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rafe x original!character

part 1 I part 2 I part 3

The next morning, Adelaide posted exactly three things to her story.

The first was harmless.

A polished family photo from the ballroom staircase. Her parents smiling perfectly beside her, silver chandeliers glowing overhead, old money elegance wrapped up neatly for public consumption.

The second photo had no caption at all.

Just her and Rafe.

Standing too close in the garden beneath the lights.

His hand at the bare curve of her waist. Her head tilted slightly toward him mid-laugh. Rafe looking at her instead of the camera with an expression that felt a little too possesive to post publicly.

No caption. No tag. Nothing.

And somehow that made it worse.

The third story was only a tap away.

A photo of her and Dean in that same garden, his hand at her waist, both of them smiling toward the camera. Another guys hand on Adelaide's waist in the Tannyhill garden.

A white heart emoji on the photo.

Simple. Polite. Intentional.

Rafe stared at that one longest.

Not only because of the picture. Mostly because they took a couples photo, acting all happy in the Tannyhill garden. The fucking nerve.

Kelce texted first, obviously.

Kelce: brother i regret to inform you that you are losing the narrative war

Rafe: kill yourself

Kelce: the no caption pic is CRAZY though

thats basically an engagement announcement in rich people language

Three minutes later:

Topper: ngl the heart emoji saved you

Rafe: how

Topper: everyone knows you two belong together

dean had to get a heart so other people wouldnt think you were her date

she should honestly apologize to him for posting him last

Rafe reopened the story again. The one with him.

Her smiling up at him. His hand on her waist. The way he was looking at her like he'd already forgotten the photographer existed.

Then his phone buzzed again.

A new message from Adelaide.

Adelaide: wanna go sailing with me? i gotta work more on my tan 💗

Rafe: you know i do

Adelaide: ill be right over 💗

Rafe: ill see you soon gorgeous

The house was quiet in that late-morning way that Tannyhill always got when everyone else had somewhere to be except him. Sunlight poured across the floors, too clean, too bright, like it was trying to expose something he wasn’t ready to name.

He changed without thinking too hard about it.

Swim trunks, white shirt half-buttoned, something expensive and unnecessary that his father would’ve approved of if he cared enough to notice. He didn’t check the mirror for long. He already knew what he looked like.

That wasn’t a problem.

The problem was the way his mind kept circling back to her. Rafe grabbed sunglasses off the counter and headed out.

The dock hit him with heat immediately, salt air, sun glare off the water, the slow creak of boats shifting against their lines. My Druthers floated there like it always did, polished and patient, like it had never once been used for anything as messy as feelings.

He stepped aboard and let his hand drag briefly along the railing as he passed. Familiar. Automatic.

Not because it needed to be perfect. Because he needed something to do with his hands that wasn’t thinking.

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of sandals hitting a sole on the dock.

Light. Unhurried.

He didn’t turn right away. He already knew it was her.

“You’re fast,” he said, finally looking up.

Adelaide was standing on the boat like she belonged there more than anyone else ever could. Sunlight on her skin already, hair in a loose braid, bag slung over her shoulder like she had stood in front of him many times before.

She smiled at him like nothing had changed since last night.

Like she hadn’t rearranged his entire sense of calm with a new guy in her life.

Rafe straightened slightly, sunglasses sliding into place as if that made him harder to read.

“You’re gonna stand there all day,” he said, nodding at her like that was the only thing worth commenting on.

And then, quieter, almost like it slipped out before he could stop it:

“You’re not being shadowed today, I see.”

Adelaide tilted her head, still smiling, but slower now. Not gone. Just… recalibrated.

“Shadowed?” she repeated lightly, stepping further onto the boat like she hadn’t noticed the way his grip tightened on the rail.

He exhaled through his nose.

“Dean,” he said, like that explained everything without needing to turn it into something uglier.

For a second, she just looked at him.

Then she set her bag down near the seating bench, unhurried, deliberate. Like she had all the time in the world to decide what version of this conversation she wanted to have.

“There’s no Dean on my Rafe day,” she said simply.

Rafe gave a short nod, like that should’ve meant something comforting.

It didn’t.

Because it wasn’t the point, and they both knew it.

She kicked off her sandals, sitting down with her legs folded under her, already tilting her face toward the sun like she belonged to it more than she belonged to any conversation they were avoiding.

Rafe watched her for half a second too long. Because she’d stepped into the part of him that didn’t know how to be convincing her that she was just a friend to him still.

Adelaide had already claimed the sun pad like it was hers.

Which, on some level, it always had been.

Rafe kept one hand on the helm, the other resting loosely nearby, eyes forward like the open water required his full attention. It didn’t. The yacht practically drove itself in this stretch. Calm seas, clear horizon, nothing to react to.

Except her.

She’d had flung her braid over her shoulder, messy and careless in a way that still somehow looked phenomenal. Lying back on the sun pad in a black bikini that made absolutely no effort to be subtle, skin already warming under the sun like she’d been built for it.

She wasn’t doing anything.

That was the problem.

Just existing there. Relaxed. Unbothered. Like she hadn’t turned his entire morning inside out with a photo order and a text message.

Rafe adjusted the speed slightly. Not because he needed to. Because he couldn’t not move.

“You had fun yesterday?” he asked, voice casual enough that it almost passed as normal.

Almost.

Adelaide didn’t open her eyes right away.

“Mhm,” she said. “It was nice. Beautiful venue really.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking briefly toward her before returning to the water.

“Sure was.”

A pause.

Then, lazily: “You’re literally interrogating me from the helm right now.”

He hated that she was right.

Still.

He leaned slightly against the wheel, shifting his weight like it didn’t matter.

“Did you eat before you came out?” he asked instead.

That earned him a look. One eye open now, shaded by sunlight and lashes.

“What?”

“Just asking,” he said evenly. “Dean feed you before your tanning day or is that not part of the...” he paused, searching for the right word that didn’t sound like what it was “...routine.”

There it was. A beat of silence.

Then Adelaide sat up slightly on her elbows, studying him like she could see exactly what he was doing and was deciding whether to call him out or let him dig his own grave.

“There’s no ‘routine,’” she said finally.

Rafe nodded once, like that settled it. But he didn’t look away from the horizon.

“Right,” he said. “So he’s just… invited to Midsummers without a routine.”

Adelaide let out a small breath that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t so controlled.

“Well, we've just been taking it slow for a while.”

Rafe finally glanced back at her then.

Just for a second.

“Yeah,” he said. “Slow.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary before leaning back again, arms stretched above her head like the conversation wasn’t doing anything to her at all.

“It’s called 'testing the waters',” she said.

“Mm.”

Rafe adjusted the helm again, subtle correction, unnecessary movement.

“Hope the waters cold then,” he said.

That made her pause. Not much. Just enough.

And then, softer, still looking up at the sky:

“You’re not exactly competing with him.”

Rafe didn’t answer immediately.

The yacht kept cutting forward, smooth and expensive and indifferent to the way something tightened in his chest.

He should’ve laughed. He didn’t.

Instead, he said the only thing he could say that didn’t give anything away.

“Good,” he replied. “Wouldn’t want that much disadvantage for him.”

But his grip on the wheel stayed a little too steady after that.

Like if he let go, something else might slip instead.

Rafe didn’t answer her right away.

He just adjusted the throttle, let the yacht level out into a slower glide, then set the helm on autopilot like the open water could be trusted to behave without him for five minutes.

It couldn’t. Neither could he.

Adelaide had already turned back onto her stomach, sunglasses on again, face angled toward the sun like she’d dismissed the entire conversation as something unimportant. Something passing.

Like he was passing.

That thought alone pulled something tight in his chest.

Before he could overthink it, Rafe stepped away from the helm.

Not hurried. Not obvious.

Just decided.

He crossed the deck and dropped down onto the sun pad beside her like it had always been the plan, one arm stretching out behind him as he settled in. Legs spreading slightly without thinking, taking up space in the way he always did when something felt like his and he wanted it known.

The yacht shifted gently under them, steady and expensive and private.

Adelaide turned her head slightly toward him.

One eyebrow lifted.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Rafe leaned back against his hands, looking out at the water instead of at her at first.

“Taking a break,” he said.

“Sure,” she replied, like she didn’t believe a word of it.

A beat.

Then, quieter, almost too casual:

“You gonna tell me what ‘testing the waters’ actually means or is that just something you say so people don’t ask questions?”

Adelaide sighed, shifting slightly on her stomach, one leg bending up at the knee.

“It means I’m not rushing anything,” she said.

Rafe nodded slowly, like he was considering that.

But his eyes flicked to her anyway.

To the way she was stretched out on the Cameron boat like she belonged there. Like she belonged in sun and salt and space that no one else was supposed to take up.

Especially not some guy named Dean.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Does he know that?”

Adelaide didn’t move for a second.

Then she turned her head just enough to look at him properly now.

“You’re really curious about him today,” she said.

Rafe let out a short breath through his nose.

“Am I?”

“You are.”

Silence stretched between them.

Engine hum. Water against hull. Sun too bright to look at directly.

Rafe leaned back a little more, manspreading without thinking, elbows resting behind him now as he looked down at her properly.

Not hiding it anymore.

Not bothering.

“Just trying to figure out the situation,” he said.

Adelaide smiled slightly again, but it didn’t reach her tone.

“There’s no situation.”

Rafe’s jaw flexed.

“Right,” he said. “So he’s just… a guy your parents like. You’re just… taking it slow. And I’m just what? Curious?”

He stopped himself there.

Didn’t finish it.

Didn’t need to.

Adelaide held his gaze this time, longer than before.

Then she turned her face back toward the sun like she was done answering questions she didn’t feel like making complicated.

“You’re my Rafe,” she said.

Simple. Clean. Fatal.

And Rafe sat there beside her, staring out at the water like it suddenly wasn’t wide enough.

Because if he was her Rafe, then why does it feel like he was the only thing on this entire boat that actually belonged to her, even when she refused to say it out loud?

Rafe didn’t answer right away.

For a second, he just looked at her.

Not like he was thinking about Dean anymore. Not like he was trying to solve anything. Just… looking.

Then he leaned back further in his seat across from her, one arm draped along the backrest, posture loose in a way that didn’t match the tension still sitting under his skin.

“Your Rafe, huh?” he said finally.

Adelaide didn’t open her eyes.

“Mhm.”

That small sound should’ve meant nothing. It didn’t.

Rafe let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost like a laugh.

“Bold of you,” he said. “Considering how you’ve been acting lately.”

That got her attention. One eye opened again, slow this time.

“Acting how?”

Rafe tilted his head slightly, like he was considering how honest he wanted to be.

Then he chose the version of honesty that kept things dangerous.

“Bringing another guy over,” he said. “Considering I'm yours.”

Adelaide exhaled softly, like she was already bored of this topic again.

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” he said.

A pause.

Then he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, voice dropping just a little.

“Maybe I just don’t like sharing.”

That landed differently.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… direct.

Adelaide turned her head toward him fully now.

“You don't want me to have options?” she asked, more meant as playful than the serious tone Rafe obviously seeked.

Rafe held her gaze.

And then, slower than before, almost testing it himself,

“I don’t remember signing up to be the second male lead”

Silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Not easy either.

Something suspended between them.

Adelaide studied him for a second longer than usual, sun catching the edge of her cheek, expression unreadable.

Then she smiled again. Smaller than before.

More knowing.

“And what do you think you are then?” she asked.

Rafe didn’t look away this time.

That was the point.

He let the silence sit for a beat longer than necessary, just enough to make it intentional.

Then, lightly, like it meant nothing even though it absolutely did:

“Depends,” he said.

Adelaide’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“On what?”

Rafe leaned back again, relaxed now, like he hadn’t just shifted the entire temperature of the conversation.

“On whether you keep calling me yours,” he said.

Rafe held her gaze for a moment longer than he should’ve.

Then he leaned back again, like he was settling the conversation into something more casual than it actually was.

“Okay,” he said.

Adelaide glanced at him, waiting.

He nodded slightly toward her, like he was choosing his words carefully, but not carefully enough to stop himself.

“How serious is it?” he asked.

Her brow flicked.

“That’s a broad question.”

Rafe shrugged.

“Answer it how you want.”

A pause.

Then, quieter, but not less direct:

“Like… are we talking dinner dates in Charleston, or are we talking like a few FaceTimes a week?”

Adelaide didn’t respond immediately.

That was what made it worse.

The delay.

Rafe’s jaw tightened slightly, but his voice stayed even.

“I’m not judging,” he added, though it didn’t sound entirely convincing. “I just want to know what I’m dealing with.”

Adelaide finally shifted, propping herself up a little more on her elbows now, sunglasses pushed up into her hair.

“You’re not dealing with anything,” she said.

Rafe nodded once.

“Right,” he said. “So it’s not serious.”

Adelaide sighed softly.

“I didn’t say that.”

That landed heavier than anything else so far.

Silence stretched again.

Rafe looked out at the water for a second, like he needed somewhere else to put his attention before it turned into something obvious.

Then he looked back at her.

“Okay,” he said.

Just that. A beat.

Then another question, softer in tone, but more dangerous because of it.

“Have you two fucked yet?”

Adelaide’s expression changed immediately.

Not shocked.

Not offended.

Just… frozen.

Like she’d finally registered what direction he was actually pulling this conversation.

Rafe didn’t look away.

He didn’t soften it. He just waited.

Because he already knew he shouldn’t be asking.

And still, he needed the answer anyway.

"No, we haven't fucked." Adelaide answered, tone sharp.

Rafe sat there for half a second too long. Then it slipped.

The tension in his face broke, not into words, not into explanation, just… relief. Real, immediate relief.

His shoulders dropped like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it. One hand came up briefly to his mouth, pressing there for a second like he could physically contain the reaction, but it was already out.

“Okay,” he said again, quieter now. “Good.”

Adelaide didn’t move at first.

Then she pushed herself up. Slowly. Fully.

The sun pad creaked slightly under the shift as she sat upright, legs bent to the side now instead of stretched out, like the entire posture of the conversation had changed with her.

Her sunglasses came off.

Not dramatically. Just deliberate.

And then she looked at him properly.

“You’re actually relieved by that?” she pointed out.

Rafe blinked once.

“What?”

Adelaide stared at him for a second longer, then let out a short, disbelieving breath.

“You’re actually relieved.”

Rafe shifted slightly in his seat, like he’d been caught doing something he didn’t mean to be seen doing.

“I didn’t say,”

“You literally said ‘good,’” she cut in immediately.

Silence.

The engine hummed under them, steady and indifferent.

Rafe dragged a hand through his hair once, then let it fall.

“I just,” he started, then stopped.

Because there wasn’t a clean version of it.

Adelaide leaned forward slightly now, elbows resting on her knees, fully engaged in a way she hadn’t been all morning.

“So what was that?” she asked, sharper now. “You ask me something completely insane, I answer you, and then you sit there like that.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose.

“It wasn’t insane,” he muttered.

That earned him a look.

“Rafe.”

He paused.

Then, quieter, more honest than he probably meant to be:

“I just don’t like the idea of you like... fucking him.”

Adelaide didn’t respond right away.

Just stared at him. Waiting.

For him to continue.

Rafe looked away for a second, jaw tightening, then back at her again.

“And I really didn’t like the idea of you not telling me.”

That landed differently.

Not softer. Just clearer.

Adelaide’s expression shifted, less offended now, more sharply focused.

“Why would I tell you that?” she asked.

Rafe shrugged once, too quickly.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Because it changes things.”

Adelaide let out a short, humorless laugh.

“What things?”

Rafe hesitated. Just for a second too long.

Then, quieter:

“Everything baby.”

And for the first time since she stepped onto the boat, the space between them didn’t feel like sun and water and distance anymore.

“Everything,” he repeated, quieter this time.

rafe x original!character

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I part 4

The next couple weeks got ugly fast.

At first people just thought Hannah was partying harder. Which, to be fair, she was.

But then it stopped looking fun.

She started showing up everywhere half an hour late with sunglasses on at night and yesterday’s makeup smeared under her eyes. Her hair always looked tangled now, like she’d slept in it three nights straight because she probably had. Half the time she smelled faintly like vodka before the party had even really started.

And she was meaner. Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just sharper around the edges.

Girls who tried talking to her got brushed off. Guys got annihilated if they flirted too long. She laughed at things that weren’t funny and stared too long at nothing afterward.

Rafe noticed all of it.

Unfortunately, noticing and doing something were two different things.

Because every time he tried to go near her lately, she either disappeared or looked at him like she wanted him dead.

So he watched from a distance instead. Which somehow felt worse.

Tonight was no different.

The party was packed wall to wall, humid from too many bodies and too little air circulation. Music blasted hard enough to vibrate through the floorboards while people stumbled around drunk and sweaty with cups sloshing everywhere.

Rafe was in the kitchen dealing when he spotted her.

And immediately felt his stomach drop.

Hannah looked bad. Not “messy hot” bad.

Actually bad.

Her eyeliner was smudged beneath exhausted eyes, lipstick faded unevenly like she’d been biting at it all night. She wore sleeping shorts and a sweater about two sizes too big, and now all he could think was that she looked too thin suddenly.

Topper followed his gaze and sighed quietly.

“Dude.”

“I know.”

Hannah leaned against the counter laughing at something some random guy said, but it sounded wrong somehow. Forced. Delayed.

Then she downed another drink.

Rafe’s jaw tightened.

“She’s fine,” Kelce said carefully, which meant even he knew she absolutely was not.

Rafe didn’t answer.

“Bro,” Topper said quietly.

“I know,” Rafe snapped.

But he still didn’t move.

About two hours later, Hannah was outside by the pool trying very hard not to throw up.

The cool night air hit her overheated skin while she leaned against the fence with unfocused eyes. Everything felt blurry tonight. Loud. Too loud.

She needed another drink. Or water. Or sleep.

Maybe all three.

“You good?”

Hannah looked over blearily.

A guy she vaguely recognized stood beside her holding a beer. Tall. Older. Probably mid twenties. Definitely not someone she actually knew.

“Perfect,” she answered automatically.

He laughed. “You don’t look perfect.”

“Wow,” Hannah muttered. “What a charmer.”

Usually she would’ve walked away already.

But she was tired. And sad.

And drunk enough that staying still felt easier.

The guy stepped closer anyway.

“You out here all alone?”

“Unfortunately.”

“That body guard of yours not around?”

Something ugly twisted in her stomach at that.

“Hell no.”

“Mm.” He looked unconvinced. “Lucky me.”

Hannah rolled her eyes and pushed off the fence. “Okay well, this has been deeply unpleasant.”

He caught her wrist before she could leave.

Not hard. But enough.

And immediately every exhausted nerve in her body lit up wrong.

“Hey,” Hannah said, forcing a smile. “Leave me alone.”

The guy smirked like he thought she was flirting.

“We were just talking.”

“I know,” she replied tightly. “And now I don't want to.”

He stepped closer again instead.

Beer and cologne and sweat hit her all at once.

“You’re rude, you know that?”

Something icy slid down Hannah’s spine.

She tried pulling her wrist back.

He didn’t let go.

And suddenly she wasn’t tipsy anymore. Just trapped.

“Hey,” she said again, sharper now. “Leave me alone.”

The guy laughed softly. “Relax.”

Hannah’s heartbeat started thudding unevenly.

Around them people were still partying, still drinking, still screaming along to music. Nobody was paying attention.

She yanked harder this time. “Hey, leave me the fuck alone.”

That got louder. Enough that a few heads turned.

Including Rafe’s.

He’d been halfway through a conversation inside when he heard her. And every single thing in him went still.

Rafe was moving before he consciously realized it.

Fast.

Violently fast.

People stumbled aside immediately when he shoved through the back door hard enough for it to slam against the wall.

Topper cursed and followed instantly.

Outside, Hannah finally ripped her hand free just as the guy grabbed for her again.

Then Rafe was there.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The entire energy shifted.

Immediately.

The guy straightened. “Dude, relax,”

Rafe shoved him backward hard enough that he nearly hit the fence.

“I said,” Rafe snarled, stepping into him again, “what the fuck are you doing?”

“Rafe...” Hannah started, startled by the pure rage in his voice.

The guy lifted his hands defensively. “She’s drunk, man, we were talking,”

“She told you to leave her alone.”

Now people were staring.

Music still blasted from inside but outside had gone tense and strange and quiet around the edges.

The guy scoffed a little. “Jesus Christ, okay Country Club,”

Rafe grabbed him by the shirt. Fast enough that several people yelled immediately.

“Oh shit.”

“Rafe!”

“Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking hand.”

Hannah saw it then.

Not anger. Not ego. Fear.

Rafe looked genuinely terrified.

Like the thought of something happening to her had short-circuited every rational thought in his brain.

Topper caught Rafe’s shoulder before things escalated further. “Hey, hey, hey. Let him go.”

For a second it genuinely looked like Rafe might hit him anyway.

Her voice came sharp now. Unsteady.

“Rafe!”

He let go immediately.

The guy backed up fast after that, muttering insults under his breath before disappearing back into the crowd like a coward.

Rafe barely noticed.

He turned around instantly instead.

“You okay?”

The question came out rough. Breathless almost.

And Hannah suddenly realized she couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her like that.

Not annoyed. Not exhausted.

Scared.

“I’m fine,” she said automatically.

Rafe looked at her properly under the pool lights and his face tightened immediately.

Because now that he was close, there was no missing it.

The shaking hands. The smeared makeup. The exhaustion sitting heavy beneath her skin.

“Hannah,” he said quietly, “when’s the last time you slept?”

She looked away.

Which was answer enough.

Rafe exhaled hard through his nose and scrubbed a hand over his face before looking at Topper.

“I’m taking her home.”

Hannah immediately frowned. “I'm not going home.”

“Hell you are.”

“The hell I'm not.”

“I'll throw you over my shoulder if you don't start walking to my car.”

“I’m literally not going nowhere near your car."

Even exhausted and half drunk she still sounded argumentative enough that Topper almost smiled.

Rafe didn’t.

“Hannah.” His voice softened slightly. “Please.”

And that, that almost broke her more than the yelling ever had.

Because he sounded like Rafe again.

Rafe stepped toward her carefully now, chest still rising hard from adrenaline.

“Hannah.”

“No,” she said immediately, pointing at him weakly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Act like you suddenly give a shit.”

That landed.

She saw it land.

Rafe’s jaw tightened instantly, eyes flicking away from hers for half a second before coming back colder.

“You almost got grabbed by some fucking creep.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Topper looked between them. “Okay, maybe not...”

“No, seriously.” Hannah laughed once, ugly and sharp. “You disappear for weeks, act like I’m insane every time I talk to you, and now you wanna play best friend again?”

“Hannah,” Rafe warned.

“What?” she snapped. “You don’t get to ignore me until it’s convenient for you to care again.”

Something dangerous flashed across his face then.

Not yelling. Worse.

Because suddenly he looked tired.

Deeply tired.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you fight with me tomorrow?”

“No.”

Rafe stepped closer anyway. “You can barely stand.”

“I’m standing right now.”

“You’re swaying.”

“That’s because I hate you.”

Topper made a quiet sound like he absolutely did not want to be here anymore.

Rafe ignored him completely.

For a second they just stared at each other. Too close. Too angry. Too much history sitting between them.

Hannah hated how familiar he still felt standing there. Hated that her body still recognized him immediately even after weeks of silence and months of slowly ripping each other apart.

Rafe exhaled slowly through his nose like he was forcing himself not to say ten different things at once.

Then he moved behind her before she could argue again. Both hands settled on her shoulders firmly.

Possessive enough to piss her off instantly.

Hannah stiffened beneath his hands. “Don’t touch me.”

“Start walking.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He started guiding her toward the side gate anyway, steering her through the crowd while she fought him every step.

“This is insane,” she complained, trying to shrug him off. “You don’t get to manhandle me because you punched somebody.”

“I didn’t punch him.”

“You threatened to break his hand, Rafe.”

“He grabbed you.”

“And?”

Rafe physically stopped walking.

His hands tightened slightly against her shoulders before he leaned down closer behind her.

“And?” he repeated dangerously.

Hannah immediately regretted saying it. Not because she didn’t mean it.

But because she heard the anger underneath his voice this time. Real anger. The kind barely being held together.

She looked away first.

Rafe laughed once under his breath. No humor in it whatsoever.

“That's what I thought.”

He kept walking.

Hannah kept talking.

“I don’t even know why you act like you care.”

That one did it.

Rafe turned her around suddenly by her shoulders, not rough but fast enough that her breath caught.

“Don’t do that.”

His voice had gone quiet now.

Which was always worse.

“Do what?” she challenged, though weaker this time.

“Act like I wouldn’t care if something happened to you.”

The words hit hard between them.

Too honest. Too immediate.

For a second neither of them moved.

The music from the party thumped faintly behind them while people nearby pretended not to stare.

Hannah’s expression cracked first. Just slightly.

Because there it was.

Everything they hadn’t been saying for months sitting right there between them.

Rafe saw it happen and immediately looked away like he hated himself for saying it out loud.

“Walk to the car, Hannah.”

She swallowed hard. “Stop telling me what to do.”

“Then stop making me fucking have to tell you.”

Silence.

Topper looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

Hannah stared at Rafe for another long second before finally turning away sharply.

“Fine,” she muttered.

Rafe followed close behind her immediately. Not touching her now. But close enough that if she stumbled, he’d catch her.

And somehow that felt worse. He was far enough away to make it clear he wasn’t touching her unless he had to.

Which pissed her off more than if he’d just grabbed her hand.

The gravel crunched loudly beneath her heels while music faded further behind them. Somewhere back at the house people were probably already turning this into gossip.

'Rafe Cameron loses his mind over Hannah again.'

Shocking.

Hannah yanked open the passenger door harder than necessary.

“I can get in by myself.”

“No shit.”

She shot him a glare before climbing in anyway, nearly catching her foot on the truck frame in the process.

Rafe noticed. Of course he did.

But instead of saying anything, he just reached over her silently and pulled the door shut harder than necessary.

The truck went quiet after that.

Not peaceful quiet. Awful quiet.

The kind packed full of things neither of them knew how to say anymore.

Rafe started the engine without looking at her.

Hannah stared stubbornly out the window with her arms folded tightly across herself.

For a while all they could hear was the low rumble of the truck and muffled bass from the party disappearing behind them.

Then:

“You been drinking like this every night?”

Hannah’s jaw tightened instantly. “Don’t start.”

“I asked you a question.”

“And I said don’t start.”

Rafe gripped the steering wheel harder. “Jesus Christ.”

“There he is!” she muttered bitterly. “Was wondering when the judgment would kick in.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Really?” She finally looked at him. “Because you seem pretty disgusted by me lately.”

That hit him immediately.

She saw it in the way his jaw flexed.

In the way he looked away toward the road instead of at her.

“Hannah,” he said carefully, “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me.”

Silence.

Rafe laughed once under his breath, exhausted.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s kinda the problem, that I can't right?”

Rafe didn’t answer after that.

Just kept driving with one hand tight on the wheel and the other braced against the window like he was trying to physically hold himself together.

Hannah stared out the passenger window again, throat tight now for reasons she refused to examine too closely.

The rest of the drive passed in miserable silence.

Not the easy kind they used to have.

This one felt sharp.

Fragile.

Like one more sentence would crack something open neither of them could take back.

When Rafe finally pulled into her driveway, Hannah reached for the handle immediately.

“Hannah.”

She paused but didn’t look at him.

“Wait," Rafe added before rubbing tiredly at his jaw before getting out of the truck instead of answering.

Hannah almost argued. Almost told him to fuck off and leave her alone.

But the truth was the ground still felt slightly uneven beneath her feet when she climbed out, and she hated how quickly Rafe noticed.

His hand hovered near her back as they walked up the front path.

Not touching. Just there.

Ready.

The porch light flickered softly above them, bugs throwing themselves against the yellow glow while the island sat quiet around them for once.

Hannah dug through her purse for her keys with clumsy fingers.

Rafe stood beside her saying nothing.

Which somehow felt heavier than fighting.

Finally she found them.

The lock clicked once before the front door suddenly swung open from inside.

“Oh my God.”

Hannah’s mother stood there in her pajamas, relief immediately flooding her face before her eyes landed on Rafe.

“Well,” she breathed, surprised. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been here, how lovely to see you again.”

The words hit like a gunshot. Because once upon a time, Rafe practically lived here. Just walked in when he came by.

Late nights in the kitchen stealing food. Sitting on the couch with Hannah yelling at movies. Her mother teasing him for eating everything in the fridge.

Before everything got ruined.

Rafe visibly stiffened beside her.

And Hannah, she felt something in her chest cave in.

So naturally she smiled.

Mean. Broken.

“Yeah,” she said hoarsely, staring straight at him. “Well, its hard to find the time when you're so busy doing lines.”

Her mother’s face fell instantly. “Hannah...”

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame. And on the other side of it, Rafe just stood there.

Still. Silent.

rafe x original!character

part 1 I part 2 I

The fact that Rafe got quieter when he drank instead of louder. That somehow made it worse.

Which, in Topper’s opinion, was significantly more concerning.

By the second round of bourbon, Rafe had loosened his bowtie, rolled his sleeves once, and settled into that dangerous kind of calm that usually ended with someone getting thrown into a golf course pond.

Kelce, unfortunately, found this version of him hilarious.

“You know what your problem is?” Kelce asked, leaning against the high-top table.

Rafe swirled the ice in his glass lazily. “I can already tell this is gonna annoy me.”

“You’re emotionally fucked.”

Topper snorted. “That’s not news.”

“No,” Kelce continued seriously, pointing between them, “because if I was in love with Adelaide,”

Rafe looked up immediately. “Finish that sentence carefully.”

Kelce held up both hands. “Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, finish that sentence carefully.”

Topper nearly choked on his drink laughing.

Before Kelce could antagonize him further, movement near the ballroom entrance caught Topper’s attention.

“Well,” he muttered. “Speak of the devil.”

Adelaide and Dean approached through the crowd together.

Adelaide looked flushed from dancing now, curls softer around her shoulders, gold jewelry warm beneath the low ballroom lighting. Dean stayed close beside her, hand brushing lightly against her back every few steps like he was testing whether he’d earned the right yet.

Rafe noticed every single time.

Obviously.

Adelaide smiled the second she reached them. “Hi again.”

“Adelaide,” Kelce greeted brightly like a labrador seeing its owner.

Dean nodded politely. “You guys mind if we join?”

Rafe took a slow sip of bourbon before answering.

“Depends.”

Adelaide narrowed her eyes instantly. “Rafe.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “I was gonna say depends whether he embarrasses you.”

Dean laughed lightly at that, though it sounded cautious around the edges. “I’ll try not to.”

Topper stepped in immediately before Rafe could continue.

“Please join us. Ignore him. He’s going through something tonight.”

“I can hear you,” Rafe muttered.

“That’s the issue.”

Adelaide laughed softly under her breath as Dean moved beside her near the table.

And somehow, impossibly, that made it worse again.

Because Rafe knew that laugh. Knew which smiles were real and which ones were social.

This one was real.

Kelce, completely unhelpful as always, leaned toward Dean with sudden interest.

“So what do you do exactly?”

“Kelce,” Adelaide warned.

“What? I’m just asking about him.”

Dean smiled politely. “I'm a finance major at NC State.”

Topper made a face instantly. “Jesus.”

Kelce nodded solemnly. “That’s brutal.”

Dean laughed a little. “It’s not that bad.”

“What kind?” Kelce continued.

“I'm mostly interested in investment management.”

“Mhm.” Kelce took a sip of his drink like this was an interrogation room. “And what’re your intentions with Adelaide?”

“Kelce,” Adelaide hissed.

“What? Her dad’s wondering too.”

Rafe looked down into his bourbon to hide the smile threatening his mouth.

Dean handled it well, to his credit.

Rafe took another sip of bourbon.

“Dangerous,” he murmured.

Not enough to interrupt. Just enough to be heard.

Dean’s eyes flicked toward him briefly.

Kelce noticed immediately, because of course he did.

“So,” he continued, fully feeding the fire now, “you from one of the old Charleston families?”

Topper groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?” Kelce defended. “This is literally what everyone here talks about.”

Dean stayed composed. “Not really. My grandfather built most of what we have.”

“Mhm,” Rafe said lightly, finally speaking again. “New money.”

Adelaide closed her eyes briefly. “Rafe.”

“What?” he asked calmly. “There’s nothing wrong with new money.”

“You just said it like a slur,” Topper pointed out.

Rafe ignored him.

Dean took a slow sip of his drink now, posture subtly tightening. “I don’t really care about that stuff.”

“No?” Rafe asked mildly.

“No.”

Another beat.

Rafe nodded once like he found that interesting.

Then:

“You’ll survive better here if you pretend you do.”

Silence stretched for half a second too long.

Adelaide looked directly at Rafe now. Not amused anymore.

He felt it immediately. Still didn’t stop.

Kelce cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sooo anyway,”

“Oh my God, Sarah’s over there,” Topper interrupted suddenly, straightening.

All of them turned.

Sure enough, Sarah stood near the dance floor talking with a group of girls.

Topper finished the rest of his drink instantly.

“Well,” he announced. “Duty calls.”

Kelce stared at him. “You’re leaving me alone with this?”

“Absolutely.”

“Coward.”

“Survivor,” Topper corrected, already backing away.

Adelaide laughed softly as he disappeared into the crowd.

Then the table fell quieter. Dangerously quieter.

Rafe leaned one elbow against the table, glass loose in his hand as he looked at Dean again.

Not openly hostile. Worse. Interested.

“So,” he said casually. “You ride?”

Dean blinked once. “Excuse me?”

“Horses,” Rafe clarified. “Since that’s apparently where Adelaide’s mother found you.”

Adelaide covered part of her face with her hand instantly. “Oh my God.”

Dean laughed despite himself. “A little.”

“A little,” Rafe repeated thoughtfully. “That enough to survive the Hayes women, or are you still in the trial period?”

Kelce coughed violently into his drink trying not to laugh.

Dean smiled tightly now. “I’m managing okay so far.”

“That's good,” Rafe said softly. But his eyes stayed on Dean while he said it.

Like a warning wrapped in charm.

Adelaide caught him halfway through his next bourbon.

“Walk with me.”

Rafe glanced down at her beside him, already knowing from the tone that this wasn’t really optional.

Still, he took his glass and followed her without complaint, weaving through the edge of the ballroom toward the quieter terrace just outside the open doors.

The music softened the farther they got from it.

Cool night air brushed against warm skin, carrying the smell of saltwater and expensive cigars from somewhere farther down the lawn.

Adelaide stopped near the railing and turned toward him immediately.

“What is wrong with you tonight?”

Rafe leaned one elbow against the stone beside her, looking entirely too relaxed for someone actively instigating class warfare inside a ballroom.

“Nothing.”

She stared at him.

“Rafe.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“You’re grilling him.”

“I asked if he rides horses, Adelaide." Rafe grinned slightly into his bourbon.

“And new money.”

“Well, isn't he?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“And the ‘trial period’ comment?”

“That was funny.”

“It wasn't.”

“Barely.”

Adelaide let out a disbelieving breath, folding her arms.

“You are unbelievable tonight.”

Rafe looked at her then. Properly.

The orange silk. Gold against her skin. Hair softened by humidity and dancing. Still flushed from the ballroom.

Pretty enough to make good decisions impossible.

His expression shifted before he could stop it. Less sharp around the edges.

“You look so pretty when you’re irritated at me,” he murmured.

Adelaide blinked once, clearly caught off guard by the sudden pivot.

“Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere.”

“It usually does.”

Her mouth twitched despite herself.

Rafe noticed immediately, looking far too pleased about it.

“There she is,” he said softly. “Missed you.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it now.

“You’re impossible.”

“Oh stop it,” he sighed dramatically, “you love me.”

Adelaide laughed under her breath. “Delusional.”

“I was being charming.”

“You were psychologically tormenting him.”

Rafe took another sip of bourbon, considering that.

“Little bit.”

“Rafe.”

“What?” he asked again, smile lazy now. “He's still breathing.”

Adelaide shook her head, but she was smiling now despite trying not to.

Which was exactly where Rafe liked her.

Comfortable. Laughing. Focused on him.

His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before lifting again.

“Besides,” he added quietly, “if I was actually trying to scare him, you’d know.”

The teasing in his voice softened the words. But not completely.

Adelaide’s smile faded just slightly at the edges. Because she did know.

“You’re awful tonight.”

rafe x original!character

part 1 I part 2 I

To say that Rafe wasn't thrilled by the fact that Adelaide had another date to Midsummers, was definitely an understatement.

It wasn't jealousy. At least, that's what he told himself.

Adelaide had been his person since they were kids. Summer galas that Rose hosted, charity polo matches he'd watch with her family, sunday dinners where their parents exchanged knowing looks over champagne glasses. Somewhere along the line, Rafe had gotten used to having a hand on her waist, her wrist between his fingers, her laugh tucked against his shoulder.

He hugged her from behind while she chatted to friends at parties. Kissed her cheek when she handed him a drink. Touched her constantly in the casual, thoughtless way people only did when they couldn't imagine a world without each other in it.

And now some asshole her mom met at the horse track in Charleston had her Midsummers corsage.

Adelaide looked beautiful enough to make him mean. Or meaner.

The sunset-orange silk clung to her like it had been poured over her body instead of stitched together. A low back exposing smooth skin every time she turned beneath the string lights wrapped around the Tannyhill garden. Gold jewelry caught against sunburnt evening light, her heels sinking slightly into the grass as Rose fussed over the photographer.

Rafe leaned against the stone railing nearby, jaw tight.

“Stop glaring,” Ward muttered as he passed him with a champagne flute.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You look like you’re about to commit a felony.”

Before he could answer, Adelaide glanced over her shoulder toward him. And smiled.

That was the problem with her. She always smiled at him like that. Soft and automatic, like he belonged to her in the same unconscious way she belonged to him.

“Rafe,” Rose called. “Get over here. We need pictures before her date arrives.”

Her date. The words hit him like a slap.

Still, he pushed himself off the railing and crossed the garden toward Adelaide, loosening the collar of his tux halfway there. She watched him approach, amusement flickering across her face.

“You look miserable,” she murmured once he stopped in front of her.

“You look orange.”

“It’s sunset orange.”

“Oh, you should run for president then.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the smile threatening at the corner of her mouth.

The photographer directed them closer together automatically, like there had never been another option.

Rafe’s hand settled against the bare skin of her lower back on instinct.

Warm. Familiar. Dangerous.

Adelaide didn't react to it anymore. That was the worst part. After years of lingering touches and deliberate affection, she didn’t even notice the things that kept him awake at night.

“Perfect,” the photographer said. “A little closer.”

Rafe pulled her in slightly. Too easily.

From somewhere near the hydrangeas, Adelaide’s mother watched with narrowed eyes beside Rose. He knew that look. Families like theirs were always calculating something.

A year ago, nobody would've questioned who Adelaide would bring to Midsummers.

Now some asshole her mother met at the horse track had a corsage with her dress color memorized.

Rafe’s thumb brushed once against her spine before he caught himself.

Adelaide tilted her head back slightly to look at him. “You okay?”

“No,” he answered honestly.

For the first time all evening, her smile faded.

“Big smiles now,” the photographer chirped, lifting the camera slightly. “Pretend you like each other.”

Adelaide laughed softly at that, warm and effortless as she turned toward the lens, her smile bright beneath the glow of the garden lights. The sunset-orange silk caught against the evening breeze around her legs, gold jewelry glinting against tan skin.

Beside her, Rafe looked devastatingly handsome in pale blue. And completely miserable.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t even attempt to.

His hand stayed firm against the bare skin of her back, fingers spread just slightly above the curve of her waist as the camera flashed again. The powder-blue tux softened him in theory, but not in practice. Not with that expression.

He looked like violence wrapped in Southern charm.

“Rafe,” Rose warned from behind the photographer. “Would it kill you to smile?”

“I am smiling.”

Adelaide bit back another laugh, shaking her head lightly. “You’re such a bad liar.”

The photographer lowered the camera with an awkward cough while Adelaide smiled wider despite herself. Rafe’s eyes dropped to her immediately at the sound, his expression softening for barely a second before hardening again.

Then headlights swept across the front drive.

Rafe’s jaw locked.

Her date was here.

Adelaide smoothed a hand over the silk at her hips before stepping away from Rafe toward the front drive, heels clicking softly against the stone pathway.

The guy was tall. Blond. Clean-cut in that expensive Charleston way Rafe already hated on sight.

“Adelaide,” he greeted easily, looking her over once she reached him. “You look stunning.”

She smiled immediately. “Thank you.”

Then he hugged her. Not a side hug. Not polite.

His hands settled at her waist as he spun her once, just enough to make her laugh softly beneath the garden lights.

Rafe downed the rest of his champagne in one swallow.

“Easy there,” Sarah muttered beside him.

Rafe grabbed another flute from a passing tray without looking away from Adelaide.

The guy was still standing too close.

Still touching her.

“Adelaide!” her mother called brightly. “Come take a few photos with Dean before we leave.”

Rafe’s grip tightened around the stem of the glass.

Adelaide hesitated only briefly before nodding. “Okay.”

Rose immediately guided them toward the same spot in the garden Rafe had been standing in moments earlier, adjusting Adelaide’s hair over one shoulder while the photographer repositioned himself.

“Perfect,” he encouraged. “A little closer.”

Dean obliged instantly, hand settling against Adelaide’s waist with far too much confidence for Rafe’s liking.

And Adelaide smiled at him.

Bright. Easy. Pretty enough to make something ugly twist low in Rafe’s stomach.

Bigger than she’d smiled in their photos.

Rafe looked away first. Rafe didn’t realize he’d moved until he was already stepping out of the garden.

“Where are you going?” Rose called after him, still half-focused on smoothing the fabric at Adelaide’s waist for another photo.

“I’ll take Wheezie and Sarah,” he said flatly, already heading for the front drive. “No point in leaving in three cars.”

It wasn’t a question. It never was with him.

Rose hesitated, then waved a hand vaguely like she couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Fine, fine. Just drive safely.”

Rafe gave a short nod without slowing.

Behind him, Rose turned back toward the photographer, watching Adelaide and Dean for a moment longer as they adjusted for another shot.

“They do look good together, don’t they?” she said lightly, like it was an observation rather than a decision being quietly reinforced. “Very… proper.”

Adelaide smiled on cue as Dean said something to her, head tilted toward him in that easy, practiced way she had when she was being polite. Dean's hand coming up to her head as he makes her head lean against him.

Fucking horse riding asshole.

“Very Midsummers,” Rose added approvingly.

The camera flashed again.

Rafe didn’t look back.

Midsummers always started the same way.

The same crowd, the same introductions, the same polite smiles that never quite reached anyone’s eyes.

Adelaide stood just inside the entrance of the country club ballroom, Dean at her side, his hand resting lightly at her back like it belonged there. Her mother had already straightened her dress twice. Her father had already told her she looked “dazzling,” which in his language meant expensive enough for the event.

One by one, families were announced.

Names that mattered. Names that stayed.

First the Thorntons. Then half the old Charleston families Adelaide had grown up nodding at from across racetracks and charity galas. The Hayes's.

She kept her smile steady.

Dean leaned in slightly. “This is kind of insane,” he murmured, amused.

“It always is,” she replied softly.

Across the room, the Camerons arrived together.

That was when the energy shifted.

Heads turned. Conversations adjusted. People straightened like they’d been reminded of something important.

He didn’t look around like the others did. He never did.

Light blue tux, perfectly fitted, expression unreadable as he walked in like the room had been built around him instead of the other way around.

Adelaide's fingers tightened slightly around her clutch.

The introductions continued.

Finally, after everyone else had been acknowledged, the announcer’s voice lifted again.

“And now, what a surprise! I would have betted on Rafe Cameron being this lovely girls date.”

It felt different.

"Adelaide Hayes and Dean Mercer Bauregaard."

Like the room was waiting for it.

Adelaide stepped forward first, Dean at her side, every eye in the ballroom shifting toward them at once.

Not just her family. Not just the Camerons. Everyone.

Her smile came automatically as she was introduced, years of training smoothing over whatever flicker of awareness tightened in her chest.

Dean’s hand stayed at her back.

Polite. Present. Visible.

Across the room, Rafe finally looked at her. And this time, he didn’t look away immediately.

Adelaide didn’t mean to move first.

But somehow, she did.

Dean followed easily as she threaded through the ballroom, weaving past clusters of families and champagne flutes until she reached a high-top table near the edge of the room.

Rafe was there.

So were Topper and Kelce. Of course they were.

Rafe stood slightly apart from them, glass in hand, expression unreadable in that way that made it impossible to tell whether he was bored or angry or both. Light blue tux, crisp and expensive, like he’d been carved out of something colder than the rest of the room.

Topper noticed her first. “There she is again.”

Kelce lifted his glass. “Midsummers prettiest girl.”

Adelaide smiled politely. “Oh stop it..”

Then she turned slightly toward Dean.

“Dean,” she said softly, “this is Topper, Kelce… and Rafe.”

The way she said his name was different.

Not louder. Not softer. Just… familiar.

Rafe didn’t move for a second.

Then he stepped forward. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Controlled.

“Hey,” he said flatly, extending a hand to Dean.

Dean took it immediately. “Good to meet you.”

A beat.

Rafe’s grip was firm. Too firm to be friendly, too controlled to be aggressive. When he released it, he didn’t look at him again.

Instead, his eyes went to Adelaide.

And for just a moment, something in his expression shifted.

Not warmth.

Not quite.

Recognition.

“Hey gorgeous,” he said again, quieter now.

Adelaide tilted her head up slightly.

And like he’d done a hundred times before without thinking, Rafe leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Casual. Automatic. Possessive in a way that didn’t announce itself as anything at all.

Dean shifted slightly beside her.

Rafe pulled back immediately after, expression smoothing over again as if nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just claimed her.

Adelaide cleared her throat softly. “We were just coming to say hi.”

“Yeah?” Kelce said quickly, clearly sensing the shift and trying to fill it. “You two looked good up there.”

Rafe didn’t smile.

He did however stare holes into Dean's face while taking slow sips of his drink like he could stand there all night.

Thank God that he's not taller than me, Rafe thought to himself as he tried to contain a smile over the fact that he was staring down at this Dean guy.

Topper clapped once, breaking the tension like he could physically reset the atmosphere.

“So,” he said, leaning slightly toward Dean, “you from Charleston?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Mostly.”

Kelce nodded along like he was conducting an interview he hadn’t signed up for. “Cool, cool. Charleston’s… nice.”

“Nice?” Topper repeated flatly.

“Fine,” Kelce corrected.

Adelaide let out a small breath of laughter, glancing down for a second like she could feel the shift in the air but didn’t want to name it.

Rafe didn’t move. He just watched.

Dean shifted under it slightly, adjusting his posture like he was suddenly aware of exactly where he stood in the room.

“I’ve heard a lot about Midsummers,” Dean said, trying to sound easy.

“Yeah?” Topper jumped in quickly. “It’s basically just people pretending they’re not judging you.”

Kelce snorted. “That’s real.”

Rafe took another slow sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice calm. “You’ll get used to that here.”

Dean glanced at him. “To the judging?”

“Especially,” Rafe corrected mildly. “Takes a minute.”

A pause.

Adelaide looked between them, expression carefully neutral.

Dean nodded slowly. “Right.”

Topper cleared his throat. “So how do you two,” he gestured vaguely between Dean and Adelaide “know each other?”

Before Adelaide could answer, Dean spoke.

“Friends of the family,” he said evenly.

Not a question. Not really an explanation either.

Just a label placed neatly over something older and messier.

Kelce nodded like that made sense. “Oh, so like… long time.”

“No,” Adelaide said softly. “Not for that long”

Rafe’s eyes flicked to her at that, just briefly.

Then away again.

Like it didn’t matter. Like it had never mattered.

Dean’s gaze moved between them for a second, like he was recalibrating the room.

Then he tilted his head slightly. “So how do you guys know Adelaide?”

It was casual. Light.

But it changed everything anyway.

Kelce answered first, too quickly. “Oh, through Rafe here.”

Topper nodded. “Yeah. She would be around everytime we hung out.”

Rafe let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost amused.

“That’s funny,” he said.

Adelaide glanced at him immediately.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “What is?”

“I didn’t ‘meet’ her,” Rafe corrected calmly, eyes still on his glass. “We grew up together.”

A pause.

“Since diapers,” he added, like it was nothing.

Adelaide’s expression softened just slightly at that, but she didn’t interrupt.

Dean looked between them again. “So you’ve known her that long?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said simply.

Then, after a beat, like he was bored of pretending this was normal conversation:

“Our parents basically planned the wedding before we could walk.”

Silence.

Not complete. Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Dean blinked. “Really?”

“Oh, they did,” Rafe said, finally looking up. His tone stayed even, almost conversational. “First son, only daughter, same circles, same expectations. You know how it goes.”

His eyes flicked briefly to Adelaide then.

Not soft. Not cruel either.

Just steady.

“Couple of them still think it’s a done deal,” he added. “Get married, have kids, keep everything neat.”

Adelaide didn’t move.

But something in her expression shifted. Small, controlled, almost unreadable.

Topper made a face.

“Must just be their dream,” Rafe added.

Kelce laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, well. That’s rich people for you.”

Rafe took another slow sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” he said lightly. “You'll get used to that too.”

And for the first time, the conversation didn’t feel friendly to anyone standing there.

The music shifted before anyone really noticed it.

A slower song, heavier in the room, the kind that made conversations soften and bodies naturally draw closer without anyone deciding to.

Rafe noticed first. Of course he did.

He set his glass down on the table with a quiet clink.

“Let's dance,” he said.

It wasn’t really a question.

Adelaide blinked. “I,”

She didn’t get any further.

His hand was already at her waist again, familiar and certain, guiding her away from the group before she had time to properly process it. Not rough. Not rushed.

Just final.

Behind them, Kelce muttered something like “oh wow” under his breath.

Dean stepped forward half a second too late. “Wait,”

Rafe didn’t even turn around.

“Please feel free to mingle,” he called back casually over his shoulder.

Light tone. Almost polite.

But it landed like a closed door.

Adelaide’s hand lifted slightly like she might stop him, but then she hesitated, just long enough for him to lead her fully onto the dance floor.

The room seemed to shift around them as they moved into the center.

Rafe turned her into place without asking, one hand settling at her waist, the other finding hers like it belonged there. Like it always had.

Adelaide looked up at him, expression carefully composed now.

“What are you doing?” she asked quietly.

Rafe didn’t answer immediately.

He just held her for a beat longer than necessary.

Then, finally:

“Dancing with the most gorgeous girl here,” he said.

And guided her into the dance.

The music wrapped around them in slow waves, filling the space between conversations, between glances, between everything that wasn’t being said.

Rafe’s hand stayed steady at Adelaide’s waist as he guided her through the dance like it was muscle memory. Like they had done this a hundred times before in rooms just like this, under lights just like these.

Adelaide watched him for a moment.

Then, quietly, “What do you think of Dean?”

Rafe didn’t answer right away.

He shifted her slightly instead, adjusting their step without looking down.

“That’s what you’re thinking about?” he asked.

“It’s what everyone else is thinking about,” she said simply.

A pause.

His jaw tightened, just barely.

“He’s not that tall,” Rafe said finally.

Adelaide’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s not what I asked.”

A beat.

Rafe exhaled through his nose, almost like he was choosing each word carefully not to betray him.

“He’s…” he started.

Then stopped.

His hand flexed slightly at her waist.

“Not right for you,” he said instead.

Adelaide tilted her head a little, studying him now. “You don't think so?”

Rafe’s gaze flicked to hers.

Too quick. Too direct.

For a second, something almost broke through his expression. Something that looked dangerously close to honesty.

But then he looked away again.

“I don't,” he said lightly.

It should’ve sounded casual.

It didn’t.

Adelaide slowed slightly in his hold. “Rafe…”

He guided her through the turn before she could stop him.

“You don’t know him,” she pressed quietly.

“I know you,” he replied.

A pause stretched between them.

The kind that wasn’t empty. Just full of everything he wasn’t saying.

His thumb brushed once against her side, absentminded and grounding.

Then, quieter, almost like it slipped out before he could stop it:

“You don’t belong in something temporary.”

Silence.

Rafe immediately looked like he regretted saying even that much.

He corrected his hold slightly, posture tightening again.

“That’s all I meant,” he added, like it could fix it.

But he didn’t meet her eyes again. And the music kept going like nothing had happened.

Adelaide didn’t look away from him.

Not this time.

“If it’s not with Dean,” she said quietly, careful, almost testing the words as they left her mouth, “then where do you think I belong?”

Rafe’s step faltered for half a beat.

Barely noticeable to anyone else.

But she felt it.

His hand at her waist tightened slightly before he corrected it, guiding them through the movement anyway like nothing had shifted.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

“It is,” she replied softly.

A pause.

The music swelled around them, slower now, heavier, like it was giving them space they didn’t ask for.

Rafe’s jaw flexed once.

He looked at her then. Properly looked.

For too long.

Like he was trying to find a version of the answer that wouldn’t ruin anything.

“You don’t need someone like that,” he said finally.

Adelaide held his gaze, like she was waiting for the rest of it.

Like she knew there was more.

But before she could respond.

“Adelaide.”

The voice cut in cleanly from the edge of the dance floor. Dean.

Rafe didn’t stop moving, but something in his posture changed instantly. Subtle. Controlled. Like a door quietly locking.

Adelaide turned her head slightly, just enough to see him approaching.

Dean stopped a few steps away from them, hands loosely at his sides, expression polite but strained at the edges.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said, though clearly he had decided the opposite.

Rafe finally looked at him.

Not friendly. Not dramatic. Just flat.

“You just did,” he said.

A beat of silence.

Adelaide exhaled softly, pulling back just enough to create space between them, but Rafe’s hand didn’t fully leave her waist right away. It lingered for a second too long, like it had to be consciously removed.

Dean’s eyes flicked down to that, then back up.

“I was wondering if I could steal her back for a bit,” he said carefully. “Her mother’s asking for her.”

Rafe gave a quiet hum, like he was considering it.

Like it was a logistical decision.

Then he finally let go.

Slow. Deliberate.

Adelaide felt it more than she saw it.

“Well in that case,” Rafe said evenly. “Of course.”

But his eyes stayed on Dean as he added, almost casually:

“Wouldn’t want to keep her from what she’s meant for.”

A pause.

The words landed differently than they sounded.

Adelaide looked between them.

Dean hesitated, then stepped closer to her.

“Come on,” he said gently.

Adelaide nodded once, but her expression didn’t fully settle as she turned away from Rafe.

And behind her, Rafe didn’t move.

Just watched as Adelaide interlinked her fingers with Dean's.

rafe x original!character

part 1 I part 2 I part 3

Five more weeks of radio silence went by after their conversation at the Boneyard. Rafe had left her by her car after telling her something about him not having to listen to her anymore. And boy, did he actually mean that.

He'd started dealing at regular parties now, even when he knew Hannah'd be there. Dealing from whatever couch he could find, Topper and Kelce besides him. Dudes getting a bag, them handing Rafe the money, real simple. But the girls, they got special treatment. Rafe would sometimes accept if they were a few bucks short, if they let him do a line off of them. Their leg, stomach, tits, one girl even laid on the table so he could do one off her ass.

Hannah had seen it all. Heard it all. But this Saturday she did something that even surprised herself.

She found herself walking over to Rafe and her other two friends. She threw fifty bucks on the table before saying.

"Two bags please," with a sickening sweet smile.

Rafe looked at her, Topper sighed and Kelce tried to swallow a chuckle.

"No." Rafe said as he stared at her like shed grown three heads.

"Why? Am I short?" Hannah said as she pretended to count the money.

"I'm pretty sure we could work something out if I'm a few bucks short."

That comment made Kelce leave, before hed burst out laughing and end up getting his ass beat by Rafe.

"I'm not dealing to you," Rafe said as if it was obvious.

Hannah tilted her head like she was genuinely confused. “That so?”

“Yeah,” Rafe snapped. “Go ask someone else.”

“You're the only one dealing on Figure Eight” she said lightly, glancing around the packed living room. “So hook me up.”

Topper muttered a quiet “Jesus Christ,” under his breath and got up too, abandoning Rafe before the explosion hit.

Now it was just the two of them.

Music pounded through the walls hard enough to shake the cheap framed pictures hanging crooked beside the kitchen entrance. Hannah could smell beer, sweat, smoke. Could feel eyes flicking toward them every few seconds before people quickly looked away again.

Rafe leaned back against the couch, jaw ticking.

“You done?”

“No,” Hannah answered immediately.

That surprised him enough that his eyebrows lifted.

She pushed the money a little closer across the table with one finger. “You let yourself do lines off of random girls bodies, but suddenly you’ve got morals?”

“That what you think this is?” he asked quietly.

“I think it’s pathetic.”

His laugh came sharp and humorless. “Careful, princess.”

“No, seriously.” Her smile dropped. “You ignore me for well over a month, act like I don’t exist, and now I can’t even buy from you? That’s embarrassing.”

Something dangerous flickered across his face then.

Not anger exactly.

Worse. Hurt.

And Hannah hated that she noticed it immediately.

“You don’t get to do that,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Act like you support me now.”

The words landed harder than she expected. For a second neither of them spoke.

Rafe looked exhausted up close. Dark circles under his eyes, hair messy like he’d been dragging his hands through it all night, rings glinting as he gripped his knee hard enough for his knuckles to pale.

Hannah crossed her arms. “I never said I didn’t support you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed, even though her chest had suddenly gone tight. “You’re the one doing coke off Kook girls in front of me.”

“That bother you?”

He asked it too fast. Like he already knew the answer.

Hannah looked away first, which was answer enough.

Rafe exhaled through his nose and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re a bitch.”

“Yeah,” he said instantly. “But you already knew that.”

The honesty caught her off guard.

The tension between them shifted, just slightly. Still sharp, still angry, but no longer cold. Warmer now. More dangerous.

Rafe picked up the fifty from the table, folding it once between his fingers.

Hannah watched him carefully. “So are you selling to me or not?”

He stood suddenly, stepping close enough that her breath snagged.

Every instinct told her to move back.

She didn’t.

Rafe held her gaze as he shoved the money into the pocket of her jacket instead of keeping it.

“No,” he said quietly.

Then, after a beat:

“But you should probably stop looking at me like that before I do something stupid.” Rafe brushed past her shoulder.

“Rafe.”

He kept walking.

And that pissed her off more than anything else.

“Oh, okay,” Hannah called after him loudly. “So random girls can buy from you, but suddenly I’m cut off?”

The room went quieter around them.

Rafe stopped walking. Slowly turned around.

“That what you think this is?” he asked.

Hannah crossed her arms. “What else am I supposed to think?”

His jaw flexed once.

“You should go home, Hannah.”

The way he said it made her feel about two inches tall.

Condescending. Dismissive.

So naturally, she smiled meanly.

“Why? Afraid I’ll ruin your business?”

Topper actually winced.

Rafe stared at her for another second before leaving anyway. And that should’ve been the end of it.

Except Hannah got drunk enough later that “bad idea” started sounding exactly like “great plan.”

The balcony was crowded, humid from body heat and summer air.

Rafe sat back in one of the outdoor chairs like he owned the entire damn island, one arm slung over the back cushion while some blonde giggled beside him.

Hannah already hated her.

Then Rafe leaned down.

The girl tipped her head back, exposing the line laid carefully along her collarbone.

And Hannah saw red.

“Hey gang, what're we doing out here.”

The entire balcony went silent.

Rafe looked up slowly.

Hannah stood in the doorway swaying slightly, eyes glassy from too much vodka and anger.

The blonde immediately sat up straighter. “Uh,”

“Dont let me ruin your good time with Rafe over here,” Hannah said.

The girl wasted zero time getting up.

“Jesus Christ,” Kelce muttered under his breath.

Rafe leaned back again like he couldn’t care less. “You drunk?”

“Are you serious right now?”

Topper stepped in immediately. “Okay, maybe let’s all calm down,”

“No, actually,” Hannah cut him off, pointing at Rafe. “He wants to act like I’m some fucking weirdo bitch while he's out doing this?”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You done embarrassing yourself?”

That one hit. Hard.

Hannah laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “Embarrassing myself? You’ve spent the last month acting like every trashy girl on this island is interchangeable,”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Oh, sorry.” She smiled viciously. “Did I insult your little customers?”

“Hannah,” Topper warned quietly.

But she was past listening now.

“No seriously, tell me.” She stepped closer. “Which one’s next? Her friend? The brunette from last week? Or do none of them matter aslong as I'm not one of the girls buying?”

Rafe stood then.

Fast enough that the chair legs scraped loudly against the wood.

The entire balcony froze.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about.” Hannah shoved his shoulder. “You’re pathetic.”

Rafe grabbed her wrist before she could shove him again.

Not hard. But firm.

“Stop.”

“Or what?”

“Hannah.”

“Or what?” she repeated louder.

And then he made the mistake of glancing down at her mouth for half a second.

That tiny hesitation ruined both of them.

Because Hannah saw it.

Saw that despite everything, despite the anger and silence and girls and drugs and bullshit, he still saw her.

And then she slapped him. The crack echoed across the balcony.

Kelce actually said, “Holy shit.”

Rafe’s head turned slightly with the impact.

Then everything went terrifyingly quiet.

Slowly, Rafe looked back at her.

Hannah’s breathing turned uneven immediately, like maybe she hadn’t expected herself to actually do it either.

Topper moved first. “Okay, nobody else touch anybody...”

Rafe ignored him completely.

He just stared at Hannah for one long second before suddenly hauling her over his shoulder.

“What the fuck! RAFE!”

She started hitting his back instantly while the balcony exploded into shouting.

“Dude!” Kelce barked, half laughing, half concerned.

Topper dragged a hand down his face. “Oh my God.”

Rafe didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t even look back.

“Hannah, you are way too drunk for this shit.”

Rafe finally dropped her onto her feet beside his truck.

Hannah stumbled slightly in her heels before catching herself against the passenger door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she snapped breathlessly.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rafe shot back immediately. “You slap me in front of half the island and somehow I’m the asshole?”

“You were snorting lines off that girl like I wasn’t even there!”

“Oh my God.” Rafe dragged both hands down his face. “That’s what this is about?”

“Yes!”

The word echoed louder than she meant it to.

The music from the house thumped faintly behind them. Somewhere nearby people were still laughing, yelling, partying like the world hadn’t just tilted completely sideways.

Rafe stared at her for a long second.

Then laughed once under his breath.

Not amused.

Almost exhausted.

“You are so fucking confusing.”

Hannah folded her arms tightly across herself. “At least I’m honest.”

That got his attention immediately.

“Honest?” he repeated. “You ignored me for weeks.”

“You stopped talking to me!”

“Because I'm sick and tired of listening to you!”

The words exploded out before he could stop them.

Silence.

Rafe looked away instantly, jaw flexing hard like he already regretted saying it.

But Hannah just stared at him.

Completely still.

“Wow.” she said quietly.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

And suddenly every horrible thing from the last five weeks made sense.

The girls. The partying. The dealing. The coldness.

All of it.

Hannah’s anger cracked right down the middle.

“I miss you,” she admitted softly.

Rafe shut his eyes.

“Hannah,”

“No, I do.” Her voice shook now from alcohol and humiliation and too many feelings hitting all at once. “I miss talking to you. I miss when you actually looked at me. I miss us hanging out.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk, not lying.”

That one visibly hit him. Hard.

Rafe turned away, pacing once beside the truck before gripping the bed of it tightly.

“You don’t get to do this now,” he said quietly.

Hannah frowned. “Do what?”

“Act like you care after making me feel bad for months.”

Her face fell instantly.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well, congratulations.”

The bitterness in his voice made her chest ache.

For a second neither of them spoke.

Then Hannah laughed weakly, wiping angrily under her eyes before tears could actually fall.

“This is so humiliating.”

Rafe looked at her immediately at that.

And there it was again. That awful split second where he almost softened.

Almost walked toward her. Almost touched her.

Which was exactly why he forced himself to kill it.

“Jesus Christ, Hannah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Get a grip.”

The words landed like a slap all over again.

Hannah physically recoiled.

Rafe noticed. Of course he noticed.

That was the worst part.

Because he looked miserable the second he said it. But he still said it anyway.

Hannah swallowed hard and nodded once like she understood.

Then she stepped around him.

“Whatever.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You don’t get to say all that and then act like I’m crazy for caring.”

rafe x original!character

part 1 I part 2 I part 3

Hannah didn't talk to Rafe that week. She had nothing to say to him.

What do you say to someone you consider your closest friend when you find out that he's been doing Yayo behind your back? He very clearly also didn't give a single fuck when she did find out. Very clearly also didn't give enough fucks to even text her during this week.

No apology. No explanation. Nothing.

At first, Hannah kept checking her phone without thinking about it. Muscle memory. Every buzz in her pocket made her stomach jump before reality settled back in like cold water. Group chat notifications. Her mom. Spam emails. Never him.

By Thursday, the hurt had curdled into something uglier.

Because the thing was, if Rafe had wanted to talk to her, he would've. Rafe never struggled to get ahold of people when he cared enough. He'd shown up outside her house at two in the morning just because she'd sounded sad over the phone once. He'd skipped class to drive her to the mainland for her Midsummer dress. He remembered her birthday, favorite drink, stupid little details nobody else noticed.

So Hannah couldn't even lie to herself and pretend this was accidental.

He knew she was upset. He just didn't care.

The realization sat heavy in her chest all week, sharp and humiliating. Every time she thought about it too long, she got angry all over again. Angry at him for doing it, angry at herself for being surprised. Because maybe some part of her had always known this was how things would go whenever Ward's voice got to Rafe. That he wouldn't lean on her when something shinier came along.

And God, that thought pissed her off most of all.

By Friday night, she was sitting on the hood of her car outside the boneyard with a warm beer in her hand when she finally saw him again.

Rafe walked up laughing at something Topper said, head tipped back, sunburnt and careless and completely fucking normal.

Like he hadn't detonated something between them.

Hannah watched him cross the lot through narrowed eyes, taking another sip of her beer just to give herself something to do. Around them, the boneyard buzzed with noise, music crackling through shitty speakers, people yelling over each other, glass bottles clinking in the dark.

Rafe peeled away from the group easy, like it was instinct. Like this was normal too.

He stopped beside her car, one hand settling against the hood near her knee. “You planning on glaring at me all night or?”

“Depends,” Hannah cut in flatly. “I'll look away when I see you snorting lines off of your phone?”

That wiped the grin off his face.

For a second, neither of them said anything. Rafe leaned back against the hood beside her, shoulders tense now, eyes fixed somewhere out toward the bonfire instead of at her.

Hannah hated that she still noticed stupid things about him automatically. The fading scrape along his jaw. The way his fingers tapped once against the metal like he was restless. The faint smell of saltwater and smoke clinging to his shirt.

“You could've texted me,” she said finally, quieter this time. “At least.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “Didn't think you wanted to hear from me.”

“Oh, that's bullshit and you know it.”

His eyes flicked to her then. Blue and sharp and frustratingly unreadable in the firelight.

“I found out from Kelce,” Hannah continued. “Kelce, Rafe. Not you.”

“I know.”

“No, I don't think you do.”

The words came out harsher than she meant them to, but she didn't take them back. Rafe straightened slightly beside her, looking like he wanted to say something before thinking better of it.

That somehow made her angrier.

“Jesus Christ,” Hannah laughed bitterly, staring out toward the party. “You don't even look sorry.”

“I am sorry.”

“You' don't get credit for thinking it silently in your own head.'re not sorry one bit.”

Rafe’s mouth tightened.

The music from the bonfire thumped somewhere behind them, muffled by the rush of waves beyond the dunes. For a few seconds, all Hannah could hear was the aluminum crackle of the beer can in her hand from how hard she was squeezing it.

“I never wanted you to know,” he said finally.

Hannah let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Wow. That actually might be worse.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you are.” She looked at him then, brows raised. “You were just gonna keep lying to me indefinitely?”

Rafe pushed a hand through his hair, frustrated now. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like, Rafe?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

That silence told her enough.

Her chest tightened painfully. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hannah...”

“No, because what exactly was the plan here?” she cut in, sliding off the hood so fast beer sloshed over her fingers. “You keep doing Yayo behind my back while I sit there looking stupid? And everybody else knows except me?”

“I didn’t want everybody else knowing either.”

“But you did it with them?” Her voice cracked sharper this time. “How does that fit into you not wanting them to know.”

Rafe looked away again, jaw flexing hard.

And suddenly Hannah understood something that made her feel sick.

“You knew I’d be upset.”

“Yeah.”

“And you did it anyway.”

His eyes snapped back to hers. “It’s not about you.”

“See, that’s the problem,” Hannah shot back immediately. “I know it’s not about me. I know that Ward says jump and suddenly you're tripping over yourselv to hit the ground.”

His expression darkened at that. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Act like he doesn’t get in your head every single time he pays attention to you?”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

Rafe stared at her, breathing hard through his nose. The firelight caught the tension in his face, the exhaustion under it. For one fleeting second he looked less angry and more cornered.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.

The honesty of it landed harder than yelling would've.

Hannah crossed her arms tightly over herself, suddenly cold despite the sticky summer heat. “You know what the fucked up part is?” she said after a moment. “I would've listened if you'd just told me the truth.”

Rafe’s gaze dropped to the ground.

“I know.”

And there it was again, that quiet apology that came too late to matter.

Hannah laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she looked out toward the bonfire again. “I mean, fuck, Rafe. At least you’re not dealing it.”

The shift in him was immediate.

Subtle if you didn’t know him. Instant if you did.

He went completely still against the hood beside her. Hannah’s stomach dropped.

Slowly, she turned her head toward him. “...Rafe.”

His jaw clenched hard enough for her to see it.

“No,” she said immediately, already shaking her head. “No, don’t do that.”

“Do what.”

“That thing where you go all quiet and make me figure it out myself.”

Rafe pushed off the hood abruptly, dragging a hand over his mouth. “It’s not,”

“Oh my God.” The words left her in a breath. “What the fuck.”

He didn’t say anything. That said more than enough.

Hannah stared at him like she didn’t recognize him for a second. The party noise around them suddenly felt far away, muffled under the roaring in her ears.

“How long?”

“It’s not a regular thing.”

“How long, Rafe?”

His eyes flicked toward her finally, defensive now. Cornered. “A couple times.”

“A couple times,” she repeated incredulously. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Keep your voice down.”

That only made her angrier. “Don’t tell me to keep my voice down!” she snapped. “Jesus Christ, you’re dealing Yayo now?”

“I said a couple times.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Rafe looked exhausted suddenly, rubbing at his forehead. “It was easy money.”

“Oh, there it is.” Hannah laughed sharply. “There’s the real reason.”

“You think I like doing that shit?”

“Yeah! It's not like you need money Rafe.”

The words hit exactly where she meant them to. Rafe’s expression hardened instantly.

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

Rafe opened his mouth, angry and immediate, before nothing came out. And Hannah could see it then, underneath the frustration, underneath the pride.

Shame. Which somehow hurt worse.

She swallowed hard, looking away from him toward the dunes. “Were you ever gonna tell me?”

Rafe was quiet for so long she almost thought he wouldn’t answer.

“No,” he admitted finally.

The honesty of it landed like a slap.

Because he wasn’t even pretending anymore.

"Is it because you don't trust me?" Hannah said after a few moments of silence.

“That's not fair, Banana,” Rafe answered.

Hannah laughed once under her breath, humorless. “Isn’t it?”

Rafe’s expression hardened immediately. “No. It’s not.”

“Rafe,”

“No, because you’re acting like I kept this from you because I thought you’d go run your mouth or something.”

“Well, why else would you hide it from me?”

He pushed away from the car completely then, agitation finally breaking through the calm he’d been clinging to. “Because I knew you’d do exactly this.”

“Exactly what?”

“Look at me like I’m some fucking stranger.”

“You are dealing Yayo!”

“A couple times!” he snapped. “And it was never around you, never around the house, never when you were here.”

The second the words left his mouth, silence hit hard between them.

Hannah stared at him. “Wow.”

Rafe swore quietly, dragging both hands through his hair.

“So you really were timing it around me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It literally is.”

“I was trying to keep you out of it!”

His voice cracked louder than hers had all night, sharp enough that a couple people near the bonfire glanced over before losing interest again.

Hannah blinked at him.

Rafe laughed bitterly at her expression, pacing once through the sand before turning back toward her. “You think I don’t know you, Hannah? The second you found out, you would've tried to fix it. Or fix me. Or whatever the hell this is.”

“That is such bullshit.”

“No, it’s true.” He pointed at her like he was angry she couldn’t see it. “You do this thing where you decide I'm your responsibility.”

“And you do this thing where you ruin your life every time Ward looks your way.”

That hit. Hard.

Rafe’s face shut down instantly, eyes going cold. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please.”

“No, seriously.” He stepped closer now, jaw tight. “You sit there acting like you’ve got me all figured out, but you don’t know half the shit going on.”

“Then tell me!”

“Why?” Rafe threw his hands up. “So you can judge me more?”

Hannah looked genuinely taken aback. “I’m not judging you.”

Rafe just stared at her like that was the craziest thing she could’ve said. He scoffed, looking away toward the ocean. “Yeah, okay.”

The dismissal in it made Hannah’s temper flare again. She hopped off the hood fully now, standing in front of him.

“You know what? Fine. Maybe I am pissed at you. Maybe I am judging you a little because this is insane, Rafe.” Her voice shook. “But I would've still been there.”

That finally got his attention.

Rafe looked at her for a long moment, anger flickering with something more vulnerable underneath it.

“That’s the problem,” he said quietly.

Hannah frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you make it really fucking hard to let you hate me.”

And that shut her up.

rafe x original!character

part 1 I part 2 I part 3

It wasn’t unusual for Hannah to be at the Cameron house.

She’d grown up just down the street, close enough that the sound of boats cutting through the marsh sometimes drifted into her bedroom at night. Born after Rafe and before Sarah, she’d always existed somewhere in the middle of the Cameron orbit. Close enough to see everything, never quite inside enough to matter when it counted.

Which meant she had seen it all.

Ward Cameron’s careful smile that never reached his eyes when he looked at Rafe. The way praise came easily for Sarah and Wheezie, as if it had been set aside for them in advance, while Rafe always had to earn even the smallest acknowledgment, and still somehow fail to keep it.

People called Rafe the problem like it was simple. Like it was clean.

And sometimes, Hannah had to admit, it even looked true.

But not in the way they meant it.

Over time, that was what pulled her closer to him. Not an instant shift, but something quieter. Built from shared spaces and repeated collisions. Sitting beside each other at My Druthers, their fries going cold while they argued about nothing that mattered. Showing up at the same parties and somehow always ending up outside, away from the music, the laughter, the version of themselves everyone expected to see.

At Tannyhill, by the pool, sun too bright and everything a little too still, they’d talk like it was accidental. Like neither of them had chosen it.

But it never felt accidental.

More like something had been slowly stitched together over the years, thread by thread, moment by moment, until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.

Hannah hadn’t meant to take this route.

It was just faster. Cutting past the main road, slipping through the quieter stretch toward the marsh. Sarah had called in a rush, voice tight with something she refused to name, asking her to pick her up from John B’s place.

And Sarah had added, too quickly, don’t tell anyone else.

Hannah hadn’t asked why.

She was halfway through the turn when she saw it.

A dirt bike parked crooked in the gravel outside Barry’s place.

She slowed without meaning to. The world narrowed until it was just that bike under the weak afternoon sun, familiar in a way that made something uneasy settle in her stomach.

She knew that bike.

The red paint. The slightly bent handlebars. The way it leaned left like it had been forced into it. She knew it the same way she knew the sound of Rafe’s laugh when he thought no one important was listening.

For a second, she told herself it wasn’t his.

But her hand tightened on the wheel anyway.

Barry’s place sat too still, like it was holding its breath. Not empty, contained.

Hannah should’ve kept driving.

She didn’t.

She pulled over.

And sat there long enough for the silence to start feeling like an answer.

Because if that was his bike, then Rafe was inside.

And whatever Sarah hadn’t wanted to say suddenly felt bigger than a secret between sisters.

It felt like something Hannah had been standing too close to for a long time without realizing it.

She was already reaching for the gearshift when the door opened.

She froze.

Rafe came out first.

Not because it was dramatic, because it wasn’t. That was what made it worse. The way he moved like the place belonged to him. Like nothing about it required explanation.

Barry followed a second later.

They met on the gravel.

Hannah didn’t need sound. She saw it.

The handoff. Cash folded once, passed without hesitation. Like it meant nothing.

Except it did. No glance around. No pause. Just completion.

Like it was routine. Which made it worse.

Barry said something she couldn’t hear. Rafe gave a short nod and a faint smirk, already turning away. Toward the bike.

Hannah stayed still until the engine started.

Only then did she exhale.

Sarah’s name still sat on her phone like an obligation. She started the car without deciding to. And drove off. Not toward answers. Just toward Sarah.

Like nothing had changed. Even though everything had.

Sarah didn’t ask questions.

She got in quickly, murmured thanks, and stared out the window like distance could make things easier.

Hannah didn’t push.

Both hands on the wheel. Eyes forward. Mind elsewhere, gravel, cash, the sound of an engine she shouldn’t have recognized.

By the time they reached Tannyhill, the light had softened into late afternoon gold.

Sarah got out first.

“Thanks,” she said, already halfway to the house.

Hannah nodded.

Didn’t follow. Instead, she crossed the driveway like she already knew where she was going.

Rafe’s room.

She knocked once.

No answer.

Again, softer this time. Then she pushed the door open anyway.

He was there. Of course he was.

Half-turned away, one hand braced on his desk, the other on his phone like nothing outside this room mattered unless he allowed it to.

He didn’t look surprised.

Just still.

“Hey,” he said.

Like she hadn’t just spent the last hour carrying something she couldn’t name.

Hannah stayed by the door too long.

She could’ve said it then. Barry. The bike. The cash. But she didn’t.

She stepped inside and closed the door.

“What’ve you been doing today?” she asked.

Casual. Light. Almost bored.

Rafe’s eyes lifted. Just enough.

“Why?” he asked.

A beat.

She almost broke it open right there. Didn’t.

“I’ve just been hanging out with Sarah,” she said. “You weren’t around.”

A half-truth.

Rafe shifted slightly, like deciding how much energy she was worth.

“Nothing exciting,” he said. “Same shit.”

He said it like it meant nothing.

“What are you doing later?” she added too quickly.

A pause. Small. Intentional.

Rafe tilted his head.

“Why are you interrogating me, Banana?”

Not amused. Not irritated.

Measuring.

“I’m not,” she said. “Just asking.”

Silence stretched. Something unspoken pressed into it.

Rafe looked away first.

“Topper got a new boat,” he said finally. “We’re just hanging out. Boys thing.”

A boys thing.

After Barry.

Hannah held it a moment too long.

Then nodded.

“Cool.”

And stayed anyway for a little while.

She went out that evening anyway.

Not a decision. Just momentum.

Music. Boat. Friends. Sun too bright to think under.

It didn’t stick.

Not today.

She kept scanning the water instead of listening.

Then she saw them.

A boat cutting across the channel. Too familiar.

Topper at the front. Kelce behind him, too loose. And Rafe, reclined like he didn’t quite fit inside his own body.

Something off. Not obvious. Just misaligned.

Hannah went still.

He turned his head.

For a second, it was just them.

No distance. No noise.

His gaze didn’t sharpen like usual.

It drifted.

Slow.

Unfocused.

Kelce said something. Laughed too hard.

Topper didn’t look up.

Rafe eventually did, but like a delayed version of himself.

The boats drifted closer.

No one planned it.

Topper called out first. Casual.

“Didn’t think we’d see you out here.”

Laughter from her boat. Easy. Normal.

They came alongside.

Engines down. Water shifting.

Hannah didn’t move.

Rafe didn’t look at her immediately.

That alone felt wrong.

Kelce talked. Topper answered. Noise filled the space like nothing had changed.

But something had.

Rafe leaned back slightly, elbow on the rail.

Loose. Delayed.

Hannah couldn’t stop watching him.

When his eyes found hers, it wasn’t sharp.

It skimmed.

A beat too slow.

Then a smile that didn’t fully land.

“Hey,” he said.

Like nothing existed outside that word.

Like she hadn’t seen him earlier with cash in his hand.

The boats drifted.

Then slowed.

No one decided.

Hannah stood up. Not fully thought through.

“Wait!” one of the girls called behind her.

She stepped across the gap anyway.

Shoes hitting deck. Hands catching Topper's. Easy landing.

“Didn’t think we were doing transfers now,” Topper said.

She ignored it.

“Just wanted to hang with you guys,” she said lightly.

Kelce shifted. Made space.

Rafe didn’t speak.

That mattered more than anything. She walked further in.

Close enough now.

The looseness made sense up close. Not loud but wrong. Rafe tilted his head.

“Didn’t think you’d be out today.”

“I wasn’t planning to be.”

A beat. He didn’t look away.

Something shifted.

Like balance failing quietly.

“So,” she said. “What are you doing out here?”

“You already asked that,” he said.

“Literally none of you answered?”

Silence tightened.

Then.

“You guys acting weird,” she said lightly. “Are you on something?”

A joke.

Topper laughed immediately. “What? No.”

Kelce answered too fast.

“How’d you know?”

Wrong tone. Too sharp.

“I’m joking,” he added quickly. “We’re fine.”

But he didn’t stop talking.

“Rafe just needed something to chill out, that’s all.”

Silence dropped.

Topper snapped his head. “Dude.”

Kelce froze.

Rafe didn’t move. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t confirm it.

Just watched Kelce like he’d already decided what that cost him.

Hannah didn’t react right away.

Then.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Right.”

Not a question.

A recognition.

She looked at Rafe.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

He didn’t.

“Okay,” she said.

Then, quieter, “so you are on something.”

The boat cracked, not loudly. Just enough.

Kelce started backpedaling.

Rafe finally spoke.

“Drop it.”

Final. But it didn’t drop.

Hannah nodded once.

Stepped back. Not out.

“I get it,” she said.

And looked at Rafe.

Not angry. Not surprised. Just different.

She didn’t speak after that. Not for the rest of the ride.

The dock came. The engine cut. Silence hit harder than noise.

“Alright,” Topper said. “That’s us.”

They moved. Hannah followed.

Steady. Controlled.

Then onto land.

Someone called her name. She didn’t turn.

Just kept walking.

fezco x original!character

Brooke wasn’t the type of girl Fez usually noticed. Not because she wasn’t noticeable, she was, but because she carried herself differently from the chaos he was used to. Where most girls in East Highland wore glitter like armor, she kept it simple. Clean lines. Neutral tones. Makeup that looked like she might not even be wearing any at all.

She worked at a boutique a block down, so every so often she wandered into the corner store, sometimes for a bottled iced tea, sometimes for chips her coworkers begged her to pick up. She always paid in cash. Always smiled politely. Always got a receipt. Never lingered long.

The first time Fez really looked at her, not just looked but noticed, she was waiting at the counter while Ash rang her up. Her phone buzzed in her hand and she pressed it to her ear.

“Yeah, it’s Bee,” she said quickly, lowering her voice as she turned away. “I’m picking it up now, I’ll be back in ten.”

Fez heard it from where he was stacking shelves. Bee. Short. Easy. Not the kind of name people dressed up in rhinestones or dragged out into something it wasn’t.

When she hung up, she slipped the phone back in her bag and offered Ash a quick smile before heading for the door.

“Take it easy, ma,” Fez said from behind the counter. His tone was steady, like it always was, but his eyes lingered a second longer than usual.

Bee glanced over her shoulder, caught his gaze, and gave the faintest smile before pushing through the door. The bell above it jingled, leaving the room too quiet.

Ash looked up from the register. “Why you gotta do all that?”

Fez didn’t answer. His mind was still turning. He hadn’t meant anything by it, not really. Just a habit. But the way she’d looked back, like maybe she heard more in it than he’d put there, stayed with him long after she was gone.

She came in again two nights later, this time just before closing. Her tote bag slipped down her shoulder when she set her things on the counter, and Fez caught sight of the frayed strap on his own jacket as he leaned against the register.

“Long day, ma?” he asked, watching her tuck her hair behind her ear.

“You could say that,” she said, and for the first time there was a trace of humor in her voice.

Her eyes flicked down, catching on the loose stitching at his pocket. “You know that’s gonna tear all the way open if you don’t fix it.”

Fez looked at the jacket, then back at her. “It still work, don’t it?”

She gave him a half-smile. “For now.”

Something about the way she said it, casual, but certain, stuck. She wasn’t teasing him, not really. Just noticing, pointing it out, like she couldn’t help but see the details.

When Bee gathered her bag and gave him that small smile again, the corner of his mouth tugged upward. He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t even need to.

By the time she left, the name Bee was still turning over in his head. He hadn’t planned on saying it. Not yet. For now, ma was an even better fit for her.

It was late, the kind of late where even Ash was restless. Fez was leaning against the counter, half-watching some muted TV in the corner when the bell over the door jingled.

Bee walked in, not alone this time. A girl about her age trailed behind her, laughing at something Bee said as they moved toward the coolers. Both wore black, work clothes by the look of them. The other girl’s heels clicked loud against the linoleum, but Bee’s boots were quiet.

Fez straightened a little, eyes trailing without meaning to. She looked tired but sharper somehow, like the boutique still clung to her. Her hair was tucked back, and a thin silver chain glinted at her collarbone. She reached into the cooler for a drink, chatting to her friend the whole time.

When they made their way to the counter, her coworker leaned in first. “Just these, please.” she asked Ash, dropping a pack of gum and an energy drink onto the counter.

Bee set down a bottle of sparkling water, tugging at the strap of her bag. For the first time, Fez noticed the little plastic nametag still pinned to her dress, catching the light when she moved.

Brooke.

His eyes lingered just a second too long, enough to catch it before she slid the bottle closer and the strap of her tote fell across it again.

Ash rang them up, chattering back at the coworker. Fez didn’t say anything. Just watched as Bee handed over some cash, her nails manicured, clean.

“Appreciate you, ma,” Fez said as she took the bag.

Bee looked up at him then, just briefly. Her mouth curved, soft at the edges. “See you around.”

The bell jingled as she pushed through the door, her friend close behind. Just before it swung shut, her coworker’s voice floated back through the doorway, pitched in a playful whisper that wasn’t nearly quiet enough:

“Ma? He called you ma? Okay, Miss Brooke.”

Bee’s laugh followed, quick and low, before the door clicked closed and left silence behind.

Ash tossed the bills into the drawer. “Why you call her that?”

Fez didn’t answer. His eyes were still on the door, the sound of her laugh folded into the quiet. He’d seen the name. He knew now. But he wasn’t about to say it out loud. Not yet.

To him, she was still Bee.

Fez had just locked up the corner store for the night when his eyes caught the soft glow of the boutique across the street. The door was wide open, spilling warm light onto the sidewalk. From inside came the clipped, rhythmic sound of Bea’s voice:

“Thirty-two blue Lindsay blouses! Fold ‘em and stack ‘em by size!”

Fez stepped onto the threshold, leaning lightly against the doorframe. “Yo… might not really wanna have the door open like this,” he began, scanning the quiet street. Before he could finish, a voice called from the register.

“Bee! Get out of the stock room! Someone’s here to see you!”

Bee’s commands continued from the back, loud and precise. “Twenty-three red Gail scarves!”

Fez straightened, hands in his pockets. “I’m gonna stay,” he said, firm but casual, letting the words carry. “Just makin’ sure ain’t nobody tryin’ any funny business while the door’s open.”

Bea emerged from the stock room, clipboard tucked under one arm, her expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. “Oh… hey,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Her coworker at the register grinned. “I’m gonna go count… something,” she said, grabbing Bee’s clipboard and disappearing into the stock room.

Fez didn’t budge. He just watched, leaning against the doorway as Bee jogged forward, brushing past him. “Fine, fine, we’ll close the door,” she said, rolling her eyes in mock resignation.

He stepped forward and shut it with a soft click, the warm glow inside now contained.

The boutique felt quieter, though still alive. Fez leaned lightly against the counter edge, observing her, the tension in her shoulders softening when she looked up at him.

“Long day?” he asked finally.

“You could say that,” she replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “But we’re getting through it. Almost done.”

Fez nodded. No more words were necessary. Seeing her here, commanding the space, alive and sharp, aware of him but unbothered, that alone was enough.

The street was quiet as they stepped outside, the night air cool and still. Fez opened the passenger side door for her, and Bee slid in, balancing her tote on her lap.

“You really didn’t have to stick around that long,” she said, buckling her seatbelt.

“Figured someone should make sure the door stayed closed,” Fez replied, hands on the wheel. His eyes flicked to her briefly, then back to the street. “You spend too much time countin’ stock by yourself, that’s all.”

She gave a small, amused laugh. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta do it. Otherwise it never gets done.” Her fingers fidgeted slightly with the strap of her tote, the quiet hum of the car filling the pause between them.

They drove slow, the night streets almost empty. Silence settled comfortably, punctuated only by the tires humming over asphalt.

“You really watch over people like that?” she asked eventually, glancing at him.

Fez shrugged. “Depends. Some folks need it more than others. You… just looked like you could use it tonight.”

Her gaze softened. “I’m not helpless, you know.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he replied smoothly. “Just sayin’ I’m not complainin’.”

A little later, she tilted her head, casual as if mentioning the weather. “I'd like only get a few hours of sleep. Have to finish counting.”

Fez didn’t respond at first, keeping his eyes on the road. But by the time they’d turned the corner toward her place, his mind had already made the quiet decision. He would open his store a little early tomorrow, make sure there were a few energy drinks ready if she needed one before the long morning. No words needed, he just knew.

She caught his gaze in the rearview mirror and gave a small, teasing smirk. “Guess you like being useful, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta be,” he said lightly, but his voice carried more weight than she realized.

When they pulled up outside her building, she slung her tote over her shoulder and stepped out. “Thanks for the ride,” she said softly.

“Anytime, ma,” he said, voice low but steady. He didn’t add anything about tomorrow, no promises, no fuss. Just the quiet knowledge that he’d be ready if she needed him.

She gave him one last look before heading inside, and the night seemed a little warmer, a little quieter, for him and for the streets they shared.

Bea leaned back against the counter, stretching her shoulders. Only a few items left on the checklist. The early morning light spilled across the boutique floor, highlighting the neat rows of clothing she had spent the last couple of hours counting.

Fez leaned casually on the edge of the counter, quiet and steady, watching her work. He hadn’t moved since he’d walked in with the bag of drinks, letting her focus while keeping a presence nearby.

“You done yet?” he asked lightly, nodding toward the clipboard.

“Almost,” she said, tapping the last few items. “Just a couple more, then I can finally go home.” She gave a small smile, her fatigue softened by the fact that he had gone out of his way to bring the drinks.

“Good,” he said, glancing at the clock. “I’ll wait until eight before I head back.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t have to,” she said softly, but didn’t protest. “Gaby is clocking in, in about 30 minutes.”

“I figured someone’s gotta make sure you survive this counting marathon,” he said, voice low, half-teasing, half-serious.

They fell into a comfortable rhythm, punctuated by the soft rustle of paper and fabric. Bee sipped her energy drink, her eyes flicking toward him more often than she realized.

Finally, she tapped her clipboard with a flourish. “Done. Finally.” She leaned back and sighed. “Honestly, you didn’t need to stay this long. Thank you.”

“I told you, ma,” he said quietly, eyes steady on hers. “I didn’t mind.”

Before she could respond, the bell over the boutique door jingled. Her coworker stepped in, eyes widening the second she saw Bee and Fezco standing there together. A grin spread across her face, and her voice sweet and teasingly as she spoke.

“Oh my God, Bee. Good morning you two?” she gushed, glancing between them with wide eyes. “That’s so nice of you to bring her something to eat and drink, wow.”

Bea gave her a sharp look, trying to suppress the amused smile tugging at her lips. “Good morning,” she said flatly, ignoring the commentary.

Fez didn’t flinch, just pushed off the counter when the clock hit eight. “Alright,” he said simply. “I’m out. Gotta let you finish your day properly.”

Bee nodded, her lips twitching in spite of herself. “Thanks… for this morning.”

“Anytime, ma,” he said, heading for the door.

As he stepped out, the sound of hushed-but-not-hushed gushing trailed after him. Bee’s coworker leaning in, practically squealing, “He brought you drinks? And stayed? Bee, oh my god, he’s perf—”

rafe!reader

You and Rafe had been reckless with each other. Always too much, too fast, too intense. People said it wouldn’t last, that you’d burn out before summer even ended. But you didn’t. Even when you left for college, hundreds of miles away, you both swore you’d figure it out. And for about a year, you did.

There were late-night calls that stretched until sunrise, blurry FaceTimes when you should’ve been studying, weekends where you’d drop everything just to sneak back to OBX for forty-eight hours of him. It was messy, exhausting, but it was real. It was yours.

And then everything shifted.

The last time you’d seen him was quick, almost rushed. He had things going on he couldn’t explain, his voice tight when he promised he’d call. He didn’t. Not that night. Not the next. At first, you brushed it off. He got busy. Things were stressful at home. But then your texts started going unanswered. Your calls went to voicemail. Weeks passed.

You tried everything. Calling from your friends’ phones, emailing, even writing a letter you weren’t sure he’d ever read. And then, one day, you realized the truth: the number you had for him didn’t even work anymore. He’d changed it. Without telling you.

That was the moment it broke. Not just the relationship. You.

No fight, no explanation. Just silence. And in that silence, you were forced to bury the best and worst parts of yourself.

Three years later, you had a diploma in your hands and nothing but questions in your chest. College was supposed to be a distraction, a fresh start. But Rafe Cameron haunted every corner of it. The ghost of what you’d lost, the ache of what you never got to say.

You told yourself you were past it. Mostly, you even believed it. Until one night, lying in your childhood bedroom, you scrolled too far down Instagram and saw it.

A clean, golden-lit photo: Rafe in a crisp white shirt, his arm around a girl you didn’t recognize. Sophia something. She was stunning in the effortless, polished way that made your stomach twist. A diamond sparkled on her left hand. The caption read: Forever starts now.

Your world cracked open all over again.

You stared at the screen until your eyes blurred, your chest hollowing out with each second. You thought you’d made peace with the silence, never knowing why. But this, seeing him smile in a way he hadn’t smiled for you in years, promising forever to someone else, this was worse than the ghosting. This was final.

And yet, the next morning, when your parents asked if you’d stay in OBX for the summer before figuring out your next step, you said yes. Maybe it was masochism, maybe it was unfinished business. Either way, you couldn’t run from the island forever.

OBX looked exactly the same when you pulled back into town. Same roads, same shops, same salt-thick air. But nothing about it felt the same. Every street corner carried a memory, every shadow threatened to pull you under.

And the worst part was knowing he was here too. Living his life. Smiling in photos. Engaged.

You told yourself you’d avoid him. That OBX was small, but not that small. You could slip in, see your family, figure out your next step. You could live with the ghost of him, just like you had for two years.

You had no idea fate was about to throw him back in your path.

Your parents had been buzzing about the graduation party for weeks, even when you begged them to keep it small. They insisted. It wasn’t every day their only daughter came home with a degree. You gave in, mostly because you were too tired to argue. A backyard party couldn’t kill you, right?

You didn’t expect him.

It happened like a scene out of a nightmare. One second you were smiling politely at your mom’s friends; the next, the air shifted, a ripple of energy you felt before you even turned your head.

Rafe Cameron.

Standing in the middle of your parents’ garden in a navy button-down, one arm draped casually around her. Sophia’s sundress fluttered in the breeze, her smile as easy as sunshine. She looked perfect here, like she belonged. He, on the other hand, he was stone.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it. His eyes found yours across the crowd, locking in, and suddenly the music, the chatter, all of it faded into static. 

He hadn’t known. You saw it in the way his jaw clenched, his shoulders stiffened. He hadn’t realized this was your party.

You forced yourself to look away, plastering a smile back on as someone tapped your shoulder to congratulate you. But your skin buzzed with awareness, every nerve ending screaming. He was here. With her.

The night dragged, a blur of champagne flutes and polite laughter. Everywhere you turned, you caught glimpses of him, shaking hands with your father, listening absently to your mother’s stories, Sophia glowing at his side. And yet, every so often, his gaze would flick to you. Quick, sharp, like he couldn’t stop himself.

By the time the sun dipped low and lanterns lit the backyard, you couldn’t take it anymore. You slipped away toward the edge of the garden, hoping for air, distance, something.

But he followed.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.” Your voice came out sharper than you meant, but you didn’t care.

Rafe stopped a few feet away, hands buried in his pockets. “I didn’t know you got back home.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, weighted with two years of unfinished business.

Finally, you let out a bitter laugh. “Guess congratulations are in order.”

His eyes flickered, shadowed. “Yeah.” He hesitated, then added, almost too quietly: “Thanks. You too, you know with your degree and all.”

It was nothing. Just words.

You turned away before he could see the tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. “Enjoy the party, Rafe.”

And with that, you walked back into the crowd, leaving him rooted to the edge of the garden, watching you go.

It happened in the last place you wanted it to. Alone, in a quiet hall, with nowhere to run.

You hadn’t planned to see him again so soon after the party, but OBX was cruel like that. One night, you let a friend drag you to The Wreck for drinks, swearing it would be low-key. The second you walked in, your pulse stuttered. He was there.

Sophia was laughing with a cluster of friends at the bar, but Rafe sat apart, nursing a glass he hadn’t touched. His gaze found you instantly, sharp and unrelenting. The room seemed to shrink, the air pulled taut between you.

You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on your friends, on the music, on anything but him. But when you slipped down the hallway toward the bathroom, the sound of footsteps followed.

“Wait.”

The word froze you in place. You turned, and there he was, leaning against the wall like the sight of you had knocked the air out of him. His hair was messy, his collar undone, his eyes hollowed out by something you recognized too well: want.

“Rafe, don’t,” you said, voice shaking.

“I can’t not,” he shot back. He dragged a hand down his face, frustrated. “You think I don’t feel it? Every time you walk into a room, it’s like I can’t breathe. And I’ve been trying, God, I’ve been trying, to pretend I can live without you. But I can’t.”

Your chest tightened, anger and longing colliding. “You left me. You cut me off without a word, and now what? You expect me to just…”

“Because I thought I was saving you!” His voice cracked, too loud, too raw. He stepped closer, desperate now. “I was a mess. I would’ve destroyed you. And you… you were everything. I thought if I cut it clean, you’d move on. Be better without me.”

Your breath caught, the ache you’d buried for years clawing back to the surface. “And was she supposed to be your prize for walking away? Is that what this is?”

His jaw clenched, guilt flashing across his face. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, quietly, like it hurt to admit: “She’s not you. She’ll never be you.”

The words shattered something inside you.

“Rafe…” you started, but he closed the space between you, not touching, not daring, just close enough that his breath mingled with yours. His voice dropped, breaking.

“Tell me I’m too late. Tell me you don’t want me anymore. Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’m walking out there right now and ending it. I can’t marry her. Not when every part of me is still yours.”

The hallway buzzed with silence, your heartbeat drowning out the music from the bar. His eyes were wild, pleading, waiting for your answer.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself admit the truth: you’d never stopped wanting him.

You didn’t give him what he wanted that night in the hallway. You couldn’t.

His words had cracked something in you, sure, but the scars were still there—ugly, deep, unhealed. So you stared at him, blinking back the sting in your eyes, and forced your voice steady.

“I don’t, Rafe.”

The flinch was almost imperceptible, but it was there. The slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, the tightening of his jaw. For a second, you thought he might argue, press the way he always did when you were younger, reckless, raw. But he didn’t. He just nodded once, sharp and pained, then walked away.

You thought that was the end.

Until, days later, you heard it whispered at The Wreck. Sophia had been spotted at her parents’ place, crying, no ring on her finger. By the next morning, it wasn’t a rumor anymore. It was a fact. Rafe Cameron had broken off his engagement. No fight, no cheating scandal, no dramatic scene. He’d just… ended it.

The news left you reeling. You told yourself it had nothing to do with you, that it was just another Cameron implosion. But then, one lazy Saturday morning, you padded downstairs to find your father’s deep laugh rolling out from the kitchen. And when you stepped into the doorway—

There he was.

Rafe Cameron, sitting at your family’s kitchen table like it was the most natural thing in the world. A mug of coffee in his hand, your dad across from him, your brothers flanking the sides. They were talking fishing, of all things, your father looking more at ease than you’d seen him in months.

Rafe stood the second he saw you, setting the mug down carefully, like he knew he was holding something breakable. His eyes met yours, steady, not desperate this time.

“Morning,” he said softly.

You just stared. “What are you doing here?”

“Talking to your dad.” His mouth curved into something almost self-deprecating. “And your brothers. Figured if I ever wanted to stand a chance with you again, I’d start with the people who matter most to you.”

The words didn’t sound like him. Not the boy who had once thrived on chaos, who had burned everything he touched. No, this was something else. Something steadier.

Your father cleared his throat. “We were just catching up. Don’t worry, he’s not overstaying his welcome.” But there was something in your dad’s eyes you didn’t expect, something that looked a lot like approval.

Rafe stepped closer, careful, deliberate. “I owe you an apology. A real one. I was a coward, and I hurt you worse than I can ever make right. I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight, and I’m not asking you to decide anything now. I just… needed you to know I’m not running anymore.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse wild. “And her?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “She deserves someone who’s all in. I couldn’t give her that, not when every part of me was still yours. Ending it was the only honest thing I could do.”

The kitchen was too quiet, the weight of his words pressing down on you. This wasn’t the reckless Rafe you remembered, all impulse and heat. This was someone who had made a choice. Hard, clean, deliberate. For you.

rafe!reader

The car gave one last cough before shutting down completely, leaving you stranded on a narrow back road lined with trees. No streetlights. No houses. Just darkness pressing in on all sides.

You exhaled shakily and pulled out your phone. One bar. Barely enough to call Triple A.

The dispatcher’s tone was apologetic: earliest available… four hours.

Four hours alone in the dark. You told yourself it was fine — until your thumb hovered over Rafe’s name. You knew what calling him would mean, but you did it anyway.

He answered instantly. “Where are you?”

“Don’t freak out,” you said quickly. “The car broke down, but don’t worry, I already called Triple A. They’ll be here in—”

“How long?” His voice was ice.

“…Four hours.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sharp click of him hanging up.

Twenty minutes later, twin beams of headlights tore down the road toward you. His truck swerved to a stop, gravel spraying, and Rafe was out before the engine cut off. He looked furious, but underneath it—there was fear.

“You called them before me?” His voice was low, rough. “You really thought I’d let you sit out here — alone — for four damn hours?”

“Rafe, I didn’t want to bother you—”

“Bother me?” He stalked closer, bracing his hands on the edge of your window and leaning down, his face inches from yours. His eyes burned into yours, his chest rising and falling hard. “Don’t you get it? You don’t rely on anyone else. Not when you’ve got me.”

Your heart kicked, torn between guilt and the way he made your stomach twist when he looked at you like that. For a second, his gaze dropped to your lips, and he started to lean in—heat radiating off him, the kind of kiss that would swallow up the fight.

But at the last second, he stopped, pulling back with a sharp inhale like he didn’t trust himself yet. His hand dragged over his jaw as he turned away.

“Not when I’m still this pissed,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, before ripping the hood open.

His hands moved with purpose, fast and sure, every twist of the wrench like a release of pent-up frustration. The car sputtered, then roared back to life under his touch.

Triple A was forgotten. They’d show up to an empty road hours later, never knowing you’d been claimed the second Rafe got your call.

He slammed the hood shut, then looked at you again — anger still burning in his eyes, but softer now, threaded with something protective, almost desperate.

“You call me,” he said, voice steady but firm, like a vow. “First. Always. Because no one else gets to take care of you. That’s mine.”

You nodded, the sting of his intensity softened by the way his hand lingered on the frame of your window for just a second longer.

“Good,” he said finally, stepping back toward his truck. “Now drive. I’ll be right behind you.”

rafe!reader

The party smelled like sun oil and champagne, the kind of expensive that only exists on Figure Eight. Music thumped against the walls, and bodies swayed under the glow of string lights.

You were posted at the bar, the condensation from your Diet Pepsi can slipping down your fingers. Not because you couldn’t drink—but because you liked the way it looked in your hand. Glossy. Unbothered. A little defiant.

“Still nursing that?”

You didn’t have to turn to know the voice. Rafe Cameron, all tanned skin and trouble wrapped in linen. He nodded toward the can like it was a private joke.

“Consistency is sexy,” you said, taking a slow sip. “You wouldn’t get it.”

He leaned against the bar, smiling like he already had you figured out. “You’re saying you’ve been consistent? That’s not how I remember it.”

You tilted your head. “Funny. I remember you begging me to stay every time I tried to leave.”

“Worked for a while, didn’t it?”

You didn’t answer, just let the crowd swallow the moment as you moved to the living room. Later, when someone took the space next to him on the couch, you didn’t look for another seat—you slid right into his lap instead. Casual. Dangerous. Like you hadn’t promised yourself you’d never do it again.

He didn’t push you off. One hand landed on your thigh, his thumb brushing just enough to make your pulse trip.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured.

“Always have been.”

Later

The music was still pounding inside when you followed him out. His car was parked half in shadow, the same one he used to drive you around in—back when you were his baby, back when you thought that meant something permanent.

You climbed in, the leather sighing under your weight. He drove like muscle memory—one hand on the wheel, the other drifting close enough that his knuckles grazed yours on the console.

Streetlights flashed across his face, painting him gold and shadow, and then the memory hit you like sugar rush.

The leather seats sticking to your skin in the summer heat. Your knees hooked over his lap. The taste of soda still on your tongue because you hadn’t touched the champagne. His hands gripping your thighs, the two of you moving in sync to a rhythm that wasn’t coming from the speakers. The faint hiss of a can rolling against your ankle, forgotten on the floor.

You blinked hard, dragging yourself back to the present, the fizz of the memory settling into your chest.

“You okay?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Always,” you lied.

rafe!reader

You’d been scrolling TikTok all morning when this old trend started popping up again. Girls calling their boyfriends and deliberately not saying “I love you” back before hanging up. The results were always hilarious. And you thought, Well… if anyone’s going to take that personally, it’s Rafe Cameron.

And the thing about Rafe? He doesn’t let things go.

You tap his contact. He picks up on the second ring.

Rafe: “Hey, baby.” It’s that slow, lazy drawl he gets when the day’s going his way. You can hear the faint hum of his engine, and you know he’s probably got the AC blasting despite the perfect weather. You: “Hey. What are you doing?” Rafe: “Headed back from the marina. Ran into some idiot who tried to dock without knowing how — almost took out Dad’s boat.” He laughs, low and amused. “You miss me already?” You: “Maybe.”

He keeps talking — about the marina, about plans for dinner tonight, about how he might swing by his dad’s place to grab the good champagne.

Rafe: “Alright, I’ll see you tonight, yeah? Love you.” You let the pause stretch just enough to sting. “Okay, bye.” Rafe: “…Bye?” You hang up before the smirk can take over your face.

Second call – one minute later

Rafe: “You forget something?” You: “No?” Rafe: “Uh, yeah. Three words. Starts with ‘I’.” You hum innocently. “Oh. You mean ‘I’m busy’?” Rafe: “Cute. Real cute.” He’s still smiling — you can hear it — but there’s a sharp edge under it now. “Don’t make me come over there.”

You hang up again, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

Third call – three minutes later

This time there’s no playful intro. Rafe: “Alright, what the fuck’s going on?” You: “Nothing’s wrong.” Rafe: “Don’t lie to me. You always say it. Always. And now you’re just—what? Testing me? Punishing me?” There’s a rustle like he’s running a hand through his hair. “If I did something, tell me. I’ll fix it.”

You only say, “See you later, Rafe,” and hang up.

Fourth call – instantly

You let it ring out. A voicemail hits your phone seconds later:

Rafe: “Not a joke anymore. I’m coming over. Don’t move.”

Twelve minutes later

The low purr of a high-end engine rolls up your driveway, followed by the heavy slam of a door. He doesn’t knock. He just strides in like he owns the place — which, with his last name, he could probably buy if he felt like it.

He finds you on the couch, arms crossed, doing your best to look unbothered. Rafe: “You seriously made me drive over here in the middle of the day because you couldn’t say it back?” You shrug, but your grin gives you away. Rafe: “You’re a brat.” His voice is tight, but his hand is already on your chin, tilting your face up to his. “Do you have any idea how fast I was going to get here?”

You start to laugh, but it dies when his expression shifts — the annoyance softening into something more raw. Rafe: “Don’t pull that again, alright? I thought—” he exhales, “—I thought something happened.”

stiles!reader

The study group was already in full swing when Stiles and Isaac walked into the library. Papers were spread across the long table, laptops open, coffee cups everywhere.

“Glad you could finally join us,” said Mariah — a tall, confident girl with a clipboard who clearly ran the group like a general runs an army.

Isaac just smiled his easy, “sorry-but-not-really” smile and dropped into the nearest chair. Stiles scanned the table. Only one seat left. Right beside her.

She sat with her notebook angled toward herself, auburn hair catching the late-afternoon light, glasses low on her nose. Her pen moved steadily, her posture straight, her focus unshakable. She didn’t even glance up as he slid into the chair, muttering an awkward, “Uh—hey.”

“Hey,” she said softly, eyes still on the page.

It wasn’t much, but something about the way she said it — quiet but assured — stuck with him. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Wasn’t performing like half the room seemed to be.

Mariah clapped her hands. “Okay, we’re dividing up sections of the project. Genevieve, you’re on research with—” her gaze flicked to Stiles “—him.”

“Great,” Stiles said too quickly, earning a sidelong glance from Isaac.

She finally looked at him then, eyes an icy ocean blue that seemed to assess more than meet. “Do you have time after this?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. I mean—yes. Totally. I’m free.” He tried to play it casual, failed.

rafe!reader

The sun loungers at Tannyhill were warm from the late afternoon heat, the air thick and still. She lay back, sunglasses on, phone in hand, scrolling like nothing in the world mattered.

“I think we should break up,” she said, voice light, casual — almost bored.

Across from her, Rafe didn’t even look up. One arm behind his head, eyes shut, he replied, “I don’t care. Not happening.”

She kept scrolling. “Your music taste is terrible.”

He cracked one eye open. “That’s your reason?”

“And you drive too fast.”

“You love it.”

“You always eat the last piece of toast.”

That got him to sit up a little, his jaw flexing. “Are you—”

“And,” she added sweetly, “you chew weird.”

Rafe swung his legs over the side of the lounger, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring at her like she’d just declared war. “You’re really trying me right now.”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying… maybe we’re not compatible.”

He stood, closing the distance in two steps. The sun caught in his eyes, turning the blue sharper. “We are. End of discussion.”

“But—”

He cut her off, voice low, almost dangerous. “You’re not leaving me. Ever. I don’t care what stupid excuses you make — you’re mine. You try to walk away, and I’ll make sure you come crawling back. Every. Time.”

Her lips curled into a slow smirk, satisfaction glinting beneath her sunglasses. This was exactly what she wanted — the irritation in his tone, the tension coiled in his stance.

rafe!reader

The knock at the door was sharp, insistent.

“Who is it?” a voice called out from inside.

“Rafe,” he said, trying for casual but landing somewhere between hopeful and sheepish.

The door cracked open, and her roommate peeked out, eyebrow raised. “Rafe Cameron? What do you want?”

“Uh… just looking for her,” he said, glancing into the room. “Thought maybe she’d let me explain.”

Inside the dorm room, she was sitting at her desk, the soft strum of acoustic guitar playing quietly through her headphones. Her pen hovered for a moment above the page as she finished writing a neat paragraph, then carefully set her notebook down.

She pulled off her headphones, the quiet room filling with the faint rustle of papers and the hum of the hallway outside.

Rafe sat on the edge of her bed, looking less like the mischievous frat boy from the library and more like a guy who’d just walked into a lion’s den — and wasn’t sure if he’d survive.

She studied him, cool and composed, fingers loosely clasped in her lap.

“So,” she said, voice calm but firm, “what exactly do you want to explain?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, then met her gaze. “I guess… I owe you an apology. For earlier. I was being a jerk.”

She raised a brow. “That’s one word for it.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t exactly trying to help you stay calm, was I?”

She leaned back, eyes narrowing playfully. “No, you were not.”

He looked down for a beat, then up again. “I’m really trying. I like learning from you. And, well… maybe I like the challenge, too.”

Her smile softened, but she didn’t say anything right away.

“Thanks for letting me stick around,” he added quietly.

She tapped her pen on the desk, then gave him a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for stubborn people,” she said quietly.

Rafe’s grin softened, hope flickering in his eyes.

She stood, gathering her notebooks. “But it’s late. You should probably get going.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me come by.”

She moved toward the door and opened it, the soft hum of the dorm hallway just beyond.

rafe!reader

She spotted him the moment she stepped into the west wing — sprawled in the chair with that too-easy grin, as if this was his personal clubhouse.

Today, she’d traded her usual neat ponytail and burgundy sweater for loose hair tumbling around her shoulders, dark wash jeans, and a navy hoodie that felt like armor against the chaos she was about to face.

Rafe had signed up the proper way, which should have been a relief. Instead, it was a warning.

“Okay, so if demand is ‘down’ but prices are ‘up,’ does that mean people are just really into paying more?” he interrupted barely a minute in, waving a pencil like a microphone.

She took a deep breath. “That’s not how it works.”

“Sure, sure, but maybe it’s a trend. Like avocado toast for economics.”

Her eyes narrowed, but her voice stayed calm. “We’re not discussing food preferences, Rafe.”

He grinned, undeterred. “Come on, lighten up. You’re wearing a hoodie today — maybe you’re just a casual tutor now.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m trying to help you pass.”

“By telling me I’m wrong?”

“No,” she said firmly, “by making sure you understand.”

He flopped back in his chair. “Right. Understand. Got it.”

She watched the clock, counting every interruption, every sideways comment, every excuse. By twenty minutes in, she was done.

“Rafe,” she said, voice sharp but quiet, “if you want to play the class clown, there are plenty of other venues. The library isn’t one of them.”

He blinked, finally sensing the edge beneath her words.

She stood, gathered her notes, and fixed him with a look that could freeze fire. “We’re done.”

His mouth opened, then closed. “But—”

“No ‘buts.’” She slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Spend the rest of the hour reconsidering your life choices. Preferably away from me.”

rafe!reader

She stepped into the west wing of the library, the kind of quiet where you could hear your own thoughts — and, unfortunately, Rafe Cameron’s voice.

She’d been expecting Andrew Welling — the painfully polite sophomore who took notes like his life depended on it. Instead, Rafe was sitting in Andrew’s chair, flipping idly through the right textbook like this was perfectly normal.

Her gaze swept over him, then to the empty seat across from him. Glasses perched properly on her nose, hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, the deep burgundy cable-knit sweater soft against the lamplight. She stopped just short of sighing.

“You’re not Andrew,” she said.

Rafe grinned like she’d just paid him a compliment. “Andrew was busy. I bought his slot.”

“You… bought it,” she repeated, sliding into her chair anyway.

“Hey, I’m investing in my education,” he said, tapping the open page. “And in my favorite tutor.”

She adjusted her glasses, meeting his gaze over the frames. “You do realize this is not how the sign-up system works?”

“I do,” he said cheerfully. “But this way, I win.”

To her surprise, he actually worked. Asked real questions, jotted down notes — though his penmanship was questionable — and even got a couple of problems right without her help. Of course, every time she looked up, he seemed to already be watching her, like the sweater and ponytail were more interesting than the chapter on marginal utility.

When the clock hit the hour, she closed his notebook and set the pen on top. “You made progress,” she said, “but I’m still not sending your parents a thank-you letter.”

Rafe leaned back, smiling lazily. “Guess that means I’ll need another session.”

She shouldered her bag. “Then you’ll need to sign up the normal way.”

“And if the slots are full?” he asked, already knowing his own answer.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Then you’ll just have to wait your turn like everyone else.”