pygmypuffs_

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

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

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

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

"Seriously?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

“Rafe.”

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

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

“It’s weird,” he murmured. 

“Weird?”

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

“I’m not most people.”

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

You blinked. “One what?”

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

“An angel.”

“Oh.”

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

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

Rafe frowned.

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rafe—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ward: Need you back by Thursday

Rafe: Can’t 

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

Ward: You’re a Cameron. Act like one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sage: trouble in paradise with mister hot pants already? 

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

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

You: i am NOT calling it that

Sage: babe you literally just did

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

You: thanks sage def not a felony

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

You: okayyyy you have yourself a good night now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still kinda do the last one.”  

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

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

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

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

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

Rafe frowned, "That's different." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somehow, it felt infinitely better. 

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

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

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

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

"‘Course I share food." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh. My. God." 

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

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

"There were tears in her eyes!"  

"Good." 

"Rafe!" 

"What?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, I agree, very dark."  

"Either of us could fall."  

"Tragic, we can’t let that happen."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please do it.” 

“Do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said something, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You liked him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were falling for him.

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

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

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

dividers: @cursed-carmine @saradika-graphics

Sage’s words hung in the air, a blunt, harsh reality check that you desperately needed. She was right: the planned and articulated version of you that had done everything with Ethan, down to following his diet, was supposed to be gone. That girl that should have been buried under a pile of cardboard boxes and gold-embossed wedding invitations all those weeks ago.

“New fiancée,” you absentmindedly replied as you tried to squeeze a pair of sandals into the side of your suitcase. You whispered, “What if this is all a mistake?”

Sage’s expression softened quickly, her hand covering yours to comfort you. “Then it’ll be a mistake in Europe. And don’t you dare doubt yourself.” 

“It’s just not me!” You exclaimed while Sage rolled her eyes.

“Listen, I know that for the first time in your life, you're doing something completely insane. But maybe you need this to step out of your comfort zone!” She held up a swimsuit, eyebrow raised as she looked at you with a horrified look that crossed her face. “The first step being throwing this away.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“No! Absolutely not.” You turned away towards your closet to collect more dresses to pack. A little twinge in your stomach pulsed as you pondered over the entire situation, if it’d even been the right thing to do after all these weeks. For the first two weeks after Rafe left that folder on your counter, you had completely frozen, as if touching it would’ve burnt you alive. It pained you not to know the contents of its package, but you knew it’d hurt you even more to see everything they would’ve done, while you were expected to move on as if the last eleven years were simply a snapshot that you never thought would mean so little. 

It wasn’t until one night that curiosity had gotten the best of you, leading to you typing Charlotte’s name into the search bar on Instagram. You should have removed every trace of them both to give them no access to your life, regardless of how much of a trainwreck it is behind the scenes. Yet still, you couldn’t bring yourself to cut that part off, perhaps out of nostalgia or that Charlotte had truly been nice to you, someone who’d held your hand as she’d laugh while retelling about a memory she’d shared with Ethan, or when she’d shown up at your doorstep with soup and medicine after you’d spent three days bedridden with the flu because Ethan had been away on a business trip.

Maybe that was what made it all hurt so much more.

It would’ve been easier if she’d been cruel, or if she’d been some villain that had deliberately set out to destroy your life. Instead, she had been woven into it, invited into your home for dinners and holidays like family, trusted with secrets and stories that you hadn’t shared with many others. She’d sat beside you while discussing wedding venues, smiled as you showed her photographs of dresses, and hugged you tightly when you told her how excited you were to spend the rest of your life with Ethan.

It barely registered in your mind as to what you’d been doing when you clicked on her profile, yet you immediately regretted that you’d done so. The image was still burned into the back of your eyelids. It was a photo of Ethan and Charlotte at a vineyard, the lighting perfectly golden. He was laughing, his arm draped around her waist in a way he used to hold you, while she looked at him like he was her entire world. The caption had read: The best chapters are the ones we never planned. Counting down the days. It was disgustingly adorable. 

It was a slap in the face when you saw your college best friend, one who was your friend before becoming yours and Ethan’s couple friend with her husband, looking like she’d be celebrating with them in the background. They weren't hiding; they were outright flaunting the life they’d supposedly “won”, yet stole from you and Rafe. 

That was the exact moment you had grabbed your phone, dialled the number in the folder, and told Rafe to count you in.

“Hey, earth to my nun of a roomie!” Sage’s voice snapped you out of the memory. You blinked, turning back around to see her tossing your old, sensible one-piece onto your bed with utter disdain. Before you could defend it, she lunged toward your closet, digging past the sweaters until she pulled out a hidden drawer at the very bottom.

“A-ha!” Sage emerged from your dresser with a triumphant grin, holding up multiple scraps of fabric that made your cheeks instantly flush.

It was a pile of striking, incredibly sultry bikinis you had bought on a total whim months ago during a late-night online shopping spree—and had promptly hidden away, too self-conscious to ever actually wear them around Ethan. Sage wriggled her eyebrows suggestively, dangling the small strings in front of your face. “Now this is what you pack for a euro-summer, babe. This screams ‘I am hot, single, and down for a rebound.’”

“Sage, oh my god, no. I am not wearing that,” you groaned, reaching for your one piece and putting it in, but she playfully swerved out of your sight.

“You absolutely are,” Sage insisted, shoving the bikinis directly into whatever space was in your suitcase. “Look, even if the whole sabotage plan goes sideways, you’re going to be under the Mediterranean sun. You need to put this in—even if it just means you get to hook up with some drop-dead gorgeous Italian or Greek guy to finally get over your ex-fiancé.”

She winked, leaning over your luggage. “Or, you know... there's always your partner in crime.”

“No, Sage, don't start,” you warned, though a nervous, electric flutter danced in your chest at the mere mention of Rafe. “He’s going through it too. The last thing we could ever do is hook up with each other. Plus, he doesn’t have the best…past.”

“And who told you that?” She queried, deadpan apparent in her tone. “The same guy who ended up with his fiancée?” Sage wasn’t wrong; it was a bit unfair to judge someone whom you’d barely known aside from the information Ethan had told you from a biased lens. It was obvious that he hadn’t approved of Rafe, often voicing his disapproval for him, which had you believing that perhaps he truly wasn’t worth your time. Though, ironically, looking at the evidence, Ethan was the one who turned out to be the only one who’d had you debating whether he was worth your time now.

"Fair point," you muttered, pulling the zipper around the suitcase, hopefully shutting any second thoughts of backing out as you finished packing. Sage firmly gripped your shoulders, the unwavering belief she had in you evident in the way she looked into your eyes. "Go have some fun, get your lick back from that man, and for once, do something that's just for you."

Your suitcase felt heavy in your hand as you dragged it along the polished marble tiles in the airport, the anticipation and anxiety of this whole ordeal you’d gotten in bubbling deep within your stomach. The whole Uber ride was constantly checking your ticket, along with that moment replaying in your head like a record over the chains of events that’d strung together, yet you still couldn’t comprehend how it’d even come to be. 

It was the only thing that could consume your mind at work while the numbers on your monitor stared tauntingly back at you—another reminder of him that’d been etched into your life. Math might’ve been okay for you; finance wasn’t too bad for you to bear either; however, it was never your forte nor something you’d found yourself particularly drawn to. It only made sense because of how Ethan had framed it, leading you to both pursue the same career, even if the little voice at the back of your head nagged for the opposite.

Your spiral down memory lane was abruptly stopped when a low, gravelly voice cut through that haze. “You’re late.” 

Leaning against the support columns near the check-in desk was an unmistakable figure, his sunglasses resting atop his head despite the airport being entirely indoors, one hand shoved into the pocket of his navy jacket, the other absentmindedly gripping his phone. Your breath hitched at the sight, perhaps that this was truly about to happen. 

“I’m twenty minutes early from when we agreed to meet,” you frowned, instinctively looking towards the large clock suspended above the departures board.

"Could've been earlier."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." 

He only shrugged before turning on his heel. "C'mon." 

You stared after him in disbelief before hurrying to catch up, your suitcase bumping against your ankle. By the time you reached the priority counter, Rafe was already handing over his passport. 

“We’re checking two bags,” he told the attendant, his voice carrying that effortless authority he always seemed to have. You reached into your tote bag, sliding your own passport and printed confirmation onto the sleek marble surface. “I’ve already checked in.”

“With what ticket?” Rafe asked, puzzled. 

“The one that I bought?”

Rafe froze, like the gears in his head had stopped turning, and blaring alarms came on instead. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, his sharp eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “...You what?”

“I… bought a ticket?” you replied, looking back at him as if the answer was obvious. "I'm sorry, am I confusing you?"

“No, I heard you.” His jaw clenched, a familiar stiffness taking over his shoulders. “I’m asking why.”

“Because it’s my ticket? It didn’t make sense for you to buy it.”

“The hell it didn’t.”

Beside you, the airline attendant suddenly found the keyboard in front of her incredibly interesting, her fingers typing rapidly to pretend she wasn't listening. You lowered your voice, stepping closer into Rafe's space, entirely aware of the expensive scent of his cologne cutting through the sterile, static airport air. It had you thinking about how much  “Rafe, you’ve already paid for the hotel, the ferries. Literally everything.”

“And?” he challenged, leaning a hand on the counter.

“My point is that I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own flight. I'm not a charity case.”

Rafe let out a sharp breath through his nose, running a hand over his buzzed hair before looking away toward the terminal windows. “Jesus Christ. D’you know how that looks? It looks like I dragged someone halfway across the world and made her pay for her own seat.”

You let out a small, bitter scoff, the exhausting weight of the last seven weeks making you bold. “Who cares what a bunch of strangers think?”

“I do,” the answer came so fast, so raw, it caught you entirely off guard. Rafe met your eyes again, his expression unreadable, stripped of his usual arrogance and instead, leaving something deeply frustrated underneath. Ward’s voice always echoed in the back of his head, demanding perfection, someone who was a natural leader, a man of status to match the prestige their family’s name held. To Rafe, letting you pay felt like a direct blow to his capability rather than an inconvenience. “I asked you to come, so ’m paying.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, your grip tightening around the strap of your tote bag.

“Me?” Rafe let out a humourless laugh, stepping into your space. “You act like letting someone do something for you is going to kill you. What is it with you and letting people take care of you?”

You shifted your weight, the cool, sterile air conditioning of the airport suddenly feeling suffocating. “I don't like owing people. I don't like being in debt.”

Rafe studied you for a long moment, his gaze tracking the defensive, rigid line of your shoulders, the slight tremble of your lower lip, and the stubbornness that wouldn’t crack. The heaviness of his gaze made you double down on him, your own expression mirroring his studying one as you refused to let yourself succumb to whatever Rafe had been trying to emphasize otherwise.

“You don’t have to do everything the way Ethan did.”

Your head snapped up, the mention of your ex hitting you like a physical slap. “What?”

“If the guy made you split every single bill or made you feel like a burden every time he spent a dime, that’s his problem,” Rafe said, his tone entirely matter-of-fact. “You’re here with me. So next time, let me pay for the damn ticket.”

For the first time since he’d stormed into your apartment, you found yourself completely speechless. You could only stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs as the weight of his words settled over you, unsure if you had the energy to defend your moral ground or fight Rafe for assuming anything.

The silence stretched between you until the airline attendant cautiously cleared her throat, breaking the spell. “...Sir, ma'am? Would either of you like to check those bags?”

Your heads snapped towards the attendant, an embarrassed flush making you feel hot while Rafe cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, just uh-get those checked in.”

With not a word spoken to each other, you and Rafe made your way onto the airplane, only to go part ways upon climbing aboard, with Rafe headed towards the front while you made your way to the back. Being in economy had never bothered you, and seeing your dispute with Rafe having gone south, it felt better not to have to face the one person you’d be stuck with for the next few days. But as your back hit the cushioned seat, the plane’s wing in your sight from the window, you were forced to remember how you ended up here, or the irony of your situation. 

“But Italy is so overrated, and there’s barely anything exciting there,” Ethan exclaimed as you flipped through a travel magazine. The bright blues of the water and the small passages that could hold more value than they were intended for appealed to you, even if they were just ink on a page in front of you. “I think you’d like it more in Australia, trust me, it’ll be so much better.” 

“Italy’s pretty fun too, though, like here! Look at the Emerald Grotto!” You pointed at its image, though the disdain on Ethan’s face was pretty telling otherwise. 

“Australia has the same thing.” 

You looked back down at the photograph, mulling over the fact that it probably did.

“Really?”

“Probably better.”

"Oh." You looked back down at the magazine before offering him a small smile. "Then Australia it is." With one last look at the page, you pondered whether you’d ever get to go, but pushed that thought away because perhaps he was right. Australia had so much to offer that perhaps one place could never, or so you told yourself as you forced yourself to flip the page, trying to forget the idea of spending the summer in someplace that was almost everything.

Yet now, you found yourself on a flight to the same exact place he’d been bashing about, only for him to agree to go with someone else. Someone else who wasn’t you, someone who you hadn’t ever felt insecure of until now.

The hazy Italian sun flooded through the tiny airplane window, a stark contrast to the sterile fluorescent lighting of the cabin. The humid air of Rome wrapped itself around you the moment you stepped out of the airplane, replacing the stale, recycled air from inside with the energy that made you feel lighter than you’d been for the past two months. The scent of espresso drifted from a nearby cafe, mixing with the warmth of the sun-soaked pavement and the subtle note of cigarettes, yet somehow, it made everything feel more vibrant than home. It was all so surreal, and for a brief moment, you forgot why you were here in the first place. 

Before even landing, you’d noticed the terracotta rooftops peeking out from under the plane as you flew above them, your parents’ voices suddenly surfacing in the back of your mind as they reminisced about the summer they’d spent lazing through Italy before you’d been born. They'd always promised they'd take you one day, your mother insisting you'd fall in love with the little cafés hidden between cobblestone streets while your father swore you'd spend more money on gelato than souvenirs.

If only you’d had the chance with Ethan. 

By the time you navigated your way through customs and dragged your feet toward the baggage claim carousel, the jet lag was already starting to settle heavily into your bones. The area was a chaotic sea of weary travellers, with drifted conversations in both Italian and other languages flowing effortlessly around you, though Rafe was impossible to miss. He was already standing right at the edge of the moving belt, his dark sunglasses back on, looking completely unaffected by the nine-hour flight.

As you finally caught up to him, your mouth opened to say something, but the words died in your throat when you noticed the rigid, lethal stillness in his posture. He was staring intently at a pair of matching, designer leather suitcases that had just tumbled onto the carousel. They were unmistakable; large, monogrammed, and the luggage tags showed to be none other than Charlotte’s and Ethan’s, with their names embossed in the same gold tone.

Before you could even process the sheer coincidence of their bags arriving on an earlier connection, Rafe stepped forward. His movements were swift, practiced even, with not a sliver of hesitation. He reached down, hoisting Ethan’s heavy bag off the belt with one hand. With a quick, violent flick of his wrist, he ripped the personalized leather name tag right off the handle. He didn't stop there, grabbing Charlotte's bag and tearing her tag off too, tossing both pieces of plastic into a nearby trash bin without a single shred of remorse.

Sure, it was cruel, but something in Rafe made it feel more cruel to him that Charlotte had discarded their relationship, left him behind, and still willingly went ahead with the plan that he’d done for her. Perhaps the first time he’d done for anyone, purely out of making an effort to show his love for her.  

“Rafe!” you gasped, your eyes widening as you looked around the crowded terminal, panic surging through you. “What are you doing? Someone’s going to see you!”

“Let them look,” Rafe muttered, his voice a low, venomous rumble as he deliberately pushed both of their untagged bags off the moving carousel, sending them sliding aimlessly onto the concrete floor behind a massive pillar where they’d be completely obscured from view. He turned to you, a dark, chaotic glint in his eyes. “Good luck to them trying to find those anytime soon. Let's go.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a mix of adrenaline and terror coursing through your veins as you remembered that this was truly happening. You didn’t even have time to recover before Rafe gripped your elbow, steering you firmly through the sliding glass doors of the arrival terminal and into the bustling, humid Italian air. A crowd of private drivers stood behind a barricade, holding up signs with various surnames printed on them. Rafe’s eyes scanned the crowd like a hawk until they locked onto a man in a sharp black suit holding a sleek white placard that read in bold, black letters: CAMERON.

“Still can’t believe she was going to go on MY dime,” Rafe muttered and shook his head before marching you both forth toward the man. “C'mon, keep up.” 

The driver’s face instantly lit up with a warm, professional smile the moment he took in Rafe’s expensive jacket and your presence beside him. “Buongiorno! Mr. Cameron? And the beautiful new bride, Mrs. Cameron?” the driver asked in a thick, melodic Italian accent, gesturing toward a luxurious black Mercedes idling at the curb.

“Oh, we’re no-”

“Yes,” Rafe interjected before you could finish your sentence, and immediately, your head snapped towards him in astonishment. The lie slid smoothly from his mouth, his voice dripping with an effortless charm that was sure to have anyone falling for him. “That’s us.” Your breath hitched, and it only got worse when you felt Rafe’s hand slide down to wrap firmly around yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a tight, warning grip that silenced you instantly.

“Ah, meraviglioso! Congratulations to you both!” The driver beamed, stepping forward to take your suitcase. But before he opened the car door, he paused, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a small, beautifully wrapped velvet box tied with a satin ribbon. He handed it directly to you with a respectful bow. “A complimentary welcome gift from the hotel. We wish for you to have this the moment you touch down in Italy to celebrate your marriage.”

You held the heavy velvet box in your hands, the plush material pressing into your palms as you looked from the driver to the sleek car. You glanced up at Rafe, whose jaw was clenched tight, though a victorious, razor-sharp smirk played on his lips. You were officially holding the gift meant for the woman who stole your fiancé, sitting in the car meant to take them to paradise. There was no turning back now; you were completely in the driver's seat of their stolen life.

The second the driver disappeared to load the luggage into the trunk, you turned to Rafe. “You didn’t cancel any of your reservations?” You frowned. “How’d she know you had them booked in the first place?” 

Rafe, who was completely engrossed in looking out the window, looked back at you with a somewhat satisfied smirk on his face. “I was going to until I saw her email inbox. She’d been forwarding every confirmation to herself.” 

He said it so matter-of-factly that it almost made you forget just how invasive that sounded. “She never changed the password.”

“So... you read all of them?”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, but he couldn’t tell himself if it was out of pity for him or how dumb she’d been to overlook such a thing. “It wasn’t like I was going looking for recipes, now was I?”

“You know...” he continued, “at first I was pissed.”

“At first?”

“I was gonna cancel every booking she had.”

You blinked. “You were?”

“Mhm.”

“And then?”

His smirk widened. “Then I realized she'd already be expecting that.” The corners of your lips twitched despite yourself.

“So instead,” he continued, turning back towards you, “I figured it'd be a hell of a lot more fun if we just... beat 'em to everything. Like how they’re losing their shit right now.”

Following Rafe’s finger pointed at the airport behind the windows, you could see a poor desk attendant having to deal with exasperated people who’d been arguing with him. It was none other than Ethan and Charlotte, luggageless, while Ethan’s one vein began to bulge how it always did when he was distressed. You found yourself enjoying it more than you should have, a laugh escaping before you managed to bite it back, “Oh my god.” 

It was then, when the car drove away, you found yourself almost feeling bad for how much trouble Rafe had already put them through. Yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, laughing at it didn’t make you feel guilty.

It probably should have been obvious that for a honeymoon, Rafe would’ve booked a honeymoon suite, yet neither of you had realized it would be a bedroom you’d have to share. The bed, which was bigger than four of your twin-sized beds combined, had a huge bouquet of roses, with a note that had a congratulatory message written on it. Just beyond that was a terrace with a whole overview of the private estate's lush Roman gardens, the distant, sun-drenched rooftops of the historic city stretching out beneath a pale blue sky.

It was breathtaking, romantic even, yet everything that probably shouldn’t have been experienced with Rafe by your side. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whispered, your voice echoing off the vaulted, white-washed ceilings of the villa.

Your eyes slowly travelled from the majestic view back to the single, massive bed dominating the center of the room. The sheer white canopy netting hung elegantly around it, and the sprawling arrangement of blood-red roses sat right in the middle of the silk sheets like a glaring red flag. Behind you, the heavy wooden door clicked shut. Rafe dropped his duffel bag onto the terracotta tiled floor with a dull thud and tossed his sunglasses onto a nearby marble console table, his eyes sweeping over the room with a sudden, rigid tension that hadn't been there a moment ago.

He picked up the cream-colored card resting against the vase, his eyes scanning the elegant cursive. A cold, bitter laugh escaped his lips. “‘May your love bloom as beautifully as the coast. Warmest wishes to the happy couple, Mr. and Mrs. Cameron.’ Happy my ass.” Rafe said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble as he walked toward the bed. He ripped the card in half, tossing the pieces carelessly onto the mattress to kill the reminder of who Mrs. Cameron was supposed to be in this case. 

“Rafe, there’s only one bed,” you pointed out, the panic finally breaking through your jet-lagged haze. Your heart did a strange, erratic flip against your ribs as you thought of what would inevitably have to happen if there wasn’t another bed. “When you said we were booting them out of your reservations, I thought you meant we’d have separate rooms. A suite usually has a pull-out couch, or a second bedroom, or—"

“Darlin’, this is the honeymoon suite,” Rafe interrupted, his tone entirely matter-of-fact as he turned to face you. He loosened the top button of his shirt, the sharp lines of his jaw tight as he observed how on edge you were. As the fabric shifted, the afternoon light spilling through the terrace doors caught against the tanned skin just beneath his collar, your eyes lingering for a fraction too long before you forced yourself to look away. “There are no other rooms. This is what I paid for when it was supposed to be a honeymoon.”

You stared at him dumbfoundedly, your heart spiking in both frustration and confusion at Rafe’s reaction to the lack of space for you both, while the reality of the situation was crashing down on you. You were thousands of miles away from home, in a country Ethan had told you wasn't worth visiting, about to share a bed with Rafe Cameron—a man who was currently acting as the architect of a chaotic revenge plot.

“I can go ask the front desk if they have a vacancy,” you muttered, already half-turning back toward the door, your middle-class instinct to fix the problem kicking in. “I can pay for a standard room. It’s fine, I’ll just—”

“Nah, nah, nah. Not this shit again,” Rafe snapped, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was firm, the warmth of his hand sending an unfamiliar current up your arm that you immediately hated yourself for noticing. It had only been a touch, one meant to stop you from walking away, yet your body had reacted as though it had forgotten whose hand it belonged to. 

He stepped closer, towering over you, the expensive scent of his cologne completely overtaking the room's lemon-scented air. “There are no vacancies. This is peak season in the country, and frankly, I’m not lettin’ you spend your money on some subpar room when my name is on the deed for this entire place for the next four days.”

You looked up at him, breathless at the sheer intensity he held in the cerulean hues of his eyes. “So what do you suggest we do, Rafe? Just sleep together? Like it's nothing?”

Rafe’s gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes, as if he were considering it. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it sporadically, sometimes lying at night, wondering if you’d be needing someone’s touch more intimately. Except, you were currently getting on his nerves a lot more than you did before, which made it hard to desire. 

“We’re adults,” he said softly, a dangerous, low cadence taking over his voice as his fingers slowly uncurled from your wrist. “The bed is huge. Jus’ keep t’your side, I’ll keep t’mine. We’re here to do a job, remember? Don't let a piece of furniture make you chicken out now.”

Neither of you moved. The breeze drifting through the terrace doors stirred the sheer canopy overhead, carrying the scent of citrus blossoms from the gardens below. Somewhere in the distance, church bells rang across the city, yet neither of you seemed capable of looking away first.

It was you who broke eye contact, stepping around him toward your suitcase with a muttered, "I'm taking the left side." Rafe let out a quiet hum behind you. "Wasn't gonna argue with you, Angel."

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, already irritated by how effortlessly he got under your skin, yet somehow still unable to decide whether his lack of protest was disappointing or relieving.

“This is where they’re supposed to be in a bit for their reservations,” Rafe said matter-of-factly after looking up from his phone screen. He looked to see you fidgeting with the side of your dress as you stared at the restaurant, uneasiness radiating from you. “Hey, uh- y’don’t need to stress ‘bout it.” 

You stopped twisting the fabric of your dress, cutting your eyes toward him with a flat, unimpressed look. "I'm not stressing, Rafe, I'm just… calculating the risk of everything." You levelled him with a firm gaze, making sure he knew you weren't about to fold or scurry off to hide the second things got real. "If we're committing to this, we can’t fuck this up."

Rafe’s lips twitched, a sudden, genuinely amused gleam cutting through his serious demeanour. "Fair enough, but you're wit' me. Nothing's gonna happen."

The nervous flutter in your stomach didn't fully melt until the hostess led you out onto the main terrace. The second your heels hit the stone floor, it was as if the air in your lungs were suddenly gone. The view was entirely unfair for the current circumstances you’d come here for. The restaurant was carved directly into the cliffside, hanging over a sea that looked like liquid sapphire under the setting sun. Below, the historic rooftops of the coastal town glowed in warm, golden hues, and the soft strumming of a mandolin drifted through the air, almost exactly how you’d imagined it, yet more. 

"Oh my god," you breathed, completely forgetting to be on guard for a split second. "I gotta hand it to her, she’s got taste."

"Yeah," Rafe murmured, though when you glanced at him, he wasn't looking at the sunset. He was scanning the layout of the patio, checking the perimeter like a man preparing for a casino heist. Once seated at a prime, frontline table overlooking the water, a waiter in a crisp white tuxedo slid two heavy, leather-bound menus into your hands. “Buonasera. May I start you with some wine, or are we ready to order?”

You opened the menu, your eyes scanning the Italian words as a sudden, deeply annoying wave of blankness washed over you. For all these years, your culinary identity had been entirely dictated by Ethan. 'We don't like seafood, remember, babe? Let's just share the truffle pasta.' You realized with a sickening jolt that you didn't even know what you liked to eat anymore because of how long you’d spent adapting to his preferences to keep the peace; your own personality had completely stalled.

"We'll do the Branzino al Forno," Rafe spoke up smoothly, not even looking at his menu. "And a bottle of the '21 Brunello."

The waiter nodded, pen poised. "And for the lady?"

“She’ll have the lemon risotto, but hold the capers.” Rafe froze immediately after the words left his mouth, while you blinked, staring across the table at him, lowering your menu. The second instinct he had to immediately jump to this order stunned him, the memory of it all making him peeved. “Actually, what do you want?”

You looked at him, just as ashamed as you softly replied, "I don't know."  A heavy, incredibly ironic silence settled over the table. You were a blank slate, entirely stunted by Ethan’s control, and Rafe was a carbon copy of Charlotte’s ghost, ordering her favourite dishes out of sheer, co-dependent habit. You were two fractured people trying to play roles that didn't even belong to you.

The waiter stood awkwardly between the two of you, clearly unsure of what was happening. "...Would you like another minute?" 

“No, it’s uhm, okay. I’ll try the risotto, but keep the capers please.” The waiter disappeared, causing silence to settle on the table that was heavy with shame and guilt. Somehow, between the two of you, neither one actually knew what they liked. Not because you'd never had the chance to discover it, but because somewhere along the way, the people you'd loved had quietly started deciding for you.

“To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever ordered for myself,” you confessed to Rafe, not really caring if he’d been listening or not. “Ethan mostly did it because his diet was more complicated and ‘better’, whatever that meant, so I guess it was safer just to follow that.”

Rafe let out a quiet breath through his nose before shaking his head once. "Jesus." A humourless smile crossed his face while rubbing a hand across his jaw. "I don't think I have either."

"You literally just did."

"I wasn't orderin' for me." His gaze drifted toward the view, a distant look in his eyes. "I was orderin' what Charlotte would've gotten."

Before you could say anything, Rafe reached across the table, straightening the candle before adjusting the position of your wine glass by less than an inch.

"What?" He asked, suddenly feeling hotter under your analyzing gaze as you watched him.

"Nothing."

He smoothed down the front of his jacket, adjusted the watch on his wrist, then glanced around the restaurant for what felt like the tenth time since you'd sat down. You couldn't quite figure out what he was looking for, or why he cared so much. Suddenly, a rise in voices and its ensuing commotion near the hostess stand caught your attention, causing you both to look in that direction. Through the small gap between people and their menus raised, you saw them.

Ethan and Charlotte walked onto the terrace looking like they’d been to hell and back. Their clothes were wrinkled, their hair was windblown from the coastal air, and Ethan was clearly carrying the stress of their previous mishap, his face red from the humid trek up the cliffside steps. But to your surprise, they were still clearly in love—Ethan was murmuring an apology, his hand resting against the small of her back—but the romantic illusion was definitely cracked.

“I hate to say this, but I feel bad that their trip started off this way,” You confessed, taking in the way her hand was wrapped around his arm, as Ethan’s eyes looked at her with a glimmer of love. Even with it all, you somewhat found it adorable how they’d still managed to find comfort in each other, not letting the circumstances affect them. 

Rafe looked at you before looking in their direction, seeing the amount of love you still held for Ethan in your eyes as your pupils widened with a glint of bittersweet that made it obvious that you were replaying the moments when it’d been you and Ethan in that exact position. He’d seen it one too many times at every backyard barbecue, every social event, at any and every setting your paths would cross, and yet, no part of him questioned if Charlotte had ever looked at him with that same gaze. Because for some reason, he knew she didn’t. 

Then, looking at the two, he couldn’t help but tense under how Charlotte had eased into Ethan’s touch, while most of the time, she was usually stiff under his. The realization was enough to make his stomach turn as he recounted all the times in the past two years that he’d told himself that she wasn’t affectionate, that physical touch was simply not her thing. That she showed love differently, and he was asking for too much every time he'd reached for her hand only to be met with frigidness and a polite smile. Even in their dishevelled, agitated state, she leaned into him like he was her gravity, a natural reflex that Rafe had never managed to evoke from her no matter how many luxury vacations or diamonds he threw her way.

He shifted his gaze back to you, watching the way your lower lip trembled slightly before you bit it down, forcing the bittersweet nostalgia back into the shadows where it belonged. A sudden, unfamiliar spike of resentment flared in his chest, not at Ethan, but at the sheer injustice of it all. You were sitting here, practical and sharp, holding onto a love that had been completely weaponized against you. On the other hand, he was sitting across from you, drowning in the phantom echoes of a relationship that had probably been a lie from the very first page.

Rafe tore his eyes away from them with a scoff, shaking his head once as if the movement alone could rid him of the sight. “Nah, fuck that. I’m hoping they get food poisoning from this place.”

“Rafe!” You giggled at his bluntness, making Rafe smile despite his mind saying otherwise. “That’s excessive!”

“Yeah? Well, it’s either that or them getting an STD-they’re coming this way. Look the other way!” Rafe reached for your hands, your nimble fingers finding a place in his palm as he rubbed his thumbs across your fingers in a loving manner. For the first time all evening, the knot sitting in your chest loosened just enough that you forgot—if only for a few seconds—that the two people sitting twenty feet away had once been the center of your entire worlds.

"I don't understand why our reservation was pushed back an hour," Charlotte complained in her honey-like voice as they were led past your table toward a cramped, dark corner near the kitchen doors. "And we were supposed to have a water view!"

“It’s okay, honey. We'll make the best of it,” Ethan soothed her, making you roll your eyes at their calm demeanours.

As they disappeared into the back corner, Rafe turned back, a victorious, entirely chaotic smirk spreading across his handsome features as he snapped his fingers, gesturing the waiter back over. 

"Sir?" the waiter asked politely.

Rafe leaned in, "The couple that just sat back by the kitchen—the Americans. Send them a complimentary bottle of this.” He pointed at the menu. “And tell them it's a special gift from the kitchen to celebrate their... delay."

“I must advise you, sir. That is very bitter; they’ll have a headache in two sips.”

“I know,” Rafe smirked, sliding a crisp hundred-euro note across the tablecloth with practiced ease. The waiter’s eyes widened slightly at the bill, but he smoothly pocketed it with a respectful nod. “Right away”

You watched the waiter walk off, then turned your gaze back to Rafe, who was looking entirely pleased with himself. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you studied him. "You know, for someone who claims he doesn't care about anything, you are deeply obsessed with how the world sees you. And getting revenge."

Rafe’s smirk only grew bigger at the mention of it. "It keeps me alive."

“You got nothing else to live for?” You raised your eyebrows.

“It’s either that or making my dad proud.” 

“Doesn’t it get suffocating though?” You challenged, the analytical side of your brain digging in. “Trying to fit into a box?”

The question hung heavily in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Rafe didn't answer; he just stared at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, the sudden wall between you growing ten feet high. The reality was that you didn't really know each other, which made you feel worse about pushing it. You were just two tragic casualties of the same war, forced into a beautiful place under terrible circumstances.

The rest of the dinner was a quiet, slightly awkward affair, with small talk about how the food was good. You ate your risotto—which, ironically, you actually enjoyed—and watched from afar as Ethan took a sip of the terrible house wine, his face instantly twisting in disgust while Charlotte had a grimace on her face that she tried to mask as pleasure.

You found yourself looking into the bathroom mirror, trying to think of all the ways you could stall getting into the same bed as Rafe for the night. The nightly skincare routine was scattered on the bathroom counter and had all been applied with five minutes for each step, trying to delay every second you’d have to face him after awkwardly ending whatever banter you both had going on. 

With a deep breath, you looked up to the sky, eyes closed as you pleaded, “Please let him be asleep. Or hooking up with another woman in their room. Or anywhere but here.” 

As you stepped back into the room with whatever false confidence you could muster up, you looked to see Rafe, shirtless as he lay on the bed in his pyjama pants, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone. But once Rafe glanced up, for a second, he forgot what he'd been reading.

The pale satin of your pyjama set caught the warm glow from the bedside lamps, the fabric shifting with every hesitant step you took toward the bed. It wasn't revealing by any means, yet something about the way it draped over you so effortlessly made it impossible for him to look away. You looked softer than you'd been all day, more like the woman he'd watched laugh across the dinner table rather than the one who'd spent the afternoon arguing with him at every opportunity.

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes back down to his phone before you caught him staring.

"You took forever."

You rolled your eyes. "I was hoping you'd disappeared by now."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Mmm, tough luck, Angel."

A quiet smile tugged at your lips upon hearing the nickname, despite yourself. You climbed onto the opposite side of the bed, making a dramatic effort to keep as much distance between the two of you as humanly possible. The mattress dipped beneath your weight. For a moment, neither of you said anything, the awkwardness of the situation feeling more apparent than ever.

You reached over to switch off the lamp before pausing.

"You know," you said quietly, turning back to see Rafe already looking at you, "today could've gone a lot worse."

"We're still alive."

"I was thinking more along the lines of not getting caught."

"We didn't."

"No thanks to you stealing their driver."

"Aye, they weren't usin' him."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

"You're truly something else."

"I've heard."

Silence settled over the room again, though this time it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable. You found yourself stealing a glance in his direction. The dim light softened the sharpness that usually lived in his features. Without the tailored shirts and expensive watches he'd worn all day, he looked different from all the times you had seen him; he looked younger and more relaxed. Less like the polished businessman he'd spent years trying to become, and more like himself, even if you hadn’t met that version yet.

The thought caught you off guard, making you quickly turn your attention toward the ceiling. Beside you, Rafe turned back to stare stubbornly at his phone screen, though he hadn't read a single word in the last minute. 

Jesus Christ, he thought to himself. He needed to stop looking at you in the light he was seeing you in right now. This was temporary anyway. You were temporary. You were just the girl he'd been dragged into this ridiculous revenge scheme with, nothing more, nothing less.

"Night," he muttered, finally locking his phone before setting it on the bedside table.

"Good night," you whispered back, turning towards the balcony door to see the tinge from the street lights glow from under. For what felt like an eternity, the only sounds were the distant hum of Rome beyond the doors and the quiet rustling of sheets every time one of you shifted, both painfully aware that there was another person only a few feet away.

Eventually, the steady rhythm of breathing replaced the silence. Tomorrow was another day, another opportunity to ruin their day, yet you hadn’t realized how much you dreaded doing it with the stranger sleeping on the other side of the bed.

dividers: @cursed-carmine @saradika-graphics

taglist update!!!: hi all, i mean this with my heart when i say I truly get so happy when see any of you asking to be on the taglist for eys. unfortunately, i’ll have to close the taglist solely because its getting hard for me to maintain, as i’m writing on top of working a corporate job which has become more demanding as i’ve gotten promoted. if you’d like to stay on the taglist, all I ask is that you interact with the chapters posted (even if it’s simply a like). otherwise, feel free to have the notifications on my my notif blog @starkeyscumdoll on to be updated. i'm so sorry to disappoint anyone and thank you for understanding! :’)

Outside the restaurant and not on the second floor, you can finally breathe again, watching the city come alive with its vehicle rush and streetlight hum. 

Next to you, your tattooed savior takes a long hit of his vape, and you run a hand across the thin gold chain around your neck. 

Without your permission, another memory slips through your defenses. 

Hands grabbing a string of gold from a nightstand make you ache, because you remember what comes next. As soon as it’s clipped onto a slim neck, you can see the necklace lower, and lower, right before you angle your mouth up to take it between your—

“Fuck.” 

Jeongguk whips his head your way right as force your eyes open. “You okay? What’s wrong?” 

You didn’t even fucking realize they were shut tight until light flooded out your unwanted nostalgia. Fuck, you hadn’t thought of that summer afternoon in years. Your reaction was visceral enough to spurn an oncoming headache. “Nothing,” you whoosh out. “What time is it?” 

“Almost time to head over to Lo Prohibido.” Gripping his phone, the man asks with concern, “You sure you’re good to go?” 

Head pulsing, you nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just dehydrated.” 

Unconvinced, Jeongguk cocks his head to the door. “Then let’s go back inside. I know your new friend is waiting, but you gotta drink water.” 

“Don’t,” you groan. “He’s cute, but I got the biggest ick like halfway in.” 

Your amused savior giggles as he holds the door open, “You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” 

Laughing, you give his jacketed arm a playful shove as you look down the street. “I’m nice, okay? Don’t—”

Your heart. 

It booms. 

In an instant, the whole world seems to flow in a blur around you, lights making solid, serpentine lines and people multiplying into obscure, indiscernible shapes. 

The only one you can see. The only person you can make out with perfect clarity. 

Is the one you’ve been trying your fucking hardest to not remember. 

Staring right at you with eyes you’ll never, ever forget. 

-

-

tbc!

hi lovelies are we ready !! | main masterlist

a/n: HERE WE GOOOO first new fic in literal years :')) seriously can't believe this is happening just based on one (1) outfit!!!!! goodbye army goodbye world bangtan forever <333 it's gonna be filth city

a/n 2: comment if you wanna be tagged + what you're looking forward to!

⚓︎ prologue ⚓︎

ch. 1 

ch. 2

ch. 3 

ch. 4

ch. 5  pt. 1

ch. 5  pt. 2

ch. 6  pt. 1

ch. 6  pt. 2

ch. 7

ch. 8  pt. 1

ch. 8  pt. 2

ch. 9  pt. 1

ch. 9  pt. 2 

ch. 9  pt. 3

Extras⋆.˚𓇼

high school flashback 

hoping