day rants about fashion and baked goods and New York being too cold.

He said it like it was a confession. And you… you didn’t know what to say. Because you missed him too, but missing someone doesn’t make it right. Wanting someone doesn’t make it work.

Still, when he said, “Are you coming home for Christmas?”- you said yes.

When he asked, “Can I see you?”-you didn’t say no.

Maybe because it was the holidays. Maybe because you felt bad for him. Or maybe because you were just as lonely and tired of pretending you weren’t.

-

It wasn’t until your palms started to sweat that the nerves finally kicked in. You’d been fine, at first. At least, you told yourself you were. The air in OBX wasn’t nearly as cold as New York this time of year, and you spent your first day back hanging out with Becca, dodging any real plans or responsibilities. You told yourself you’d see Rafe eventually- maybe tomorrow, maybe after Christmas. The whole trip was only a week, so there was time.

But if you were honest, you were stalling. Avoiding him. Avoiding it.

The conversation you’d been rehearsing in your head since the last time you saw his name on your phone. Now you were shopping with Becca, trailing behind her through the racks as she picked out winter clothes for her trip to visit you in February- most of which looked far too thin to survive even a walk through Manhattan. But Becca was chronically unbothered by practical things like wind chill or proper coats.

She held up a cropped leather jacket, eyeing it in the mirror. “So. I really like Marie. Like, a lot. We’ve been dating since almost the end of summer,” she said, glancing at you. “But I don’t know… it feels like our lives are in completely different places.”

You paused beside a display of overpriced mittens, glancing over.

Becca sighed. “I mean, I’m about to step into the whole family business thing. I don’t have a choice. Meanwhile, Marie’s family is basically worth a billion dollars. She doesn’t have to worry about money or legacy or any of that shit. She can do whatever she wants.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Mostly because she had no idea she was describing your exact situation.

Except you weren’t Marie.

You were Becca. The one with expectations stitched into your last name, with a future that felt less like a choice and more like a contract you’d never signed. And Rafe- well, Rafe was the one who could disappear for days, follow any impulse, move through the world untethered. A little reckless, a little selfish. But free.

And sometimes, it felt like no one really understood that. That you loved him, but you were tired. That you wanted to chase your own dreams, but the weight of who you were supposed to be dragged behind you like an anchor.

You picked up a scarf, running your fingers over the fabric as Becca turned back to the mirror.

“It’s just hard,” she added. “Being with someone who doesn’t have to think the way you do. Who gets to live on their own timeline.”

You gave a soft hum, folding the scarf neatly and setting it back down.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter than before. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Eventually, you’re dragged into another boutique- this one more upscale, the kind with price tags that don’t even bother to hide their numbers. Becca links her arm through yours and announces that what you need, clearly, is retail therapy. You shake your head with a tired laugh, letting her guide you past glossy mannequins and curated racks. You’re halfway to insisting you don’t need anything when your eyes catch on a dress.

It’s light blue. Soft. Silky. Definitely figure-hugging.

“This is cute,” you murmur, lifting it off the rack and tilting your head as your gaze bounces between the dress and the price tag: $375.

Becca glances up from a rack of accessories. “You should get it,” she shrugs, now admiring an $80 headscarf like it’s a candy bar.

You hesitate. “I’m just gonna try it on.”

You weave your way toward the fitting rooms, slipping behind an empty stall. The door clicks shut and you lock it, setting your purse and shopping bags down in the corner. You undress slowly, folding your clothes with more care than usual, then slide the dress over your shoulders.

It fits like it was made for you. You stare at your reflection, adjusting the straps, smoothing the fabric over your waist. You look good. Really good.

You weren’t planning to see Rafe today. But now you kind of want to.

You start changing back into your clothes, slipping out of the dress as voices drift into the fitting area. At first you think it’s Becca. You’re about to call out- until something in the tone makes you pause.

“Yeah, I mean I only have so much left on this gift card,” a girl says, followed by a laugh. The voice is familiar, but you can’t quite place it.

“How’d you even get that?” another girl replies.

“This guy I used to… hang out with gave it to me. Early Christmas present,” the first girl says. 

There’s a smug edge to her tone. “He supposedly has a girlfriend now, but I wasn’t gonna turn it down.”

You blink. Your hand freezes where it’s zipping your jeans. Yikes. Poor girlfriend.

You slide on your shoes, trying to push the conversation out of your head, grabbing your bags and the dress. But when you open the door, your stomach drops.

Two girls stand at the hallway mirror, laughing and twirling in half-zipped dresses. One of them is Sofia.

You freeze. She meets your eyes through the mirror. For a moment, there’s silence. Then she gives you a tight-lipped, practiced smile.

You return one -polite, hollow- before walking out without a word, stomach suddenly churning.

Becca is waiting by a rack near the register. Her eyes widen. “Did you see that pogue, Sofia, in there?”

You exhale slowly. “Jesus, Bec, you make it sound like a slur.”

She winces. “Sorry, I just- wasn’t expecting to see her in a place like this.”

You ignore the sting in your chest and step toward the cashier, placing the dress gently on the counter. “Let’s just buy this so I can go home.”

The cashier rings you up, typing quietly. Becca leans in, her voice low but annoyed. “Seriously though, how does she afford to shop here like it’s nothing?”

You don’t answer right away. The cashier tells you your total. You pull out your card, swipe without flinching, even though your chest is tight.

“That’s exactly what I want to know,” you mutter.

Because no matter how many miles you put between you and this place, some things have a way of finding you again. Smiling at you in the mirror like nothing ever happened.

-

Your heart is pounding hard -too hard- as you step up to the door of Tannyhill. The cold does little to calm your nerves, even though the porch is quiet, still, wrapped in the sleepy kind of silence you only get in the Outer Banks at night.

You take a breath. Then knock.

It’s not just that this is the first time you’ve seen him since everything. Since you asked for space. Since he showed up in your living room with his suitcase in hand, blindsiding you with an early return flight and eyes that looked like maybe he’d been crying.

It’s not just that.

It’s that now, there’s this other thing too. Sofia.

She hadn’t said his name out loud in the dressing room, but you weren’t stupid. You’d put the pieces together- the smug little comment about the gift card, the way her tone shifted just enough to sound like she’d won something.

And there was only one person you knew who’d give her a Christmas present like that.

You shift your weight from foot to foot, nervously tugging at the hem of your dress- the light blue one you bought earlier, the one you told yourself you weren’t getting just for him.

You hear footsteps inside. Then the door creaks open.

Rafe stands in the doorway, hair freshly buzzed, eyes tired like he’s been sleeping or just hasn’t bothered for coffee today. His expression flickers between surprised and something softer- like he’s been waiting for this without letting himself hope too hard.

You both stare for a second.

“Hey,” you say, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“Hey,” he echoes, stepping aside.

You walk in slowly, heart still racing. It’s awkward for a beat -long enough to make you wonder if this was a mistake- until he steps closer and wraps his arms around you in a hesitant, gentle hug.

You melt into it. Just for a second.

You didn’t realize how much you missed this until now. How much you missed him.

When you finally pull back, your eyes scan the house. The living room looks the same- familiar, but somehow lonelier. No garland, no lights. Not even a sad little tree in the corner.

“You didn’t decorate,” you say, voice light but curious.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just didn’t feel like it this year.”

You nod, letting the silence linger for a second before offering, “I could help. If you want.”

His eyes meet yours again, a little warmer this time. “Yeah?” he says. “You’d do that?”

You shrug. “Sure. You probably have a million boxes of stuff in that attic.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “You remember where it is?”

You roll your eyes. “Rafe, I practically lived here the whole summer.”

That earns a small smile- real, this time. He gestures toward the kitchen. “Want anything before we get started? There’s leftover cider. Or wine, if you’re feeling festive.” You follow him, trying to steady the thudding in your chest. Because this- this almost feels normal. Easy. But underneath it all, the question is still there. Sofia. The gift card. The ache in your gut that hasn’t gone away since you saw her reflection in that mirror.

And eventually, you know, you’re going to have to ask. But not yet. For now, you’re standing in his kitchen, watching him pour cider into mismatched mugs, wearing the dress you weren’t supposed to buy for him. And pretending -for a little while longer- that things are okay.

The attic dust makes your nose itch, and the garland is tangled in a way that feels metaphorical, but you both pretend not to notice. Rafe brings down a box of ornaments while you untangle the string lights on the floor. Every so often, your hands brush, and neither of you says anything about it. The cider’s gone cold. The room has grown quieter than it should be for two people trying to be fine.

You pull out a wooden ornament shaped like a little boat and hold it up, half-laughing. “You still have this?”

He glances over from where he’s unboxing the fake tree. “You and Sarah made those. She broke hers.”

“I know. I didn’t think you’d keep mine.”

“I keep a lot of things,” he says softly.

You stare at each other for a moment. It feels too loaded, so you look away.

You hang the boat ornament, then a ceramic angel, then you finally say it. “I saw Sofia.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just keeps fluffing the sad branches of the tree. “In a dressing room,” you go on, pretending to adjust a light. “She was bragging to a friend about some gift card a guy gave her. For Christmas.”

Nothing.

“I mean, she didn’t say your name or anything.” You keep your tone casual, like you’re still deciding whether it even matters. “But I put two and two together.”

Still, he doesn’t look at you. “You said we needed space.”

That makes your stomach twist. “And that means giving Christmas presents to your ex?”

“She’s not-” He stops himself. He sets the tree topper down gently. “You acted like you didn’t know what you wanted. I didn’t either. I didn’t even know if we were broken up or just… drifting.”

You cross your arms. “So you give a gift to your ex-fling yet you’re not even in the mood to decorate?”

“She wasn’t just a fling.” His voice is calm, but it lands like a slap.

You blink. “Oh.” It’s the only thing you can think to say.

He glances at you, regret already creeping into his eyes. “That came out wrong.”

“No.” You shake your head, stepping back just slightly. “No, that’s… that’s just not what you told me all summer.”

Rafe exhales. It’s quiet, barely audible. “Things with her were messy, okay? She was in my life for a while before you, and it didn’t mean I loved her. But I can’t pretend she didn’t matter at all.”

“And what am I?” you ask, not bitter, just tired. “Do I matter, or am I just… the person you call when you’re not sure if you want to be alone?”

His jaw tenses. “That’s not fair.”

“Well, none of this is fair,” you say, and your voice breaks just enough that you have to turn away. “Trying to love someone in another state. Trying to hold on when it always feels like one of us is slipping.”

The room is still except for the soft hum of the heating system and your own breathing as you try to keep it together. Your eyes sting, but you don’t wipe them yet. He steps closer behind you, like he wants to fix it, but doesn’t know how.

You finally speak again, quieter this time. “You gave her a gift. And maybe you didn’t mean anything by it. But I can’t help but feel like the minute I gave you space, you filled it with someone else.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says. “I just… didn’t know where we stood.”

“That’s the thing, Rafe,” you whisper, finally turning to face him. “Neither did I. And it’s exhausting always being the one who’s supposed to understand.”

Your lip trembles despite yourself. You blink fast, but it’s too late- tears fall, quiet and slow.

He reaches for your hand but hesitates, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

You don’t pull away. Not yet.

Things settle after that.

Not with a grand apology or a magical fix- just in the way that heavy things eventually quiet down under their own weight.

You help him get the fireplace going, both of you sitting on the rug in front of it like it’s a ritual from a different life. The tension thins into something warmer. Softer. You sit between his legs, his arms wrapped around you, chin resting gently on your shoulder. The room flickers with firelight, and outside the windows, OBX exhales in silence.

Your voice is low when you speak. “There’s too much back and forth. One minute we’re together, the next we’re not, or we’re struggling just to stay afloat. I feel like I’m always bracing for something to go wrong.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything right away. His thumbs brush over your forearms, slow and absentminded, like he’s memorizing you by feel.

“I know,” he finally murmurs. “I know it’s been hard.”

You turn a little, half-facing him, enough to see the wear in his eyes. “It’s not just hard. It’s exhausting. I love you, but I don’t know how long we can keep doing this if nothing ever changes.”

He reaches into his back pocket. And before you can piece together what’s happening, he’s pulling out a small velvet box- the same one you once were offered yet gave it back to him at the end of this past summer.

You freeze.

“I was going to save this for Christmas,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But I want to marry you.”

Your breath catches. You stare at the box, then at him.

His eyes are steady, but there’s something else under the surface. Not desperation- but something close. Something fragile.

“I want a life with you,” he adds. “Not just visits and calls and trying to figure out where we stand. I know it’s been messy, and I know I’ve made mistakes… but I don’t want anyone else. It’s always been you.”

You swallow hard, pulse thrumming in your ears. Your eyes flick to the fire, then back to the box in his hand. The one that’s holding a future you’re not sure you’re ready for, even if it’s the one you once imagined.

You love him.

God, you love him.

And you’re tired. Of distance. Of doubt. Of feeling like the only thing you know for sure is how much you miss him when he’s gone.

So when you say yes, it’s quiet.

“Yes.”

It slips out like a sigh, like you’re giving in rather than celebrating. And when he exhales in relief and pulls you into him, when he slides the ring onto your finger and kisses the side of your head, you try to make yourself feel everything you’re supposed to.

But the feeling doesn’t come in a rush. It just lingers there. Soft and strange.

You love him. You said yes.

So why do you feel like you’ve just made a promise you’re still trying to believe in?

The fire crackles softly as you sit there, leaning back against him, your hands resting lightly on his. There’s a silence that feels thick- not uncomfortable, but necessary.

“I’m scared,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want this to work. I want us to work. But I don’t know if we’ve figured out how yet.”

He tightens his arms around you, his breath warm on your neck. “Me too. I don’t want us to keep breaking each other.”

You shift slightly to face him, your eyes searching his. “We keep saying we want to be together, but half the time it feels like we’re just trying to hold on because it’s easier than letting go.”

He nods slowly, sadness flickering in his eyes. “I hate that I made you feel like you had to carry this alone. Like I wasn’t really here, even when I was.”

Your heart aches, but you don’t pull away. “And I hate that I pushed you away when you needed me the most.”

He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face. “I don’t want to pretend it’s all fixed just because you said yes. I want us to be honest, even when it hurts. To learn how to fight for us without losing ourselves.”

You swallow, feeling the truth of it sink deep. This isn’t a fairytale proposal. It’s messy, complicated, and real. But maybe- that’s enough for now.

“I’m willing to try,” you say softly. “But we have to promise not to give up, even when it gets hard.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “I promise. No more running away. No more silence. We figure it out together.”

And in that quiet, fragile moment, you both take a breath and step into the unknown. Knowing love won’t be perfect, but it can be yours.

You’re quiet for a few moments, still tucked between his legs, his arms around you and the fire soft and low behind the both of you. The heaviness of everything said lingers, but there’s a gentler undercurrent now, like a breath finally exhaled.

Then he leans down a little, eyes trailing down the curve of your shoulder, to the way the dress hugs your waist and hips.

“This dress,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You wore it for me, didn’t you?”

You roll your eyes, but the blush gives you away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m not,” he says, smile widening. “I’m just asking. For data.”

“For data?”

He nods seriously. “So I can run the numbers and figure out exactly how hard I need to beg you to wear it again.”

You laugh, leaning your head back onto his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re not answering the question,” he teases, his hands resting on your hips now, fingers brushing just beneath the hem. “Did you?”

You twist around in his arms until you’re facing him properly, your knees on either side of his thighs as you settle into his lap, heart suddenly thudding louder again- but for very different reasons.

“I did,” you say, tilting your head, voice playful now. “I wanted you to see what you were missing.”

His gaze drops to your lips. “I haven’t stopped seeing it. Even when I tried to.”

You don’t answer right away. You just lean in and kiss him- soft at first, testing, reminding. But it doesn’t take long before it deepens. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer, and yours tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck, lips parting and tongues brushing. It’s hungry, a little messy, the kind of kiss that says I missed you and don’t make me let go again.

You shift slightly in his lap, and he groans softly into your mouth, like he forgot what it felt like to have you this close. Like remembering is almost painful.

“I missed you,” he breathes against your skin as he kisses down your jaw, your neck, the dip of your collarbone. “I missed everything about you.”

Your fingers move to the buttons of his shirt, tugging gently. “Show me, then.”

He doesn’t need more of an invitation.

One arm sweeps beneath your thighs, the other steady around your back as he lifts you with an ease that still catches you off guard. Your gasp turns into a laugh, your arms locking around his shoulders as he carries you through the flickering shadows cast by the fireplace. You press your face into the curve of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him- pine, salt, something warm you haven’t let yourself miss until now.

He kisses you all the way to the couch, slow and unrushed, like he’s savoring every step. His lips brush the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the hollow of your throat. When he lays you down, it’s gentle but deliberate- like he’s unwrapping something precious, not fragile. You shift to sit up and pull your dress over your head, tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties and the tension buzzing in the room. He watches you like you’re art, eyes dragging down your body with reverence that makes you flush, even under his gaze.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, kneeling between your legs, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, then up to cup your face as he kisses you again- deeper now. Hungrier.

You tug at the hem of his shirt, and he breaks the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head. His chest is warm against yours when he leans back in, skin to skin, the weight of him grounding you. His hips settle between yours, and the friction of his jeans pressing into your thin underwear makes you gasp into his mouth.

“I missed this,” he breathes, voice low and raspy as he kisses your neck again, slow and open-mouthed. “Missed you.”

His hands travel everywhere at once- down your thighs, along your hips, up your ribs, fingers memorizing you all over again. When his mouth closes around your nipple, you arch into him, moaning softly, hands threading over his hair as he sucks gently and palms your other breast.

Your legs wrap around his waist as you rock up into him, chasing the pressure. He groans, grinding back, and the sound that escapes him is guttural- like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Take these off for me,” he whispers, tugging at the waistband of your panties, dragging them down slowly like he’s savoring every inch revealed. He kisses the inside of your thigh as he goes, eyes locked on yours- daring you to look away.

You don’t.

His hand slides between your legs, fingers slipping through the wetness there with a hiss of breath. He brushes your clit in slow, lazy circles, watching your face as you bite your lip, hips tilting up.

“You’re so wet for me,” he says, voice wrecked. “Fuck, I forgot how sweet you are like this.”

He slips two fingers inside you, curling just right, and your back arches against the cushions, a soft whimper slipping from your lips. His thumb never stops moving, coaxing you higher and higher as he kisses you again, swallowing every sound you make like he can’t get enough.

“Rafe-” you gasp, hands gripping his shoulders. “I need you.”

He pulls back just enough to undo his belt, pants hitting the floor in seconds. You watch the way his jaw clenches when he strokes himself once, twice, lined up at your entrance, his tip brushing against you and making your thighs tremble with anticipation.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, guiding himself in with slow, careful thrusts. “Keep looking at me.”

You do.

He slides in deep, stretching you with a fullness you’d nearly forgotten. Your eyes flutter, but you force them open, locking onto his, and the connection between you sparks again- something hot and fragile and real.

He starts to move, slow at first, rolling his hips into yours with a rhythm that builds- deliberate, worshipful. You cling to him, nails scraping lightly down his back, your breath hitching every time he hits that spot inside you just right.

It’s more than just physical. It’s the emotion behind it- all the missed time, the words left unsaid, the weight of everything you’ve tried to ignore. It’s in every thrust, every kiss, every whispered “I love you” against your skin.

You come with his name on your lips, legs tightening around him, body shaking beneath his as he rides you through it. He follows moments later, pulsing inside you with a broken moan into your neck, holding you like he’ll never let go again.

After, you stay tangled together, your face buried in his chest, his hand stroking lazy circles over your hip. The fire’s still burning. So is something else. Still messy. Still uncertain. But in that moment, the world feels like it’s finally quiet.

You wake slowly, the warmth of the fire a soft flicker against your skin. The room smells like woodsmoke and pine, the blanket draped loosely around your bare shoulders still holding his scent. You shift, muscles pleasantly sore, heart strangely light and heavy all at once.

For a moment, it’s easy to pretend nothing’s changed. But then you notice it. He’s not there.

You sit up, the blanket pooling at your waist. The couch creaks softly beneath you as you glance around- the fire is still glowing, the air still carries the quiet intimacy of the night before, but the room is otherwise empty.

“Rafe?” you call softly, voice rough from sleep. No answer.

You try again, louder. Still nothing.

His phone’s gone. So is his jacket.

You frown, pushing your hair back and standing carefully, clutching the blanket tighter as you walk into the kitchen. Empty. Bedroom? Empty. Bathroom door open, no sound of running water.

It’s not like he left forever -at least, you don’t think so- but your chest still tightens anyway. He wouldn’t have proposed if he planned to disappear… right?

You reach for your phone, the nerves creeping in before you can stop them. You scroll instinctively, then pause. Instead of texting him, your thumb hovers, and you press a different name.

Becca.

She answers on the second ring, her face still sleep-mussed, one eyebrow raised.

“Damn. Morning face and all, huh?”

You don’t even reply. You just lift your hand and show her.

The ring.

For a beat, there’s silence. Then Becca gasps- loud enough to make your eyes water.

“Shut. Up.”

You bite your lip and let out a soft laugh, nervous and sleepy and a little overwhelmed. “I’m not kidding.”

“Wait- wait, wait, wait. Are you engaged right now? Like, actually engaged?”

You nod, and her shriek is so loud you have to turn the volume down. “Oh my god. Holy shit. Finally! You said yes?”

“I said yes.”

“Bitch!” she screams, clutching her pillow. “Wait, I’m crying. Are you crying? Why aren’t you crying?! Where is he?!”

You glance around again. “He’s… not here. I woke up alone.”

Becca sobers a little. “Okay. Weird. But maybe he went to get coffee or something, right? That boy couldn’t make toast without setting off a fire alarm, so I know he didn’t go far.”

You smile, holding the phone up so she can see the fireplace in the background. “We fell asleep here.”

Becca blinks. “Okay, that’s kind of disgustingly cute. Are you okay, though? Like… you feel good about it?”

You hesitate -just for a second- then nod. “Yeah. I do.”

You don’t mention the rest yet- the Sofia thing, the quiet fight, the part of you that said yes out of love but not certainty. There’ll be time for that.

Right now, you just want to stay in this moment- the flicker of new hope, the smell of smoke on your skin, the feeling of a ring that fits like it always belonged to you.

You hear the door creak open just as you set your phone down.

“Hey,” Rafe calls softly, almost cautiously, like he’s not sure what version of you he’ll find. “I didn’t wanna wake you.”

You sit up straighter on the couch, still clutching the blanket as he walks in- arms full, somehow managing to balance two coffees, a brown paper bag, and a bouquet of tulips wrapped in kraft paper.

“You weren’t here,” you say, trying not to sound like you noticed too much.

“I went to grab breakfast,” he says, smiling like it’s obvious. “And these. I saw them and thought of you.”

You glance down at the tulips. Pale pink. Your favorite.

“I figured we could eat here,” he adds, setting the coffee on the table and crouching to open the bag. “Just like… have a slow morning. I didn’t want to ruin the vibe we had going on.”

You can’t help but smile. The effort is sweet, a little boyish. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He grins at that and pulls out two sandwiches- the good kind, on fresh bread with egg and cheese and bacon still warm between the layers. He hands you one, then sits across from you, cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace.

For a while, the only sounds are the quiet crackle of embers and the occasional clink of coffee lids. Rafe talks a little- about the bagel shop being crowded, about almost forgetting to grab napkins, about how weird it feels to be engaged now, even though nothing has really changed.

And you nod. You listen.

But somewhere in the middle of it -as he’s teasing himself for nearly spilling coffee in the car- you drift.

It’s the way the morning light hits the side of his face. The sound of his voice, soft and steady and familiar. The warmth of the fire behind you, the ring on your finger, the faint scent of tulips between you. You look at him, and something in your chest stirs- a fluttery, golden feeling that spreads from your heart to your ribs.

You imagine it for a second. Not the proposal. Not the ring.

The life.

Waking up like this more often. Making breakfast together in this kitchen. Picking out a Christmas tree. Putting a baby gate in front of the fireplace. Teaching your kids to tie their shoes on this rug. Laughing at Rafe as he burns pancakes. Mornings that don’t feel borrowed or timed. 

Just yours.

It makes your cheeks warm before you even realize you’re smiling to yourself.

“Hey.” His voice cuts in gently. You blink and come back to earth.

He’s watching you with that crooked grin- the one that means he knows he caught you in a moment. “Where’d you just go?”

You shake your head, tucking your legs under you and looking down at your sandwich. “Nowhere.”

He leans forward. “You blushed.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You totally did.”

You swat at him with a laugh, but he catches your wrist and presses a kiss to your knuckles before letting go. The gesture is tender enough to undo you a little.

You take a sip of coffee and smile, but your thoughts shift again- softer this time, tinged with a different sort of ache.

Because now you’re thinking about New York. The city that once felt like a dream, buzzing and thrilling and shiny. But lately? You’re not so sure. The hours are long. The cold is unforgiving. The apartment feels small. The work that once made you feel electric now just makes you tired.

You don’t say anything, not yet. But the contrast sits in your chest like a quiet question: Is this what happiness feels like? Because if it is… why am I only finding it here?

He leans back on his hands, still chewing the last bite of his sandwich, and shoots you a look. 

“Whatever’s going on in that head of yours,” he says, “I hope it’s good.”

You hum, folding the tulip paper absentmindedly. “It is.”

It’s complicated. But it’s good. And for now, that’s enough.

-

Christmas feels gentler than you expected.

You spend the morning at your parents’ house, curled on the same velvet couch you grew up sneaking downstairs to every Christmas Eve. The tree is a little too full, just like every year, with ornaments that don’t match and the same angel on top that’s been leaning sideways since you were ten.

Your mom notices the ring almost immediately. She doesn’t gasp or cry or go into one of her spirals. She just takes your hand, thumb brushing the edge of the stone, and says softly, “He asked you?”

You nod. “A few nights ago.”

Your dad looks over his paper and squints at your hand, his brows raising. For a second you brace for it -the speech, the judgment- but it doesn’t come. Just a quiet, thoughtful breath and a slow sip of his coffee.

Your mom says, “You look happy.”

And that’s the part that catches you off guard.

Because you do- at least right now, with her hand over yours and the fireplace on and no one asking you if you’re sure, no one pointing out the distance or the past or the complications. Just this warm, cautious support that says we may not love everything about him, but we love you.

Becca and Beau stop by later. She shrieks the second you flash the ring and Beau gives you the kind of teasingly horrified face that only an older brother figure can give. Becca, on the other hand, pulls you into a hug so tight you forget how unsure you’ve been lately. “About damn time,” she whispers in your ear.

Later that evening, it’s just you and Rafe again. Tannyhill is dimly lit, candles on the coffee table, a soft jazz Christmas playlist humming in the background. You sit on the floor across from each other, gift bags between you like some unspoken truce.

He unwraps his first- framed photo, one you took months ago at topper’s bonfire where everything still felt right. But also a lighter with his initials carved in it. He chuckles, and it’s that low sound you haven’t heard in a while, the one that makes your stomach flutter.

Then it’s your turn.

A tiny velvet box- no, not another ring. Inside is a delicate gold bracelet with a small wave charm. Underneath it is a folded note.

You always say you don’t belong to one place. But OBX always comes back with you.

You smile, touched. But for a split second, you think of Sofia. That damn dressing room. Her voice. That card. And you have to look away for a moment, hiding the shadow that crosses your expression.

Rafe notices, but doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he scoots closer, hands warm as they brush your knee. “You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

And you almost are. Because for now, in this soft little bubble of lights and warmth and second chances, you let yourself believe in it- even if the rest will come crashing back soon. Even if there’s so much to sort out.

But tonight, there’s music. There’s laughter. There’s the quiet promise of trying again.

And maybe  -just maybe- that’s enough.

-

You leave the day after Christmas.

Not in a whirlwind or in the middle of a fight like last time. Just a quiet morning where the sky is pale gray and the road is still damp from last night’s rain. Your suitcase sits by the door, half-zipped. Rafe’s making coffee in the kitchen, moving slower than usual.

Neither of you says much while you get ready. You fold your pajamas, double-check your charger, try not to look at the spot on the bed where you fell asleep together last night. When you come downstairs, he’s leaning against the counter with two mugs. He hands you one without a word. You take it.

You don’t drink it.

Instead, you look around the room- really look. The fireplace still smells like pine and smoke. 

One ornament is crooked on the tree. Your ring catches the morning light. And he’s just standing there, in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair still messy from sleep, like he has no idea how to say what he wants to say.

You break the silence first. “This felt different.”

He nods. “It was.”

You step closer. “We still have to figure things out.”

“I know.”

“And I can’t fix everything overnight.”

“I don’t want you to,” he says softly. “I just want you to come back.”

Your heart clenches. Because you do too. But not without knowing who you’re coming back to. 

Not without knowing it’ll be different. Better. More than just a high followed by the inevitable crash. You press your forehead to his chest, and his arms wrap around you instantly. It feels like home. Dangerous, familiar, everything you’ve missed.

“I’ll call you when I land,” you whisper.

He nods, kissing the top of your head. “You better.”

You pull back and look at him-really look at him-and he’s watching you like he wants to memorize your face, just in case. Like he’s afraid to blink.

“Don’t forget,” you say, a teasing edge to your voice, “you still owe me a New Year’s kiss.”

He smiles, barely. “Then don’t be late coming home.”

And with that, you roll your suitcase out the door. He stands on the porch, barefoot and cold, watching you the whole way. You don’t look back until you’re pulling away.

But when you do, he’s still there.

Waiting.

-

Back in New York, everything feels quieter than you remember. Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe it’s the way your apartment always smells like someone else’s cooking through the vents. Maybe it’s the way your inbox looks more suffocating than usual. But the moment you drop your suitcase at the door, a strange stillness settles over you.

Your place feels… unfamiliar. Too clean. Too stark. You left the candles out on the counter before the trip, thinking you’d come home and light them, wrap yourself in a blanket, fall back into your usual rhythm. But now, the silence just echoes.

You sleep weird the first night. Restless, even though you’re exhausted. You keep reaching for something that isn’t there.

The next morning, you throw yourself into work- emails, fittings, edits, calls. Everyone’s already three steps into the next project, asking for updates like you haven’t just lived a different life for the past week. You nod along, answer what you can, smile when needed. But it all feels heavier now. Louder. Less meaningful.

And when you sit in front of your window that night with your laptop open and untouched, you wonder if this city ever really felt like home… or if you just told yourself it did.

Your phone buzzes. A text from Rafe:

“Attempted to make spaghetti. Would’ve saved you a plate if I hadn't almost burned the place down.”

You stare at it longer than you should. Smile, a little. But it fades just as quickly.

Because you’re not sure where you belong right now- only that here doesn’t feel quite right anymore.

Not the way it used to.

-

You were curled up on the floor of Allegra and Noel’s apartment, wrapped in an oversized knit blanket, the scent of peppermint cocoa lingering in the air. All three of you had matching face masks on -one of Allegra’s ideas, of course- and the speakers hummed softly with an old Norah Jones playlist.

Your engagement ring sparkled under the warm apartment lights, and every time you moved your hand, Noel gasped like it was the first time she’d seen it.

“Oh my god,” she whispered for the fifth time. “You’re getting married.”

Allegra raised an eyebrow from where she lounged on the couch, swirling her mug. “Okay, it’s pretty. I’ll give you that,” she said, trying to act unfazed- but the soft grin tugging at her lips betrayed her.

Noel, on the other hand, was fully misty-eyed. “I’m literally going to cry again. That’s his mom’s ring, right?”

You nodded, a little shy under their attention. “Yeah… it is.”

“You’re getting married,” Noel repeated, softer this time, like saying it again would make it feel more real.

You shifted, tucking your legs under you, your fingers grazing the velvet box still sitting unopened on the coffee table. “Not yet,” you said gently. “It’s not like we’ve got a date or a venue or even a plan. We still have a lot to work on.”

Allegra glanced over at you, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she said, “That’s the part that makes it real though. You’re not pretending it’s perfect. You’re just choosing him anyway.”

You looked down at the ring, your chest tightening with a strange blend of peace and fear. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I am.”

And for the first time since coming back to New York, the apartment didn’t feel so quiet.

-

You’re on FaceTime with Rafe, the screen a little grainy from the spotty service in certain corners of Tannyhill. He’s walking through the house, his phone angled slightly low like he forgot he’s on camera, giving you a partial view of his chin and the ceiling fan overhead.

“I was thinking,” he says casually, “about turning Sarah’s old room into a studio or something… y’know, for your fashion stuff.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

He finally angles the phone back toward his face, a crooked smirk forming. “Just sayin’. You’d have your own space for all your sketches and mood boards and whatever else it is you do with all that fabric.”

You laugh, not just at how he simplifies your entire career into “fashion stuff,” but at the image of him gutting Sarah’s room to make room for bolts of silk and a sewing machine he wouldn’t know how to thread.

“Rafe, don’t,” you say, still smiling. “It’s her room. I’m not trying to step on Sarah’s toes- even if she is always off with her pogue friends.”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “She hasn’t stayed here in months. You could actually use it. Makes more sense.”

Your heart tugs a little. It’s sweet, the way he’s trying to make space for you in his world- literally. But it also makes everything feel a little heavier. Realer.

He keeps walking, the soft creak of the floorboards trailing under his feet. You fall quiet, watching him through the screen. Your mind starts to drift as he talks about needing to pick up something from the store- lightbulbs or eggs, you can’t really hear over the low signal. There’s something grounding about seeing him like this, just wandering through the house barefoot, sleep marks on his face from his nap, the sleeves of his sweatshirt pushed up. You could almost forget you were miles apart. Almost.

You tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin on them, staring at the screen like you can will yourself back into that house. Back to the fireplace. Back to him.

You close out of the FaceTime call with Rafe and sit in the quiet for a long moment, the screen dark and your cocoa long gone cold. The apartment buzzes faintly with city noise, but it only makes you feel more removed. You’d thought coming back would help- get you grounded again. But it doesn’t. Not really.

Two days later, you’re at the office, half-listening during a team meeting when Celeste, your aunt, boss, mentor, and the closest thing you have to a North Star in New York- asks if you have any updates on the spring launch.

You nod, rattling off progress notes, but she catches something in your voice.

After the meeting, she asks if you have a minute. You follow her to her glass-walled office, where she closes the door and tilts her head at you in that way she does when she’s reading deeper than you want her to.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she says gently. “Is everything okay?”

You hesitate, fiddling with the ring on your finger. The weight of it makes everything feel a little more real. A little more terrifying.

“I’ve been thinking,” you begin, choosing your words carefully, “about spending more time down in the Outer Banks. Maybe… working remotely from there for a while.”

Celeste raises her brows, but not in disapproval. She leans back slightly, folding her arms. “Is this about Rafe?”

“It’s not just about him,” you say quickly. “It’s about- me. About space. About feeling like I can actually breathe. New York has been amazing, but I don’t know if it feels like home anymore. I want to give myself a real chance to figure out what does.”

She nods slowly, thoughtful. “You’ve done good work from everywhere- Miami, Paris, even in the back of a moving car once. If it’s clarity you need, I’d rather you have it than burn out trying to force things here.”

Relief washes over you before you even realize how tightly you were holding your breath.

“We’ll set up a remote schedule,” she adds, reaching for her phone. “You’ll still be part of everything, but at a pace that lets you actually live. Because you’re allowed to have a life, too, you know.”

You smile, grateful. Maybe it’s not a forever decision. But it’s a start.

You wait until later that night to call him- when things feel still enough, quiet enough, that you can actually hear your own thoughts. He answers on the second ring, hair still damp from a shower, a hoodie loose around his shoulders.

“You look tired,” he says, voice low. “Long day?”

You nod. “Yeah. But I finally talked to Celeste.”

His expression shifts, a flicker of curiosity in his brow. “Everything okay?”

You pause, fiddling with the edge of the throw blanket on your couch. “I asked her if I could work remotely. From the Outer Banks.”

He stares for a second, blinking like he’s not sure he heard you right. “Wait. Seriously?”

You laugh softly. “Yeah. I mean… not permanently. But for a while. A few months maybe. Just to see how it goes.”

There’s a beat of silence. His hand runs over his hair. “You wanna come back?”

You nod. “I miss it. I miss-” You don’t have to finish the sentence. You know he knows.

His lips twitch into something between a grin and disbelief. “God. I didn’t think I’d hear you say that. Not so soon.”

“Well… don’t get cocky,” you tease. “I’m not moving in or anything.”

“Yet,” he murmurs, and the smile he gives you is the kind that makes your chest tighten in the best way.

You shake your head, trying to suppress your own smile. “I just think we deserve to know what it feels like to be in the same place without everything else pulling at us.”

“I love that idea,” he says quietly. “I love you.”

You feel it in your bones, soft and certain.

“I’ll be home soon,” you say.

And for the first time in a while, “home” actually sounds like something you want.

-

You sigh as Rafe hauls your two suitcases out of the trunk- just enough for two months, though packing had felt more permanent than you wanted to admit. The cool salt air tugs at your coat, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just familiar.

You’d already broken the news to Becca, who took it with a dramatic gasp and a slightly pouty face. She was upset that her winter visit to New York would have to be postponed, but you promised her-swore up and down-that the two of you would still plan a trip sometime early next year. “Paris, even,” you joked. “We’ll wear berets and drink overpriced espresso.”

Now, you trail behind Rafe up the steps of Tanny Hill, boots crunching softly on the wooden porch. Your fingers are stiff from the cold, and your nerves buzz beneath your skin- not from anxiety exactly, but something like anticipation. Like stepping into a version of your life you’ve only let yourself imagine.

The moment you step inside, the warmth washes over you. Soft heat from the vents hums through the walls, wrapping around you like a blanket. His tree is still up in the corner of the living room, blinking gently with golden lights. Ornaments you both picked out together still dangle crookedly from the branches. You spot the one he insisted on making late Christmas-a hand-painted one with both your initials-and feel your chest ache in that soft, full way.

It smells like cinnamon and pine. He must’ve lit one of the candles you left on his windowsill last time, the ones that smell like December. Probably blew it out the moment he heard your car pull up.

He sets your suitcases at the bottom of the stairs, turning around just as you’re shutting the door behind you. You barely have time to speak before his arms are around you and his lips are on yours- warm, steady, familiar.

“Welcome home,” he says against your mouth, voice hushed, eyes soft.

Your heart folds inward a little. You’ve been back for all of thirty seconds, but the words hit deeper than you expect. Because this time, it’s not just a visit. Not just a weekend escape. You’re really here. With him.

You smile, breath shaky. “Hi,” you whisper back.

And it feels like a beginning.

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