Karmasloverrr - Haley - Tumblr Blog

drew starkey in the other zoey (2023) reblog if you agree

Pls I want him!!

Y’all being in this Drew drought is so hard.

I miss Drew Starkey’s sexy ass

Lover is one of my absolutely favorite albums from Taylor. Her first fully owned baby, inspired by the depths of love of every kind and the fears of losing it. The ethereal garden beach photoshoot, the unapologetic heart eyes and romanticism. The fuzzy guitar in Lover sounding like a dream, the heartbreaking duality in The Archer for women everywhere because they see right through me, can you see right through me? I see right through me, the flirty little bop of I Think He Knows (boy I understand), the tender romance in Cornelia Street and learning it was inspired by a soaking tub looking at those very floors in the apartment! Swift at her best unhinged in my feelings more than Drake, went home and tried to stalk you on the internet, the altar is my hips self. Miss Americana, both the political stand but also the revealing documentary because it really does get loud sometimes and it is actually all just fucking impossible you know? The absolute bangers of Cruel Summer and Death By A Thousand myheartmyhipsmybodymyLOVE Cuts. During COVID, we saw her with tears in her eyes perform the song that no one ever thought they’d hear live. I just really do think that you are what you love.

NDA: fuck it, I love you (pt.1) || R.C

AU! + CEO! rafe x reader

Masterlist

A/n: thank you so much to everyone who commented and shared the pilot!! Here’s part 1, enjoy!! (The parts will progressively get longer)

1. The lesson

Word count: 3.2k

After a morning of fulfilling his duties in another one of the buildings to his name, Rafe came back to the headquarters eager to ask you about the date you’d had during lunch, except his excitement was cut short when he received a call from another businessman of the company that seemed to run his mouth a bit excessively that day.

Rafe stood on the ground floor’s hall, finishing up the phone call before going through the employee access gates and taking the elevator when he turned around and saw the man he recognised as Mark, your date. He walked into the building alone but excessively happy for an accountant, he thought. With a quick look at his expensive watch, Rafe realized that it was well after lunch and you’d be already working but he could no longer concentrate on the call.

“Mr. Cameron?” the man on the phone called after receiving silence as the answer to the problem at hand.

“Yeah, sorry. It’d be perfect if I could return the call in about an hour or two. I got an important meeting”

“No, problem sir”

After selfishly cutting the call short, Rafe rushed through security and the access doors just to get in the same elevator as Mark, who flashed him a cordial smile upon entering. The two men stood side by side in the luxurious elevator in silence before Rafe spoke up, mentally cursing himself for even needing to do this.

“You’re Mark Thompson, right?” Rafe asked with a nonchalant tone he had mastered over the years.

Mark's eyes lit up as he looked at Rafe “Yes. How do you know that?”

“Got a paper from you last night” he explained, skipping the part where he went home and scoured the documents he had access to from his personal laptop to spy on the accountant “you’re examining the financial records of the Ecureuil apartment building a few blocks away”

“Yes! That’s me! Wow, i didn’t thinking someone with so much power would pay that much attention to detail”

Rafe’s lips stretched into a forced smile, one he wouldn’t need to fake with the simple thought of you “Well I do.”

Once the elevator fell into awkward silence, the accountant pulled out his phone and checked for notifications worriedly, the smile that was plastered on his face was soon replaced by an obvious frown.

“Waiting for a call? Worried wife?” Rafe questioned, his heart rate spiking as he waited for the answer.

“Wife? Nah, i–i went on a date and i thought it went great” he said with a dry chuckle “Just hope she thought the same thing” he confessed before the ding of the elevator dictated the end of the conversation “Nice to meet and talk to you sir”

Rafe flashed a last smile before the doors closed, getting his phone out to text and call you, only to receive no answer. He of course thought you must’ve been busy but as the CEO, he could change that in seconds…so he did. Decisively, he pressed the button of the floor you worked at and upon arriving, he was met with your primary boss.

“Mr. Cameron? To what do we owe the pleasure?” The middle aged classy woman asked with an underlying flirty tone that Rafe immediately noticed.

He shrugged looking around the pristine diamond colored walls and expensive light fixtures he didn’t know he paid for in the hallway just outside the elevators “Just wanted to visit this floor, see how everything is going for the Atlas neighborhood interior designs”

They both advanced slowly into the heart of the office, he passed the offices of many renowned interior designers he didn’t know the name of and people he couldn’t even guess the purpose of yet his eyes were still trained to look for you.

“One of our teams is working very hard to get it done by the end of the week, I can rush them to have it by tomorrow afternoon if you’d like. We can skip the bosses in between and send it directly to you” she assured, a smile adorning her otherwise stoic features.

“If it’s rushed it won’t be perfect” he responded calmly just as his eyes finally fell upon you. You were sitting in a huge office, at your desk on your computer with many catalogs around, occasionally talking to one of your coworkers. The sun radiating from the floor to ceiling windows illuminated you perfectly, ultimately making whatever small conversation your boss tried to have with him, completely silent. “Could one of your analysts give me a tour of the floor?” he interrupted, not taking his eyes off you.

“Uh, yeah sure” she hesitated after the first initial shock at the sudden demand. On perfect timing, the coworker you had been talking to passed by them, being stopped by your boss. “Can you please call Parker over here?” 

She shook her head “He’s in a meeting right now”

“Then pull him out. Mr. Cameron is requesting a small tour”

“Hi” Your coworker smiled at him who gladly returned a firm nod, she then turned to look back at her boss “I’m afraid that won't be possible, but Y/n’s free”

“Y/n?” Rafe repeated 'cluelessly'.

“Y/n Y/l/n. Great aspiring interior designer and analyst” she introduced while pointing at you in the distance.

Your boss cleared her throat to get his attention “She’s great but not so much with people, that’s why i recommended Parker”

“I think I'll live” he reasoned, his eyes slightly narrowed as he looked back at your boss. The disrespect she had shown wasn’t going unnoticed by him.

“Great. I’ll call her over here” your friend announced with a smile before leaving and going to your desk.

Without lifting your eyes from your computer you spoke up quietly, not to disturb the others working around “Thought you were going for a smoke break”

“I was…I am but um” she trailed off “Mr. Cameron is asking for you”

“What?” you blurted out, lifting your eyes to look at her just for them to meet Rafe’s in the distance. “What does he want?”

“I guess a tour of some parts of the office? You could show him the archives and conference rooms…I don’t know. I’m just the messenger”

“'A tour of the office' my ass” you mumbled under your breath after double tapping your phone to see several missed calls and texts from him under a different name, of course.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. It’ll be my absolute pleasure” you agreed, forcing a smile and getting up to walk out of the office.

“Oh! there she is. Y/n, this is Mr.Cameron” your boss introduced. Rafe fought back a smile as he extended his hand to you, who tried very hard not to make your narrowing gaze known to your boss.

“Nice to meet you” 

“Likewise” he answered, misschief evident in his tone.

“You are to take Mr. Cameron on a tour around the office, be mindful of the rooms that are occupied” she instructed.

“Yes ma’am”

“Mr. Cameron, if you need anything, even another tour guide… i’ll be in my office”

“Thank you” he simply answered as you both watched her walk away, her heels resonating in the hallways “Need me to fire her?”

You frowned “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Having a tour. Where should we start?” he asked, prompting you to start walking. You both walked to a less crowded area aimlessly since you knew he wasn’t really there for a tour, you jumped slightly when he softly grabbed your arm to pull you into a conference room who’s door had been open. He flipped the unoccupied sign before closing the door and turning to look at you. “So?”

“So, what? I’m working” you countered.

“You’re ignoring my texts and calls. How did it go?” he questioned, curious eyes never leaving your face. You only looked back at him in annoyance, no words needed to be said when he always seemed to be able to read your mind, he smirked.

You sighed frustratingly “So you came down here just to rub it in my face?”

He shrugged, his smirk never fading “It was a nice walk. I didn’t know they painted the walls that color”

You rolled your eyes at him “You’re an asshole”

“No, your date was an asshole and I was right” he corrected, approaching you slowly and lightly swiping his thumb over the space between your eyebrows to ease the frown. “Was it that bad?” he asked quietly, all of the cockiness fading in the room you were in.

“It wasn’t terribly bad. I mean, he wouldn’t stop talking about work and how amazing he thought you were…I thought about giving him your number but then i remembered you don’t like it up the ass” you smiled, your eyes shining as you looked up at him.

“Y/n” he warned, looking down at you with that serious face he always carried around at work but when he did it to you, a smile always took over. 

You grinned “You kinda deserve that, though. Anyway…the beginning of the date was actually good—”

He nodded softly, caressing the side of your face with the back of his right hand as he listened to you cite the few good things about the date, things he would consider the bare minimum when it came to you. 

“So what’s the plan?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets after you’d allowed him to touch you the way he had, small touches he hoped conveyed his love for you “Second opportunity?”

“If by ‘second opportunity’ you mean having another date outside this building, it’s simply not happening and if by ‘plan’ you mean 'what’s the next step'…this is it” you answered, confidently showing him your phone.

“A dating app?”

“Yeah…your sister recommended this one. I matched with this guy—” you started, showing him his profile “Alex, 30, pottery teacher…Thoughts?”

His eyes widened “And prayers, princess. I don’t know what you want me to say”

“How about...what you think?”

He simply shrugged “Well, he looks a sneeze away from a retirement home”

“That’s mean” you scolded with a light push to his chest “You’ll be thirty soon”

“Yeah, in a few long years” he reasoned matter of factly “Push me out of a moving car if i ever start looking like that”

“Rafe!”

“What? I don’t know what you want from me”

“I want you…” you paused upon meeting his intense gaze, almost as if you had newly found a different hue of blue in his eyes. His heartbeat raced “I–I want you to tell me what you really see when you look at the men I might date and not talk about how you’d like to fire them. Fuck, you even asked if i wanted you to fire my boss”

“I don’t like the way she talks to you and about you” he defended with another careless shrug of his shoulders.

“Who gives a shit? she’s my boss not my friend”

“I do”

“Rafa…just–” you sighed, knowing that you couldn’t change the way he cared about you. You sometimes believed it was his curse “Don’t sugarcoat it because you’re afraid of hurting my feelings”

He nodded before speaking, always making sure to look into your eyes even when he knew you couldn’t hold eye contact to save your life “I think that you’re not gonna find a man that treats you the way you deserve to be treated on a fucking app that my sister recommended. For fuck sakes, Y/n, she dated Topper” you slowly nodded in painful agreement after making a point to ignore that fact “And much less by giving a second chance to an accountant i wouldn’t even hire to do my grandma’s taxes”

You nodded again, speaking lowly in contrast to Rafe’s firm but soft tone “Your grandma is a lovely lady…she deserves better”

“I know and so do you” he assured, his voice becoming impossibly more tender and much less authoritative. A tone that was only reserved for you. “She misses you, by the way”

“I’ll call her on my break”

He nodded in acknowledgment and watched as your head hung low, mind probably racing through the scarce options you had left. He sighed “There’s this party…in a week with a whole lot of important people and i want you to come with me”

You finally lifted your eyes to meet his soft gaze “We can’t be seen out together, Rafe. I could get in trouble”

“And I could get you out” he reminded you “Look, it's three towns over, we’ll be fine…come have a good time and meet people there who’s standards you’ll obviously exceed”

You paused looking down at the dating app and considering your options “I don’t have anything to wear. That place will be full of rich people and if i wear a dress from the mall, i’ll stick out like a sore thumb” 

“I’ll take care of that part. Just say yes” he begged silently as he caught your worried eyes.

“Okay” 

Rafe nodded as he turned to leave the room but when his hand touched the handle, he paused. A genius idea came to his mind and he turned back to catch your questioning gaze.

“You’re working tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah?”

“And then you have four free days” he stated, his questioning tone long abandoned.

You narrowed your eyes, internally wanting to cuss him out for looking up your schedule again but something told you not to “I do”

He approached you again, his eyes bright “Do you give me permission to use your spare key on your first free day?”

“I’m tempted to say no but i’ll allow it ‘cause i want you out of my office”

He nodded cockily with a soft chuckle “You’re a horrible tour guide”

With a shrug you pushed him towards the door “Then fire me. I doubt you’ve ever been on this floor before”

“You’re right, I haven’t, but since you’ve been so welcoming, i’ll make it a point to come by more often just to see your beautiful smile” he spoke as he reached the door.

“Please don’t” he turned to you once again and simply winked “Rafe, i’m serious”

“So am i, princess”

That day and the next, went by awfully fast and you didn’t see or talk to Rafe all that much, clearly not knowing what he was planning. You were sleeping in on a gloomy Saturday morning when Rafe quietly entered your small and modest apartment, cursing when the door hinges squeaked. He immediately took off his shoes and placed the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and then tiptoed to your bedroom. Walking in quietly, he made sure to check the temperature as he still remembered how you liked to sleep in a colder room and then slowly approached you, picking up from the floor the stuffed animal he gave you over a decade ago and smiling down at it with a shake of his head. A stuffed animal you still claimed you threw away years ago. Rafe placed it next to you on the bed before bending down to kiss your forehead softly and exiting your room, making sure to close the door so any noise he’d make while making breakfast wouldn’t wake you. 

Time seemed to fly by for him because before he knew it, you were standing outside your bedroom door with tired eyes and blurred vision, glaring at him questioningly.

“What the hell is going on?” you mumbled before a yawn slurred your speech.

His eyes narrowed as he pointed a spatula at you “Is that my shirt?”

“Let’s pretend you didn’t just ask that” you stated while rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

“So the answer’s yes” he decided “Breakfast will be ready in 5 minutes”

You gave him a thumbs up before going into the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth then went back to the kitchen and living room to see Rafe setting up breakfast on your small table for two. Once he was done, he pushed back your chair for you to sit and when you did, you carefully inspected your plate.

“Homemade cinnamon roll pancakes?” he nodded while you glanced at the glass of juice next to the plate of pancakes, holding it up to your lips to taste “Freshly pressed orange juice?” he hummed “Cold oat milk and freshly cut strawberries?”

Rafe hummed again as he fought back a smile looking at your confused face. You looked around your apartment, eyes quickly falling onto the flower bouquet on your coffee table which you pointed at with narrowed eyes “Did Sarah tell you what I was planning to buy you for your birthday? Because if it’s that— it’s too late” you shook your head, arms raised in surrender “I'm not returning it. What’s done, it’s done”

“What?” he smiled, eyes shining at your defensive behavior.

“N–Nothing…” you blinked “I’m confused”

He chuckled with a loving shake of his head before getting up to go clean up your kitchen “So am i—Eat your breakfast, we have places to be”

“Like where?” you asked, your mouth full of the delicious pancakes.

“I’m not telling you shit until you’re done”

Rafe was a man of his word. You both made some aimless talk while you ate your breakfast and when you rose to your feet to tidy up, he was right beside you to take over. “Go get ready, wear something comfortable” he ordered gently and as you approached your bedroom door, he spoke again. “Pack enough for 4 days, no rain, warm weather during the day but it might get a bit chilly at night… You’ll need your passport too”

Your eyes widened “Excuse me?”

He hummed, knowing that he didn’t really need to repeat himself “Leave your wallet here, you won’t need anything else. Passport, small suitcase and your pretty self. You have a little over an hour”

Still in shock and utterly confused, you closed your bedroom door and packed a small suitcase before getting into the shower and changing into comfortable clothes. When you exited your bedroom, Rafe was waiting for you near the front door.

“Right on time” he smiled, ushering you to sit on your couch while he got your shoes. You watched with questioning eyes as he kneeled to tie your shoes for you, your heart racing at the sudden unfamiliar action.

“Alright, let’s go” he spoke up, taking your luggage and opening your apartment door for you before locking it behind him. When you reached the street, a black car was parked in front of your building. Rafe walked towards the trunk and opened it, moving his luggage around to put yours in, then walked towards you and simply extended his hand. With only a look at him, you knew exactly what he meant by it. Sighing, you placed your credit card on the palm of his hand, having left the wallet but not what really mattered. Pocketing it, he quietly moved to open the door for you to get in. 

The car ride was filled with questions on your end he didn’t answer, not even when the airport came to view, except for one;

“What is this about?” you asked as he parked his expensive car in a private and heavily secured parking lot you had never been to, not a single low end car in sight.

“Me raising your standards and expectations when it comes to men before that party i’m taking you to. I thought i had but i guess i failed” 

And just before exiting the car, he handed you two first class tickets to…

Milan, Italy.

Taglist: @cameronspecial @luvagirlsworld @f4ll-for-you @diagnosedpsychosis @my3prettyboys @abrunettefangirlnerd @mattyskies @thelomlisfictional @saint-apparel @kythefangirl25 @sammydrew114 @seleneastra

Confession !! I miss this man so fucking much.

August - R.C 

I never needed anything more 

August masterlist

Rafe Cameron x female!reader

A/n: Every summer she leaves the obx for somewhere new but she can never leave Rafe Cameron behind, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pinning, teasing 

Warnings: 18+, strong language, (eventual smut)

Word count: 3.4k

Every summer it was always somewhere new, last year was Sicily and this year was Tuscany. She could tell the Cameron's were already here, just from the yelling that could be heard from outside the villa. Rose and Ward's voices always ruined such perfect sceneries.

“Deep breath.” Lee stopped beside her, a rather large bag partly weighing him down. “Maybe it won't be so bad this year, they're not all here.” He grimaced, stumbling slightly up the uneven pathway.

She had been praying on the bus ride that it was Rafe who was missing from this trip. While on the phone with her dad, Ward had muttered something about someone not coming because of other plans and she just hoped it would be their eldest. A whole holiday without him there would actually be a holiday, instead of weeks of bickering in a far too hot country. 

She dropped her bags in the living room, enjoying the fact that they were finally out of the sun and finally in a place with comfortable cushions. Lee threw himself down onto one of the couches, sighing like an old man and stretching his legs like one too. 

“You guys are here then?” She rolled her eyes at the sound of Rafe’s voice, it hadn’t even been five seconds since she sat down. 

“Well obviously?” Lee scoffed, throwing the pillow behind him clear over her head and hopefully hitting Rafe, since she refused to turn around and look at him.  

Rafe came and sat beside her, kicking his legs up onto the coffee table and tossing the pillow back in her brother's direction. His thighs pressed to hers as he made a point to sit as close as possible. Ignoring the fact that the sofa would seat half the house and spreading his legs to the fullest. 

“Can we have one trip where you're not like this?” She shifted away, at fifteen she would have found him being so close endearing but now at twenty it just made her anxious to get as far away as possible. 

Rafe acted clueless, like he had no idea what she was insinuating. And since three weeks ago when she last saw him back home he was even more frustrating to be around, he'd caught a tan and his hair seemed lighter than usual, just like every year, summer bent at his will. 

“Please.” She offered up her best doe eyes that worked on everybody else, but Rafe only grinned back at her with something cruel in his frustratingly pretty eyes. 

“Add a pretty to that please and I’ll think about it.” She hit his arm pathetically only making him laugh and threw his arm around the back of the sofa, his hand falling straight the the back of her neck, he knew how much she hated it when he did that.

She shoved his hand back, she should've risen above it but with Rafe it was too difficult to ignore, it was like every trap he set out to annoy her she fell helplessly into and he derided too much happiness from that fact. 

“We thought you weren’t coming?” 

Rafe squinted at her, no doubt deciding whether or not to pretend to be hurt by that. He learnt very quickly that as much as she disliked him she never wanted to actually hurt his feelings. 

“Trust me, I tried to get out of it but dad said I had to come because Sarah was ditching.” He laughed without smiling, like he found the whole thing ridiculous. 

“What?” Her stomach twisted, like when you got told something you just didn't want to hear. For her one of the best parts about these family trips was having Sarah here, it always made everyone else easier to put up with and it always felt like one long sleepover. 

“I know it’s great." He grinned that signature Rafe Cameron grin and extended his arm over the back of the sofa once again. "If I can just get rid of you-” He poked her cheek. 

“Shut up.” She hit him in the chest with a pillow, five minutes and he'd already been hit with a pillow twice by two separate people. 

“What are you five?” He hit her a lot harsher then she did, only making her more angry which he seemed to find hilarious.

There was something about how adorable she looked when she was mad at him that made him smile like the Cheshire cat. 

Once when he was around eight or nine he tore down the blanket Fort she made in the living room just to see the little pout on her face and watch her put her hands on her hips like her mother did.  

"How old would that make you?" She was kneeling on the sofa now, using a new height advantage to push back and attempting to suffocate him. 

She faulted slightly when his hand pressed against her thigh, his hand was hot and it felt like she was burning her skin under his touch. She couldn't hit his hand away because that would mean letting go of the pillow and she's sure that's exactly what he wanted. 

"Alright, alright." Her dad grabbed the pillow from the both of them, smiling at their childish antics. Rafe fell back into the sofa with a grin, relaxing against the cushions while she sat back feeling slightly disappointed in herself for having a pillow fight at her age. 

“Where's your dad?” Her father threw his hat onto the kitchen counter, it was a horrible tourist hat that she hadn't had the heart to say made her dad look ridiculous. 

“Upstairs, in the biggest room obviously.” Rafe glanced at the stairway, picking at his nails and rolling his eyes backwards. 

He patted him on the shoulder, making Rafe genuinely smile for the first time since they got here, then he disappeared upstairs. 

“I’m not sharing with you this year.” She smiled at the way Rafe's head snapped in Lee's direction, who had sat bored out of his mind watching their little fight like he was used to it by now. 

“Good, I don't want to share with you either." Rafe glared across the room, looking Lee up and down like he was dirt under his shoe. He didn't hate Lee, he just found him just as annoying as his older sister. Without the cute little pout. 

“You two used to love sharing a room.” Both Rafe and Lee glared at her after she spoke up. She sunk into the sofa, trying to hide the smile that was threatening its way onto her lips.

“Yeah then he started doing lines off the bedside table.”

"I don't do that shit anymore, well not as much." Rafe's expression fell, he wasn't glaring at anyone anymore he just shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like the way she was looking at him, he could feel her staring. He forced a smile. "And it was a good experience for you, no one's ever gonna offer you drugs Lee.”

She went to shove his arm but Rafe already knew she was going to do that so he grabbed her wrist before she got the chance, the skin on skin contact making both of them pause for a moment.

She shook it off but Rafe didn't miss the flustered look on her face, he knew her too well to miss it. Something teasing was on the tip of his tongue but she beat him to it 

“You better not.” She tried to sound serious, because she honestly wasn't sure if he would, Lee was still just a kid but whenever she was around Rafe when he was high he wasn't exactly himself. 

“I'm sorry, was that supposed to be intimidating." Rafe cocked his head to the side and she had to bite her cheek so she didn't smile. "You're always going to be the cute innocent one, you know that.” 

-

The dinner table was set with flowers and lace, and sat perfectly outside right where the sunset hit. It made everything and everyone golden. Rafe was sat across from her, he always was, it didn't matter how old they got they always sat in the same places, girls on one side, boys on the other. 

Her father stood and tapped his knife against his wine glass, just as Rafe was about to start a foot fight under the table, she quickly kicked his ankle and he drew back instantly, coving his mouth to hide his blatant muttering of ‘fuck’. 

“Right, I already know from the look on your faces what you're all thinking, oh the old man’s making a speech again-" Lee went to speak with a wide grin on his face but was cut off. "But it's tradition and since Sarah’s fallen behind we should toast to her.” 

Ward finally smiled for the first time all day at the mention of his daughter's name and joined him in raising his glass. 

“She's not dead.” Wheezie whispered not so quietly beside her, poking at her salad because she still hated it but no one listened. 

Rafe watched the girl next to his sister bite her lip to stop from laughing, her sticky lipgloss only being more painfully obvious to him, if Sarah was here she would've been sitting giggling with her. “Unfortunately.” He mumbled to himself but of course Rose heard. 

“Rafe.” Rose warned from the other end of the table. 

She heard too, she saw him smirk at his own cruel remark and felt a need to defend the girl who wasn’t there to defend herself because she'd do the same.

“Do you have to be so horrible?” She leaned forward slightly trying to not bother the rest of the table. If Rafe could give her a genuine answer she'd be content, otherwise he was just being a dick for the sake of it. 

Rafe’s eyes flickered away from her lips, fixing on her eyes he stared right back at her. “Do you have to be so irritating?”

Something like that would've sent her crying to her room when she were younger then her mother would tell the table that she was just a sensitive child and that Rafe should know that by now. Instead she sat back in her chair and tried to avoid his gaze and the smug look on his face.

“To Sarah and the start of a new summer.” Her father lifted his glass further in the air, spilling some white wine over the sides.

“Okay honey, why don't you sit down now.” Her mother pulled him down beside her, she and Rose paid much more attention than anybody else. Her mother saw the way she fought to seem stronger around Rafe and Rose noticed the way he was staring at her every five seconds. 

“Can we just get along for once?” Her gaze softened, eyebrows furrowing together, it was her perfect doe-eyed look that could've stopped anyone else at the table. That could get her out of anything and get her into anyone’s heart. As Rafe had always said, she was the good one.

He finished off his ice-cold drink, a drop cascading past the corner of his mouth right down his neck. She fought to keep her eyes off it and found only him smirking instead. “That look doesn't work on me.”

-

“Where are you going?”

Rafe had started off down some side street, in the completely wrong direction of where their families were going, he spun around, his black shirt showing more of his collarbone in the slight breeze, she couldn't work out why in such a hot climate he'd worn black or why boys like him always left most the buttons undone. 

“I’ll lose my mind if I stick around for another tour.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking back down the street he was heading for, and then he glanced back at her, something exciting in his eyes. “You want to come with me?” 

She turned back, seeing Lee and Wheezie looking so bored they might just drop to the floor, knowing they were going on another typical tour of the city surrounded by other tourists doing the exact same thing. 

When she was younger she loved seeing all the monuments and statues even if Rafe used to tell her stories about the statues coming to life and scaring her, she still enjoyed it but now escaping down some side street where there was sure to be very few tourists seemed much more endearing. 

“We can’t.” She went against her own words, following after him so she stood right in front of him, he was able to look down at her now, and see exactly how she was trying to decide what was better. Personally he thought letting him wander off by himself was the wrong choice because if something happened he'd blame her. 

Rafe leaned in, hands shoved into his pockets. “We’re not kids anymore. So, I'm going to go, if you want to join-”

“Do you want me to come with you?” She squinted her eyes in the sun, the little line between her brows more prominent now making him want to reach out and smooth it over, or raise his hand so the sun didn't affect her gaze. 

She crossed her arms, wanting a clear answer from him, but it only distracted him, she was wearing a blue dress and hee always lost his train of thought when she wore blue. 

He shrugged, walking off quite happy to leave her behind because he knew she'd run after him, he knew she wouldn't let him wander off on his own and he knew she was getting just as bored of these family outings as he was. She just didn't have the heart to say it. 

“Rafe wait.”

She followed him like a lost puppy, sticking close when he wandered off some little pathway. She had been warned about pickpocketing so much in her life that she was keeping her bag close and she was almost pressed into Rafe's side. Every time the breeze rang through the street all he could smell was her spring-like perfume, clean sheets and fresh flowers, that sort of thing. 

She actually struggled keeping up because he had the advantage of much longer legs and she was worried about falling behind and getting lost. 

He was smirking slightly at the way she complained he was walking too fast the whole time but never once did he make her stay with him, that was her choice. 

He started to slow down when they reached a market. 

She stopped at a little jewellery stand, not the kind of things the Cameron's would be caught wearing but she adored it nevertheless. Everything was handmade and nothing matched, it was perfect. 

She picked up a bracelet that reminded her of the ones her and Sarah used to make when they were younger, full of different shades of pink and white thread. 

Just as she went to retrieve some cash from her bag, already too attached to leave it behind, Rafe took the bracelet out of her hand. She didn't even know he was hovering behind her, she thought he would've kept on walking when she stopped. 

“It’s pretty.” His fingers ran over the thread, then he took out his wallet, which looked more expensive then everything in the street combined, and decided to buy it for her. 

He knew it was silly but as soon as he saw that look on her face he knew he wanted to get it for her. He'd been screwing with her a lot more than usual with Sarah away and it only seemed right to get her something pretty. He would've rather gone to some expensive jewellers but this was more her.

“What are you doing?” He tied the bracelet around her wrist, careful of her pulse point, worried what feeling it might do to him if he was getting so easily frustrated over some perfume. 

She screwed her face up, shocked that he was doing something nice and wondering if it was some kind of trick. His fingers felt hot against her wrist, she put it down to the weather. 

Rafe dropped her hand, leaving the bracelets tied perfectly around her wrist, she looked up to find him smiling which was rare, with Rafe it was usually a grin or a smirk he was sporting. “Call it a peace offering.”

She stared up at him, the height difference giving him a little more power, she tilted her to the side like she was trying to read him.

“But you don't want to be peaceful.” Just from the way he rolled his eyes, she knew she was right, she had asked for peace too many times and been told blatantly no, she was starting to think he enjoyed their bickering far too much. 

“Okay, call it me being nice and you just shutting up and accepting it.” He accepted a remark back but instead, he just smiled, staring at her wrist. If he knew it was that easy he would have brought her a million tacky bracelets.

“That I can do.”

Rafe shoved his wallet back in his the pocket of his shorts, she was busy admiring how the bracelets hanged off her wrist, she was going to say thank you when Rafe suddenly stopped walking. 

“Shit.” He mumbled under his breath, messing up his hair with his hands, he always did that when he was stressed or anxious. She took her eyes off Rafe for just a moment, and heading their way was Mr Cameron, looking around for what she guessed was the two of them. 

As a child she was already slightly scared of him, he was so intimidating and he was so strict with Rafe, she never wanted to be on the receiving end of his parenting skills. She could recall once smashing a vase on accident while rushing through his house and getting yelled at, she hid behind Rafe like any scared little seven-year-old would and he let her, which was rather out of character for him. 

“There you two are.” Ward smiled fakely at them, anger evident in his eyes which she just couldn't meet, instead she stared down at her shoes and waited to get scolded like a child. Rafe shifted beside her. 

He felt his lungs tighten the second he saw his father and wondered if he would have felt the same if it was her father, god even if it was Rose. 

“Dad we just-”

“You just what?” Ward leaned forward, cutting his son off. “Wanted to give everyone a heart attack when we turned around and you were just gone, I expect this from you Rafe but-” He pointed to her and Rafe stood straight, ignoring how his father expecting this from him cut like a knife, he didn't commit a crime, he'd just wandered off. 

“We’re adults.” Rafe said a little too defiantly, with a tone he didn't often take up around his father. Ward's eyes snapped to Rafe.”Maybe I should have said something but it was my fault, not hers.”

She glanced at him silently thanking him and in some way she thought he understood as he did a small nod without looking away from Ward.

“Fine, then you can explain to everyone why we cut our tour short to look for you.”

“We were only gone for a minute or two.” Both Cameron's flickered their attention over to her, making her feel smaller than she had ever felt, she sickeningly sweetly smile at Ward hoping to hit some parental weak spot. “We didn't mean to worry anyone.” 

“I know.” Ward sighed, rubbing his forehead. Rafe would have laughed at how easily her helpless Bambi look worked on his father, and if he didn't find her quite so annoying he would have admitted that he found it impressive. 

“But you're not parents, you don't know what it feels like when your kids are there one second then the next they're nowhere to be seen.” She felt a little guilty now but out of the corner of her eye, she was sure she could see Rafe fighting a grin. “Come on.”

Ward walked away as he expected them to follow which of course they did, heading back to get a smiler speech from her own parents was making her head already hurt. She hoped they'd be much more relaxed about it, they prided themself on making her independent so they can't be surprised when she actually is independent. 

Rafe elbowed her side. “Is it me or are we going to get grounded now,” He whispered, making sure his father didn't hear that remark. He wet his bottom lip while walking beside her, she hated how her eyes followed the action, but Rafe caught it instantly, grinning he went to speak again. 

She rolled her eyes before he got the chance. “Shut up."

american heartbreak - ii

summary: a big win and one too many tequila sunrises could be just the right push to idiots in love needed, or could possibly create more self doubt.

warnings: rafe x oc, fem reader, drinking, bull riding ?, vomit, cussing, mutual pining, ward being ward, excessive use of nicknames (sorry?), cowboy!rafe (yes it needs a warning)

wc: 4.8k

an: I know nothing about bull riding so please bare with me lmao I researched as best as I could. This took soooo long but I did it! I love where this series is going & I hope you guys do too. Next series to be updated is seeking arrangments <3

series master list - previous part

June looked herself over in her mirror brushing her hands over her dress. In her usual sundress and boots she let out a satisfied sigh and grabbed her big denim jacket. She was hoping to catch Rafe’s attention tonight, maybe he would want to spend time with her. Instead one of the girls he always ended up having hanging off his every word.

“James is here Juney!” Amber shouted from the bottom of the stairs. Her boyfriend was going to give the two a ride tonight.

“Coming!” She replied. She grabbed her bag and headed downstairs to meet the couple.

“Hey James,” She said and smiled at the dark haired man.

He nodded at her, “Hey June Summers.” James always said her full name for some reason. June never questioned it. Amber came out from the kitchen and grabbed James’ hand.

June followed behind them. She always felt like they were her parents when it was just the three of them, “We better hurry because June’s gotta help with the raffle tickets. Oh and she needs some time to stare at Rafe,” Amber smirked looking back at the girl who was locking the front door.

“Hey!” June scolded as she turned around quickly.

James laughed and said, “Don’t act like it’s a secret that you’re crazy for him.” He opened the truck door for his girlfriend before she climbed in.

June rolled her eyes opening her door, “I’m not crazy about him! I just have a small crush on him. Just like a school girl crush.”

“Oh please you’ve had a school girl crush on him since you were literally a school girl.” Amber laughed.

“Can we talk about something else please,” June said with a huff no longer wanting to be ridiculed for her crush.

“You’re coming to Rooster’s right June?” James asked as he drove to the rodeo.

June shrugged, “Yeah I guess so. I don’t want to miss out on another night of Amber falling off the mechanical bull.”

Amber laughed at the memory, “I will be that damn bull one day,” she turned to James, “she’s also going because Rafe explicitly asked if she was going.”

“I’m gonna jump out of this truck right now.”

-

After they arrived James walked them over to where the riders were. He was going to meet Rafe to make sure everything was good to go before his first ride. There was still over an hour before it was supposed to start so June had some time to be with Amber before helping Mrs.Mayfield. She shivered lightly at the cool autumn breeze and also because of her nerves. She was nervous to see Rafe, he always made her a clammy mumbling mess.

Amber was walking with her going off about a girl they went to high school with’s pregnancy announcement. Amber always knew all the gossip and she always passed the information along. June laughed at something Amber said closing her eyes for a split second, but with her clumsiness her she tripped over a rock. Her heart dropped as she felt herself go forward but she never hit the ground. A pair of arms held onto her waist firmly keeping her in place. She gasped and looked up at whose arms they were and of course it was Rafe. Her knight in shining armor.

“June bug gotta watch where you’re goin’” Rafe gave her a lopsided smile as she regained her composure.

She felt hot all over as she stood up and took a small step back. Being too close to him was making her dizzy. She cleared her throat, “Well the rock should watch where it’s going.”

She cringed internally at her failed attempt to be witty. His smile turned into a full one as he chuckled, she was thinking that he either agreed she was cringey or maybe thought she was funny. Either way she still felt hot from embarrassment.

“Rafe and I have some prepping to do so we better get a move on,” James said as he walked over to Amber and gave her a hug and a kiss. June had almost forgotten that the couple was there. She watched with admiration, she liked Amber and James together. Mostly because he made her best friend the happiest she’d ever seen her.

While James and Amber were being lovey dovey Rafe had stepped to stand beside June. He leaned down and nudged her shoulder with his, “Am I seein you tonight? After?”

She looked over at him with a shy grin not wanting to show how on the inside she was screaming that he had asked her again about after the rodeo, “Only cause you’ve been askin so nicely.”

Rafe wanted to eat her up. She had no idea of the affect she had on him. He had always harbored a crush for her, ever since he was nine years old. His sister had met her when he was in fourth grade and they were in second grade. Sarah had dragged a girl behind her as she ran towards Rafe and their mom waiting in the pick up area of school. Once he laid eyes on her he couldn’t hear anything Sarah was saying. All he could do was stare at her pretty face.

June started coming over to Rafe’s house and he preteen brain couldn’t handle it. He swears that he stopped finding girls gross when he saw June for the first time. He always kept his distance from her because she was Sarah’s friend. Once he got to high school he had become somewhat of a Casanova since his bull riding career had begun to take off the girls started to pay more attention to him. June never really showed that he liked him as more than a friend so he started dating girls. He was blind to the way her smile got weaker when she’d see him out with a girl. He couldn’t tell that she always held back tears whenever she’d go to their house and he’d be leaving with a bouquet of flowers in hand for his date he was late to pick up because he was waiting to run into her.

He always felt like she was too good for him. Too pure for someone like him. Of course he made flirtatious comments towards her and was always a gentleman. Helping her unload new flower pot shipments if he happened to walk in after a delivery. Rafe held doors open for her, always walked her to her car when she’d leave the Cameron house late. He wanted to at least show her that he was always there if she needed him.

June simply thought Rafe was an extreme gentleman and incredibly charming towards everyone in the way he was with her. She learned not to get her hopes up when she kept seeing him with a new girl every week. It was just how Rafe was, she wasn’t any different to him.

“I’m honored,” He smirked.

The couple had finished their goodbyes and walked up to them. Amber wrapped her arm around June’s shoulders, “Rafe your girl has to go help Mrs.Mayfield.”

“Make sure you’re watching when I’m out there,” Rafe pointed at June as him and James began to walk away. She nodded and gave him a small wave as he left. That incredibly charming smile never leaving his face.

“That boy is so smitten,” Amber laughed throwing her head back.

June rolled her eyes, “He’s like this with everyone.”

“Whatever you say honey,” Amber patted her back. They reached the booth where Mrs.Mayfield was setting up the tickets and the cash box.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite flower girls,” The older woman beamed at the girls. She was a sweet lady who everyone in town knew. She was in charge or everything. If there was a community even Martha Mayfield was most likely organizing it.

June hugged the woman, “Mrs.Mayfield you look as beautiful as ever.”

“You’re too good to me dear,” She turned towards the red head next to June, “Now Miss Amber I still do not see a ring on that finger.”

Amber sighed dramatically walking over to the woman, “Soon I hope, please talk some sense into that boy next time he delivers your eggs.”

“I always do honey,” She patted her cheek gently, “Now lets sell some tickets and make some money for the dance.” She clapped her hands and went behind the booth where June had started to help her.

-

Rafe sighed as he listened to his dad try and coach him. Ward was hard on Rafe, he always passed it on as him caring so much about his son. Rafe knew that his dad just wanted bigger trophies and bigger checks. He couldn’t hate the guy because he had given Rafe so much and pushed him hard to be the best. Frankly it worked and Rafe became the best.

It’s why now he was really getting a coaching lesson because tonight was either all or nothing. If Rafe got first place he’d move on to the semi finals. Of course he wanted to win the championship but making it to the semis of the southern eastern bull riding championship (SEBRC) would bring him a lot of attention. He’d be closer to going pro. Rafe was already being watched by a lot of sponsors and recruits but a win would prove just how good he is.

“Whatever you do Rafe do not let go,” Ward looked at him intensely, “And do not let your hand fall. You have to use everything in you son.”

“Dad I got this okay? Trust me I can do this,” He nodded his head, “I will do it.”

“Alright lets get out there is almost time.” Ward patted his son on the shoulder as he led him out of the stables where they had been talking.

They walked back over to where his team was watching the current rider. Rafe put his hands on James shoulders startling him.

“Holy shit dude,” He gasped.

“Lets get ready,” They walked over to the bull pen.

James looked over at his best friend, “is tonight the night?”

“What the night I win?” Rafe smirked.

“No idiot, the night you finally ask her out or do something.”

He shrugged, “I’ve got something in mind.”

“Just don’t let those buckle bunnies near you of else she’s gonna keep thinkin you don’t see her that way.”

-

After all the raffle tickets had been sold June joined Amber and Sarah in the stands. They were sitting with Amber’s parents and a few of their other friends. June sat next to Sarah who was texting intently on her phone.

“Is it John B?” June asked her.

Sarah huffed, “Yeah he thinks he might not be able to drive here next weekend because his van keeps breaking down.”

“I’m sure he’ll figure something out,” She smiled.

“Last but certainly not least is the guy everyone has their eyes on, home town hero Rafe Cameron!” The announcer shouted over the speakers.

Everyone cheered and clapped for Rafe. June felt a pit of nervousness in her stomach. She always worried about him when he rode because anything could happen. She was confident in his abilities but bulls are unpredictable animals.

“This always feels like the longest ten seconds of my life,” Sarah muttered leaning forward in an anxious stance.

“He’ll be okay, he always is okay.” June reassured placing her hands over Sarah’s that had been picking at her cuticles anxiously. She didn’t just say it for her but for herself.

“He has to beat 6.76 seconds and get more than 88 points to move on,” Amber leaned forward telling the girls.

The blow horn sounded and they lifted the gates. Everything always happened in slow motion. The bull bucked and thrashed around as Rafe held on tight to the rope. His arm steady in the air never faltering. He needed to stay on for three more seconds and he’d most likely win. The clock ticked 6, 7, 8. Then Rafe was finally bucked off, he flew off of the large brown bull landing almost under its heavy hooves. Everyone held their breath as they waited for him to get up. He stood up grabbing his hat swinging it in the air and yelling with excitement as the crowd started cheering. He had stayed on for 8.96 seconds, the best score of the whole night.

June stood up along with everyone else clapping and cheering for the cowboy. Rafe looked out into the crowd with a big smile on his face trying to catch his breath. It was like he knew where she was because his eyes landed on her. He couldn’t hear the crowd cheering he could just see her as she smiled widely and clapped. He would ride a million bulls over and over again if it meant she’d be there cheering him on.

He walked back to his team who was patting him on the back. James came up to him and hugged him with a big smile, “Man you’re a monster, you’re in this fuckin thing. You’ve made it.”

“We’re in this thing. I couldn’t have done this without you man,” Rafe was grateful for his best friend who had become more like his brother. James placed a hand on Rafe’s head ruffling his hear out of endearment.

“Judges have their final scores in,” Ward said walking up to the two men. Ward never really congratulated his son on his achievements all the more reason why he was grateful for James.

They climbed on the gates to watch the score board. Rafe placed his hat back on his head. He looked back over the the bleachers looking at June again. She was talking to Sarah her eyes going back and forth from the score board to her best friend. As long as she was here Rafe knew everything would be okay if he didn’t score as good as he wanted. Whenever he looked at her the trophies, money, and title’s didn’t matter.

“The judges have their final score for Rafe Cameron, and are we surprised? The 22 year old bull ride comes in with a score of 94!” The announcer says before the crowd goes wild, “Ladies and gentlemen we have our first place winner! Rafe Cameron is headed off to the semi finals!”

James whooped in excitement and wrapped his arm around Rafe. They climbed down from the fence as people came up to Rafe to congratulate him. The other winners were announced but Rafe didn’t care he was riding an unbelievable high.

The girls had practically ran down the bleachers to go find Rafe. Sarah was beyond excited for her brother, all of his hard work was paying off. Once they got to where the team was they saw them hand Rafe a bottle of champagne.

“Rafe! You did it!” Sarah shouted as she ran up to hug her brother, “Mom is so proud.” Rafe nodded his head feeling a bit emotional wishing his mom could be there to witness his success.

“Congrats Rafe,” Amber hugged him next.

“Couldn’t have done it without your man,” He said pulling away and pointing at James.

June wasn’t sure if she should hug him or not. She always got anxious in these situations, wishing she was like those girls that had confidence. Rafe looked over at her as she shyly watched him.

He knew her better than she knew herself so he walked up to her, “Guess you gotta come out now.” He smirked.

“I guess I do,” She shrugged, “Congratulations Rafe. You’re gonna do incredible things.”

Rafe’s heart burst at her words. He reached forward and hugged her. She immediately reciprocated wrapping her arms around him. They pulled away and looked at each other for a few seconds. Their friends around them never interrupting because they knew.

“Champagne anyone?” Rafe said turning to all of them. He shook the bottle before popping the cork and spraying it everywhere.

“Rafe!” Sarah laughed covering her face.

“To Roosters we go!” James said pointing up.

-

June and Sarah interlocked arms as they walked behind James and Amber. Rooster’s was packed as well as the other bars on main street. June sometimes worried that their flower shop a few blocks down would get damaged by a bunch of drunks but they’ve never had any actual problems. Rafe was coming by later after he took care of some things at the rodeo.

“Are you drinking tonight Junie?” Sarah nudged her.

She nodded her head, “I actually am. I just want to have some confidence tonight, not be in the background like always.”

“Tonight is going to be so fun. You’re never in the background babe,” Sarah reassured her as they walked through the bar doors.

It wasn’t too crowded yet as people were still leaving the rodeo. Someone was already riding the mechanical bull and country music was already blasting through the speakers. They went up to the bar where their favorite bartender Sam was.

“My favorite people!” He said wiping his hands on a towel, “What can I get you guys?”

“Jameson and coke for me and three tequila sunrises,” James said knowing the girl’s orders.

“What a gentleman James,” Sarah said.

“Hey first round is on me guys. Gotta treat the champions’ people right,” Sam winked at them.

“Sammy boy you’re too kind,” James said sliding him a twenty as a tip.

Once they got their drinks they found a couple unoccupied tables by the pool tables. They pushed them together before sitting down with their drinks. June’s leg anxiously bounced as she waited for Rafe. Her eyes moving around the room as she looked at everyone. She felt like there were too many pretty girls here for Rafe to even give her an ounce of his attention. The confidence she had was slowly diminishing as the seconds passed.

Her thoughts were interrupted by loud cheering, she looked behind her towards the door. Rafe had walked in changed into a white tee shirt and open flannel with a brown jacket. His riding boots traded out for his nicer ones, black hat still perched on his head. She felt light headed, the half of the tequila sunrise she had drank already getting to her. When his eyes met hers she looked away nervously trying to focus on anything else in the room. Her focus landed on all the women ogling him and sending him flirtatious smiles.

He walked up to the group standing beside June, “Started without me guys?”

“Get your drink so we can celebrate now,” James nodded his head towards the bar.

“June bug will you come with me?” Rafe asked turning towards the girl who had yet to make eye contact with him again.

She looked up her face getting hot, “Sure.”

They walked over to the bar and Sam immediately took Rafe’s order. June placed her hands on the bar her eyes looking anywhere but Rafe. The liquor bottles behind the bar were really fascinating.

“How did selling the raffle tickets go June bug?” Rafe asked trying to make conversation.

She turned to him trying to set her nerves aside, “It went well, definitely got some money for the community.”

“That’s good,” He smiled, “how’s the flower business going darlin?”

She laughed softly, “Uh it’s actually going really good. Even with the weather gettin colder sales are still good. We even have a huge wedding coming up that’s going to be beautiful and so great for business. They ordered tons of bouquets with the most amazing colors,” she rambled on about her work. June was very patient about flowers, she loved how something from the earth could make someone feel so happy, loved, cared about, and seen.

Sam brought over his drink telling him that it was on him. Rafe nodded his head at him before taking a sip, “You know I love when you talk flowers,” he smiled at her.

Her eyes widened slightly, “You do?”

He nodded, “Of course, your eyes light up and you’re just so passionate. It’s attractive sweetheart.”

June’s skin was going to melt off if she felt herself getting any hotter, “You’re too ki-“

“Rafe!” A high pitched voice interrupted. Both Rafe and June turned towards the noise.

“Oh hey Rachel,” Rafe said trying to be polite. Rachel was one of Rafe’s endeavors that he returned to a few times too many. Now she thought that her and Rafe could be something more when he never promised her anything.

“You were amazing tonight. You’re sooo talented,” She twirled her blonde hair paying no attention to June.

“Thanks, um this is June,” He nodded towards the girl he really wanted to be alone with.

The blonde turned her attention towards her a small furrow in her brows, “Oh hi, how do you two know each other.” Rafe knew that Rachel was trying to figure out if June was hooking up with him.

“I’m friends with Sarah so we kind of grew up together,” June said feeling a spark of jealousy in herself.

“Cute,” Rachel said tilting her head a teasing smile on her lips. She turned to Rafe again putting a hand on his arm, “Rafe come sit with us I’d love to congratulate you on your big win.”

Rafe didn’t really want to deal with Rachel and her friends at the moment. He had someone else he wanted to focus on. He turned to where June was and found her spot empty. He looked around the room and found her walking back to the table. He sighed, “Actually I’m gonna hangout with my friends tonight,” he tipped his hat at her and walked back over to where they were all sat.

Sarah glared at him, “Rachel again? Seriously?”

Rafe rolled his eyes as he sat next to June, “Actually no.”

June felt like maybe it was because of her that he didn’t hangout with her. Or maybe he just wanted to be with his friends. Either way she was glad that Rafe was sitting next to her.

-

After a lot of laughing and three more drinks June was definitely drunk. She had been laughing at something one of their friends, Stevie, had said when Rafe started to notice just how drunk she was. He had never seen her be so social and he liked it but he was also worried because he’d never seen her drink this much.

“James and I are gonna head out. We’ve got the farmer’s market tomorrow Junie,” Amber said placing a hand on her friends back.

“Oooo can you guys drop me off please?” Sarah asked with a slight slur.

Amber wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “well of course dear.”

June’s eyes widened at the mention of the market, “Oh nooo the farmer’s market, I forgot about that,” she put her head down on the table starting to regret that last shot she took with Sarah, “I’m gonna be so hungover.”

“Come on babe we’ll take you home,” Amber said patting her head.

She sat up and looked over at Rafe with a pout, “I don’t wanna go home yet.”

He gave her a small smile and brushed some hair out of her face, “I can take you home in a bit bug, I only had a couple beers.”

She smiled widely and quickly turned back to Amber, “Rafe is taking me home,” Her smile never faltering.

“Okay babes,” She laughed knowing her friend wanted more time with the guy she’s been in love with since they were 7, “Rafe please get her home safe.” She pointed at him with a stern look.

“Yes ma’am,” He said tipping his hat at her bidding the trio good bye.

The other guys that had been with them had joined a group of women at the dart boards working moved on them trying to teach them how to play. June looked around the room at all the people having fun and drinking. They all seemed so care free, like they did this all the time. She wished she could be this fun all the time, then maybe Rafe would like her.

“Rafey I wish I could be this fun all the time,” She pouted looking over at him.

Rafey. She hadn’t called him that since they were kids. He didn’t realized he missed hearing her saying it until his body felt tingly all over. It rolled so smoothly off her lips like only she could say it because she was the only one who made it sound good.

“Sweetheart you are fun all the time,” He reached forward and brushed her hair back again. Admiring her pretty face.

She leaned her head against his hand enjoying the warmth they brought, “mmm then why don’t you see me more.”

“I’d see you every day if I could bug. I’m gonna make more time for my girl,” He smiled lovingly at her. He really hoped she’d remember this tomorrow.

She looked at him with tears in her eyes a dopey smile on her lips. Before she could say anything she felt her stomach turn. The tequila was catching up to her now. June sat up straighter with wide eyes. That’s when she felt everything coming up. She slapped her hand over her mouth and as best as she could in her drunken state she ran out of the bar doors.

Rafe wasn’t far behind her as she turned the corner to puke on the side of the bar. The contents of her stomach spilling all over the dirt, some of it getting on her favorite pair of boots. Rafe stood behind her holding her hair up and patting her back. He made a mental note that three drinks was the cut off for you.

“Oh god this is so embarrassing,” She sniffled once she was done. She was a lot more sober now and definitely wishing she could get swallowed by the earth. Rafe Cameron just saw her puke her guts out. The guy she’s been in love with forever.

“No no it’s okay June,” He held her hands, “let’s get you home okay? You’ll feel a lot better once you’re in bed.”

She frowned as she walked with him to his truck, “You probably think I’m so gross.”

“I could never. You’re always an angel to me,” He opened the door for her and helped her in.

She had no words. June felt like she didn’t deserve Rafe, he was always so kind and never judged her. The world was lucky to have him. He jogged over to the drivers side and got in. The drive to June’s house was quiet except the rock music that was softly playing from the radio. It was a nice silence.

Once they arrived to June’s house Rafe opened the door for her. Holding her hand as she climbed down. He placed a hand on the small of her back leading her up the porch stairs to the front door. She pulled out her keys and unlocked the door.

She didn’t go inside yet she turned to Rafe looking down at the ground not really wanting to meet his eyes. She was still feeling ashamed from the parking lot fiasco, “Thank you for driving me home Rafe.”

“Anytime, you good to go up on your own?” He asked wanting to make sure she makes it up the stairs and into bed.

She nodded her head finally looking up at him, “I’m a bit sober now so I’m good. Thank you,” she gave him a shy smile. The liquid courage was definitely leaving her system.

“Call me if you need anything at anytime, okay? I’ll be there,” he reached for her hand giving it a small squeeze, “I’ll see you tomorrow June bug.” He leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to her cheek.

Her eyes widened in shock, maybe she was drunk? He pulled away and started walking down the porch steps. Once he got to the bottom he turned towards her with a small smirk, “I’m not leaving till you go in darlin.”

She cleared her throat and blinked a few times before turned the door knob, “Right uh good night Rafe.” She waved stepping into the house.

After locking the door behind her she leaned against it with a sigh. June listened as Rafe drove away already missing him. He was so sweet to her that night. She wanted to think it was because things were changing between them, what if he does see her in a different way.

As soon as those thoughts entered her mind they left. Who was she kidding? Rafe could have anyone why would he choose me? she thought to herself as she walked upstairs to her room. She decided that if this was just Rafe being kind then she’d savor it and enjoy it before he finds someone who actually interests him.

NEW OF DREW STARKEY!!

new light blurb: just for me — rafe cameron

new light series masterlist

summary: someone asked for rafe picking up drunk!y/n from a girls’ night but i literally deleted the ask when i meant to answer it, so

warnings: alcohol/she is very drunk

“My baby’s here!”

“You have a baby? Are you pregnant? Y/n/n, we’re drunk right now.”

“No, like my baby, Rafe. He’s right there. That’s my baby.”

Rafe takes one look at your face as he approaches your table at the bar, and he can instantly tell that you’ve had a night. He should’ve guessed by the barely legible text you sent to summon him (bby boyoooo pls come get me blythe said i needs go home n i wnat nachos). The way you immediately fall into his side once he’s within distance is just further confirmation. “Hey, sweetheart. Hi, girls—Margot, good to see you.”

“You too, Rafe,” your friend slurs. “Like the new hair.”

You reach up excitedly, so much so that you stumble further into Rafe’s side, running your hand over his buzzcut. “Okay, right? Doesn’t he look super hot?”

Margot just shrugs and nods approvingly, missing her straw with her mouth a few times.

“Okay. I’m gonna get this one out of here. Do you two need a ride?” he asks Margot and Blythe.

“No, Top’s coming. We’ll drop Margot off,” Blythe says, looking the most sober out of all three of you, which puts Rafe at ease.

“Want me to wait with y’all ‘til he gets here?” Rafe asks, eyes not leaving your face even though the question isn’t for you.

“No, he’s on his way. We’re fine,” Blythe waves him off. “See you guys later. Please make her take her make-up off.”

That’s good enough for Rafe, but he feels better once the two of you are outside and he spots Topper’s Jeep pulling up, too.

You’re stumbling down the street next to Rafe like a baby deer on a frozen lake, cooing once you spot Topper’s car, too. “Look at him. He’s such a good boyfriend. I love Topper.”

“Um, hello? What about me?”

“What about you?” you ask, seriously, pulling the both of you to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “Dude, my feet hurt.”

“Your own good boyfriend brought your flip flops in the car, dude, which we are very close to,” Rafe reminds you patiently.

“Too far,” you say, shaking your head. “Gimme a sec.”

You hold Rafe’s arm while you start slipping your platforms off. Rafe rolls his eyes with a smile, readjusting the arm he had around your waist until you’re secure enough to be lifted off the ground.

You yelp, giggling. “Rafe!”

“I’m not letting you walk down the street barefoot. You’d kill me tomorrow if I let you touch the carpet when we’re home,” he explains, towing you along. “And my truck is literally right here.”

“You’re so strong. Big boy,” you giggle, letting out a hiccup. “With his big truck.”

“Get in the big truck,” he says, letting you down and opening the passenger’s side door.

“Yessir,” you say, making no move to actually do so. Rafe figured you’d do as much, already helping you inside.

“I want that seatbelt on by the time I get in, sweet girl.”

“Okay. Wait, I forgot,” you say, looking at him in panic.

“What? Forgot what? I have your purse—”

He’s cut off when you pull him in for a sloppy, giggly kiss, pulling back to smile before smacking one more on his lips, then patting his head. “Alright. Good to go.”

“You’re too much. Seatbelt,” he commands, wiping your lip gloss off of his lips (and chin, your aim might’ve been a little off) as he circles around his truck to get you guys out of there. “How was girls’ night?”

“So fun!” you gasp, like you just remembered what you were doing earlier. You lean closer to him over the center console, your seatbelt almost put on correctly. “Oh my god, so fun.”

Rafe reaches over, making sure the chest strap is actually across your chest before starting the car. “I can tell—you’re comin’ in hot.”

“You’re hot.”

“Thank you,” he laughs. “Oh, hey.”

He nudges your elbow off the center console, opening it to present your water bottle. Your eyes widen. “M’obsessed with you right now.”

“Drink some for me, will you?”

“Aye aye,” you salute, doing as he asks, managing to only let a little of it dribble down your chin. Rafe just smiles and shakes his head, finally pulling away from the bar.

“What’d you do while I was gone? Also, can I have another kiss?” you request.

“I’m driving. Next red light, promise.”

“Fine,” you concede, sounding like you just committed to a business deal.

“Just worked on your bookshelf all night.”

Rafe had taken one look at the bookshelf you wanted to order online for your new place and scoffed, telling you to give him a month and he could make you an identical one, but with better wood that’d last forever. He’d been parking his truck in the driveway for weeks now so he could free up some garage space to work on it.

(You secretly hoped it’d never be done, fully resigned to leaving your books in their current stacks on the living room floor by your desk if it meant you got to watch Rafe build you something, wearing an old t-shirt and listening to his dad music. The new buzzcut and scruff was a definite plus to the entire look.)

“Wait, you’re so cute,” you whine. Rafe looks over at the next light, and your lip is wobbling. “I love you.”

“I love you. Please don’t cry,” he laughs, leaning over. “C’mere.”

You get your promised peck, reaching up and kissing his forehead, too, before he has to focus on the road again. He doesn’t bother wiping off the lip gloss this time.

“How’s it coming?”

“Good. I think you’re gonna like it better than the one on the website.”

“Of course I am,” you agree, giving him a dopey smile. “You made it.”

“You are bombed right now.”

“So?” you slur, attempting to unscrew your water bottle again. “What’re you gonna do? Call Shoupe on me?”

“Maybe.”

“S’long as you bail me out after,” you concede, finally remembering you wanted to kick your shoes off.

“You got it?” Rafe asks, after you struggle for a few seconds.

“Erm, just—yep,” you sigh, finally relaxing in victory. “So much better. But you’re gonna have to carry me inside now, too. These aren’t going back on.”

“Wear more comfortable shoes next girls’ night,” he laughs.

“No more girls’ night,” you shake your head.

“No?” He raises his eyebrows. “I thought you had fun.”

“Nuh-uh. Missed you too much. You always know the best drinks to order me.”

Rafe squeezes your knee, feeling fond. “Just text me next time, baby. I got you.”

“I know,” you smile, before furrowing your eyebrows when you notice what street he’s driving down. “Bestie, where are we going? We don’t live this way.”

“First of all, I’m not your bestie.”

“What? Yes you are,” you argue. “You’re my best friend, Rafe. You told me I was yours, too.”

“Yeah, you are,” he says in assurance. “But you call everyone bestie.”

“I just have so many. You’re all my besties.”

“Right,” he nods. “But not me. You call Kelce bestie. I’m not on the same level. Call me something else.”

“Whatever you say, baby boy,” you say, laughing when he rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t claw my way out of the friend zone after all this time just to get called bestie,” he grumbles.

“Ew, Rafe! I told you that’s gross,” you accuse.

“I know, I know.”

“But seriously, where are you taking me? I’m tired,” you groan, looking out the window and then pointing your thumb behind you. “And our house is that-a-way.”

“I know it is. But Papi’s is this way.”

“Papi’s?” you gasp in excitement, sitting up straighter. “Are we getting food?”

“Yes,” he says, playing along and matching your enthusiasm. “I called in your nachos before I left to get you.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, you said you wanted nachos, right?”

You lean over the console again, your cheek kiss landing closer to his ear. More lipgloss. “I really love you. Did you get veggie?”

“Of course I got veggie. Who do you take me for, Y/l/n?” he teases, pulling into the parking lot. You didn’t say anything back, and Rafe looks over at you again when he finally parks, sighing when he sees your watery eyes. “Baby, what did I say about crying?”

You sniffle. “You got me nachos.”

“I did.”

“And I love you.”

“You do.”

“And you’re perfect.”

“Well—”

“And you’re building me a bookshelf.”

“I am.”

“And you love me?” you ask, looking serious. Rafe resists rolling his eyes, because—what a stupid question.

“‘Course I do.”

so beautiful and handsome i can’t

Rafe Cameron in every episode of Outer Banks — 2.01 'The Gold'

Euro Trip: the epilogue

a/n alright, you twisted my hand. I’m about to reread this real time w u guys so lets make it fun and do a bit of reminiscing together 😁

wc 20.1K lmao

Rafe Cameron wasn’t certain that he would ever get used to this feeling.

The thought crossed his mind on an uneventful, Sunday night; one that was occurring as Sunday nights usually did. You – splayed across that shaggy, retro rug that you “absolutely had to get, Rafael!” from Etsy, poring over the bright screen of your laptop through those blue light glasses he so adored. Him – forcing the air out of his nose noncommittally, the way he tended to do when something was mildly amusing, but not funny enough to warrant a full blown chuckle. Him, again (this time, on occasion) – hazarding a glance at your tired figure; catching you work through the n-th draft of an assignment, or the bills, or old emails, or that weathered study guide that you knew off by heart, anyway. 

Why you felt the need to do all of your work on the floor, Rafe Cameron would never understand. You had a perfectly sturdy desk, one he had built you – “with my bare fucking hands, baby” – the same day that you had moved in. You had a perfectly modest double bed (though you were sure a single would have sufficed; the way Rafe blanketed you, and pulled you onto his side, every single night). The Arts library was a perfectly convenient five minute walk away; it was well-stocked, well-insulated, and well-protected from the rowdy frat boys that inhabited your residence every Friday. And most importantly, you had a perfectly enamoured hometown boyfriend with a knack for soothing those forehead creases you got when you were a little more stressed than usual. His arms were strong, and his torso broad; he made for the perfect, makeshift seat, one that held endless comfort – fingers carding through your hair, thumb brushing over the contour of your cheek, lazy kisses pressed onto your temple, small circles traced into your skin. And yet, you worked – diligently, he’ll give you that – on the boring old Etsy rug that you had purchased two years and five months ago, on a whim. You’d spent so very long perfecting the position that your figure was beginning to cave it’s surface; it was more than a little flattened, at this stage, and your body was it’s favourite callus. Though the peculiarity of this comparison wasn’t lost on Rafe, he maintained that it was the only word, really, that he could find to describe it. The space your body inhabited was a friction-addled surface, similar to the callus that notched your ring finger; the same space where you rest your blue pen, when it wasn’t annotating, or editing, or rewriting, or – God, did you ever relax?

“Y/n/n.” Rafe hummed, lifting his head from the arch of your back – his favourite spot. “What exactly are you doing?”

You knitted your brow, shaking your head absently. “Nothing.”

“Exams finished last week, yeah?” Rafe chided, shifting slightly to better survey your features. “So why’re you still hunched over like that?”

Above him, the sky was periwinkle blue – like it always was – and twilight was beginning to smear it’s surface was careless daubs of silver. In his periphery, the horizon hung low – like it always did – and sunbeams dipped in and out of your room like golden bullets. And sitting an arm’s length away – like you always were – was his dream girl, curls tousled just a little, lips puckered pink, cheeks rosied just right, fingers fiddling with his signet ring. Everything was as it was last Sunday, and the Sunday before that, and the Sunday that occurred two Sundays ago, and that one Sunday you braved a trip to the supermarket at midnight. And still, as Rafe Cameron took in the scene – the ‘this feeling’ in question, in all it’s mundane glory — he wasn’t certain that he would ever get used to it.

The furrow in your brow deepened, and it was enough to straighten Rafe with a jolt. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You added sternly, feeling a strong arm circle your waist. “Seriously. Nothing.”

“Sweetheart –”

Rafe lifted you up and pulled you into his lap, registering the haste with which you scrambled to hide the screen. “ – you know I’m going to worry about it.”

You couldn’t help but pout a little at that, though Rafe’s certain the doe-eyed display had an ulterior motive. “Fine. Then worry about it. But if you expect me to worry about you worrying about it —”

Rafe attempted to force a falter through a particularly indignant huff, but despite his conviction, it’s resonance was slight; it failed to convey any real irritation, and you had him exactly where you wanted him. He tried to scowl (to keep the act going… adorable), and it was though he didn’t know that you had already clocked every single one of his tells — the low rumble of his chest as he suppressed a laugh, the little quirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth, the twinkle in his eye that so effortlessly mirrored yours, the defeated sigh on his lips as he realised: you’d won the argument before the argument had even begun. “ — then you’re about to be very disappointed, Rafael.”

Rafe pressed his tongue against his cheek, an endeared smirk adorning his features. He cocked his head to one side, marvelling at the sight of you in his arms, and after a single, infinitesimally long, beat, he purposefully dipped his head, and pressed wet kisses on every inch of your bare skin. “You could never disappoint me, sweetheart.”

“Right.” You breathed, shifting a little closer, tangling your legs a little tighter, and when your fingers found their way to his ruffled hair, Rafe Cameron’s thoughts rose to a clamour, and he was certain — so certain he swore it — that he would never get used to this feeling. 

Rafe brought his head back to eye-level, meeting your lips for a heady embrace. They parted obligingly as he made to deepen the kiss, breathy moans leaving little to the imagination — this was the favourite part of your day, the lawlessness with which you and your golden boy made out. He nipped at your bottom lip playfully, his bruising touch teasing the sweet spot between coy and handsy.

“Rafael.” You protested lamely, realising he had discovered your convenient lack of lingerie. “You have to go soon.”

Rafe let out a strangled groan, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “There’s just something about your nipples being this hard under my fucking sigma phi tee —”

“Rafe —”

“Alright, trouble.” He grinned, cupping your cheeks and kissing you slow. “Relax. I’m heading.”

You shimmed off his lap with a satisfied huff, arms folded across your chest, but mouth twisting mischievously, all the same. “Trouble. That’s new.”

“New good?” Rafe mused, guiding you back to your feet. “Or new like never-call-me-mommy-again?”

You crinkled your nose playfully, giving him that small smile that was reserved just for him. “New good.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you flushed right against his chest, letting out a surprised squeal as he began to palm your ass. With a small pout, you nudged your nose against his chin, prompting him to tilt his head so you could peppering lazy kisses along the contour of his jaw.

“Baby.” You frowned, making a face as you hit a particularly scratchy patch of stubble. “You need to shave.”

“Oh?” Rafe teased, roughing it against your soft cheeks. “Last time I heard that, I lost 500 bucks.”

“That porn stache didn’t go with my dress.” You argued, jutting out your bottom lip obstinately. “It didn’t go with your suit, either —”

“And what about your dress for tomorrow?” 

Rafe cocked his head to one side, feeling like the same, bright-eyed sixteen year old that had agonised over a certain, baby blue number, so many years ago. “Does it go with that, dream girl?”

“Nice try.” You quipped, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

Rafe slipped his hand back under your (his) shirt, allowing a pause to lazily cup your breast. “Or I can see right now —”

“At the dry cleaners.” You managed to swallow, palms pressed against his torso with every ounce of conviction you could muster. “My mom’s picking it up when she arrives —”

You sucked in a sharp breath — Rafe’s forefinger had made contact with your nipple, again, the worn curve of his emerald ring kissing the valley of your breasts.  “Rafael.”

“I don’t get why I can’t just stay.” Rafe protested, breaking contact reluctantly. “Wanna feel you, baby.”

You let out an exasperated scoff, fingers flying to the silver chain adorning your nape. “Graduation is tomorrow.”

“Yeah, graduation.” Rafe emphasised, making a mental note to ask Topper and Kelce for dress clues before he left. “Not our fucking wedding.”

“Our wedding?” You repeated, cocking your head to one side — teasing. “How can you be so sure we’re going to get married, Rafael?”

It was a silly question, really; you knew it, Rafe Cameron knew it, and the constellation of stars above you most definitely knew it. They decorated the purple sky like argent pearls, and as they registered the — near rhetorical, Rafe would argue vehemently; the answer far too obvious to be anything but — question, they flickered through the air lightning; almost threatening you, daring you to continue. 

They knew better than anyone the ardency of Rafe’s feelings, and though his actions spoke for themselves, they had admired them diligently, from the sidelines; a curt nudge here, a slight straighten there, all in the name of love — in the name of you, it’s very definition.

“Because, sweetheart.” Rafe murmured, his gaze impossibly intense — your knees weak, feeling on the edge of seventeen, again. “Fate wouldn’t let you leave, even if you tried.”

You let out a little laugh at that, shaking your head bemusedly. “Three years later and you’re still the same lover boy, huh?”

“Always.” Rafe nodded sagely, pressing one last, chaste kiss on your temple before stepping backward. “So what time tomorrow?”

“My parents are arriving at 9am, I think.” You responded, expression unreadable as you hazarded a glance at your laptop. “And my ceremony is at 10. And yours is at —”

“— 12.” Rafe affirmed, gently catching your wrist. “Yeah.”

“And Ward and Rose are coming at…” You faltered, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to concentrate. “…11.30?”

Rafe felt his features soften, a familiar thrum steadying his chest. He loved how attentive you always were; the intention with which you committed the details of his life to memory. Everything from his class schedule to his favourite parking spot on campus was neatly filed in the Rafe Cameron folder of your brain; sizeable enough to fill you to the brim — a fact you weren’t sure you minded, especially not with him. 

“Mm-hm.” Rafe nodded, ghosting over your knuckles with the phantom of his lips. “Oh, and —”

Rafe paused for a moment, speaking through a sheepish grin. “— I think Sar and Wheeze are coming after all.”

“Oh, of course!” You exclaimed, recalling the text message — can’t wait to celebrate you in a few days xo — Sarah had sent you not a day prior. “I’m glad, Rafael.”

“Me too.” Rafe admitted, feeling the tips of his ears redden. “But it’s not that big of a deal, really —”

“You’re graduating from college.” You interrupted, tracing soothing circles into the skin of his palm. “Of course it’s a big deal.”

“Not to mention.” You added, tugging at his shirt collar to pull him close. “You have a killer job lined up —”

“That doesn’t count, it’s with my fucking dad —”

“ — up.” You continued, raising your voice to drown out any interruptions. “As soon as you get outta here.”

“So yeah.” You finished, balancing on tip-toes to press a gentle kiss on his lips. “It is a big deal, hot shot.”

Rafe rolled his eyes in feigned exasperation, the blush blooming across his cheeks a dead giveaway. “You’re the one graduating with all A’s, baby.”

“Oh, yeah.” You coughed, chewing at your bottom lip nervously. “It’s not, uh —”

You cringed at the forced falter, swallowing the near imperceptible quaver to your tone. “ — yeah. Excited.”

Rafe knitted his brow, bowing his head to eye-level. “Sweetheart…”

He trailed off with a small sigh, searching your features in earnest. “…something’s on your mind.”

“Something to do with —” He paused, jerking a forefinger toward your still-open laptop. “— that.”

You grimaced, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. “Listen, it’s —”

“No way.” Rafe interrupted, stern. “No avoiding. Not with me.”

You had come a long — long — way from the timid girl who had broken his heart so many years ago. You no longer collapsed into yourself at the first sign of adversity, nor attempted to hide the truth from your favourite confidantes. When you cried, it was loud, and it was unabashed — you allowed yourself to feel everything fully, and when all was said and done, you afforded your friends the luxury of helping you back to your feet. You had come a long way, and your golden boy couldn’t be prouder. That didn’t stop you succumbing to the occasional slip; even the most determined of individuals weren’t immune to relapse. I’m not perfect, you would reason, and I don’t pretend to be, and — what was that saying? The one people tended to use before making bad decisions? Ah. Old habits, die hard.

“Seriously, Rafe.” You frowned, your features languid — pleading. “It’s nothing, okay?”

“Y/n.” Rafe warned, your wrists clasped against his chest in pre-emptive determination. “If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to go ahead and check —”

“Go on then.” You goaded, wriggling out of his grasp to cross your arms across your chest. “Read my emails. You wouldn’t.”

“Oh?” Rafe pressed, narrowing his eyes. “So it’s an email, then? What is it about?”

He chewed at his bottom lip thoughtfully, his mind moving a mile a minute. His contact with you had been frustratingly minimal over the last few weeks — a decision that was entirely your doing; intent on performing your very best on your exams (and your golden boy performing the same). Time had blurred into a haze of late nights and copious amounts of coffee; he was still catching up on sleep, and his restless brain was only encouraging the whisper of what-ifs. 

You offered him a simple, half-shrug, in response, stubbornly gesturing toward your laptop screen. “Why don’t you just go ahead and have a look?”

Your voice was saccharine sweet, your words strangely permissive, and yet, Rafe Cameron didn’t dare budge. You did this often. So often he was T-1 admonishments close to finding it almost endearing. Unbelievable. Was he ever going to get used to this feeling?

“Alright.” He sighed finally, reaching toward your desk to grab a green claw clip. The action alone was enough to prompt a small pout, your head tilting a little, allowing Rafe to bunch up your wild curls and twist them into an up-do. He had always been attentive, in that way; registering your frustrated huffs before you did, the way you kinked your neck when their presence grew abrasive. “You win.”

You furrowed your brow, palms splaying his chest. “Rafael, I —”

You hesitated, biting the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood. The words you wanted to say, and the words you should say, were separating at lightning speed; it was late, and the din now distant — maybe tomorrow. Maybe not today. 

“ — tomorrow, okay?” You proffered, swallowing the want’s, and then swallowing the should’s, as though you couldn’t feel the foreboding ache settling into every crevice of your chest. “After graduation. Tomorrow.”

“You can lean on me, you know?” Rafe frowned, thumbing at the soft skin of your cheek. “I love you, always.”

You allowed your eyes to close, leaning into his touch, the way you always did. “I love you, always.”

—

“Mom.” You groaned, letting out an exasperated huff. “Stop. I’m fine.”

“You should have given me more time.” Your mother tutted, choosing to ignore your protests in favour of pulling, and tugging, and pulling-and-tugging, and readjusting, and… well, and treating the affair with almost as much remonstrance as she did Midsummer’s. “I could have gotten this tailored, I mean honestly, Y/n, the fabric is beginning to bunch up right —”

She tweaked the beaded tulle that began at your waist, pinching the bridge of her nose frustratedly. “ — here, and the corset is showing —”

She curled a forefinger into the space above your breastbone, attempting to shimmy the far-too-tight for-your-(read: Rafe’s)-own-good garment loose. “ — far too much, and —”

“Respectfully.” Rafe grinned, leaning his shoulder into the space where the room door hinged. “I think she looks perfect, Mrs. Y/l/n.”

He looked ruggedly handsome, as always, all 6’4 of carelessly gelled hair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and biceps flexing his dress shirt taut as he folded them across his chest.

“Rafe!” Your mother gushed, eager to pull him into a hug. “How are you, dear?”

Rafe happily obliged, tucking his chin over your mother’s shoulder to allow his eyes free reign over your figure. “I’m good, Evelyn. How are you? Where’s Bill?”

“He’s just popped out to grab us some coffee.” Evelyn responded, leaning backward with a twinkle in her eye. “When are Ward and Rose arriving, sweetheart?”

“A little later — my ceremony isn’t till noon.” Rafe explained, absently popping his shirt collar. “Found some seats with Topper and Kelco to cheer on our girl, though.”

“Ah.” Your mother beamed, casting you a meaningful look before clearing her throat. “Right, well, I better go find those boys. It’s been far far too long.”

“Yeah mom.” You nodded keenly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Go. Please go.”

Rafe Cameron, ever the gentleman, waited until your mother disappeared out of sight to close the space between you. You remembered how much the opposite he used to be; a douchebag with — what appeared to be — zero regard for the girls he pressed into hidden corners of his house, or shamelessly pulled into his lap, or guided upstairs with that stupid conceited smirk. You remember how much you hated the way his lips quirked upward; it felt so very silly, now, in light of the warmth his presence brought your skin. 

“Hey, baby.” He breathed, crowding you against the opposing wall as soon as he got the chance. “So this is the dress, huh?”

“No, this is just something I threw on.” You quipped teasingly, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Rafael, it’s like, an hour till my ceremony. Of course this is the fucking dress.”

Rafe tucked his forefinger over the lilac corset, his free palm gripping the curve of your waist. “So that’s a no to letting me rip it right off you?”

He bowed his head ever so slightly, enjoying the way your breath hitched — even now, so very many years later — at his proximity. “Because that’s all I can think about right now, baby.”

“Rafael.” You swallowed, and his lips were inches away from yours, now, his unfastened buttons and popped shirt collar and that single strand that always managed to escape his gel taking you back to your hotel room in Florence. “Your buttons are undone.”

Your eyes flitted over his tinged lips and toward his open chest, registering the silver chain peeking out at his shoulder, and resisting the urge to use it’s shackles to tug him in for a breathy kiss.

“So do them up for me.” Rafe teased, his palm finding its way to your ass with an appreciative groan. “Jesus Y/n/n, why the fuck can I feel everything?”

“Material’s thin.” You mumbled lamely, tilting your chin obligingly as Rafe attached his lips to yours. “Rafael — lipstick —”

Rafe pulled away reluctantly, his eyes still half-closed as he wiped away its careless smear. “I don’t mind.”

“But I do.” You responded tersely, licking your thumb to remove the lipstick smudges that had — you weren’t sure how really, you were sure the kiss had only lasted a single beat, though time did appear to still when you lost yourself in such an embrace — found their way to Rafe’s stubbled jaw. “And Kelce and Top definitely do.”

“Our girl?” You added, mouth twitching mischievously. “And here I thought the Kook fucking prince was incapable of sharing.”

“Been three years since I was the Kook anything, sweetheart.” Rafe countered, dipping his head until his breath fanned the sweet spot under your earlobe. “But yeah. That was definitely for show. Don’t think I’ll ever be able to share you.”

You crinkled your nose a little at that, one palm pressed against his chest and the other entertwined with his. “C’mon.”

Giving your reflection one last, fleeting, once-over (“Don’t fucking bite your lip — how many fucking times… I — Jesus —”), you grabbed your regalia from its place on your desk, sliding it into the front pocket of Rafe’s dress pants before allowing him to guide you through the door.

Though the living room of your apartment wasn’t particularly full, the buoyancy its current inhabitants exuded was enough to knot your stomach. Squeezing Rafe’s hand tight, you halted at its very helm, not daring breathe too loud lest they register how nervous you were.

Kelce and Topper were in the middle of an avid conversation with your father — one he had roped them into forcibly, you imagined — donning the same, carelessly fitted graduation attire as your golden boy. Beside them, the beautiful figure of Chloe Peterson was gushing over the flower arrangements your mother had ordered for Midsummer’s, this year. Her and Kelce had become official two summers ago, affording her exactly two iterations of the infamous event to memorise every single one of it’s quirks. She had of course, passed with flying colours. You were fairly certain your mother would make Chloe her daughter-in-law, if she could. 

Rafe knitted his brow slightly, always honed in on your subtle tells. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

You weren’t. Things were moving entirely too quickly; you were here, now, and then you would be at the Ceremony, and then at your graduation party after that, and then in your room with Rafe, alone, and then — you would have to tell him the truth. You weren’t.

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, plastering on a smile. “C’mon.”

“Dad!” You greeted, sidling away from Rafe’s figure to pull him into a tight hug. “Hey.”

“There she is!” Your father exclaimed, grinning broadly as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “My beautiful girl.”

He pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, only pulling away once he was certain you were ready. “A toast?”

“Yes — but first.” Your mother frowned, reaching over to smooth out any, near non-existent creases. “Where’s your regalia, honey?”

“I’ll get it.” Rafe offered, giving you an encouraging nod. “You stay here and toast. I think I saw it in your room.”

He leaned in to give your lips a small peck, and it wasn’t the action itself that warmed your skin, it was the beautifully innate manner with which he did it — as though kissing you was the most natural thing in the world; as though kissing you was hard-wired into his DNA, somehow. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled, reaching over to give his hand a quick squeeze (it was all the explanation he needed; he knew exactly what it meant — hurry, Rafael. I miss you already). “Love you always.”

“Love you always.” Rafe echoed with a reassuring smile, stepping backward slowly before pivoting on his heel. “As you were!”

“Right.” Your father nodded, clearing his throat to conviction. “Does everyone have a glass?”

Topper was already pouring you a flute before your father had voiced the question, thrusting it into your chest with an affectionate smile playing on his lips. “Now they do.”

“To Y/n!” Your father saluted, words a little strained as they caught in his throat. “The brightest star in the Outer Banks.”

“No offense, boys.” Your father added with a cough, clapping a strong hand on Kelce’s shoulder. “You’re great kids, of course —”

“No, Mr. Y/l/n.” Kelce interrupted, and you swore there was a watery gleam in his eye — a trick of the light, you supposed; there was no way your best friend was crying, was there? “She is. We agree.”

He raised his champagne flute expectantly, his features softening as he met your eye. “To Y/n.”

“You guys are graduating today, too.” You added meekly, blushing crimson. “To all of us!”

“But especially to you.” Rafe murmured, the warmth of his embrace far more comforting than the regalia he wrapped around your figure, a moment later. “The most talented girl in the OBX, baby.”

“Cheers!” He added, clinking his flute against yours before taking a modest sip. “To Y/n!”

“And Rafael, and Top, and Kelce.” You quipped, pouting a little. “Stop, you guys. I’m already feeling enough emotions about today.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Your mother cooed, leaning forward to untuck your loose curls. “We’re just proud of you, is all.”

You tried to shake the flush right out of your cheeks, but there it remained – implacable as ever – for the rest of the day. It was there when your mother ushered you through the door of your apartment, there still when you bid Rafe farewell at the door. Amber acknowledged its presence as “shut up. Is that the new Anastasia blush? I absolutely have to steal it off you before the party tonight”, and when you crossed the stage to a loud holler of cheers, you were certain all the graduation photographer captured was your damned, crimson blush. 

It returned with a roar at Rafe’s ceremony an hour later, when he flashed you that roguish grin that made you feel sixteen and a little drunk. This time, however, it wasn’t splotchy and uncomfortable; it radiated across your cheeks in waves of adoration, feeling warm against your skin; feeling the very same as his gentle touch. 

“There they are!” You beamed, already waiting outside the ceremony hall when Rafe, Topper, and Kelce stepped into the sunshine. “Business graduates, baby!”

Your families surrounded your figure like a shroud, but Rafe wasn’t certain he’d ever seen someone so clearly. “And the hottest Arts graduate for fucking miles.”

“No offense.” He added teasingly, bumping his knuckle against Amber’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Graham.”

“And you, bud.” Amber smiled, bumping his shoulder right back. “Proud of us.”

She excused herself once Topper was in close proximity, giving your forearm a friendly squeeze before disappearing out of sight. 

“Hey.” Rafe mumbled, giving you that bashful smile he reserved just for you. “Think time stopped when you walked across, you know that?”

You crinkled your nose a little at that, tangling your fingers in his hair, and then, ruffling the gel right out. “Think we’re a little old for your comments now, aren’t we?”

“I mean.” You continued sagely, biting back a laugh. “You’re a graduate now, Rafael. You’re going to like… be going to your 9-5, not skipping 9am lectures –” 

“We are.” Rafe corrected, grinning broadly. “Together.”

He leaned in to kiss you slow, and you were too busy hoping to God that he didn’t clock the tension returning to your shoulders to fully enjoy it. “Together.”

—

Though the stress that came with a celebratory lunch with the Cameron family (at the most expensive restaurant on this side of town, no less) would have been the perfect excuse for your unusual behaviour, your — frustratingly perceptive; especially when it came to you — golden boy was simply not having a bar of it. 

After dropping your parents off at the airport, you and Rafe drove back to your apartment in silence; not the comfortable kind, nor the kind that promised solidarity, no — the tension was palpable, the silence heavy, and it swallowed the air around you like deadweight. Something was definitely troubling you, and this in turn, was troubling Rafe too.

You unbuckled your seatbelt as soon as the car stopped, acutely aware of Rafe’s watchful gaze, and eager to put as much as between it and you as possible. But Rafe’s stride was wider, his persistence resolute, and the love he had for you enough to force a halt.

“Stop.” Rafe started, resting his hands on the hood of his car to disallow your figure from pulling away. “Y/n…”

He trailed off with a defeated sigh, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “…it’s tomorrow now, baby.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, allowing yourself to feel — really feel — the comfort of his proximity, for what felt like the first time today. The knots in your shoulders began loosening, the muscle in your jaw a little more relaxed, and as your spine slumped against the side of his car, Rafe Cameron did the only thing he knew how to do — wrap you up in his arms and refuse to let go.

“Is it the future?” He murmured into your hair, his gentle remonstrance loud enough to be heard over the heavy bass. “Because, you’re going to be just fine, sweetheart, the museum would be lucky to have you over summer break.”

You shook your head slowly, wondering whether now was the right time, whether there would ever be a right time, whether you even had a choice at this stage, whether Rafe’s arms had always felt so much like home and whether they still would, after today.

“No, it’s not that.” You sighed, forcing yourself to straighten. “I, uh —”

You hesitated, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. “ — I applied to Duke.”

“Post-grad.” You explained, smiling small. “I got in. That was the email.”

“Y/n/n!” Rafe exclaimed, picking you up and twirling you around. “Are you kidding? That’s amazing, baby!”

He dipped his head to press wet kisses onto every inch of your face, unwilling to relent until he heard the beautiful sound of your giggle. 

“I — yeah, thank you.” You exhaled, scrunching up your nose a little. “I kinda did it on a whim, but I mean, they have an amazing Art History programme, and I think it’ll be a great place to do my Masters, you know?”

“Mm-hm.” Rafe nodded, grinning proudly. “Why didn’t you just tell me? This is great news!”

You furrowed your brow at that, peeling your eyes away from his figure to shift your gaze heavenward. Above you, a cloak of stars spangled the moonless sky, and you wondered whether they were responsible for the painful sense of nostalgia binding your chest.

“Because...” You swallowed, mouth going dry. “You’re moving back to the Outer Banks, and I’m staying right here.”

“I mean — I know Duke isn’t far.” You hurried, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to gather your thoughts. “But it’s not exactly close, either, not if you’re in the Eight and I’m further from it than UNC.”

You forced out a shaky breath, digging your palms into the soft skin of your cheeks. “I just… I know how excited you were to go home together, and to start your new job, and for me to start one too, and our lives to stay in sync like they have been for so long —”

“Stop.” Rafe frowned, gently catching your wrists. “Baby…”

He muffled his words by guiding your knuckles to his lips, pressing kiss after gentle kiss on their surface before holding them against his chest. “…our lives are always going to be in sync.”

He paused, bumping your chin with the pad of his thumb. “You — doing what you love? Infinitely more important than me. Infinitely more important than anything else.”

“Long distance, Rafael.” You mumbled, forehead puckered as you chewed at your bottom lip. “The degree is two years.”

“It won’t —” Rafe faltered, a flicker of something slight transforming his features. “ — okay, listen, I was going to wait till tomorrow, but —”

He smoothed out the shallow creases lining your forehead, free hand splaying the small of your back to guide you back into your seat. “ — come on. Let’s get you some peace of mind.”

Though the car ride back through the city brought the same disquiet as the one from the airport, it existed within a renewed sense of togetherness, now — Rafe’s comforting grip on your thigh, chaste kisses on your temple at red lights, palm resting atop his on the gear stick, soothing circles traced into your bare skin. By the time he had pulled into an unknown street and parked beside an unknown house, your phone was beginning to blow up with expectant messages from Topper and Kelce. With a small frown, you slid it back into your handbag, knowing whatever Rafe had to show you was entirely more important than a stupid party.

“C’mon.” Rafe encouraged, having jogged to your side of the car and opened the door for you. “I want to show you something.”

He took your hand in his and guided you to your feet, locking the car with a jingle of his keys, and, you noticed bemusedly — knowing their home was in his back pocket — keeping them in his clutches. 

“Show me something?” You echoed, tucking into his side and circling his waist (or what appeared to be a valiant effort at doing so — his broad torso stretching your limbs). “In Raleigh?”

He made a big show of zipping his lips and throwing away the key, shaking his head slowly before making for the house in front of which he had parked.

“Rafael…” You fretted, eyes widening. “Why are we walking toward an empty house?”

“We’re not.” Rafe responded cryptically, quirking an eyebrow at your expression. “It’s not empty. It’s fully furnished.”

“Rafael —”

“You’ll see, sweetheart.” Rafe chided, halting at the threshold to shimmy the house key free. “Ah — this one.”

He pushed it through the keyhole and unlocked the door, and still, his lips remained diligently sealed.

“Here.” He smiled, pawing at the wall on his left for a moment before finding the light switch for the hallway. “Home.”

He pressed his forefinger against your lips before you had a chance to respond, his emerald ring glinting where it reflected your wide eyes — illuminating the many questions that swam within its depths. “Let me just show you around, first, yeah?”

He took you through the perfectly sized foyer into the perfectly sized living room, the same one that was painted a perfect shade of porcelain white and perfectly contrasted the gorgeous brown oak panels that vaulted it’s perfectly high ceiling. To his right, a perfectly large kitchen welcomed you in with minimal clutter, its wide, black marble countertop a perfect display for a bunch of perfectly picked, baby pink peonies. Just behind him, a perfectly slatted set of wooden stairs was illuminated with the golden glow of hidden lights, their destination a perfectly zen bathroom, two perfectly sized bedrooms, and in the latter — a perfectly designed en-suite with an expertly carved, marble toothbrush holder, already containing a perfectly worn set of suspiciously familiar toothbrushes.

“So?” Rafe questioned nervously, surveying your features in earnest. “Do you like it?”

Your perfectly golden hometown boyfriend had bought you the perfect first home to move into after graduation, and all you could manage was a far from perfect: “I —”

You allowed a pause to gather your thoughts, unsure if you were capable of articulating them just yet. “ — Rafael… I — I don’t know what to say.”

“It was just meant to be for the summer.” Rafe hurried, tugging at his shirt collar nervously. “The house I wanted to show you is in the Eight. I was going to get it renovated over summer for us to move intojust after, but I thought I’d find a house for us to rent —” 

He gestured toward the large living room, heartbeat threatening to thrum right out of his chest. “— in the meanwhile.”

“But since it’s close to Duke.” He continued, chewing at his bottom lip thoughtfully. “We can just stay here, after summer break, and I can put a pause on renovations — at least for now — and maybe talk to my dad about working from home.”

“Rafael.” You breathed, lips parting slightly. “I — when did you manage to do all this?”

“It’s been on my mind for a while.” Rafe admitted, offering you a sheepish, half-grin. “Asking you to move in with me after college was always my plan.”

“And sure, it’s a little different to how I imagined.” He added, bumping your chin to kiss you slow. “But when does anything ever go to plan when it comes to us?”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, flushing your back against his chest as he tucked his chin over your shoulder. “We can stay here together till you’re done with your Masters.”

“And then.” He lilted, shifting your curls away to pepper bruising kisses on your nape. “We can move back home and make you the hottest milf on the OBX, yeah?”

You smiled a little at that, cupping the stubble on his jaw as he continued his assault on your soft skin. “I absolutely don’t deserve you, you know that?”

“You deserve this and more, sweetheart.” Rafe frowned, whirling you around and guiding your arms around his neck. “So… is that a yes?”

You knitted your brow in mock concentration, allowing a pause before leaning in to nip at his bottom lip. “Of course it’s a yes, Rafael.”

Rafe let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his bright eyes bedecked by the fated twinkle of distant stars. “We’re moving in together, baby.”

“Mm-hm.” You affirmed, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “We’re moving in together.”

And wasn’t it? The most natural thing in the world? Wasn’t this moment so very blanketed by fate that you felt silly for ever doubting its omnipresence? In a world of star-crossed lovers, and organised mess, you and Rafe Cameron remained the one thing the twilit sky had accurately predicted. And they’d be damned if they let you go – they’d be damned, and you knew it, too.

—

You should’ve known it the minute Sarah insisted you accompany her to her favourite nail salon on the mainland. Scratch that – you should’ve known it the minute prior.

“You should go.” Rafe suggested, trying his very best – and failing miserably, Sarah would later proffer – to feign nonchalance. “We weren’t going to do anything today, anyway, were we?”

You crinkled your nose a little at that, knowing your plans – or more specifically, lack thereof – were entirely his doing. The ride to Tannyhill had consisted of suggestion after (admittedly, poorly tailored) suggestion of a Figure Eight itinerary: a visit to all your favourite haunts, a scoop – single in a cup, as Rafe had discovered so many (nearly six, you thought with a soar) years ago – of mint choc chip, a leisurely stroll along the beach, the OBX sunset caught on film. Despite the allure of a blissfully free day in your presence, Rafe Cameron had remained resolute, rolling through every possible iteration of the word “No” before pulling into his childhood home with a distracted huff.

“Let’s just –” He had paused here, jogging to the passenger’s side (as a way to release some nervous energy, you realised now) to open the door for you. “ – see how we go, yeah?”

He had locked the Ford GT, and that had been that. You would see how things go – and boy, were things going.

“Mm-hm.” You nodded finally, making to wriggle out of his grasp to wrap Sarah up in a hug. “Sar’s better company than you anyway, Rafael.”

Rafe’s grip only tightened at the action, tongue pressed against his cheek as he lowered his voice to a near inaudible lilt. “Didn’t sound like it this morning.”

Your eyes widened at the quip, fingers flying to your lips instinctively – still bruised by the phantom of his. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah.” Rafe grinned, bowing his head ever so slightly. “But you love me anyway.”

“Unfortunately.” You grumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him slow. “What are you going to do all day?”

Rafe faltered momentarily, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “Probably find my dad.”

“Your dad?” You echoed, concern manifesting through the characteristic way your fingers found his signet ring. “But it’s the weekend.”

“To catch up, sweetheart.” Rafe laughed, carding his fingers through his hair and hoping to God you didn’t clock their nervous tremble. “Not business. Swear it.”

A lot was riding on today, and his worrying lack of composure was doing little to help his cause. He hadn’t so much as done a promposal, before, let alone a –

He swallowed dryly, knowing the mere mention of the term would swirl his half-chewed breakfast right into his throat. “But I’ll see you back here in the afternoon anyway, yeah?”

“That long?” You frowned, casting Sarah a meaningful look. “Are we running errands too, Sar?”

“Yeah.” Sarah responded quickly, grimacing as she registered the eagerness lacing her tone. “Uh, yeah. We can get lunch too, we’re only due back when –”

“Didn’t you say you booked for 10am, Sarah?” Rafe coughed, eyes widening pointedly. “You guys should probably head if you wanna catch the 9.30 ferry.”

You whirled around bemusedly, placing your hands on your hips. “Rafael, when the fuck did she say –”

“Yeah.” Sarah interrupted, linking your arm with a vigorous head nod. “I’ve always booked for 10, just like our mom. That’s how you know, right Rafe?”

You features softened at the mention of Rafe’s mother, reaching backward to give his hand a comforting squeeze. “I’ll see you later then, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Rafe exhaled, smiling small. “Counting down to it, sweetheart.”

No, I’m not. I’m absolutely, positively, shitting it.

He waved you down the driveway and into Sarah’s VW Golf, fighting the very real urge to tug at the now-empty space behind his head. His hair was a little floppier than it was back in college; he had grown into his blonde locks with grace, and they “shouldn’t be hidden by that faded Knights logo, I don’t care how sure you are that they’re going to qualify this year” — so hidden, they weren’t. Not often, at least, with the baseball cap’s occasional appearance reserved for golf with Noah, or the monthly barbecues that Kelce and Chloe liked to throw. His awareness of its absence had waned with age; he seldom employed his nervous tic, these days, much preferring the familiarity of your presence — that fragrant, lavender shampoo, that bergamot perfume that drove him absolutely crazy, your small smile, your bright eyes, your nimble fingers carding through his hair — to ease him through a particularly rough day. Today, however, it returned with a roar, and Rafe Cameron wondered whether this was how seventeen, once felt. 

He didn’t budge until Sarah’s car disappeared out of sight, and even then, a pause mantled the passage of time, forcing him to remain rooted to the spot. A beat passed, and then another, and still, there Rafe Cameron stood. He breathed in the purlieus of upper-class suburbia – cavalier birdsong, the near imperceptible sound of traffic, even the effervescence of foamy waves appeared far more pretentious than he recalled.

The Eight had been his home for as long as he could remember, though he wasn’t sure he could say the same for Tannyhill. It was strangely nostalgic, being back here; at the threshold of his old life – one that represented his old self – with the prospect of starting anew. The low flutter in his chest permeated for an entirely different reason, the whir of thoughts in his mind rising to an entirely different clamour. 

“Rafe.” He muttered finally, pushing off the tiled windows that flocked either side of the entrance. “Fucking breathe.”

Letting out a shaky breath, he forced his figure to turn, moving through the house on autopilot before halting in front of his father’s study. When he rapped his knuckles against the door, he was almost surprised at how smooth their grooves appeared; disuse had allowed them to heal completely, their once calloused surface subject only to your touch, nowadays.

“Son, is that you?” Ward called, sharing a meaningful look with Rose before continuing. “Come in.”

Rafe nodded slowly, catching one wrist with the other — Shit, why was he shaking? Maybe he should’ve had a shot. Maybe he should’ve had two — as he made to turn the door handle. “Yeah, it’s just me.”

“And Y/n is…” Ward paused, clearing his throat awkwardly. “...Y/n, dear, are you here, too?”

“Just me, dad.” Rafe affirmed, an endeared smile tugging at his lips. “Rose with you?”

“Just made the last phone call.” Rose answered by way of greeting, pulling Rafe into a tight hug as he stepped through the door. “Oh, this is all so very exciting!”

“Thanks, Rose.” Rafe exhaled, allowing his shoulders to wilt, if only for a single moment. “Couldn’t have done it without you, seriously.”

“Both of you.” Rafe corrected, catching the gleam of something slight in his father’s eye. “Still got the ring?”

“In the safe.” Ward nodded, standing up to clap a firm hand on his shoulder. “Just upstairs.”

He gestured toward the exit, and for once in his life, Rafe was grateful for his father’s punishing grip — it was iron-clad, as he had been when he was younger, and it was the only reason Rafe was capable of shifting one foot in front of the other. “Rafe…”

He trailed off with an unwieldy cough, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “...how are you feeling, son?”

The sentiment alone was enough to force a falter, though Rafe was certain Ward’s softened features would’ve done it, had his words failed. They stood on the fourth step, just under the skylight, and burnt orange airbrushed Ward’s forehead creases into gentle oblivion – he appeared younger, somehow; the version of him that was once his mother’s. 

“I, uh –”

Rafe faltered, trying to remember the last time Ward had asked him that question. When he couldn’t, he didn’t seem to mind. It wasn’t a scathing revelation, nor particularly malicious, it was a guileless fact about their relationship – that just wasn’t how they operated; it never had been. 

“ – nervous.” Rafe admitted after a beat, absently threading his fingers through his hair. “I’ve always known, but…”

He trailed off with a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to gather his thoughts. “…this needs to be perfect, you know? She deserves nothing short of perfect.”

“And she’s already settled with me.” Rafe continued, raising his voice with a renewed sense of conviction. “She shouldn’t have to settle for a subpar proposal, too, or a subpar wedding, after that, or a –”

“Rafe.” Ward interrupted, his tone exact to the point of deliberation. “She hasn’t settled with you.”

And for the first time in his life, Rafe Cameron knew that his father meant it.

__

“Okay, stop.”

Sarah cringed at the stern lilt to your tone, attempting to fix her features before turning back toward you. “What’s up, Y/n/n?”

“Don’t play dumb.” You accused, narrowing your eyes punishingly. “You’re up to something. Spill it.”

Sarah fiddled with the raw hem of her denim shorts, twisting her manicured forefinger around a particular strand that was dangerously close to breaking loose. “No I’m not.”

You’re not?” You cajoled, raising an eyebrow. “Because we’ve been to the nail salon, and then we went to five different shops to find me a dress, for God knows what –”

“You should treat yourself more often, Y/n/n –”

“ – what, not to mention, every fucking dress I’ve tried on has been either been too long, or too short, or too purple, or too frilly, or just plain too Figure Eight for your highness to budge.”

The corners of Sarah’s mouth quirked up a little at that, allowing a pause before nodding toward the bag in your hand. “That one’s perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” You pressed irately, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sarah, Midsummers isn’t for a few weeks –”

“It’s always good to be prepared.” Sarah argued, jutting out her bottom lip obstinately. “And seeing Rafe in baby fucking pink –”

“Nope.” You interrupted, not letting her change the subject. “We’re getting off topic. Spill. It.”

Sarah offered you a simple, half-shrug, unwilling to relent. “Like I said. Not up to anything.”

“Sar.” You sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “It’s Rafael, isn’t it? You’re covering for him.”

You knitted your brow in concentration, attempting to gather your thoughts. “Is he secretly working today, or something? Because he promised me he would fucking take a break, and –”

“Yeah.” Sarah responded quickly, eager for an out. “Sorry, yeah. He told me to distract you so he could do some paperwork. Sorry, Y/n/n.”

“Of course he did.” You scoffed, letting out an exasperated huff. “I’m going to fucking kill him, he –”

“Can you kill him in like –” Sarah hazarded a glance at her watch, squinting slightly as she did the mental math. “ – an hour? So that he doesn’t kill me?”

You smiled a little at that, shaking your head bemusedly. “You’re a good sister, you know that?”

And an even better sister-in-law. T-2 hours, Y/n/n.

“I know.” Sarah grinned, propping her sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose. “C’mon, there’s this new sushi place by the water that I’ve been dying to try.”

“Of course there is.” You quipped, your eyes twinkling mischievously. “Just like the new nail salon you’ve been dying to go to, and the –”

“Hey!” Sarah admonished, poking her tongue out at you. “You love it.”

And it was true. You were willing to comb through every, single, Sarah Cameron-esque destination on the mainland in the name of augmenting your special bond. From Bloom (the only cafe for miles that made matcha lattes with – “there’s a pinch of cocaine in here. I swear to god.”) to Island Time (“Have you seen how big these almond croissants are? It’s criminal.”) to that one boutique on the corner of Fort Street that had changing room mirrors that “make your ass look bigger – trust me, they do.”, the older sister file in the back of your brain was growing with a marvellous swell. You had slotted into the Cameron family with such a characteristic ease that Rafe couldn’t help but wonder whether fate’s intentions extended past the love he had to give; whether they circled the people in his periphery – the promise of siblings, of sisters, of a big old, American family.

“True.” You agreed, bumping your hip against hers playfully. “Hey – how’s that kid you were seeing? Mason, or…?”

“Matt.” Sarah corrected, making a face. “Not good.”

You frowned, surveying her features carefully. “Lamest. How come?”

“He’s just –”

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut frustratedly, speaking through gritted teeth. “ – like every other frat boy I’ve had the displeasure of seeing. Extremely disappointing.”

“Oh no.” You winced, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to give it a comforting squeeze. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

Sarah faltered, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. “Because…”

She trailed off awkwardly, twisting and untwisting the golden, croissant ring she had inherited from her late grandmother. “…I don’t know. I guess I was embarrassed.”

Though you were the same height (if not a modest, half-inch shorter) as Sarah, your soothing touch was enough to flute her figure into your side; she buried her head into the crook of your neck, and slowly, you managed to coax out a frustrated sigh. 

“About what, Sar?” You encouraged, furrowing your brow. “You don’t have to be, not with me.”

“With Rafael, sure.” You added, lilting your tone teasingly – a languid attempt at lightening the mood. “But never – ever – with me, yeah?”

You felt her smile against your skin, and wondered whether it was because she had registered your use of her brother’s favourite form of punctuation – yeah? 

Over the past five years (and four months, and twelve days, and eight and a half minutes, and… you were fairly certain Rafe Cameron would pleat the passage of time till the n-th fraction of a millisecond, if he could), the clandestine phrase had found its way into your vocabulary; a fact so golden it quirked at Rafe’s lips every time it escaped yours – another part of him, tangled up in another part of you.

“How’d you crack it, Y/n?”

“Crack it?” You echoed, brows snapping together in confusion. “Crack what?”

“You know –” Sarah faltered for a moment, emphasising her words by means of vague gesticulations. “ – douchebags.”

You let out a little laugh at that, cheeks tinged pink as you teased your fingers through her blonde locks. “Like Rafael? My Rafael?”

“Mm-hm.” Sarah smiled wanly, casting you a wayward glance. “Like…”

She was quick to fix her features, keeling over dramatically and pretending to gag. “...your Rafael.”

“Hey.” You quipped, blush roaring back. “I thought you weren’t allowed to call him that.”

You slid your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, the intensity of your gaze stopping Sarah in her tracks. 

“To answer your question.” You started, speaking slow – with a gentle remonstrance. “You find one that isn’t actually a douchebag.”

You paused, smiling fondly. “A lovable douchebag, you know?”

“But –” Sarah faltered, her brow knitted in mock concentration. “ – my brother isn’t that, either, so –”

“Not too late for me to change my mind.” You lilted, fixing her with what you thought was a stern glare (read: an affectionate glance). “About going back to the Eight, I mean.”

“No way.” Sarah pressed, jerking her forefinger toward the bustle of cafes in the distance. “Sushi’s like, right there. Come on.”

She tugged you through dipping sunbeams and their intermittent, nebulous glow; flitting between tourons and locals alike until she arrived at the new restaurant. Once you were seated, and your orders placed, Sarah let out a relieved sigh. She knew all she had to do now was kill-time; an art form that tended to come naturally, when you were a Figure Eight legacy in the Outer Banks. 

It took her exactly half an hour to fill you in on all the Island Gossip you had missed, and a further thirty-five minutes to echo every single reproach it proffered. By the time you were onto the topic of Mrs. perfectly-preened-garden-with-a-white-picket-fence, who had managed to cheat on her husband with not one but two separate teachers from her son’s boarding school, the display on your watch read 2.30pm; the one on Rafe’s Cartier – 30 minutes till forever.

A fair few miles away, he was pacing the space between the pool and the deck, a dangerous tremor developing in his forefinger as it began the scroll through his contacts. The action was more to buy him time, than anything else; he was fairly certain your phone number was the first thing he had memorised, when the two of you had gotten together, punching it into his keypad almost muscle memory, at this stage. He forced out a shaky breath, willing his heartbeat to slow. Everything was ready. But what if you weren’t?

“Hold on, Sar.” You frowned, the familiar chorus of Lover resonating through the speaker of your phone where it sat face down beside your sushi bowl. “This is Rafael’s ringtone.”

You picked up the phone with a small scowl, forcing a breath of air through your nose — the way you tended to do, when you were particularly vexed with his actions — before answering. “Rafael.”

“Sweetheart?” Rafe greeted, the furrow in his brow audible. “What happened?”

“Dont play dumb.” You derided, letting out an indignant huff. “Sarah told me.”

“And don’t go blaming her either.” You added, almost feeling the irreverent curses threatening to roll off his tongue like bullets. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Rafe swallowed several times, giving his shirt collar a nervous tug. “Baby… I mean – it’s not just something I could tell you, it’s –”

“Right.” You scoffed, narrowing your eyes to a punishing degree. “Because you knew I’d be mad.”

Rafe froze, his features blanching. “Mad?”

“Yeah?” You glowered, wild gesticulations acting to spur you on. “You told me you weren’t going to do any work over the weekend, you’ve been –”

You paused, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. “ – you’ve been so busy recently, Rafael. I thought today was for us.”

“And that’s not to say I don’t love spending time with Sarah.” You added hurriedly, though the genuine smile you offered her was unnecessary – she’d known you for five years, now, and it was fair to say she loved you unconditionally. “But… I mean, even in the car, you were saying no to everything, and I was so excited because heading back to the Eight was your idea, and now…”

You trailed off, squeezing your eyes shut frustratedly. “…well now I know you only wanted to come to finish off some paperwork or something.”

“Sweetheart –”

“Am I wrong?” You argued, and Rafe knew you were folding your arms across your chest, now; he knew all of your little quirks off by heart. “Don’t sweetheart me, buddy, I’m mad.”

God, I’m so in love with you. All I can think about is how fucking hot you look when you’re mad. 

“I swear to you —” Rafe proffered, and you knew he was crossing his forefinger across his breastbone, now; you were fairly certain it was his most endearing quality — cross my heart and hope to die, baby. “ — that I was not finishing off paperwork.”

“I did say ‘or something’, too.” You scowled, unwilling to relent. “Rafael, if you’re calling to —”

“Ask you to come home?” Rafe interrupted, speaking through a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Come home, baby.”

He raised his voice just enough to pique Sarah’s interest, her eyes flitting past the row of Instagram stories on display to find the time in the top left hand corner. With a satisfied huff, she opened up the Snapchat app, hazarding a sneaky photo of you (captioned: T-30 💍) before sliding it back into her handbag with an admiring amount of circumspection. 

“You better have some burger shack ordered for when I arrive.” You grumbled, rising from your chair reluctantly. “With a milkshake and fries, no skimping.”

“Skimping?” Rafe echoed, pressing his tongue against his cheek — teasing. “Remember the first time I got you burger shack?”

“What?” You goaded, though a small smile was tugging at your lips — one that wistful, almost nostalgic; the same smile that appeared so very in awe of the years that had gone by, and so very aware of them, at the same time. It rang through Rafe’s speaker with a specific kind of sentimentality; the kind that comes with years and years of pining — the kind that seemed only to belong to you and him. “On our not-date?”

“Y/n/n.” Rafe lilted, absently fiddling with the emerald ring on his forefinger (a habit he had developed after catching you twisting and untwisting within those rare moments that you happened to get sick of the one adorning your nape). “You know I’d buy you burger shack if you wanted me to, right?”

“Well yeah, getting your girlfriend a burger is hardly —”

“No.” Rafe interrupted, shaking his head slowly — how did you still not get it, after all these years? How exactly were you still so painfully oblivious? “I’d buy you the burger shack — like, the restaurant. I’d buy you the whole fucking restaurant.”

“I’d buy you several restaurants.” Rafe added, chewing at his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I’d also buy you the Island Club, and then I’d buy you a big house on the beach, and then I’d buy you a —”

— big fat engagement ring. I already did that one, though. I did that one a few weeks ago.

“Rafael.” You warned, blushing crimson. “Don’t start with your little comments.”

“Rule #3?”

You paused, heartbeat quickening at the mention of the list you had once created in your efforts to avoid Rafe Cameron. The steady thrum in your chest was the same one you had felt in Paris, so many years ago; the same implacable thrum that had roared back in the Amalfi Coast, and then again in Florence — the same place Rafe had first won you over; the same place Rafe had first lost you, too. Though the latter appeared to vacillate its permanence, its flicker was as transient as the smatter of stars in the purple sky — the same stars that fate acknowledged, the same stars that dotted its vast expanse, today.

“Rule #3.”

—

“Here.” Sarah insisted, readjusting the straps of your dress for what felt like the millionth time today. “Let me just —”

“You’re going to make a perfect Figure Eight mom, one day, you know that?” You teased, swatting away her hand playfully. “Honestly, the way you’re fussing over me right now —”

“Hey.” Sarah admonished, though a mischievous grin was spreading across her face — betraying her. “You’re going to thank me for it. In exactly —”

She forced a falter at the threshold of Tannyhill, twisting her wrist to bring her watch displaying into view. “— ten minutes.”

You knitted your brow bemusedly, tilting your chin to better survey her features. “Huh?”

“You’ll see.” Sarah shrugged easily, a nervous excitement — the kind that almost scared you, but did so in the best way possible — lacing her tone. “Rafe! We’re here!”

Rafe’s figure stood a single stride away from yours; sweaty palms jammed into his front pockets (the back being off limits — stretched into the shape of a velvet box as it held the precious cargo) as he forced out a shaky breath. 

“Door’s open.” Rafe swallowed, resisting the urge to rake his fingers through his hair. “Come on in.”

You rolled your eyes preemptively, misreading the slight quaver to his tone. He’s nervous, you thought grimly, glad that he had the common decency to appear recreant at your arrival. Good. He should be. I’m going to fucking kill him. 

“Rafael.” You greeted shortly, folding your arms back across your chest once you had pushed open the door. “How was work?”

Rafe pressed his tongue against his cheek, an endeared smirk tugging at his lips. “Good.”

“Good?” You scoffed, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “You have some fucking nerve –”

You stepped forward with pupils flared, and when you punched a forefinger into his chest, all Rafe wanted to do was it – right here, right now, get down on one knee and lament the promise of forever. “ – telling me it was fucking good, after you –”

“Sweetheart?” Rafe coughed, casting Sarah a meaningful glance. “Can we go on a walk?”

“Fine.” You huffed irately, your narrow eyed gaze remaining unrelenting. “As I was saying, after you…”

Nodding obligingly, Rafe wrapped a strong arm around your shoulder, slotting you into his side before making for the shortcut to the beach. The conviction underlying your admonishments was admirable, and if Rafe wasn’t so distracted, he was sure that they would’ve transformed his features.

Unfortunately for you, however, they did the exact opposite. The trepid thrum in Rafe’s chest was rising to a dangerous clamour, and your words rendered white noise in the presence of the square-shaped bulge in his back-pocket. All he could focus on, really, was you; one foot in front of the other – you – breath in, and then out, again – you – a million different thoughts racing through his mind – you – the warmth of your skin, the bergamot smell of your perfume, the fiery twinkle in your eye – you, all of you. 

By the time you reached the edge of the beach, you were beginning to exhaust all possible avenues of reprimand. Your arms were beginning to unfold, your lips quirking just a little, and as you leaned into the comforting touch of your golden boy, the anger dissolving like white foam on golden sand. 

“Okay, m’done.” You exhaled finally, guiding his arm around your neck. “Where are we walking to?”

Your brows snapped together in concentration, attempting to guess the correct answer to your question. “Are we finally doing my OBX itinerary?”

“Not quite.” Rafe responded cryptically, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll see.”

“I’ll see?” You repeated bemusedly, shifting your gaze from the low horizon to the expanse of sand underlying your feet. “Wait a minute –”

You stumbled to a halt, registering a large, white gazebo billowing in the distance. “ – what’s that?”

“No clue.” Rafe lied, offering you a simple, half-shrug. “Should we go check it out?”

Your narrowed your eyes a little at that — since when did the Rafe Cameron offer to look at forgotten, old make-shift belvederes in lieu of tugging you toward that forgotten corner of the beach you had discovered in the summer following your Euro Trip? 

“Uh — okay?” You nodded, the curious lilt to your tone making it sound more like another question, than an answer to his. “I guess so?”

Replacing his grip on your waist, he stole you toward the gazebo, it’s curtained walls ballooning just a little as they caught the worst of the ocean breeze. The closer you got to the entrance, the more erratic Rafe’s gait appeared; reduced to just plain stumbling by the time you were taking the last few strides.

“What is with you?” You frowned, palms splaying his chest to steady him. “Did you have a drink with your dad, or something?”

No, sweetheart. Your presence is intoxicating enough.

“Shut up.” Race chided, playfully nudging your chin. “I just lost my balance, come on.”

Intertwining his fingers with yours, he allowed a pause at the threshold of the entrance, it’s yawning surface appearing far larger up close than it had done so many steps ago.

“Rafael…” You mused, registering how very comfortable he appeared — almost as though he’d been here before. “What’s going on?”

You glanced down at where your hands were clasped together, absently chewing at your bottom lip. “Why are you shaking?”

“Are you okay?” You frowned, cupping his jaw to tilt his head down toward you. “Rafe — what aren’t you telling me?”

Rafe let out a shaky breath, and when he reached for the missing bill of his missing backwards cap, he felt like the same seventeen year old boy who had drunkenly proffered his love for you, so many years ago. 

“I’m fine.” He assured you, the intensity of his brilliant blue gaze demanding a moment’s pause. “I — uh, I lied before.”

“I know what it’s for.” He continued, beckoning you forward. “I know because I’m the one who set it up.”

Shifting behind you, he pressed a palm on either shoulder, trying to ignore the anticipation swirling in his gut as he guided you through the curtained entrance. Sitting in the very middle of the space, a black projector emitted a single beam of bright light — fanning out over the high ceiling, appearing to scintillate with the same, characteristic speckle as that of the twilight sky. 

“This is the same spot of sand where you asked me if I was alright at the end of junior year.” Rafe murmured, resting your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “The same spot I realised you were it for me, you know?”

He allowed you a moment’s pause to bask in the revelation, your eyes flitting over the rest of your surroundings — looking for more clues, trying desperately (even after all these years) to stay in control. 

“And this projector.” He continued, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to jerk his forefinger toward it. “Cycles through photos of the night sky.”

He reached backward to close the curtained entrance completely, plunging the room into velvety darkness. The spangled ceiling was your only source of illumination now, currently frozen to an image of several, brilliantly silver constellations.

“This.” He murmured, pulling you into his chest. “Is how the sky looked that day in freshman year, when we first met.”

The projector flickered to a different image, this time, curtained by the presence of a crescent moon. “This one, is from the Thornton fundraiser before senior year.”

“Arguably our first date.” Rafe added teasingly, and as he pressed a chaste kiss on your temple, the image switched once again. “This one’s from the day Topper invited me on the trip.”

“And this one’s from the night we had our first kiss.”

The projector cycled through several more images of the starry, night sky — the day you first told him you loved him, the day you moved to UNC, the day he asked you to move in, the first day in your shared apartment — before stopping at a single, fated image with a purposeful whir.

“And this one.” Rafe breathed, admiringly discreet as he slipped the velvet box out of his back-pocket. “Is a prediction of how the sky is going to look tonight.”

“Tonight?” You repeated, frowning. “What’s happening tonight?”

Rafe shook his head slowly, giving the large rope to his left a purposeful tug. It undid the curtained walls and ceiling of the gazebo, allowing them to drape the golden sand beneath your feet. The mesmerising crash of ocean waves was brought back into view, and with it, the halo of sunbeams that so effortlessly circled your figure. 

You whirled around with a small start, lips parting slightly as you breathed in the wonderful sight. For a moment, you furrowed your brow — so used to gazing up at the figure of Rafe Cameron that you thought he had disappeared completely when he made to get down on one knee.

“There’s a party at the Island Club.” Rafe answered easily, his gentle voice bringing your gaze downward, just a little. “Rose and your mom planned it, actually.”

“Rafael.” You breathed, registering his popped knee, registering the velvet box in his hand, registering the nervous furrow in his brow, registering the small smile tugging at his lips. “What’s going on?”

“Sweetheart.” Rafe started, the steady thrum of his chest returning with a roar. “I feel like I’ve been planning this day in my head since fourteen year old you rejected me on the track.”

“It’s been over ten years since that happened, and you still give me the same butterflies you did when you first called me Rafael.”

He paused, taking in a long breath. “I’ve spent so many years now loving you, sweetheart, that I don’t think I’d be me without the way you make me feel.”

“I know that we say ‘Love you, always’.” He continued, the ocean breeze teasing through his blonde locks — ruffling them just a little, exactly the way you liked. “But I think it’s time we make that last word official, don’t you?”

He opened the velvet box, revealing a gorgeous, Venetian ring, it’s oval cut diamond glinting magnificently in the bright sunshine. “Y/n Y/l/n…”

He trailed off purposefully, giving you a moment to let out an audible gasp. “…will you marry me?”

“Rafael.” You breathed, and you were nodding your head, now, you were nodding your head with absolutely everything in you, you were nodding your head and you weren’t certain you would ever stop. “Rafael, of course. Of course I’ll marry you. I — yes. Yes.”

Rafe let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, steadying your shaky hand with his shaky hand and twisting the gorgeous, Tiffany rock onto your shaky ring finger using his shaky forefinger and shakier thumb and silently cursing himself for ever thinking you could say no and silently cursing you for being crazy enough to settle for little old him. 

Cupping his cheeks, you guided him back to his feet; your cheeks flushed, eyes impossibly bright, and as his strong arms circled your waist, heartbeat thrumming right out of his chest and into the warmth of his embrace, instead.

He kissed you with the same, dizzying sense of ardency as he always did, but it was a little wilder, this time — like he was trying to memorise how exactly a fiancé’s (his fiancé, he thought with a soar) lips should taste. 

“So.” You mumbled finally, lips puckered pink — bruised in that desperate way that hitched your breath, every time. “Doing some paperwork, huh?”

Rafe bit back an endeared smile, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “I mean, I was doing work.”

He allowed a purposeful pause, gesturing toward the crumpled gazebo behind you. “Just, not the kind you were thinking.”

Your eyes were still half-closed, but you knew those tiny crinkles were creasing the sides of his — you knew it the way you knew that the sky was blue, or that the Earth was round, or that the sun was just a bright star. You knew it the way you knew him; the way you always had, even all those years ago, when you would desperately pretend that you didn’t. “I forgive you, I guess.”

“Thank fuck.” Rafe grinned, exhaling dramatically. “Saying that your fiancé is mad at you sounds way worse than saying your girlfriend is.”

“Fiancé.” You echoed, doe-eyes catching his with that same, sweet disposition they possessed when you were kids. “We’re fiancés now.”

“I may be your fiancé.” Rafe lilted, pulling you close to kiss you slow. “But you’re still my dream girl.”

—

“Holy shit!” Amber shrieked, eyes widening as she dipped her head to examine the ring. “What is this, like twenty fucking carats?”

“Shut up.” You quipped, blushing crimson. “You know I have no idea.”

“It definitely did some serious damage.” Amber responded sagely, splaying your fingers before shifting them into plain sight. “Oi! Cameron! Nice job, buddy!”

“It was all me, Ambs!” Sarah chimed, absolutely beaming from across the Island Club. “As if my brother has enough taste to pick out an authentic Tiffany.”

“True.” Amber grinned, slowly shaking her head before turning back toward you. “I’m so so happy for you guys. Seriously.”

“We’re so so happy for you guys.” Topper corrected, coming up behind Amber and slinking his arms around her waist. “Dude. You’re getting married.”

He reached out to bump his knuckle against your shoulder, a genuine, almost reverent, smile tugging at his lips. “My best fucking friend is getting married.”

“So me and Top are obviously joint maid-of-honour…” Kelce lilted, his figure appearing at your side with two champagne flutes filled to the brim with bubbly. “…right?”

You bit back an appreciative giggle, furrowing your brow in feigned confusion. “Don’t let your girlfriend hear you say that, bud.”

“Hear him say what?” Chloe frowned, clinking her glass with yours as she leaned into your other side. “Kelco. Behave.”

You pretended to zip your lips and pocket the key, taking a long sip of champagne before looking around the Club. In typical, Figure Eight fashion, it appeared embarrassingly ostentatious, bedecked with grandiose floral arrangements, expensive plates of hors d'oeuvres, and fountains of the Island’s best Dom Pérignon. Usually, this fact would’ve been a source of significant chagrin. Today, you weren’t sure anything was capable of dulling your shine. 

Rafe was leaning against the drinks counter when you caught his eye from a distance, ruggedly handsome as ever, mid-roguish grin, a palm clapped against Noah’s shoulder as he raised his flute in acknowledgement.

“This is my engagement party.” Rafe felt himself repeat, unsure if he would ever get used to this feeling; unsure if he ever wanted to. “She’s my fucking fiancé.”

“Proud of you, Cameron.” Noah grinned, his bright eyes reflecting constellations — fate’s favourite messenger. “It’s been a long time coming.”

He shifted his gaze past Rafe’s figure, settling instead, on where your mother was attempting to steel you toward a crowd of people. “Oof. Trouble in paradise.”

A fair few steps away, you were dragging your feet against the hardwood floor.

“Mom.” You groaned, registering the individual at the very helm of the group. “I’m —”

“Sweetheart.” Your mother hissed discreetly, her lips barely moving as she spoke. “They are our family friends. You cannot avoid them forever.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose for a moment, nodding slowly before plastering in a smile. “James! Hey!”

“There she is!” James grinned, and in the distance, Rafe Cameron’s shoulders tensed. “Where’s the man of the hour?”

Rafe knew that you could hold your own, but he also knew that you shouldn’t have to. In this moment, he was the same boy from the Bonfire who had so effortlessly clocked the subtle change in your demeanour – he was sure James’ hug gave you today, teetered the same edge between comfort and unease, and the thought alone was enough to tighten his jaw to a punishing degree.  

“Ah, it really is a wonderful ring.” His mother acknowledged, taking your hand as you pulled away. “And your fiance is Ward’s son?”

“Rafael.” You affirmed, smiling broadly. “Yeah.”

“He was quite the character when you were all kids, we hear.” James’ father boomed, clearing his throat purposefully. “What did you say he does again, Evelyn?”

“He’s in development.” Your mother answered, frowning slightly as she spotted a near-empty plate of hors d'oeuvres in the distance. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me –” 

She had disappeared into the crowd before you had a chance to protest, and you found yourself cursing her generational roots for allowing her to become such an expert at flitting between familiar faces. “Yeah, he, uh, he’s working with Ward at the moment.”

“Ah, speaking of!” James’ father exclaimed, casting his mother a meaningful glance. “We simply must go speak to him and Rose, it’s been entirely too long.”

“It was lovely to see you, my dear.” He added, flashing you a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “And congratulations, once again!”

Once his wife had echoed the sentiment, he gave James’ shoulder a purposeful pat, muttering an inaudible comment that you swore involved the words “convenient” and “filthy rich” before heading back into the crowd. 

“So he’s working with his dad, then?” James established, offering you a sweet smile once his parents were out of sight. “Nepotism. That’s lovely.”

You hardened a little at that, wishing for a moment that you weren’t twenty-four with a gorgeous ring glinting on your finger, just so you could punch him a third time, for good measure. “How’s the summer internship at Johnson Law going, James?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s good.” James responded, absently tracing the rim of his champagne flute. “Glad I stuck with Law, you know? It’s been really rewarding.”

In the distance, Rafe felt his arm jerk against his side. He wondered if he could get away with tugging James’ out of the party by the obnoxious emblem sewed onto his shirt collar. 

“Good to hear.” You deadpanned, offering him a tight-lipped smile. “Anyway, I should –”

“Relax, Y/n, we’re still talking.” James’ dismissed, not letting you finish your sentence. “So you decided on a degree in…”

He trailed off with a furrowed brow, though the action appeared almost derisive as it transformed his features. “…making paintings?”

“Art History.” You corrected with a wince, biting the inside of your cheek. “Graduated with a Master of Arts, majoring in Art –”

“Whatever.” He jeered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Not that it matters.”

When you refused to rise to the bait, he let out a low bark of laughter. “Cause I mean, you’re going to end up being a stay-at-home mom, anyway, right? That’s the whole reason you married into one of the richest families on the Island?” 

“Excuse me?” You spluttered, keeling over a little as bubbly dripped down the rim of your flute. “What the fuck did you just say?”

You weren’t being particularly loud, nor startling enough to cause a scene, but the unease radiating from your figure blanketed Rafe like a spectral being; it sent a dangerous shudder down his spine, and his legs were taking him back toward you before his conscious mind had a chance to intervene. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of!” James simpered, his mouth twisting spitefully. “My mom’s stay-at-home, and so is yours, I guess you just weren’t cut out for –”

“ – a disciplinary hearing?” Rafe finished, circling your waist protectively — home. “Heard a funny little story about that from Amber, actually.”

A muscle in James’ jaw twitched, his next few words spoken through gritted teeth. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Rafe goaded, tucking you behind him before rolling his shoulders. “Selling kids coke and telling them it’s Ritalin isn’t the greatest look for a future lawyer, is it?”

His eyes flitted toward James’ knuckles, almost laughing at the way they blanched. “Really, buddy? At my engagement party?”

He allowed a purposeful pause, here, punching a forefinger into James’ breastbone until he was certain it would bruise. “Take a walk.”

“Now.” He snarled, his pupils dangerously flared. “Oh – and Johnson?”

He applied a punishing grip on James’ shoulder, only satisfied when he registered his subtle wince. “Y/n graduated with a Masters at the top of her fucking class, she’s got a killer job lined up as senior art curator of the museum her grandfather built, she’s going to Spain in a few months with some of the best people in her field, and she’s going to knock them right off their tenured asses once they realise how incredibly talented she is.”

“So don’t you dare –” He shoved James’ forward roughly, bumping a clenched fist into his back for good measure. “ – tell her what she is and isn’t cut out for. She’s already more successful than you’re ever going to be.”

James swallowed slightly at the sentiment, and when he disappeared into the crowd, his head was low, his shoulders wilted, and he left only a low mutter of inaudible curses in his wake. 

“Thank you.” You sighed, allowing yourself to fully relax. “I don’t know where that came from.”

Rafe frowned a little at that, pressing a chaste kiss on your temple. “He’s just bitter.”

“Amber told me he’s repeating his final year.” Rafe explained, slotting you back into his side protectively. “His father had to pay the school out to avoid expulsion.”

“Fucking hell.” You winced, shaking your head. “What a mess.”

“What a mess.” Rafe agreed, guiding you through the crowd before slowing to a stop in front of his best friend. “But enough about that motherfucker –”

“What motherfucker?” Noah asked, quirking an eyebrow bemusedly. “Johnson not bothering you, is he Y/n?”

“He was.” You pouted, leaning into Rafe’s side with a small smile tugging at your lips. “Gave Rafael his knight in shining armour moment though.”

You paused, the corners of your mouth twitching mischievously. “You know… the one I robbed him of at your party in our freshman year of college.”

“Would’ve been more satisfying if I’d thrown a punch.” Rafe grumbled, but he tilted your chin, all the same, kissing you hard – like it was the first time, all over again. “Six years later and he’s still the same douchebag, huh?”

“And you’re still the same lovable one.” You countered, crinkling your nose playfully. “Douchebag, I mean.”

When he let out an appreciative chuckle, you couldn’t help but do the same – when he was happy, so were you, and when you were happy? When you were happy, the stars above were, too.

“So… you should know.” Noah smiled, raising his arms to pull you into a tight hug. “That when you become a Cameron, you become a White by default, too.”

“Kid’s my brother, you know?” He added, and you pouted a little when you registered how strained his voice sounded; the way his eyes glistened under the dull glow of the ceiling light. Who would’ve thought that your presence — little old you — could render the two biggest, self-proclaimed douchebags in your year to tears? “So… welcome to the family.”

—

You tugged at the alarmingly high hem of your black dress, turning to one side, and then the other, as you surveyed your appearance in the full-length mirror. “Too much?”

“Y/n.” Chloe lilted, rolling her eyes over the white claw she was sipping. “It’s your bachelorette party.”

She shifted forward from where her figure splayed your blue comforter, insistent fingers pulling it right back up. “There’s no such thing as too much.”

You crinkled your nose a little at that, swatting her hand away playfully. “Shut up. I don’t even care about the party.”

“But I care.” She chastised, fixing you with a pointed glare. “And I’m definitely getting you drunk, baby.”

“We are definitely getting you drunk.” Amber corrected, her figure appearing at the threshold of the door with several, haphazardly balanced drinks in hand. “Here — you’re already behind.”

“Behind who?” You frowned, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “What do you know, Graham?”

Amber’s features twisted into a defeated grimace, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “Topper might have mentioned that the boys have been drinking since three.”

“Three?” You repeated, letting out an exasperated scoff. “It’s nearly fucking six —”

“Which is why —” Amber cajoled, carelessly thrusting a white claw into your chest. “ — you need to start. Like, now.”

She placed a hand on her hip, the other gesturing for you to hiss open the can. “Now, Y/n/n.”

“Alright, alright.” You pouted, biting back a small smile. “Although…”

You trailed off with a quirked brow, eyes twinkling mischievously. “…think there’s some vodka on the top-shelf of the pantry.”

“Now we’re talking!” Chloe grinned appreciatively, standing up and wobbling toward your figure. “Opa!”

She linked your arm with hers, nodding Amber forward before tugging you toward the door. “To the pantry!”

“To the pantry!” You echoed teasingly, reaching forward to tuck Amber’s figure into your other side. “When are we leaving?”

You paused, flirting with the idea of getting a little more information (Chloe had been adamant that the night’s itinerary be kept a secret, a fact that the control freak in you couldn’t bear to accept). “And what are we doing?”

“Well, first.” Chloe inclined, stepping forward to claw at the top shelf of the cupboard. “We’re getting drunk.”

She tugged the near-full bottle of vodka out of its hiding spot, setting it down on the marble countertop before finding three shot glasses within your drawers. She only poured all of them to the brim the first time round, and by the time you had hit your fourth, you were far too spacey to notice she had stopped filling the other two, entirely.

“Okay.” You cringed, downing it with a low shudder. “Enough.”

“We’re just getting started, actually.” Chloe grinned, bumping her hip against your affectionately. “Okay, c‘mon — final touch.”

She guided you toward the living room with the tiniest hint of a stumble, reaching for the hideous, fuschia sash (Bride to be!) that she had placed atop the coffee table.

“I’m definitely not wearing that.” You warned, wincing slightly at the dangerous slur to your voice. “Like, definitely not wearing it.”

Amber was halfway opening her mouth in protest when the resonant ding of the doorbell interrupted your conversation, your brow furrowing slightly as you attempted to figure out who exactly it could be.

“Guys.” You frowned, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “This was meant to be small!”

“It’s nothing.” Chloe insisted, waving a dismissive hand in the air as she disappeared to the foyer. “Promise.”

When she returned, it was with the animated bustle of more company — Priya and Jade from your fleeting time at UPenn, Sophie Nichols, Amber’s best friend, a few of the girls you had met through your Art History papers at UNC, and —

“Top and Kelce!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around their equally inebriated figures. “I thought you guys were with —”

“— Cameron?” Kelce finished, raising an eyebrow at your guilelessness. “You didn’t think we’d actually miss your bachelorette party just because we’re guys, right?”

“Besides.” Topper added, smiling dopily. “They started early, so we got to spend some time with Cameron, anyway.”

“It also means we’re adequately buzzed.” Kelce said solemnly, draping his arm over your shoulder. “And ready to get you fucked up.”

Several drinking games, another two shots, and half a game of twenty questions later, Topper and Kelce were completely sober (not for lack of trying — they were out drinking you by miles), and a single, slurred confession away from eating their words. 

“So.” You continued, squinting slightly as your vision began to slur. “S’he does this thing with his tongue, that makes m’ —”

“Should we go now?” Kelce coughed, fixing Chloe with a pointed glare. “To a club? With people around?”

“We are in a sec.” Amber laughed, nodding toward her phone. “Ubers are a minute away.”

“Don’t think that’s going to get her to bite her tongue, though.” Chloe grinned, tipsy enough not to care about your actions, but sober enough to mean every word she said. “You’re the one who wanted to come to the party.”

“Yeah.” Kelce responded grimly, making a face. “Because I thought a male stripper was as bad as it was going to get.”

“S’a stripper?” You slurred, stumbling into Chloe’s side. “One time, I surprised m’Rafael in that Lara Croft s’outfit that —”

Topper clapped his hand over your mouth, a painful grimace twisting his features. “Jesus, Y/n, stop.”

“Though w’playing twenty questions.” You muffled, splaying your palm in front of his face. “S’answered fifteen, now, think.”

“True.” Priya nodded thoughtfully, biting back a laugh. “Hey, Y/n, where’s the craziest place you and Rafe have had sex?”

“Topper’s pool.” You giggled, giving his cheek a fond pat. “Sorry, Top.”

“No you fucking didn’t.” Topper gagged, steadying your figure against his chest as he made to stand. “When?”

“S’freshman year of college.” You slurred dopily, dragging your feet against the floor as he guided you toward the exit. “S’movie night.”

Kelce furrowed his brow slightly, slowing to a stop to allow the rest of the girls to move past him. “Movie night?”

“Mm-hm.” You grinned, eyes twinkling mischievously. “S’you guys went to shower after swim and m’and Rafael said we’d go after.”

You wriggled out of Topper’s grasp to stumble through the door and onto the porch, clapping excitedly when you realised the girls were beginning to hop into several, patiently waiting Ubers. 

“I don’t know why I even asked.” Kelce cringed, painfully aware of the fact that he used Topper’s guest bathroom, that day, the same one that had a clear view of the large pool it overlayed. “Disgusting.”

“Nooooo.” You protested, folding your arms across your chest crossly. “Pool sex s’reaaalllly nice —”

“Stop talking.” Topper interrupted, making a mental note to punch Rafe in his smug face the next time he saw him — honestly, sex with his childhood best friend in the pool he had spent his entire childhood swimming in? With you, his childhood best friend? Who he had known since childhood? And who he — yeah. When he saw Rafe Cameron, next, he was definitely going to give him a shiner. “And please get in the fucking Uber.”

—

There were far too many nightclubs in Chapel Hill for this encounter to just be a coincidence. 

Despite this, it appeared the only viable explanation – Noah and Chloe had diligently combed through the facts, and there was simply no way that you and Rafe could have planned this late night rendezvous. And it was true – you hadn’t. The star spangled sky above you was the one who preferred doing all the hard work.

“Rafaellllll.” You slurred, eyes widening comically. “S’you!”

Rafe Cameron – who (bless his heart) was seeing far more than four, and wouldn’t have spotted your figure for miles, the state he was currently in – furrowed his brow, allowing a moment’s pause before vigorously shaking his head. “Okay. M’definitely too drunk t’function now.”

“You didn’t imagine it this time, buddy.” Noah snorted, tugging Rafe forward by the shirt collar. “She’s there.”

And there, you were. Already hobbling toward him in those blistering heels you seemed to love, your eyes a little wild, loose curls tousled just right. You were far too drunk to stand, and still, you continued your careless lumber, stumbling right into his chest with a that dopey smile he couldn’t get enough off, doe-eyes speckled, fingers clasping the blonde locks that teased the nape of his neck

“Woah.” Rafe mumbled, carelessly circling your waist. “Y’like really hot, bu’ I have a fiancé.” 

“M’too.” You nodded sagely, nudging his chin with your nose to pepper wet kisses alonghis jaw. “M’getting married to him tomorrow.”

“Y’are?” Rafe slurred, pressing himself further into you with an appreciative groan. “Lucky guy.”

“Y’should wear this dress tomorrow.” He added sloppily, roaming hands finding their way to the curve of your ass. “S’hot.”

“You’re hot.” You moaned, spurred on by the alcohol running through your veins. “Why didn’t w’do this party together?”

“Mmmm.” Rafe nodded, and his bruising touch was dangerously close to hitching your dress up further, now, the low neck he traced with his puffy lips leaving little to the imagination. “W’should’ve. W’out everyone else.”

“Okay that’s enough.” Noah coughed, applying a punishing grip on Rafe’s shoulder to pull him backward. “We’re in public. Please behave.”

“Noah!” You grinned, carelessly leaning into his chest (what he assumed was heavily intoxicated you giving him a sloppy version of a hug). “Fancy seeing y’here.”

“At my best friend’s bachelor party?” Noah questioned, biting back an amused chuckle. “I know. Super random.”

He beckoned Chloe over with a meaningful glance, his free hand pressed into your forearm to steady you. “How’s your night going, Y/n?”

“S’really good!” You exclaimed, squinting a little as you looked toward your palms, and then focussing all of your energy on maneuvering them into two thumbs up. “H’yours?”

Noah resisted the urge to make a face, his bicep rippling threateningly as he circled it Rafe’s neck. “Oh, you know. Same old.”

“Bro.” A guy named Will (one of Rafe’s frat brothers from his time at UNC) proffered, pressing his tongue against his cheek. “Tell me you hired a stripper.”

Currently, they were sitting in the private room of a centrally located club, the one Noah had hired for the night. The room was littered with empty glasses of beer, whiskey, and different iterations of the same tequila shot — no one was sober enough to think straight; the conversation was just beginning to get interesting.

“No way.” Noah chuckled, shaking his head knowingly. “You guys know how whipped Cameron is for Y/n.”

He paused, resisting the urge to make a face. “ And you guys didn’t know him in high-school, he was so much fucking worse then —”

“Stripper?” Rafe echoed, as though he had only just registered the sentiment – alcohol was running through his veins like water, and he was a single shot away from reaching the point of no return. “I know the perfect stripper.”

He scrunched up his features momentarily, attempting to gather his thoughts. “Lara Croft.”

Noah’s eyes widened at the admission, knowing where this was going, and clapping his hand over Rafe’s mouth (for his own good, he would later say, though they both knew it was really for Noah’s good, and for the good of humanity as a whole). “You’re not repeating that story again.”

“S’a good story!” Rafe protested, his voice muffled to a near imperceptible degree (or was his inability to speak a result of the several shots he had downed? Noah White was struggling to keep count). “Y’know who s’about?”

He swatted at Noah’s hand crossly, and his eyes were glazing over, now, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little, his features soft, his brow a little furrowed, and – oh, boy, Noah knew that look far – far – too well. “S’about my dreeeeaaaammmm girllll.”

“Y’know.” He continued, his eyes widening comically. “M’getting married t’her tomorrow.”

He stumbled into Noah’s figure, circling his neck to the point of suffocation. “How’d I manage that?”

“Been asking myself the same thing.” Noah teased, attempting to loosen his grip with minimal avail. “Bro –”

“White.” Rafe interrupted, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Th’stripper y’should call is Y/n. She’s really good at it, but y’guys can’t b’here for it, it’s a private show –”

“Right.” You nodded, chewing at your bottom lip thoughtfully. “Same old.”

You were opening your mouth to ask another question – “Hey, Noah, c’you leave us alone now?” – when Chloe’s figure appeared at his side, hands on her hips as she gave you a once over, stern glare enough to force a falter. “You’re not meant to spend your bachelorette party with the bachelor you’re marrying, by the way.”

“But I want to.” You protested, jutting out your bottom lip obstinately. “S’right here. My Rafael.”

Chloe couldn’t help but smile a little at that, sharing a knowing look with Noah before lowering her voice. “And how goes the best man duties?”

Noah shook his head as if to say – oh, you have no idea, his lips barely moving as he dipped his head. “We started the night with a drinking game where Cameron has to take a shot every time he mentions Y/n.”

“Ah.” Chloe nodded, surveying Rafe’s stumbling figure with a stifled giggle. “No wonder he’s so fucked up.”

“Oh… no.” Noah responded grimly, shaking his head. “We had to stop playing fifteen minutes in.”

“You know.” He continued, the corners of his mouth quirking up just a little. “Because you can’t say your vows if you have fucking alcohol poisoning.”

__

You let out another shaky breath, smoothing out the lace roses that emblazoned the waistline of your wedding dress. It was day dot – the promise-of-forever day, as your future self would lovably tout it (your current self couldn’t think of anything worse than adding the extra pressure of a fucking nickname, to today, and she was silently cursing you for ever doing such a thing – didn’t you know that it was thrumming through her chest like an omen? Didn’t you know it was the exact opposite of what she needed today?). 

“Relax.” You muttered to yourself, scrutinising your appearance with a punishing amount of determination. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Yes, you are.” Your father smiled, his booming voice enough to whirl you around. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

He allowed a pause to swallow thickly, his eyes glistening as he offered you an outstretched palm. “Ready?”

Several steps away, sheltered by an elegantly sculptured pavilion, Rafe Cameron hazarded another glance at his Cartier watch. It glinted just a little as it caught the light, and when he registered the time it displayed, it was enough to straighten him with a start. He blew all of the air out of his cheeks, and for a single, infinitesimally long moment, he closed his eyes, and committed every single detail around him to memory. The enchanting hum of Taylor Swift lyrics. The salty embrace of a clement, ocean breeze. The pompous murmur of Figure Eight patriarchs, and matriarchs, alike. The burnt orange hues of radiating sunbeams. The expectant glint of an argent, silver ring. And then – the promise of forever. You.

Rafe Cameron opened his eyes, and the passage of time blurred into a mess of slurpy brushstrokes. Slowly, he blinked back unshed tears, and as he zero-ed in on your angelic figure, he committed every single detail to memory, all over again. The wreath of loose curls that held a magnificent, ivory veil. The waterfall of beaded tulle that radiated around your waist like a halo. The slight pucker to your tinged lips, the brilliant twinkle in your doe-eyes, the teasing waft of your bergamot perfume, that near-imperceptible crinkle of your nose — the same crinkle that you reserved just for him. You. 

“This is it.” Noah muttered, giving his forearm a reassuring pat. “Got the rings when you’re ready, buddy.”

Rafe didn’t hear him. You were close enough, now, for Rafe to feel the full strength of your magnetic pull; the world warped around your intertwined figures like space-time, and he wasn’t certain he ever wanted it to stop.

“Hey.” He managed, clasping your manicured fingers to guide you up the pavilion steps. “You look…”

He trailed off with the small shake of his head, and in the distance, the chorus appeared to know exactly what he was going to say. 

“You too.” You breathed, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I love you, Rafael.”

“I love you. Always.”

Behind him, the wedding officiant appeared to be speaking, and through the arms he raised in welcome, he assumed it was the opening address. He didn’t bother tuning it in, nor anything else, really, in his periphery, focussing all of his effort instead, on memorising you. 

He looked down at the way your fingers knotted in his, and remembered the very first time you had taken his hand in yours. It was senior year, right after your History project, and you — bright-eyed and beaming, had clapped alongside your peers before absently clasping his hand and dipping your figure into a polite bow. His breath had hitched, as it was doing right now, and his heartbeat thrummed, as it did in this moment. And though he gazed down at you today with the same glint of adoration his eye had reflected, back then, he was met, this time, with the beautiful gift of solidarity — the air was still, and it acted a two-way mirror between your fated figures. This time, you felt it too. And Rafe Cameron wasn’t certain he would ever — ever — get used to this fact. 

“…and I believe that the bride and groom have prepared their own vows?”

The last word was enough to bring Rafe out of his reverie, giving the wedding officiant a small nod before sliding a piece of paper out of his pocket. Though he clutched it taut enough to cause a small rip, his hands were shaky, and his palms a little clammy — the words were blurring into splotches of ink, though Rafe wasn’t sure he would have made sense of the words, regardless. He closed his eyes for a moment, and within the darkness, Rafe found gratitude in the number of years he had spent loving you. He didn’t need the piece of paper, nor the words that they displayed. They were already written in the stars above and reflected within his beating heart — he hadn’t said them, nor read them, but he already knew them off by heart, and with a deep breath in, and then a deep breath out, Rafe Cameron raised his chin, and he confessed every ounce of his undying love. 

“Y/n.” He started, and his voice was no longer quavering, now, the words resolute as they rang through the air. “Firstly — you look so goddamn beautiful, baby, you know that?”

The crowd let out an appreciative hum at that, though the bashful smile tugging at your lips was enough to render it white noise.

“I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was.” He continued, letting out a slow breath. “And I’m not sure I could stop loving you, even if I tried.”

“You — the way you make me feel…”

He trailed off with a small shake of his head, clasping your hands a little tighter. “…most people spend their whole lives trying and failing to chase that feeling.”

“And I get to feel it every damn day.” He added thoughtfully, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “I get to hold you, and to love you, and somehow —”

He paused, and as he dipped his head, you willed yourself to lose yourself in his brilliant blue gaze, completely. “— somehow, I get to say that you love me too.”

“When we were fourteen, I remember thinking — there’s something about her, you know?” 

“And I tried my very best to shake it.” He added with a grin, and when he lowered his voice to a near inaudible lilt, it was to address you, and you only. “Via a two-year long stint on douchebag autopilot.”

“But I couldn’t.” He continued, raising his voice again. “And I look back at it now and just want to yell at that stupid kid — because why the hell would you want to let this feeling go?”

He allowed a pause to exhale, brushing over the soft skin of your knuckles. “Because there isn’t just something about you.”

“There’s —” He faltered, knowing there didn’t exist enough words in the English language to do you justice. “— I mean, ‘something’ sounds so insignificant.”

“It’s the way you smile, and the way you throw you head back when you laugh; it’s that little twinkle in your eye, and it’s how concentrated you get when you try to say goodbye. It’s your way with words and it’s the how deeply you love and how fiercely you care and how gently you breathe and —”

He drew in a sharp breath, as though his love for you was so all-consuming that it threatened to swallow him whole. “ — God, it’s everything, you know? I’ve loved you since before I knew what love was, and I’ll probably love you until I take my last breath. Thank you, for being mine.”

Maybe the crowd rose to a clamour when Rafe finished, or maybe they did the exact opposite. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were zero-ed in on the only boy that mattered, and the warmth of his presence alone was enough to coax your vows right out of your mouth. 

“Rafael.” You started, smiling small — just for him. “I think I’m finally ready to admit that I was pining for you for a bit there, too.”

The crowd laughed, but you didn’t notice. You were too busy basking in the afterglow of Rafe Cameron’s roguish grin — the same one he had flashed you so many years ago, the same one that made you feel seventeen, again. “You taught me what love is supposed to feel like, and for that, I will be eternally grateful.”

“I remember spending all of senior year being way too scared of giving you my heart.”

“I built up so many walls.” You continued, swallowing slightly. “But with you, it was like they were made of glass.”

You sidled a little closer to his figure, matched his gaze with a little more finality. “You make me come alive, Rafael — you make me feel like I can do anything, you know?”

“To find someone like you — someone who fits me like a jigsaw puzzle — within a place as small as the Eight?”

You paused, shifting your gaze heavenward. “I’m so incredibly lucky. I can’t even begin to explain how very rare it is — the way I feel about you.”

“So thank you.” You finished, your forehead creasing in earnest. “For making me yours. It’s the only place I’ve ever truly belonged, you know? In your arms. Always.”

Rafe smiled so very bright at that you had to remind yourself to breathe. God, he thought, will I ever get used to this feeling? not knowing that you were asking yourself the very same question, fate coaxing it out at the very same time.

“Wonderful.” The officiant beamed, raising his arms appreciatively. “Now, repeat after me…”

And repeat his words, you did. 

When he told Rafe to kiss you, the world blurred into a haze of stolen memories — intertwined as your figures were, threatening to melt into the same oblivion within which you inhabited a single spot. He kissed you like it was his last day on Earth, and then, he kissed you some more. He kissed you for every almost-kiss, for every accidental touch, for every forced embrace. The sky above you spangled silver with a blanket of stars, and Rafe Cameron kissed you hard enough for them to wink in acknowledgement. He kissed away every chance encounter, every rude awakening, every dangerous quaver. He kissed you hard enough to immortalise forever, and when he did finally pull away, it was no longer just a promise. It was here. You had reached it — you had reached forever. 

—

Noah cleared his throat purposefully, casting Rose a meaningful glance before nodding toward the live band.

Rose flashed him a small wink in acknowledgement (one day, Mrs. Cameron, he thought with a cryptic smile), mouthing a discreet “On it!” before getting out of her seat and disappearing into the crowd. 

Beside him, his best friend was whispering something near indiscernible in your ear. It was just the right amount of audacious, Noah was sure of it. He was sure by the way you scoffed, surer still when he clocked that tiny smile (the same one you used to think no one noticed – the same one Noah always did, when you interacted with Rafe Cameron). 

Once he was given the go-ahead by Rose, he straightened in his chair, clinking his fork against the crystal glassware until the room murmured into silence. 

“May I have everyone’s attention?” He announced, standing up with a confident smile. “I would like to make a toast.”

He glanced down at Rafe’s figure with a twinkle in his eye, clapping a hand over his shoulder before continuing. “When I first met Cameron, we were like two peas in the same douchebag pod.”

“Granted, we were ten.” Noah grinned, allowing a pause as people laughed. “But we used to strut around the playground of Kildare middle school like we owned the place.”

“One of us grew out of the habit.” Noah continued sagely, making a show of pointing at himself. “And the other…”

He trailed off with a dramatic sigh, shaking his head defeatedly. “…the other took a couple more years.”

“And you know what?”

He paused, catching your eye with a little wink. “It would’ve taken him a lot longer than a couple of years if a certain, special girl hadn’t called out Mr Williams in our freshman math class.”

“No, wrong reaction.” Noah reproached, speaking to the sea of saccharine sweet Ooh!s and Ah!s. “Mr Williams sucked.”

He allowed another pause as people laughed again, using the moment to reach over and tousle your curls just a little. “Y/n, the boy loves you like crazy, you know that?”

“It’s insufferable.” He continued, keeling over and pretending to gag. “I mean, he’s been smitten since the day he met her. I didn’t even think he was capable of real human emotions until she called him Rafael, that day on the track, and all he did was flash her that disgusting, I’m-hopelessly-in-love-with-you smile.”

“For context.” Noah explained, his pressed tongue against his cheek as he recalled the fond memory. “In eighth grade, Cameron punched a kid – yo, James, you in the crowd, bud? – for calling him Rafael.”

“And I never understood why he hated his full name so much.” He frowned, and he was guiding you to your feet, now, pulling you into his side to speak to you, and only to you. “I didn’t understand till he met you.”

He paused, here, the intensity of his gaze so very mesmerising that you felt exactly how he had described you – like that certain, special fourteen year old girl who had plagued Mr William’s math class, so many years ago. “He was saving it for the girl of his dreams.”

“Or his dream girl.” He corrected, pressing a gentle kiss on your temple. “And to that I say… welcome to the family, Mrs. Dream-Girl Cameron!”

You wrapped your arms around his waist as people cheered, feeling the warm figure of your golden boy – your husband, you thought with a soar – flush the back of your body to wrap his arms around him, too.

“Love you, bro.” Noah muttered, clearing his throat in an attempt to drown out his small sniff. “So fucking happy for you.”

“And you.” He added with a smile, bumping your chin affectionately. “Surprised you didn’t rope him into hyphenating.”

“No way.” You lilted, crinkling your nose playfully. “Can’t turn down the satisfaction of being a Cameron milf.”

“Once Rose retires, of course.” You added, biting back a laugh. “When are you going to snatch her up?”

Noah cast you a meaningful glance, shaking his head gloomily. “One day.”

A few spots away, Topper and Kelce were preparing to make their speech, perched on the very edge of their respective chairs in anticipation of the moment. Once they were certain that the crowd had stilled, and your figures adequately settled, the latter clinked a fork against his champagne flute, straightening in sync with the former’s announcement.

“Our turn!” Topper grinned, raising his glass preemptively. “We, too, would like to make a toast.”

“So me and Top here have known Y/n for most of our lives.” Kelce started, jerking a forefinger toward his figure before continuing. “But for some reason, she’s always liked him more than me.”

“And I mean like-like.” He added, raising his fingers in air-quotes. “Verbatim what she told me when we were ten and he was away for summer camp – ‘Kelce, I think I like Topper. Like, like-like him’.”

You blushed a little at that, burying your head in your hands. 

“So she spent most of middle school and high-school deluding herself into thinking she liked Topper.” Kelce continued, shaking his head knowingly. “But I think that was because she had never really crushed on someone before, so she didn’t know how it was meant to feel.”

“And, douchebag Cameron over here didn’t make things easier for her.” Topper picked up, biting back a fond chuckle. “He was so insufferable all of high-school that he gave her the perfect out.”

“Y/n…” Kelce teased, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “…no way is it possible to talk about someone you hate that much.”

“For real.” He continued, making a show of shaking his head soberly. “Every single day – Oh my god, did you hear what Cameron just said to me? Or – No way am I going to prom with Cameron… but who is he going with, anyway? And even – Let’s ditch his birthday party and hang out at home… oh but here’s a $700 bottle of Bordeaux from my parent’s wine cellar that I’m going to give him –”

Around him, people laughed appreciatively, and he had the gall to grin, enjoying the attention a little bit too much. Asshole.

“But on a more serious note.” Topper smiled finally, moving his earnest gaze back toward you and Rafe. “I’m glad I invited you to Europe with us, Cameron, because it was the first time I ever saw Y/n come alive.”

“She deserves the kind of love you give her.” He added, quirking his eyebrow just a little. “Even if it makes the rest of us want to gag.” 

Kelce clinked his glass against Topper’s in agreement, gesturing for everyone to raise theirs, too. “To Rafe and Y/n!”

“Rafe and Y/n!” The crowd echoed, the clamour allowing you a moment to slip out of your seat and into their arms. 

“Going to make me cry.” You mumbled, blinking back unshed tears. “I love you, guys.”

They squeezed you extra tight, the second time around, pretending like it was because you were crying (but really, it was because they were, too). “We love you.”

Chloe’s speech came after that, and it was by far the most unforgiving. Perhaps it was because she was the only one who bore witness to “you and hometown’s disgustingly long FaceTime calls – I mean seriously, there’s no way you were just talking for that long”, or perhaps, it was the fact that she was your first real girl friend. It wasn’t as though Topper and Kelce were willing to sit through a debrief on your dates, or your conversations, or your sex, or why “Come over if you want!” really reads as “Don’t come over at all”; they remained blissfully debrief-less, and were none the wiser for it. By the time she had completed her address, you were dangerously close to tears, your voice a little thick as you wrapped her up in an embrace.

“Thank you.” You muffled, drawing backward with a watery smile. “Seriously.”

“I love you, baby.” Chloe pouted, words strangled as they caught in her throat. “My favourite person ever.”

She tucked a stray curl behind your ear before gently whirling you around, Rafe Cameron’s calloused palm already raised expectantly. 

“It’s first dance time.” He murmured gently, intertwining your fingers before guiding you to the floor. “We can leave the Christmas lights up ‘til January…”

“This is our place.” You continued, wrapping your arms around his neck. “We make the rules…”

Rafe circled your waist a little tighter, your head resting in the small nook between his breastbones – close enough to hear the nervous thrum of his heart; close enough to cause it to quicken with a start. You were swaying in time to the music – and, he thought with a soar, in sync with him – and fleetingly, Rafe wondered whether this is how you two would have danced had he managed to ask you to prom so many years ago, when you were seventeen. Whether you would have shared the same first dance you were doing, right now, whether you would have elicited the same emotions, and felt them in turn, allowed the rest of the world to melt into oblivion, allowed yourself to melt into him, instead. 

“You know.” He smiled, his breath tickling the sweet spot below your ear as he gently dipped his head. “We’ve never slow danced before.”

“Not properly.” He added, guiding his hand to the small of your back. “Not like this.”

It felt as though every memory that knitted you into the fabric of space-time was unravelling – they were blurring around your tangled figures like a golden halo, and for a moment, Rafe wondered whether it was possible for all of the atoms in his body to deliquesce into it, too.

“That’s true.” You nodded, and when you tilted your chin, it felt as though he was going to drown in the ardency of your embrace. “Not like this.”

He caught your wrist and brought it to his chest, your other hand resting on the top of his broad shoulder. The chorus was starting, and your touch so very intoxicating, and your soft skin caving his, and your tinged lips speaking slow, and – god, would he ever get used to this feeling?

“I love you.” He mumbled into your hair, and in the distance – Can we always be this close, forever and ever? “Always.”

“You’re my…” You smiled, allowing your eyes to close. “...my, my, my…

–

Rafe Cameron wasn’t certain he would ever get used to this feeling. 

“Good book?” He murmured, careful not to disturb you. “How long have you been out here, baby?”

You furrowed your brow slightly, peeling your eyes away from the weathered pages of Pride and Prejudice. “A little while. How was golf?”

“Good.” Rafe smiled, pressing a gentle kiss on your temple. “Here.”

He handed you a bottle of your favourite, organic Kombucha, shifting your figure sideways so he could lay on the hammock beside you. “Where’s Lex?”

“Asleep.” You hummed, resting your head on his chest as he wrapped a strong arm around your shoulder. “Picked her up from her play-date with Holly and she was absolutely floored.”

“Still managed a glass with Ambs, though.” You added with an appreciative nod. “She told me allll about James’ new girlfriend.”

“New girlfriend?” Rafe echoed, absently threading his fingers through your curls. “He still hasn’t settled down?”

“Nope.” You responded, popping the p. “And —”

You paused, casting Rafe a meaningful glance. “— she’s twenty.”

“No she fucking isn’t.” Rafe grimaced, shaking his head in disdain. “Jesus — 10 years?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, bringing the book back to eye-level. “Fucking unbelievable.”

Rafe hummed concomitantly at that, sliding his phone out of his back-pocket to scroll through the evening news. 

Above him, the sky was blanketed by purple velvet — the way it always was — stars spangling its moonless surface like dust. In his periphery, still water reflected the waning glow of twilight — like it always did — confining its magnificent glimmer within the four walls of your pool. Beside the hammock, your wooden deck streamlined the artificial beam of lights within your home — as he expected — cloaking the scene in a curious sense of satisfaction, as if to say: we made it. This is all ours. And I’m all yours. And effortlessly tucked into his side — like you always were — was his dream girl, eyes a little tired behind blue light glasses, cheeks painted pink by the salty breeze, loose curls twisted into that green claw clip you loved, fingers padding over the weather skin of his knuckle. Everything was as it was last Saturday, and the Saturday before that, and the Saturday that occurred two Saturdays ago, and that one Saturday you opened a rare bottle of Bordeaux to celebrate Rafe’s promotion to CEO of Ward Development. And still, as Rafe Cameron took in the scene — so very beautiful it made his head spin — he felt like the same fourteen year old boy who had fell in love with you so many years ago, and with a small soar, and an even smaller sigh, he realised — 

No. He would never get used to this feeling.

—

this is SO cowboy like me

of canyons + wildflowers

↳PAIRING: cowboy!rafe x farmer’s daughter!reader

↳ SUMMARY: you and rafe had always danced around the promise of forever and you liked it that way. But, now you're back from school + he's not sure he has the resolve to withstand your sweetness any longer.

↳ WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut, 18+, eventual violence and injury, murder, requited love, long-time friends with benefits turned lovers, talk of ranch life, etc.

↳ A/N: hi, my loves! <3 interrupting your scroll to show you something special that I've been working on that's near + dear to my soul. I present to you: cowboy!rafe :,) I love him already + I hope you do too. A lot of Inso for this upcoming series came from one of my favorite shows Yellowstone + my sweet babies @sweetestdesire (who was kind enough to make this beautiful mood board) + @softsatnin (who helped me expand this idea). an excerpt from one of the chapters is below the cut, I hope you like it!

(this will posted after the conclusion of racer!rafe + firefighter!rafe)

Brown bouts of fur infiltrate Rafe’s vision as dismounts from his favorite horse, Bronco. His snake skin boots scuff the ground as he lands, tires squeaking in the distance near the house bring his attention from Bronco and his blue eyes land on your small frame. He could spot you anywhere. He waits a beat, sure you’ll come say hi or maybe you won’t – the last time you saw each other you parted with yelling and he can only grimace now at the distant memory. He had been cruel, though it hurt him to do so, especially to you. It almost hurt him as much as seeing your sweet smile as you made your way to the barn, wildflowers already in your hands, on your way to give them to all the cowboys that occupied the quarters. As you got closer, he couldn’t help the crooked smile that was now planted on his lips, his gloved hands sprouting up over his mouth as he did his best to wipe it away. It doesn’t work because with you it never does. The wind rushes against your freckled skin, hair blowing out from under the black cowboy hat as you do your best to hold it to your head and then you see him and it feels like the world stops. Your cheeks are flushed with rose and your knees suddenly don’t feel like knees at all – no, now they feel like burned, achey skin after several futile attempts to open a pickle jar. He had always made you feel this way; it burned so good, didn’t it? 

“Hey, tulip – long time no see, huh?” 

His sugar sweet accent felt like velvet against your ears and you realized you’d never stopped loving him, not really. You’d begun to fall the very second you locked eyes with your rafael and here he was — in front of you again. Was it fate, a dream, or a deal with the devil? You couldn’t be sure. You swallowed thickly, tipping your hat to him. 

“Rafael. It’s nice to see you again.” 

You said, your resolve shaking as your voice quaked like the canyon around you. 

“Is it sugar?” 

He asked, cheekily. You gave him a half nod and that million dollar smile and suddenly he couldn’t remember how to breathe, his lungs contracted even further as you reached out to him, yellow wildflowers tucked into your small palm. 

“A day’s wages.” 

You said simply and he smiled, taking the bundle of flowers from you. Boy did he know you — your habit of being kind is utterly predictable. He didn’t deserve it, he knew that much, he thought to himself as he tucked the flowers into the brim of his hat. 

—

↳ TAGLIST:

@itsalexwin @drewbooooo @scenesofobx @sweetestdesire @paradisehamilton @dreamingwithlouise @fangirlwithlou @glutenfreepeach @starkeyobx @adventuresinobx @drewsuncrustables @outerbankspov @slut4tangerine @slut4rafee @getwellsoontana @lilminchii @fredsandlokiswhore @rafelover @ailee-celeste @gillybear17 @lovedetlost @valeriiecameron @totallynotkaibiased @penny4yourthoughts @i-always-come-back @ryswritingrecord @moondemon123 @soapiebear @softsatnin

so im crying

And isn't it just so pretty to think?

All along there was some / Invisible string / Tying you to me?

wc 9.4k

a/n this Rafe is softer than my usual, so divergent from canon it’s kind of embarrassing. I hope you love him anyway. Because I do. He’s so 🥺

When you’re seven and a half years old, you make a playground pact with your best friend and neighbour, Kiara Carrera. 

It’s reinforced with twined pinky fingers and homemade friendship bracelets, the red and gold cotton floss shiny and half-hitched. 

I won’t leave the Outer Banks, never ever, you say, solemn eyes to the sky, legs crossed over itchy bark. And you repeat those words a few times, voice low and conspiratorial, the recess clamour like white noise against the backdrop of your conviction.

It doesn’t matter that she’s younger than you are, less sage, with a larger house to return to and shinier toys on her bed. When you attend the same elementary school, are afforded the same lunch-time break, social structure appears a menial concept — Kiara Carrera is your neighbour, and therefore she is your best friend. Six and three quarters with unkempt hair and a missing tooth, she echoes your sentiment with a hand on her heart, the other connected to yours, a sacred finger wreath.

Later, when you’re satisfied with your pinky promise enchantment, you steal away to a hidden corner of the playground to continue scheming.

Rafe Cameron and his friends, two grades above you, take over the hallowed spot to organise a game of Lava. It’s how, unbeknownst to him, even more so to you, a loose strand of red string gets caught in a sneaker groove. He brings it home with him, forgotten friendship bracelet floss, the same type of thread used to embroider the promise on your wrist.

Arguably, this is where your story begins.

It takes several more—fourteen, exactly—years for this fact to become obvious.

You’re twenty-one years old when you return to the Outer Banks for good. Driving the same, beaten-down Honda Civic with worn tires and a crooked bumper — you’d snagged it secondhand from a mechanic your father knew, its disposal at the hands of a Kook who deemed it decrepit. Something about how his kin deserved a newer model, the shiniest vehicle on the block, the car they’d used to practice on now your mainstay means of transportation. 

Not that you minded, of course. As someone who had always toed the line between Kook and Pogue, the class war had never been something that piqued any overt vehemence. You were perfectly content with your humble, middle-class roots; they’d provided you with the means to a good education, summer jobs galore, a roof over your head and food on the table that didn’t feel too much like a chore.

The callow freedom to decorate a reasonably sized bedroom, still embellished with the dangling fairy lights, glossy posters of your youth. It’s strange, being grown and surrounded by forgotten trinkets. The sun shines through a small crack in your curtains, lemon-yellow light that stripes your face with bittersweet nostalgia. 

You drop your belongings to the ground and make your way to the window, unlatching it to free a swell of stale air. Outside, the scenery is violently suburban — trim hedges and picket fences, winding streets of melted asphalt. Sticky honey-suckle in the air, distant traffic rivalling the trill of cicadas. You may reside within just another, run-of-the-mill American neighbourhood, but there’s magic in the thin wafer of sea in the horizon; nothing beats an Outer Banks summer, and of that you’ve always been certain.

Your gaze lingers over glimmering blue before it’s dropping again, falling onto the pavement just as someone there detects your presence.

When Kiara’s parents enrolled her into the Academy instead of Kildare High, you were understandably inconsolable at the prospect of starting afresh. She’d been your trusted confidant since before you’d had secrets to share; making brand new friends was a terrifying concept, one thirteen-year-old you definitely wasn’t ready to accept. But time doesn’t make allowances for anyone, as you’d come to realise — freshman year came and went, lack of best friend notwithstanding, and you managed to survive it the same way you would sophomore year, junior and senior year following. When she did finally transfer to Kildare High, growing pains and teenage ailments hindered any meaningful reconnection. Friends without the consigliere title — menial small-talk friends, the acquaintances you greet in the hallway between periods. 

History enough to make your wistful chest ache, not so great that you’re debilitated by a plaintive sense of regret.

She meets your gaze with a surprised smile on her face, any prior ambivalence giving way to affable delight. Two untidy plaits frame her otherwise flawless face, the rest of her brunette hair tucked behind sunburnt ears. Streaks of paler bronze shine in the sun. 

“No way!” She exclaims loudly, cupping one hand around her mouth. The other crimps the cardboard box of beers in her hand, curled under her arm and pressed into her side. “When the fuck did you get home?”

Beside her, a girl you recognise as Sarah Cameron furrows her brow. She’s wearing frayed denim shorts and a white baby tee, her silky blonde tresses lifting up in the breeze. The converse on her feet are pristine white, untouched. 

“Like,” you squint down at your watch, its polished face glaring in the sun, “ten minutes ago.”

Kiara nods approvingly, grinning up at you. “For summer break?”

“For good,” you correct, and then you balk, weak stomach lurching. Saying it out loud makes everything feel that much more real. 

The Outer Banks end-game, settling down and starting a family. You’ve always known that this is where you wanted to end up, but the prospect of getting started—of a ground-up, suburban conception—has your poor gut knotting, abdomen in stitches.

Job-hunting, check. House-hunting, check. Significant-other hunting… a burdensome detail. You haven’t quite hacked the art of sifting through the duds on dating apps.

Kiara’s eyes widen in surprise, her soft jaw slackening. “You’re kidding,” she says, disbelief evident on her features. “Why?”

“Shit, Kiara, the Outer Banks isn’t all bad,” you respond, breathing out a diffident laugh. “I’ve always liked it here.”

Kiara makes a face, sharing a look with Sarah beside her. “To live? Forever?”

“Well.” You pause, you shrug abashedly. One of your hands lifts to your face, knuckles scrubbing over your cheek. “I don’t know, yeah. It’s safe. Warm. Has enough beaches to keep kids pre-occupied.”

“Woah,” Sarah pipes up then, her face crumpling in tandem cynicism. “Dude. Kids?”

You grimace in embarrassment, the tips of your ears warming. “I — eventually.”

“Well fuck,” Sarah responds, her bronze eyes full of mirth. “I thought my brother was the only person who had something good to say about this place.”

She pauses, crinkling her nose in disdain. “Oh. And my dad.”

“Um, anyway,” Kiara coughs out reproachfully, sending Sarah a meaningful glance. “Enough about your twisted family. Y/n/n — you got anything planned for the summer?”

“Just settling back in.” You shrug again. “Job hunting, house hunting, the usual crap. You guys?”

Above them, the tangerine sun is beginning to sink below the horizon, a drupe of low hanging fruit. Sticky humidity presses into your skin, hot beads of sweat prickling over your nape.

“It’s our last summer before the end, baby,” she returns tenaciously, bumping her hip against the box under her arm. Your gaze falls with the movement, registering the familiar logo of a brand of beer you’d forgotten. Kildare Island’s finest, it boasts in emblazoned letters, prior memories of the lager reminding you of stale, basement air.

Delightful. It appears that some things truly never change.

“Shit, of course,” you nod, grinning approvingly. “I forgot that you’re not actually in my year, Kie.”

“That’s because grades didn’t matter when we became friends,” she says, furrowing her brow thoughtfully. “Nothing did, really.”

A poignant ache sears through your chest, gone before you’re able to truly acknowledge it. “Shit, I know,” you say softly, more wistful now. “Nothing but friendship bracelets and the Winx club, huh?”

Kiara’s face splits into another sweet smile, the box of liquor raised in make-shift cheers. “Cheers to that, Flor.”

The old nickname pulls a peal of laughter from your lips, and you shake your head bemusedly, the nostalgia making it spin. “Fucking hell, I almost forgot how much I loved her.”

“Not as cool as Stella, though.” Kiara raises her eyebrows meaningfully, sharing in sacred Winx scripture. “She was my fucking idol.”

Beside her, Sarah’s head has fallen, eyes trained on a string coming undone at her frayed hem. Rare moments of silence are filled by the cicada’s faint trill. 

“Did you watch it, Sarah?” You ask, looking toward her expectantly. 

Sarah’s chin lifts in surprise, her pretty eyes softening. “Shit, uh,” she flounders, turning to Kiara for help. “The what club?”

“Dude, Winx,” Kiara enunciates, sending her an incredulous look. “You’re kidding. You really don’t know?”

“I never had first pick of the TV when I was a kid, alright?” She defends indignantly, raising her arms in surrender. “Rafe and his dumb friends monopolised it with their video games.”

“God.” Kiara makes a face. “I don’t miss how much of an asshole he was when we were kids.”

Somewhere near the back of your mind, you park this revelation. The telling past on present tense juxtaposition — was an asshole, is as in love with the Island as you are; though you’ve crossed paths with Sarah’s older brother on several occasions, never once has anything about him managed to stick with this much permanence.

Except his name. Everyone on the Outer Banks knows the name Rafe Cameron. 

“Right?” Sarah agrees, grimacing in tandem. “Whatever, he spends most of his time at the firm these days. The only time I ever see him is at Kook parties or the Club.”

“Speaking of,” Kiara says, her brown eyes widening as they lift to your window-side figure. Several minutes have elapsed since they halted in their tracks, and not a single pedestrian has passed you by, let alone a motorcycle, a jeep full of passengers. You’ve missed the quaint purlieus of middle-class suburbia. There’s something so comforting about being able to hear the bird’s chirp, to hear anxious leaves rustle in wait of Kiara’s proposal. “We’re — listen, Y/n, we’re on our way out to the beach for a bonfire right now. Kooks, pogues, tourons… you know the deal, everyone’s going. You should come.”

You balk, gaze falling to your simple attire — white singlet and linen shorts, a wafer of bare waist in between. 

“You look hot,” she adds meaningfully, as if reading your mind. “Total Island boy bait. C’mon. We’re well overdue for a catch up, don’t you think?”

“Kie,” you hesitate, looking behind you surreptitiously, “I only just got back —”

“So?” Kiara interrupts impatiently, raising her eyebrows. “You’re here for good, right? Whatever you were planning on doing tonight can wait.” She turns to Sarah then, her eyes widening pointedly. “Right, Sar?”

Sarah’s split-second quizzical look dissipates under her glare, and she falters, her head whipping to yours before she’s nodding. “No really, Y/n. You should come. It’ll be fun.”

There’s a bulging suitcase a few feet away that needs unpacking. A bedroom full of dusty old trinkets that belong in an antique store; you’d promised your parents your grown-up presence at dinner, and the prospect of shirking responsibility has you feeling young and stupid again.

Adrenaline buzzes through your veins, a quick jolt of electricity to your senses. You realise, as it fills you with a kettle full of warmth, that you like it — like this, the latitude you’ve always associated with the Outer Banks. 

“Fuck it,” you acquiesce after a beat, cracking a defeated grin. “Wait there, okay? I’m coming down now.”

—

Rafe Cameron doesn’t think he’s going to make it out tonight.

Admittedly, he rarely ever does, these days — his father, ever the tyrannical leader, is intent on churning long hours out of every one of his workers.

His eldest included, bequeathal of an impressive legacy notwithstanding. 

When he receives Kelce’s text about the imminent bonfire, he’s hunched over a set of financial documents at his desk. 

Smooth mahogany with a sole, coffee mug rim blemish, it’s an organised clutters of pens and highlighters, staplers that double as impromptu paperweights. A single framed photo is propped up in one corner, ten-year-old Rafe posing beside an elegant woman. Her irises shine vivid blue in sunlight, smile lines that crinkle identical to her son’s. She’s beautiful, immortalised. A grounding presence.

When his phone screen lights up, the LED makes her pixelated figure glow.

Smithy: we 🔛 for tonight ?

Rafe’s brow furrows as it registers, his tired eyes drawn to the text like moths to a flame. He gives his surroundings a furtive once-over before sliding his phone into his lap, thumb braced over the keyboard.

Cameron: can’t, bro. Working overtime

Kelce’s typing bubble pops up almost instantaneously.

Smithy: miss me with that shit. It’s fucking Friday!

Rafe sighs defeatedly, a long, haggard exhale. He doesn’t know whether Kelce’ll ever understand the magnitude of patriarchal pressure he’s under. It’s as he’s attempting to contrive another excuse—simpler, less niche devoir and more relatable in nature—that the process is cut short by the arrival of his father.

Needless to say, Rafe straightens in a hurry. Suddenly, the stack of documents on his desk feels inadequate. 

“Getting through it all alright?” Ward asks menially, not bothering to look up from his phone as he enters. His paces are slow and purposeful, heavy-footed, his demeanour like dynamite you’re afraid to set off. This is a man who’s mastered the art of commanding a room with his presence.

“Uh, yeah,” Rafe answers, hunching over the desk protectively. The weight of his chest makes the financial statements crumple.

“Good.” It’s obvious that Ward Cameron isn’t the least bit interested. “So, listen, I’ve got to jet off and take care of some Bahama’s business tonight. I can count on you to dismiss the office staff and lock up?”

His gaze is trained on his phone screen, thick brows heavily furrowed as he types text after important text. Eye contact is reserved for business partners, clients of significance.

Not Rafe. If it was, he might’ve even noticed his son brighten, exhaustion giving way to a quiet sense of elation. 

“Oh — uh, yeah, definitely,” Rafe reassures after a beat, careful to keep his tone level. “When will you be home?”

“Sunday,” Ward answers curtly, his eyes lifting fleetingly. They move over Rafe’s face before dropping to his desk and narrowing, the hand that isn’t holding his phone gesticulating toward it intently. “Tidy this up,” he adds sternly, turning around. “And don’t leave until all financial paperwork is done.”

“Right.” Rafe nods, reaching up to scrub the back of his neck absentmindedly. “I won’t.”

Ward has his back to him when he halts near the exit, the menacing timbre of his voice almost making Rafe flinch. “Better not. I’m counting on you.”

He shoulders his way through the hardwood door before Rafe can so much as open his mouth — not that he particularly minds this, there isn’t much to say when a threat’s involved. Once Ward’s unwieldy footsteps have muffled out of existence, Rafe allows his shoulders to relax, retrieving his phone from its home in his lap.

It’s sheer luck, he decides, a serendipitous coincidence, that Ward’s business trip affords him an early finish in this instance. Temporary freedom from his father’s despotic regime is much appreciated — this way, Rafe can complete his tasks in his own time, allow for much-needed breaks and social activity. 

Total fluke. Right?

Cameron: what time?

Smithy: there he is! Got you some bud light btw, heading there now

—

“You’re sure?” You ask again, eyeing the white claw dubiously.

“Dude.” Kiara cuts you a cajoling faux-glare, thrusting it into your chest. “Please drink. You’re totally not enjoying yourself.”

“I don’t need alcohol to have fun,” you grumble back weakly, accepting it with reluctance. There’s a quick hiss as you pull open the tab, wispy carbon dioxide rising from within it. 

“No you don’t,” Kiara agrees sagely, raising her eyebrows. “But fuck, it makes fun more achievable, don’t you think?”

Around you, a sea of familiar faces. 

You’re huddled underneath a bald cypress tree with Sarah and Kiara, a modest, people-watching distance away from the bustling bonfire. Scorching flames ascend from a pith of deep ochre, clouds of grey and black smoke unfurling over the scene. The air is dry and slightly acrid, an alloy of saltwater and cheap liquor, the familiar scents of summer. Sweat, damp skin, body heat. A cedar-wood and musk cologne you didn’t realise was committed to memory.

“Not wrong,” you allow, tipping back the can and taking a generous gulp. It’s as you acquiesce and allow you head to fall that someone catches your eye; tall with broad shoulders and a Bud Light in his hand, Rafe Cameron is an overwhelming presence in your periphery. 

And he’s staring. He hasn’t had enough bottles of the American-style lager to blame the alcohol for this supposed indiscretion.

Perhaps it’s because it’s you, again, standing a few feet away from him, again. In the same place at the same time under the same, presumable act of divine providence; Rafe Cameron doesn’t know whether he’s overthinking it, but this fate-enacted déjà vu is getting a little ridiculous.

—

When you’re eight-years-old, Rafe Cameron asks you to join his game of Capture the Flag. The proposition comes after his mother—your classroom teacher—Mrs Cameron pulls him aside during her recess duty, having noticed your small frame hunched over and alone in a hidden corner of the playground. 

She beckons him over discreetly, alerting him to the issue at hand.

“Sweetheart, listen,” she murmurs quietly, bowing her head to his level. “Think you can do something for me?”

Rafe looks up at her quizzically, furrowing his brow. “What?”

“That girl over there,” she whispers, nodding toward you surreptitiously, “looks awfully lonely, don’t you think?”

He follows her gaze with a bemused frown on his face, unsure what this has to do with him. A gust of wind lifts his overgrown locks off his forehead, strands of ashen blonde that his mother pats down absentmindedly. 

“Mom,” he groans abashedly, ducking away from her hand with an angry scowl. “Stop. So?”

“So,” she echoes sternly. “Haven’t I taught you about the importance of the phrase ‘no man gets left behind’?”

“She isn’t a man,” Rafe argues meekly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Rafael,” his mother warns, raising her eyebrows.

Rafe huffs out a frustrated sigh, wriggling his folded arms tauter, an airtight seal. “Can’t you ask someone else? A girl?”

“I could.” She allows a purposeful pause, her voice gentle but appraising. “I’m asking you.”

“Why?” Rafe groans out defeatedly, his small shoulders crumpling forward.

“Imagine if it was Sarah over there, or little Wheeze without anyone to play with.” Rafe’s heart pulls. “Wouldn’t you want another older brother making sure that they were okay?”

He keeps his gaze averted lest his mother see it soften, but it’s clear he acquiesces, his small feet beginning to drag him forward. 

“That’s my guy,” she says approvingly, stretching forward to comb through his wind-mussed hair, again. And as he dodges her fingers for the second time today, he thinks, why me? And then, why her?

Because of course you’re all alone on the one day of the month that his mother’s on recess duty, a cruel twist of fate. Of course he’s a convenient, beckon-able distance away, of course your isolated figure is within discernible range.

Of course, of course, of course… how many more before coincidence becomes something more, something greater, something he isn’t able to explain?

As Rafe nears, he realises that you’re folded over a tattered book. You’re clasping the hardwood cover with an intensity that makes your small knuckles blanch; your face is hidden, a wide brim sunhat on your head, and your knees are pulled close, right up against your torso.

An interlude to the warm sun on your back, cool breeze predominating. You slacken the draw-cord of you sunhat and tug it free, mildly bristled by the shadow-framing perpetrator that’s stopping you reading.

When you look up at him, you startle momentarily. He’s older and taller with brilliant blue eyes and a frown on his face; were it not for the fact that his hand was outstretched, you would’ve been certain that he was here to shun you away.

“Uh, hey,” he greets gauchely, his expression a little pained. “I’m Rafe.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen in tandem diffidence, and you scramble to shut the book in your lap. “Y/n. I’ll get out of your way —”

“Wait — no, listen,” Rafe interrupts impatiently, stepping forward and placing his hand on your shoulder. “You know how to play Capture the Flag?”

You balk, gaze dropping to where his fingers fold over your skin. “No.”

“Oh.” Rafe grimaces, retrieving his hand in a hurry. “Right.”

From across the field, Kelce’s strident voice rings clear — he’s on an urgent, recess-induced time crunch, one that’s sure to garner the attention of his friends. They probably caught the absent-minded action, too, him reaching out for this pretty girl’s shoulder, all alone. Disinterested. Delaying a game of Capture the Flag in lieu of fraternising with the enemy. He swallows. The tips of his ears feel overwhelmingly warm all of a sudden.

“Sorry,” you say, frowning up at him.

“Um, yeah,” he returns, looking over his shoulder furtively. He’s going to kill his mom for putting him in this tricky position. “Listen. Want to learn?”

You blink. “Me?”

“Sure, why not,” Rafe replies awkwardly, scrubbing his palm over the back of his neck. 

A pause as your gaze moves over his features, screens for signs of insincerity, any vacillation in his demeanour. When you fail to find cause to doubt his proposition, you acquiesce, dusting off your linen shorts before standing up and straightening. 

Even at your full height, he has a generous few inches on your figure. The revelation does something funny to his underdeveloped heartstrings, makes his weak pulse lurch like it’s supposed to mean something.

He attributes this feeling to those aforementioned, older brotherly instincts. It isn’t as though there’s any other reason his resolve is so unwavering.

“Okay,” you say, smiling wide, unabashed. Rafe’s pulse does another funny little jolt, taunting him, refusing to dulcify.

He overcompensates for it by muttering a stilted no problem in response, guiding you through the recess bustle to the game-playing space his friends have designated.

And maybe you’re a faster learner than he’d initially anticipated, fitting right into the group despite being in a grade below him. Later, he’ll justify his closeness to you with similar sentiments — you were an asset to his team, he’d insist to his best friend Kelce, small and quick and difficult to catch, the perfect person to swipe the opponent’s flag.

Not pretty, or anything, easy to look at. Rafe Cameron refuses to touch how fundamentally right your proximity feels to him. 

There aren’t any more overt instances of contact until you’re ten. 

Sure, you’re placed in Rafe’s former classroom in third grade, and sure, you’re assigned the same window-side desk as him. You even manage to carve your initials in a wooden corner that opposes his — it’s a curious twist of fate, this immortalisation of your shared presence in that space. And it’s definitely just coincidence that you happen to take the same detour home, everyday; kicking up loose gravel on the same length of grey pavement, best friends with K-names and a joint affinity for ice-cream truck circumvents.

Right?

Rafe Cameron is twelve-years-old when he realises that you’re the coach’s daughter. With your mother working overtime and no spare cash for a baby-sitter, you’re forced to tag along to soccer practice after school.

Your figure on the bench is a familiar sight — the same shoulders folded over the same, small torso, a tattered book in your lap that’s near identical to the one before it. 

Admittedly, it’s a debilitating sight. He hasn’t experienced this overwhelming, pulse-lurching feeling in a while.

The coach’s firm hand on his shoulder breaks him out of his reverie. He realises that he’s gawking at you in the middle of a running drill.

“You alright, son?” He asks gruffly, frowning down at Rafe. 

“Oh, uh —” Rafe flounders, ducking his head in embarrassment. Damp strands of dirty-blonde kiss the top of his eyebrows before lifting, “— I — yes. Sorry.”

The coach cocks his head to one side curiously, following Rafe’s gaze to near-empty bench in the distance. His eyebrows lift in stern appraisal as your figure registers. “Ah,” he says, trying not to look too pleased. “You know my daughter?”

“No I don’t,” Rafe answers in a hurry, and then he falters, grimacing abashedly. “I mean… yeah, kind of. Same school.”

“Hm.” He nods, reaching for the whistle around his neck before blowing it dismissively. “Take five, alright?”

Rafe doesn’t want to. He can feel ten sets of eyes staring at him, the coach’s stern instruction doing little to quell their curiosity. But regardless of his willingness to re-introduce himself, there’s a pull in his chest that supersedes any reluctance, dragging his feet forward like a moth drawn to a flame.

You’re prettier at ten than you were at eight. When you look up at him today, free from the shackles of a wide brim hat, your lashes are longer and your soft cheeks fuller, a kind smile on your face as you look over his features.

Recognition. It’s comforting and terrifying at the same time. You say, shutting your book and angling your chin up toward his face, “Oh, hey. Capture the Flag Rafe.”

Rafe isn’t ready to admit what the sweet nickname is doing to his brain. “Y/n. Again,” he acknowledges, grinning weakly in tandem.

“I know.” You make a face. “Can’t go home until my dad’s done here.”

“Didn’t know he was,” Rafe says, glancing over at him wistfully. “Your dad, I mean. Must be nice to have coach around all the time.”

There’s something sombre in his tone as he says it, down-trodden, as though having a decent father is a privilege and not a right. Your brow furrows. “This team’s all he ever talks about,” you reply, clearing your throat in an attempt to adopt a lower, gruffer lilt. “You know, they’re a good set of lads, sweetheart,” you pause, raising your eyebrows, “if I’d have known one of them was you, I might’ve even told him I agree."

Rafe’s cheeks warm. “I’m nothing special.” You’re the special one.

“You’re good at Capture the Flag,” you return, shrugging easily. “Plus, your mom’s definitely my favourite teacher ever. Makes sense that you get my dad as a coach. Parent swap.”

“Parent swap,” Rafe echoes, still grinning. He reaches up to mess with his overgrown, blonde locks, yellow sunlight making his sweaty skin glow. 

“She’s been off sick a lot recently, though,” you add, chewing on your bottom lip thoughtfully. “Is everything okay?” 

“Oh.” Something in Rafe’s features tenses, an unreadable emotion flickering over his blue irises. “Um. I don’t know. She’s had to take time off to go to the hospital for some stuff.”

From the way his voice thickens, shoulders braced, you know not to pry or press him with more questions. You say, “I hope she’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Rafe responds roughly, clearing his throat.  “Uh, me too.”

A pause. You scramble for purchase on another conversation starter, absentminded gaze moving over his tense figure. Lingering over perspiration.

“How’s Kildare middle going, though?” You ask faux-nonchalantly, pretty eyes dropping again.

“Alright, I guess,” Rafe answers, his arm falling back to his side. “Not too long left. Moving on to the Academy after this year.”

“Oh.” You pause, disappointment etching your features. “Damn. We’ll just miss each other, huh?”

A beat. Though you’re right in principle, Rafe isn’t sure he agrees; take this rendezvous for example, the one before it, a set of superimposed coincidences that just happened to work in your favour. 

It’s strange. Something at his heart’s core tells him it’s certain you’ll meet again. “I don’t think so,” he responds, less bashful and more sure. “Sure we’re gonna find a way to bump into each other again, soon.”

And there’s truth in his admission, sanctioned by sweet conviction, your grandmother’s brief stint at the hospital coinciding with one of his mother’s.

He’s thirteen-years-old and staring down a vending machine when you find him. 

It bathes him in an offensive hue of fluorescent white, etching every frown line and forehead crease, a mirror machine of self-erosion. Just over a year since your bench-side tryst, but Rafe’s haggard appearance makes it feel far longer. 

You find yourself swallowing as you look over his figure, a subconscious urge to draw nearer taking over. Your bones ache. Walking slow at first, his unshed tears prompt your ginger paces to gain a quickness.

“Rafe,” is all you say at first, quiet, a little unsure. 

His face moves to yours before he’s ducking away in embarrassment, scrubbing the heel of his palm over his damp cheeks roughly. When he lifts his head again, the quiet desolation he displayed hides behind an armour of indifference. 

“Uh, hey,” his voice cracks, and he resists the urge to grimace. “What are you doing here?”

You balk, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. “My grandma’s sick.”

“Oh,” Rafe says quietly, his tense features softening. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you return, more meek than anything disconsolate. “You?”

“My mom.” Rafe clears his throat abruptly, averting his gaze. “They’ve been giving her some stuff, I don’t know. Isn’t really helping.”

“Oh,” you say, furrowing your brow apologetically. “I’m sorry too.”

“And… and they won’t tell me anything,” he adds urgently, his quiet voice taking on a frustrated edge. Rafe isn’t sure where exactly this sudden burst candour is coming from — he’s barely able to confide in his best friend, Kelce, let alone the random girl from whom he appears to never stray.

That’s unfair. You aren’t that random to him. Though the pair of you have only shared a handful of meaningful conversations, the synonym isn’t well-suited — there has to be a reason that he feels so comfortable in your presence. 

Perhaps it’s to do with the way your features soften, the promise of proximity like a warm embrace, grounding. Not random, but pretty, he decides. Pretty girl. He’s struck with the sudden, surprising revelation that over Kelce, over his father, over almost anyone, you take precedence. 

Almost. He adds, “I don’t even know why. I — I mean, my dad’s been treating me like a grown-up since Wheezie was born, anyway. What’s different now? What — what’s wrong with my mom? I don’t get it. I’ll —”

He’s cut off when you wrap your arms around his torso, fingers intertwined and pressed into his back. It’s the way your mother’s always calmed you down when you’re stressed — pulled you close and squeezed you tight, held you until the anger and desolation acquiesces. 

Slowly, gingerly, Rafe’s arms encircle your shoulders, a heavy exhale leaving his lips and pressing into your hair. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, not particularly sonorous but vibrating over his skin anyway. His muscles relax. He allows his chin to drop an inch, sun-bleached strands of ashen blonde flopping over his forehead. 

“Me too,” he croaks out, clearing his throat again. He’s endured enough lectures about being strong for his mom to last him a lifetime, Ward’s stern voice imposing. About how men don’t cry and he should strive to do the same, emulate the undaunted older brother, hold down the fort he’ll inherit one day.

In this moment, all of that external noise melts away. How are you always in the right place at exactly the right time? There’s years within minutes when you do finally break the embrace.

“I don’t know why adults do that,” you admit after a beat, furrowing your brow apologetically. “I know you can handle the truth. You’re brave.”

Something in Rafe’s chest cracks. “You don’t know that.”

“You asked me to play Capture the Flag.” You shrug. “Even though we weren’t in the same class. And… and even though you didn’t even know me. That’s brave.”

“Is it?” Rafe asks, a hopeful lilt to his quiet voice.

“Yeah,” you nod reassuringly, frowning a little. “Don’t worry about your parents, they’re just being stupid. They’ll come around, I swear it. Do you trust me?”

It’s perplexing. Without access to the context clues that denote your perpetual closeness, it’s difficult for Rafe to justify how easily he’s able to answer that question. Yes, absolutely yes, and he means it too, with every ounce of conviction in a chest that beats for you.

But he doesn’t understand it, where this unwavering faith is coming from. And it’s because he doesn’t know of the red string in sneaker grooves that he’s outgrown.

He doesn’t know that the humble chalet he can see from his bedroom window is yours, that there’s a reason his eyes are drawn to the rectangle of light on the second floor. If he squints really hard, he can even catch vague details of its interior, small bed and smaller bed bathed in a lemon-yellow hue. You’ve always lived on the cusp of the Figure Eight and the Cut, a reasonably modest neighbourhood that’s kept you a convenient, stone’s throw away.

He isn’t educated on the statistical likelihood of such coincidences, of chance and seeming circumstance thrusting you together once again.

“Okay,” he agrees after pause, exhaling heavily.

“Good.” You nod again, glancing over your shoulder ruefully. “Will you be here tomorrow, too?”

“Maybe.” You need to head back, and he understands that. It doesn’t matter. He isn’t ready. His chest tightens and his haggard bones ache. “You?”

“Dunno,” you say, frowning sadly. “Don’t get told anything either.”

Rafe nods curtly, the column of his throat constricting. “Hopefully.”

“If not,” you pause, pretty eyes widening meaningfully, “doesn’t matter. We’ll see each other again. We always do.”

And your promise rings true, of course it does, when you’re fourteen-years-old and on an after school detour.

Three years without reconnection, growing pains and callow indisposition, has allowed the pair of you to forget about the string. But the string hasn’t forgotten. It’s formed through invisible locks of unfaltering, gold thread, made of strong fibres that maintain this look-don’t-touch distance.

For example, Rafe’s running route often cuts through your neighbourhood. It winds through the Figure Eight before trailing the outskirts of a public garden, the same one you enjoy reading in, neglected roots notwithstanding. And though he hasn't always been a stickler for aerobic endurance, the habit developed a little while after his mother’s passing.

It’s underpinned by a compulsion to tire himself out lest he expend his energy elsewhere. Agonise over all the thing he failed to tell her, failed to do, all the times he could’ve held her tight and said I love you. Men don’t cry, though. They run until their lacrimal ducts are void of any tears.

You’re studying the impressive array of candy in aisle four when he lumbers past it, paces broad and unwieldy. He’s following by an inebriated posse that’s causing ruckus; drunk and underage at the expense of attending fifth period, the group of Academy juniors are grappling with multiple misdemeanours.

It’s why they’ve opted to shop at this smaller supermarket instead of the haughty WholeFoods that’s a little closer to home; there aren’t many people that’d recognise them here, on the outskirts of the Eight with greater ties to the Cut.

Or so he thinks. A strange twist of fate that you’re here, sure, but even stranger is the fact that he looks over as your head turns.

Of course the one aisle he hazards a glance at has you. In the midst of drunken clamour, voices blaring and blissfully ignorant, his paces stagger to a halt, heartbeat sky-rocketing.

You startle as he registers, surprised gaze meeting his before you’re breaking eye-contact and looking away. The two years he hasn’t seen you are evident on your figure — Rafe isn’t sure whether it’s the dodgy liquor talking, or him, but there’s enough inches of bare skin on display for his brain to short-circuit. Cute uniform, longer limbs, same soft, airbrushed skin. Prettier eyes and fuller lips, as if that’s fucking possible, as if there’s ever been a time that he hasn’t agonised over your features.

He doesn’t mean to balk and take inventory, his sharp jaw slackening and palms beginning to grow clammy. It’s just that the alcohol he’s consumed has his self-control disintegrating.

“Yo, Cameron,” calls Kelce in front of him, stumbling back around with a bemused frown on his face. “The fuck are y’doing, bro?”

“You guy s’go ahead,” Rafe urges, grimacing at the slight slur to his words. “I’m coming.”

Kelce attempts to squint appraisingly, swaying in place for a beat before acquiescing. “Whatever,” he allows, turning around. “We’ll be in the snack aisle.”

Rafe nods distractedly, changing his trajectory to traverse the long aisle toward your figure. Slower, a little circumspect, hyper-aware of your tense shoulders and backpack braced hands. Bare limbs. The way the column of your throat shifts as you swallow.

The artificial lights overhead make your skin glow, and Rafe struggles to focus on placing one foot in front of the other. Once he’s close enough to touch, he rocks back on his heels, sheepish grin on his face and several inches on your frame. 

“Uh, shit,” he flounders, his voice liquefying around the edges. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”

He’s mostly joking, but there’s an exaggerated edge to his voice that the alcohol isn’t able to liquefy.

“Yeah,” you say curtly, sending him a quick smile.

It doesn’t quite meet your eyes, though, and Rafe really aches.

He adds, “Especially since it always catches me off guard,” the slur hardening as the weight of your indifference washes over him.

A pause. You use the silence to take inventory of the features you’ve forgotten, the features that’ve changed — longer torso and broader shoulders, slanted jaw and sharper cheekbones. A gold signet ring on his forefinger. He flexes and relaxes his hand absentmindedly, a bulb of yellow light folding over its flat surface.

“Really?” You ask, gaze softening as it lifts to meet his. The ache ebbs. “I’ve come to expect it.”

“Yeah?” He steps closer still, unable to help himself. “Should I be flattered by that, Y/l/n?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “I don’t know, Cameron. Should you?”

“Well,” he murmurs slowly, more sure, more willing to flirt with fate as his hazy mind clears. There's more blue in his eyes than there was a second ago, deep cerulean that appears to glint brighter with mirth. “If it means you think about me from time to time…”

“Hm.” You shrug again, heavy appraisal in your voice. “Even if I do, it definitely isn’t this you.”

Rafe grimaces, reaching up to scrub his palm over the back of his neck. He doesn’t know why your approval means so much to him; in theory, you’re just the girl he happens upon every few years.

Except that you’re not. Except that you never left.

Except that your favourite haunt is a hidden alcove that verges on Tannyhill Estate; that his mother’s grave is along the route to your grandparents, that his younger sister Wheezie has a best friend in your neighbourhood. He’s driven past your house a number of times over the past few months, oblivious to its significance, your presence beyond a white picket fence and garden.

“I haven’t had a lot,” he tries.

You raise your eyebrows again. “It’s 3.30 on a Wednesday afternoon.”

“And you’re buying candy,” he says, his arm dropping again. A pause as it swings dangerously close to your wrist, billowing air like static over your too-warm skin. “What’re you up to later?”

“Not much,” you answer easily, and then you balk, face crumpling in embarrassment. “I mean — shit, not that I don’t have friends to hang out with, or anything, I just —”

“— freshman year?” Rafe supplies helpfully, giving you a convenient out. You aren’t sure why you’re desperate to explain yourself to him; hypothetically, he’s just the boy you know through seeming coincidences.

Except that he’s not. Except that they’re astrally excogitated.

Except that you seldom stop at the supermarket on the way home — it’d been a spur of the moment decision, one you’d never predicted would end in another reconnection.

“Yeah,” you breathe out after a beat, fidgeting with your backpack straps. Rafe’s gaze drops with the movement, and he’s struck with the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze away your diffidence. He swallows. “I — it’s whatever. Making friends is hard, you know? I’d been banking on the fact that my best friend Kiara’d be joining me next year, but she just texted me saying her parents’d enrolled her into the Academy.”

“Oh.” Rafe pauses, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. “Kiara Carrera?”

“Uh, yeah?” You send him a bemused look. “You know her?”

“She’s Sarah’s friend,” Rafe affirms; another incidental link, another chance connection. His heart pulls. “My younger sister.”

“Right,” you say, chewing on your bottom lip thoughtfully. “Huh. This island’s way too small.”

Rafe’s about to disagree when Kelce’s garbled yell cuts him off, loud and liquor heavy from a few aisles away.

“Cameron!” He slurs out urgently, loudspeaker raucous with an inebriated posse of accomplices. “Bro — the fuck are you?”

“Shit.” Rafe grimaces apologetically, his heavy gaze skating over your features. Slow, agonisingly slow, memorising the subtle details that are sure to change in a year or two. Rafe hopes a year; he hopes less, he hopes tomorrow. “Sorry. I better…”

“No biggie,” you allow, smiling affably. That’s one of them, the way your full lips curve up as you address him. The soft creases on your forehead, the way your uniform hugs your figure. Undeserved inches of bare skin, glowing yellow in artificial light. It’s going to be harder to keep his hands to himself the next time your proximity is this evident. 

“And hey, about what you said,” he adds softly, pacing backward slow. “I think the island could be smaller, don’t you?”

He’s turned around and hastened to a jog before you’re so much as able to decipher his words, let alone effuse over the insinuation.

Rafe Cameron wants Kildare to shrink. He wants to see you more than he is already. The revelation rockets through your ribcage like tempest, wreaking havoc on every chamber of your heart, every nerve-ending. 

It’s terrifying. At least you don’t have to wait as long for your next reunion.

Rafe, along with the rest of the Camerons, spends the summer before college at the Bahamas house.

And though he has a grand time in the Caribbean, flirting with locals for fun and slurping down Mai Tai’s at beach clubs, when he returns to the Outer Banks in late August there’s a hankering in his bones that grows stronger with your absence.

A stroke of luck, really, that you’re working your final shift at the Club the same day as Rafe’s farewell dinner. 

Right? 

You’re assigned to their table as soon as you begin. It’s an amity sham orchestrated by his step-mother Rose, no doubt to assert a kindred front to the rest of its Figure Eight patrons. From your kitchen safe haven, you aren’t able to see Rafe right away; only his father and younger sister are visible, Wheezie rattling away about something insignificant.

But then you step away from guarded quarters, brave the bustling interior of the Club and spot him. 

He’s wearing a checkered button-up that stretches taut over solid biceps, less gel in his hair, the overgrown strands fabric mussed. A signet ring you recognise. There’s a shadow of stubble over his chiseled jaw, sharper blue in the eyes you memorised in third grade. 

He’s tense. You’re struck with the sudden, overwhelming need to make your presence known and relax him. 

When you do sidle up to their table, however, desire gives away to self-effacement. Even sheltered as you are in the no man’s land between Pogue and Kook, Ward Cameron’s stature and notoriety are well-known to those in your neighbourhood. 

“Hello,” you greet pleasantly, plastering on a smile. “I’m Y/n, and I’m going to be your server tonight. Can I get you started on some drinks?”

At the mere mention of your name, Rafe’s head whips up in surprise, his bright eyes flaring as they make contact with yours.

“Shit, you work here?” He exclaims, his entire demeanour changing in acknowledgement. Shoulders dropping, features softening, the angle of his torso slanting toward you. It makes your chest whir.

“Uh,” you balk, looking around the table helplessly. “Just over summer, yeah. This is my last shift.”

Lucky. “You’re kidding.”

“Like I said,” you return, pretty lips pulling up more genuinely now. “Small island.”

And it’s been… what? Two years since the last time he saw you? 

You’re wearing a cute uniform that affords him the luxury of bare limbs, skirt hemmed above your knee and button-up tighter than it should be. He bets you get hit on a lot around these parts, all soft eyes and kissable cheeks, exposed legs that glow in sconce lighting. Sweet voice that’s incapable of saying the wrong thing. He swallows thickly. A lot of his graduating class have a membership to this Club. 

“Huh.” Rafe grins too, reaching up and flicking your notepad playfully. “Good gig, though?”

“Definitely,” you answer, glancing over the dining room gratefully. “Super busy, but good to get some work experience, you know?”

Ward Cameron clears his throat significantly. “Well said, my dear,” he acknowledges faux-amicably, cutting his son an imperceptible glare. “See, Rafe? It isn’t just me who understands the significance of hard work.”

An unreadable emotion flickers over his blue irises, fierce but defeated, a battle he’s lost before. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed the internship, dad,” he mutters evenly.

“Work isn’t meant to be enjoyed, son,” Ward chastises, a cruel undercurrent to his tone. 

“Yeah, well,” he sighs out tiredly, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m glad it went to someone who deserved it. Leah probably got more out of it than I ever would’ve.”

“Leah isn’t the one that’s going to be inheriting the firm one day,” Ward rebukes, angrier now.

A pause. The tension in the air has shifted enough to feel palpable.

“Uh.” You gaze moves over the table feebly, scrambling for purchase before settling on your notepad. “I’ll give you guys a sec.”

“Nonsense, we’re fine,” Ward instructs firmly, halting you in your tracks. 

He parrots an order on behalf of the table that you scrawl down slovenly, resisting the urge to steal a glance at Rafe. Make things worse, somehow, his now chagrined son the center of your gaze. When you return with their drinks, with their entree’s and mains, you hope he doesn’t notice the newfound scarcity of your interactions.

But Rafe notices. He always notices.

It’s the reason he hangs back as they’re leaving the premises, lingering near the kitchen doors in an attempt to intercept you.

You’re carrying two steaming plates of Alfredo when he does so.

“Shit,” you curse, stumbling back in surprise. The mains wobble dangerously, heart hammering into your throat. “Don’t do that.”

Rafe’s features crumple apologetically, acquiescing into a weak grin. “Sorry. Just needed to see you before I left.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Why?”

“Uh.” Rafe falters. He combs his calloused fingers through his hair, loose strands creating a flyaway halo around his head. “Shit — I don’t know. Maybe ‘cause I’m heading to UNC tomorrow and you’re not.”

“So I gathered,” you return softly, more bashful now. “Your dad’s quite intense about it, huh?”

“Fuck,” Rafe sighs out, making a face. “I know. He’s — I’m sorry you had to see that shit, he usually reserves his stupid lectures for when we’re not out in public. Doesn't wanna fuck with his image, you know? He’s super heavy on all that happy family crap.”

“Oh,” you say, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. A rim of sharp heat is beginning to transfer from plate to palm. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to apologise.”

“I do,” Rafe labours, stepping closer still. A tantalising inch of space between your figure and his, though his vetiver and musk cologne makes it feel like far less. “Because… fuck, because there’s only one reason he felt the need to make a scene.”

You frown bemusedly. “There is?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “To make me look bad. In front of you.”

“You didn’t look bad to me, Rafe,” you say gently, voice quiet but firm. 

“Listen,” he murmurs urgently, looking over your softened features. “D’you know where you want to go to college?”

“Not yet,” you answer slowly, your nervous breath stilling. His eyes have fallen over your soft cheeks and skidded at your lips, lingering.

“You should come to UNC.” He exhales heavily and takes a long step back, as though doing so is tying up every ounce of his conviction. It is. The invisible string loosens. “That’s where I’ll be.”

Another pause. You say, frighteningly sure of yourself, “Knowing us, I probably will.”

And though this revelation doesn’t quite ring true, fate bestows upon you one more chance encounter before present day.

When you’re eighteen-years-old, Rafe Cameron tells you you’re the one.

You’re strolling along the beachfront at dusk, ruminating. An amaranth hue presses over your silhouette, darker carmine wine, softer pink pulling away.

As sunlight recedes, it takes any discernible features with it. Rafe knows this. He knows he shouldn’t recognise you as easily as he does.

But he’s breathing heavy by the time he’s caught up with you, anyway, a sheen of sweat lining his limbs, damp strands of ashen blonde kissing his forehead. His throat burns and his heaving lungs bleed, though it’s the ache in his cracking ribcage that really has him panicking.

He needs to know whether or not you’re coming to UNC. Kildare Island may be small, but the world beyond it is dangerously big.

“Rafe!” You exclaim in surprise, stumbling back as he doubles over. He gulps down several pockets of cool air before straightening.

“Y/n,” he greets slovenly, his gaze skating over your figure. Big mistake — you’re so beautiful it steals the newfound oxygen from his lungs. He swallows thickly. “Thank fuck.”

“Thank fuck?” You echo, raising your eyebrows appraisingly.

“It’s been a while,” Rafe says then, stepping closer without meaning to. You’re wearing a white singlet and raw-hem denim shorts, a taunting rectangle of bare waist between them. It glows in waning light, the column of your throat, too. He’s struck with the sudden urge to dip his head and bruise it blue.

You soften a little, something demure about it. “Has it?”

“Yeah.” His arms swings forward absently, forefinger brushing over the pulse point on your wrist. The fleeting skin-on-skin rockets through you like static. “Was starting to get worried.”

“Oh,” you say quietly, gaze dropping to his hand. “You shouldn’t, really. Knew you’d find me eventually.”

“And next year?” He asks, an urgent edge to his voice. “When you head to college? Am I gonna be able to find you as easily as I do now?"

You exhale softly, eyes moving back up to his. “I’m going to Northwestern, if that’s what you mean.”

Rafe’s stomach lurches. “Why?”

“Rafe.” You pause. You try to ignore the deep woe in your ribcage. “It’s only three years away.”

“That's a year more than usual,” Rafe returns impatiently, his self-control wearing thin. He reaches up and presses his rough palm against your cheek, the other squeezing the side of your waist, thumb swiping over bare skin.

Your breath hitches. “Rafe —”

“No, listen, I promise I’ll fuck off in a sec.” His eyes drop to your soft lips, a peach-scented gloss making it difficult to concentrate. Maybe he should stop making promises he can’t keep. “But I — shit, I have to say this in case things don’t work out like you think they will.”

You swallow down a still-beating heart, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

“We’ve been…” he falters, shaking his head, “…fuck, I don’t know, it doesn’t make any sense. It’s like the Universe knows something I don’t and I think that something is that you’re it.”

“It?” You echo abashedly, voice messy and fond, barely audible.

“It, the one, the girl I’m going to end up with,” he clarifies, exhaling heavily. “And I just… I need you to know that I wouldn’t mind that. Shit — I want that. So bad.”

Your pretty eyes widen at the revelation, poor heart stuttering. “Three years, Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe pulls away, like he said you would. A part of you wishes he wasn’t so good at following through. “Three years. Longer, if you need. I’ll be here. I’ll wait forever.”

—

Thankfully, your presence at the bonfire confirms the former. His gaze, more pupil than brilliant blue iris, moves over your pretty features, over your bare limbs and surprised expression. Glowing skin. Soft lips he’s wanted to taste for a while now.

The way he drinks your figure in, as though he’s a poor man starved, has your weak knees threatening to buckle underneath you, pulse whirring alive as it pulls you toward him.

You meet in the middle, the rest of the bonfire fading away. It’s only you and him, now, and that invisible string of fate.

“You know what I think everytime I see you?” He asks, his voice a quiet murmur, low and gravelly around the edges. It spills over you like the first pull of a warm beverage, his cedar-wood cologne encircling you, a body-heat warm embrace. 

You cock your head to one side, smiling your sweet, unabashed smile. It makes his heart sing. “What?”

“I think.” He steps closer, the tips of his sneakers making contact with the tips of yours. “Fucking hell, she’s prettier than she was the last time I saw her. As if that’s fucking possible.”

“Three years, Rafe Cameron,” you say softly, smiling wider.

He nods meaningfully, reaching up and tucking his hand underneath your jaw. His thumb swipes over your too-warm cheek, soft on rough in a way that makes your pulse jolt. “Think this is it, now?”

“I don’t plan on leaving the Banks,” you answer, raising your eyebrows. “I hear from Sarah that you don’t either.”

Rafe scoffs, more amused than exasperated. “Of course you’ve seen Sarah.”

“With Kiara.” His thumb slides over your bottom lip absentmindedly, exerting a gentle pressure. You lean into it without meaning to. “Who d’you think told me about tonight?”

“Of fucking course,” he murmurs, exhaling slowly. “Just another one of those coincidences, huh?”

You swallow slightly, and his gaze drops to the column of your throat, bonfire flames painting them a burnt ochre hue. Back up to your lips, soft and glossed over. It’s debilitating, how badly he wants to taste you right now. “Must be.”

He ducks his head in the beat that passes, a kissable inch of space between your lips and his. “This is stupid,” he breathes out, warm and liquor-heavy as it fans your features. Your lashes flutter. “We’ve barely had five conversations over the course of our lives.”

“What’s stupid?” You ask quietly, a little bashful. Rafe’s deep voice has this sweet, terrifying effect on your havoc-wreaked insides.

“How badly I want to skip all the getting to know you bullshit and just kiss you.”

Your breath hitches. “You don’t think you know me?”

“That’s the thing,” he murmurs urgently, his torso pressing into yours, now, a rough hand on your waist. “I — fuck, I shouldn’t, but I do.”

You lean in first. There’s a soft brush of lips on his before he’s taking over, kissing you hard, fond and messy as he attaches his mouth to yours. A teeth-scraping pressure. He’s peppermint and warm beer and sunshine twang, the essence of an Outer Banks summer, a sloven osculation that has you craving more.

When he pulls away, your lips are bruised and kiss-heckled, warm cheeks glowing in the scorching flame of the bonfire. The embers crackle in appreciation. 

“That's not stupid,” you breathe out after a beat, voice hushed. “So do I. Hard not to, you know? Feels like you’ve been in my life forever.”

“Doesn’t it?” Rafe grins this fond, messy grin, his thumb swiping over your saliva-glossed bottom lip. “Makes no fucking sense, but it’s like we’re connected by a tiny bit of thread.”

“Hm.” A pause. It’s pretty to think about, all the ways astral influence thrust the pair of you together. “You’re right. An invisible string tying you and me together.”

--

--

--

thank you for this i love you and your brilliantly, talented self

The Euro Trip Universe (reposted)

Euro Trip:

Part 1

The extended cut: Bad Habit (new!)

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

College Trip:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

The old blurbs: the look, gold rush, Perfect Timing, The Beginning, Late Night Talking, Super Rich Kids, Not that guy, the first time

In my Eras era. 💅

hi bestie! congrats! could i request — “hey, i think it’s time to go to bed.” ?? thank you❤️

thank you!!! and thanks for sending this prompt! the first one of the 2k celly 🎉🎉🎉

new light: give up — rafe cameron

new light masterlist

summary: a weekend away with all of rafe’s friends gets off to a sleepy start.

warnings: alcohol

It was a weekend you’d been looking forward to for a while.

Yours and Rafe’s schedules had finally lined up with the rest of his friends from college, and everyone went in on a rental in Nashville for a long weekend. Margot came in from the Outer Banks, and Kelce was just over in Texas so he made the trip over, too. Topper couldn’t get out of his school commitments, and you were already ready to drag Rafe into a million different stores until you could source a good souvenir for him.

The rental house was cute—the owner had really leaned into the Music City theme, and you were charmed by the decor. 

Sawyer and Cody had been first in this morning, and you and Rafe arrived to them already tipsy while they fought over one of several empty bedrooms in the house. Everyone else had trickled in later, Margot and then Kelce, with Graham and Nora rounding out the group soon after. 

Catching up and settling in over drinking games had rolled straight into a pregame, and the general consensus permeating the room was that everyone was ready to get the night started and make plenty of bad decisions.

“We’re out the door by 10, alright?” Cody says sternly. 

Everyone standing around the kitchen island nods dutifully, knowing he’ll make good on his promise of leaving people behind. 

“Yes sir,” Kelce jokes. You smile tiredly at their antics, loving seeing all of the friends you love together in one room, fitting together seamlessly.

Rafe taps your hip from where you’d been leaning over the island, that last shot of ’42 going straight to your head. “C’mon. Let’s go get ready.”

“Lead the way.”

You follow Rafe down to the lower level, to the room you’d both decided was furthest away from the chaos while still having a private bathroom. 

He beelines for his suitcase, where it sits unfolded in the corner, while you make your way to the bed with your makeup bag, hiding a barely stifled yawn once his back is turned. But once you sit down on the bed, you lean back into the headboard, shutting your eyes momentarily.

“Hey.” 

You crack one eye open, your cheeks heating up when you realize you’ve been caught. “M’sorry. Do you think I can power nap and still get ready in an hour? I have an outfit visualized in my head.” 

“Not a chance in hell. You’re gonna change it four times,” Rafe laughs, pulling his shirt up over his head where he’s kneeling in front of his bag. He turns to you, his eyes softening. “You’re tired, sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Thought we’d have more downtime today,” you admit. “Not sure why, knowing your friends.” 

Rafe drops the shirt he’d been holding, standing and making his way over to you. 

“Bad move on your part,” he says, crawling up the bed and over your body, kissing you on the forehead before he sits to your side, grabbing your hand in both of his.

You smile, bringing his hand up to your lips, batting your eyelashes with great effort due to your heavy eyelids. “Could you go back upstairs for a RedBull?”

“Baby,” Rafe coos. “I think it’s time to go to bed.”

You blink, perking up in your surprise at his suggestion. “What? It’s the first night, we have to go out.”

“Says who?” Rafe shrugs. 

“Says everyone upstairs who’ll drag me out of here kicking and screaming,” you deadpan. 

“I’ll fight ‘em,” he says seriously.

“Rafe,” you laugh, pushing him with a hand to his chest. “I just have to rally.”

You make no move to do such, and time continues ticking down. You aren’t testing him, because you know you’d get him off your back with a minuscule pout. You didn’t even have to do that, and he was already suggesting you stay back. An outcome for the night you hadn’t even realized you wanted until you sealed yourselves off in your room, the first quiet moment to yourselves all day. 

“Okay,” Rafe says, moving your makeup bag from your lap to the side table next to the bed. “Or, hear me out, you could change out of your jeans and go brush your teeth.”

It’s a sudden thought so enticing, but you know you can’t fold yet. 

“It’s the first night,” you reemphasize, moving the bag back into your lap. “I just have to get going—I’ll order an espresso martini at the first place.”

“No one’s gonna give you shit,” Rafe says, moving the bag out of your reach again. “They’ll understand.”

“Okay, but Margot doesn’t know Nora that well, and I’ll feel bad if—”

“Kelce can handle Margot,” Rafe reminds you stubbornly.

You sigh, engaging in a quick staring contest. You both can’t help but start smiling the minute you lock eyes, and you have the urge to push him again, but you fight it.

“If I didn’t go,” you finally suggest, immediately regretting it when Rafe smiles again like he’s victorious, pink lips pulled up in smug satisfaction as his hand strokes over your knee. “If. Would you make sure they don’t do anything they’ll regret? That goes for all of them, honestly.”

The smug look fades as his eyebrows furrow. “Babe, I’m not going either.”

“Rafe,” you protest. 

“Y/n,” he counters. “I don’t wanna go.”

“You don’t wanna go? Or you don’t wanna leave me?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Not mutually exclusive.”

“I’m not that girlfriend,” you remind him. “You should go.”

“I’m that boyfriend,” he says. “I’m not going.”

“But you haven’t seen your boys in forever,” you protest, your last defense.

Rafe smiles, squeezing your knee. “Trust me, I’ve had enough of them in the last 12 hours.” 

You look at his face a little more, noticing his under eyes are a bit darker than you’d taken notice of, that his voice was dipping into that lower timbre he only got before dawn and after dusk. He hadn’t even had that much to drink today from what you remember, so you know it wasn’t that. It hits you then that he’d probably been pushing himself to go out just for you—what you thought you’d been doing for your friends. The surge of fondness is quickly overtaken by the need to make it right—to make sure he’s really sure.

But Rafe zeroes in on it and kisses your next argument off of your lips, pulling himself back over you and off of the bed. He forgoes the button up he’d been fiddling with earlier, pulling out a pair of sweatpants instead and slipping them up to his hips, tossing a worn t-shirt in your general direction. “Are we done here? I’m gonna go up and break the news.”

You finally feel yourself fully relax into the bed, knowing you’re done half-heartedly arguing and he’s done graciously entertaining it. “They’re gonna call us lame.”

“Oh, we are. I’ll bring us some snacks, too.”

You laugh, beckoning him closer with a finger as you stand again. You lean up to wrap your arms around him, feeling your tired body lose even more steam as he squeezes you tight, your eyes finding his. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he says, surprised like he even needs to say it to you, like there’s ever a stray second where you don’t know that as truth. He presses a kiss into the side of your head, only letting you go after a while. “Get in bed.”

You give him a mock salute, turning to grab your cosmetics bag off of the table again to take into the bathroom with you. Rafe raises his eyebrows. “My skincare is in here. Promise.” 

He points at you accusingly as he swings the door open. “I’m holding you to that.”

a fucked up sort of eden — pt. two — RC

↳SUMMARY: you meet rafe again during a time of dire stress; your cat, stumpy, is stuck in a tree.

↳[2.1k] WARNINGS: mentions of domestic violence, first responder lingo, angst, insecurity, fluff, flirting, blind date to lovers, strangers to lovers, nicknames, topper is kind of an ass (but we love him anyways), hot firefighters, etc.

↳A/N: sorry this took so long babies! but lmk what you think &lt;3

The firehouse had become Rafe’s home long before he ever became a firefighter. It began with his incessant need to fix things, his sister’s broken arm at age nine the first of many things on a long, long list of things that he felt responsible for. His moral responsibility led him to the army, where he had become a marine, a sniper to be exact. He had seen a lot of things for a skinny kid just trying to defy his father. Coming home had been an adjustment, living in a world where every noise wasn’t a threat, the biggest one of all. His moral compass led his course again like a broken compass stuck in the one direction. This time, it had led him to a life of volunteering with the men he now called his family. 

Rafe lounged quietly in the living room of the firehouse, his copy of John Steinbeck’s East of Eden draped casually against his long fingertips. It’s a book, a story, that he knows well. He had identified early in life with Adam Trask, its main character. Adam is good-hearted, much like Rafe and his kind nature gets him into trouble. Again, much like Rafe. He cursed his sister in the same way that Adam’s brother cursed him for being his father’s favorite. But, with Sarah it was different. He wasn’t jealous of her. No, he cursed every hair on her perfect blonde head for being wrong about you, for not telling him that you were well – you. He cursed her for convincing him that you wouldn’t hurt him. His reality was very different as he watched you walk away from him, away from the corner booth in the hole in the wall restaurant he had met you at. Yeah, Rafe’s good nature got him in trouble quite a bit, but for some reason he found himself hopeful; hopeful that he’d run into you or he could convince his sister to give him your phone number. He hoped you’d give him a do-over. He hoped you were different in the way that he thought you were. He was brought out of his thoughts at the sound of the fire alarm sounding off, signaling to his brain that it was time to work. He sighed in contentment, a lazy smile plastered across his lips as his best friend, Topper, came into his view, smacking him across the head with the book that was previously in his hands. 

“Let’s go, Cameron. Can’t you hear the bell going off?” 

Topper asked, his lips turning up into a cocky, but annoyed smirk.

“I heard it, bud. I thought you’d do me a solid and handle this one for me.” 

Rafe inquired, jokingly and Topper responded with a low chuckle as Rafe rose from where he previously laid. 

“Oh, come on, Rafferty! Don’t you want to go rescue a beautiful woman and let her stroke your savior complex or – your dick, whatever works.” 

Rafe couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his best pal, following his suit as he slid down the pole and into the locker room, layering his body with his uniform and climbing into the rig. 

— 

Your morning had been simple, a cup of coffee and your favorite book, Irene Hunt’s classic The Lottery Rose. Though you didn’t know it, you were much like Rafe in regard to your ability to empathize and place yourself within a character’s proximity. In the same way that he related to Adam’s character, you related to Georgie’s as the novel carries you through his life as a child experiencing domestic violence and his journey to healing as he escapes its hold. You felt it mirrored your life in a way – Georgie’s broken arm and your broken heart seemingly two shard from the same cut of glass, melding together like only broken pieces can. The book had saved your life in a lot of ways, the most prevalent one being that a kind nurse had given it to you to read in the hospital after your attack. You’d had a lot of feelings to work through and the book – it just helped in ways even you couldn’t understand and you’d reread it once a month ever since. 

You lounged on your sofa, dog-earring the page you were set to stop on as you read the last words of it before you rose easily from where you sat, grabbing your coffee cup in search of another round of caffeine. You made your way into the kitchen, placing your cup underneath the hood of your keurig as you placed another coffee pod into the canister and latched it closed, a resounding pop could be heard against the low hum of the wind as it brustled through the french doors just off of your third floor balcony. You listened to the sweet sound of your coffee pouring, the echo against your cup sending you into sweet bliss as the smell simultaneously hit your nose. As it finished and you began, stirring the french vanilla creamer into your cup of joe, you heard a faint meow and suddenly realized you had no idea where your cat, Stumpy, currently resided. You continues stirring your cup, when you heard it again. Though, this time, it sounded more like he was whining. Your feet padded across your livingroom quickly, the plush white carpet melding into the curve of your feet, following the other faint meows that you heard coming directly from your balcony. You thought nothing of it, moving quickly to open the doors and bring him inside. But, to your surprise, he wasn’t laying in the patio chair or on the rug. No – he was nowhere to be found and as your heart began to race, your anxiety inducing feline meowed again, this time, rather loudly. It sounded like he was calling for help and as you looked up, you met his green eyes where he stood – in the tree across from your balcony.   

“Hey, buddy. You’ve gotten yourself in a predicament there, huh?” 

You asked, amusedly. He only responded with a meow that sounded more like a screech from a banshee. 

“Okay, okay, okay — I’m coming, buddy. Stay right there.” 

You said in trepidation. 

You moved quickly, not caring about anything other than getting your sweet boy back into your apartment safely. You slid only the white bunny slippers that sat next to your couch on your feet and ran out of the door with only your phone in your hand. 

— 

You stood underneath the oak tree that stumpy sat in, peering up at him through the leaves with one hand attempting to shield your eyes from the sun. The emerald colored leaves shook gently as the wind blew through them and stumpy’s fearful meows echoed through your ears bringing tears to your eyes for the third time. You had tried tirelessly for the last hour to get him to jump down to you, assuring him you’d be there to catch him. But, he wasn’t interested. He was scared of everything, just like you and you couldn’t blame him really for taking after his mother. 

“Stumpy! Goddamit — please, baby! Just jump. Mama’s right here.” 

You yelled exasperatedly, throwing your head back in defeat as you pondered finding a ladder and potentially breaking your neck was worth it. But, just as the thought crossed your mind, you felt a hand on your back, physically jumping at the foreign assault. 

“Remove your hand from my back. Now.” 

You gritted out, turning around to meet the eyes of a firefighter. He was cute in a I-go-the-gym-seven-days-a-week kind of way. But, he was currently crossing your boundaries so you weren’t interested, in fact, you were fucking disgusted. 

“Calm down, princess.” 

He does his best to soothe you in the middle of your freak out, though he does it in such a condescending way that it reminds you of your arch enemy, Taylor and his fists and just as you’re about to have a full blown panic attack you hear a voice you recognize. It’s sweet, yet savory, similar to a crepe on a Sunday morning. You turn toward the sound, your vision slightly blurry at the stress due to trauma that your body is responding to. The stranger that you now know as Rafe stands in front of you, his voice coaxing you out of the thick cloud of stress that lingered over you. 

“Hi, y/n. How are you?” 

He asks, smiling politely and you can only nod as you swallow thickly. 

“I don’t like this guy very much.” 

You whisper to him, your eyes looking in Topper’s direction and Rafe chuckles lowly. 

“Sometimes, I don’t either.” 

He whispers back to you and it elicited a deep laugh to erupt from the volcano of your belly. 

“Rude!” 

Topper groans, throwing his hands up in response and Rafe isn’t sure what it is, but the way your doe eyes are pulling him, is other worldly and all he wants to do is protect you; currently from his very best friend. 

“Top, i’ll take it from here.” 

He warns lowly and you smile at the way the man known as Top scurries away with his tail tucked between his legs. You wonder if Rafe is some kind of boss of the firemen that now lingered in the parking lot of your apartment complex. 

“What seems to be the problem, sweetheart?” 

Rafe asks and for a moment, you almost let the pet name slide with how good he looked in his uniform, yellow and grey had never looked so good you were convinced. 

“Please, no pet names. It’s just a personal preference.” 

You said, voice more weak than you had intended. He swallowed thickly and nodded. 

“Sorry, it’s just a habit. I like to use words like that to help calm people down when they’re scared. But, you seem to be okay. I’m sorry for overstepping.” 

He responds with a kind smile. 

“I understand. No worries. My problem is crouched on four legs up in that tree.” 

You said, pointing toward the leaves above your heads and he nodded. 

“Well, don’t fear, y/n. I’ll take care of it for you, i’ll get him down. I’m glad you called us. It’s nice to see you again.” 

He said politely. 

“You too, Rafe. But, I didn’t call. I think it was a neighbor. I was debating whether getting on a ladder and breaking my neck would be worth the trouble when your buddy came up behind me and put his hands where they shouldn’t be.” 

You bit out, aggressively. 

“Oh – well, I’m glad we got here when we did. I’d hate to have had to visit you in the hospital, don’t need you all broken, sweet girl.” 

Blush rose to your cheeks at the nickname. 

“Shit – sorry. You said no nicknames.” 

He said, annoyed with himself. 

“I tell you what – youc an call me sweet girl, i think i like that one. But, I need a nickname for you too.” 

You said, eyelashes fluttering. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

He asked, chuckling. 

“Hmm, let’s see. You’re a Cameron, right?” 

He nodded in response, a crooked smile on his lips. 

“How about RC? Do you like that?” 

You asked. 

“I’ve never like anything more.” 

He said with another roguish crooked grin. 

“Okay, RC. Go rescue my kitty.” 

You replied and he saluted you. 

“Yes ma’am. Be back in a jiffy!” 

You could only giggle in response as you watched three other fellow firemen brought Rafe a ladder and he climbed to the top of it. You were nervous that he’d fall, the nervousness of his sway at the restaurant at the forefront of your mind. He returned only moments later with Stumpy in his hands and you watched with a smile as he soothed your feline friend’s anxieties with his words. 

“All good, not a wound in his pretty little fur.” 

He said, handing him over to you. 

“You’re in so much trouble!” 

You playfully scolded Stumpy and Rafe giggled. 

“Don’t be too hard on him, he’s just a curious little guy.” 

He replied sweetly, rubbing the fur under Stumpy’s chin. His loud purr could be heard from a mile away you were convinced. 

“Well, sweet girl. I’ve got to go. But, I hope I see you again soon.” 

He said, his blue eyes meeting your again. 

“Rafe, what time is your shift over?” 

“About an hour, why?” 

“I’d like to make you dinner, as a sort of do-over or a thank you, whatever you’ prefer.” 

“I’d prefer the do-over I think.” 

He responded cheekily. 

“Me too. Come back here at 7. I’m apartment 3B.” 

You said. 

“Will do, sweet girl.” 

He smiled at the notion that you really could want him after all. 

“See ya, RC.” 

You replied, giving his bicep a squeeze before turning and heading back into your building, stumpy in tow. 

—

↳TAGLIST:

@itsalexwin @drewbooooo @scenesofobx @sweetestdesire @paradisehamilton @dreamingwithlouise @fangirlwithlou @glutenfreepeach @starkeyobx @adventuresinobx @drewsuncrustables @outerbankspov @slut4tangerine @slut4rafee @getwellsoontana @lilminchii @fredsandlokiswhore @rafelover @ailee-celeste @gillybear17 @lovedetlost @valeriiecameron @totallynotkaibiased @penny4yourthoughts @i-always-come-back @ryswritingrecord @moondemon123 @soapiebear @softsatnin

College Trip

(the Euro Trip sequel, part 3/5)

I just hope she don’t wanna leave me / Don’t you give me up

a/n: omg this is 99% angst, please be prepared for pain !

wc: ~11k

Three days since the break-up.

Splayed out on a weathered rug like deadweight. Chloe coaxing several, choked sobs — he was here, once; he was mine, once. The steady ring of carefully planned alarms, shifting through the air until you found the energy to reach for your phone. Vision blurring with the lull of unshed tears; falling freely as you looked around the room — everything reminds me of you. It’s going to be like this forever, isn’t it? My life won’t be mine, without you, will it? 

Collapsed in a UNC dorm bed, a boy rendered mute by inebriation. Glassy eyes meeting Noah’s, slurred voice near inaudible, a single syllable evident — the only one that mattered: you. Forehead hitting the rim of a toilet seat after a third night of straight whiskey; forehead puckered against smooth white — no. That can’t be right. It’s been longer than that. It has to — has to — have been.

A week since the break-up. 

Comforter old and creased, several forgotten food-wrappers littering the floor, cheeks taut with dried tears, Rafe’s jersey always — always — on, barely still smelling like his woody cologne, but hugging your heaving chest like his arms should have been. 

A fair few miles away, within a forgotten corner of UNC, a similarly depressing sight. The faint smell of cheap liquor, Taylor Swift’s voice muffled through near-dead, AirPods, dry swallows like a nervous tick, eyes circled with signs of exhaustion — sleep laughably rare, almost impossible; what’s dreaming, without his dream girl?

In the distance, a loving voice chiding: “Heartbreak like a hangover.” Heartbreak like a hangover? Understatement of the fucking century.

Heartbreak like the perpetual movement of Murphy’s Law through the Universe. Like opening your eyes and seeing him — seeing her — and then closing your eyes and having it happen all over again. Like muted colours hitting the back of your retina; reflecting old texts — when she texted me “I love you”, did she mean it? — through blue light. Like a suffocating sense of tightness binding your chest; shackled like the silver chain on your neck, leaving imprints like the initials carved into Rafe’s ring. Like being without a part of yourself; waist moulded to accommodate Rafe’s hand, a cavity in his torso to hold your back against his chest. 

Am I also all he thinks about? / Am I also all she thinks about?

Physically disconnected, emotionally — the very opposite. Intermittent opening and closing of your message thread; just-missed typing bubbles, backspace, backspace, backspace, exit — pause, several, deep breaths — open, again. Missed lectures, missed calls, missing smiles, missing you. Are the stars in this sky the same ones that you see in yours? Are they the reason this is happening — a thick swallow; is this our fate? — or are they the exact opposite? Do they want me to fight for you? Do you want me to fight for you? 

Life passing by in a blur. Somewhere within it, Chloe coaxing your mouth open and force feeding you a proper meal. A level nod as you oblige, not appearing to mind that the pasta doesn’t have any real taste. Rafe’s equivalent a whiskey bottle from his grasp; a steady shove in the chest, a purple bruise — no, Noah, it doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel a fucking thing.

One week becoming two, and then three, after that. 

Eventually, the courage to call your best friends. Resolution slipping with it’s plangent ring — What if he’s with them? What if I hear his voice? — slipping further, with the momentary silence met on the other end.

A low hush, padding footsteps, and then finally, an apologetic exhale. Relief. Why hadn’t you called sooner? 

“Y/n.” Kelce started, beckoning Topper over with a curt nod. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

“I’m switching to FaceTime.” He continued, not letting you interrupt. “Top’s here too.”

You swallowed thickly, not bothering to give your reflection a once-over — What was the point? You were sure to become a crying mess, eventually, anyway — before nodding. “Okay.”

Ghosting over the empty space between your collarbones (Chloe had confiscated the signet ring on day 3 post break-up, having witnessed it’s weathered curves threaten to crumble under your tight grip), you straightened in your bed, forcing out several, strained breaths before bringing your phone to your face.

The bright screen was already lit up with the familiar FaceTime notification, a beat passing as you struggled to punch a shaky thumb against the accept button.

Kelce and Topper, donning matching frowns and furrowed brows, appeared to be walking down a long hallway, phone held between their chests as they surveyed your harried features.

“Hold on, yeah?” Topped muttered, giving his surroundings a fleeting, once-over before lowering his voice. “We’re just walking back to our dorm.”

“Oh.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek; knowing the answering to your question, but asking it by means of torture, it seemed. “Where were you?”

“Nowhere.” Kelce responded hurriedly, his panic telling; prompt to elicit a knowing wince. “Uh, don’t worry about it.”

“How is he?” You managed to choke out, failing to keep your tone even. “Is he, uh, is he good?”

Topper faltered, an exasperated scoff escaping his lips. “You’re not serious?”

“Bro.” Kelce hissed, fixing him with a pointed glare before pushing open the door. “Shut the fuck up.”

“She can’t be fucking serious.”

Topper wanted to laugh. It’s all he’d wanted to do, really, since Rafe had shoved his way into their dorm at something-past-seven two weeks ago, muttering a near inaudible excuse about “Needing something stronger than beer” before helping himself to the cheap liquor hidden on the top shelf of his cupboard.

And when he did, it was harsh and bitter — caustic to Rafe’s ear, punctuated by several, indignant curses; by a “Are you fucking crazy? You spend five long years pining hopelessly, and this is the moment you pick to stop fighting for her?”.

Rafe Cameron had failed to respond; knowing the question was moments away from gaining permanence in his mind, from settling in his aching chest, from slowly, carelessly, swallowing him whole. And though several gulps whiskey had acted to loosen his tongue, a slurred “Why the fuck does Noah feel the need to go to every lecture?” was all he could manage, vision blurring as he squinted down at the bottle, liquor sloshing as he tipped it backward. 

It had taken Rafe Cameron approximately one hour (read: ten listens of All Too Well), several stumbled steps, and a heaving sigh to collapse onto Noah’s bed with a near-empty bottle, the worrying ability to polish off that much liquor acting to pale his best friend’s features.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You levelled, your bottom lip trembling dangerously. “I’m not allowed to ask about him, now, Top?”

“Y/n.” He sighed, a calloused palm smoothing out his pinched features. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Don’t cry, please?”

“Too late.” You bit back, and though derision laced your tone, the tears streaking your splotched cheeks prompted only a contrite frown. 

“No, shut up.” Kelce warned, narrowing his eyes at Topper’s mouth, half open in retort. “Shut the fuck up, dumbass.”

He paused, a beat passing as he attempted to gather his thoughts. When he turned, his knowing gaze was enough to cajole another sob, a gentle nod sent your way as you buried your head in your hands.

“Whenever you’re ready.” He encouraged, surveying your surroundings carefully, the disorder — so painfully unlike you, ever the avid organiser — forcing him to straighten. “We’re right here.”

You pressed your fingers against your eyelids, and when you saw stars, they demanded a moment’s pause; connected like the faded freckles that spattered Rafe’s nose and upper cheeks. “Don’t know, uh, what to — uh, what I’m meant to say.”

Kelce chewed at his bottom lip thoughtfully, his words were slow; exact to the point of careful deliberation. “Was it your dad?”

“And Ward.” You responded, wincing as the memory was brought to the forefront of your mind. “Uh, and…”

When you trailed off, you told yourself it was because the details were unnecessary — Kelce and Topper didn’t need to know that you were holding him back, did they? And though the tenuous excuse you provided (“…it was just, different. When he came.”) would have been enough to subdue your roommate, the hope that it would work on your best friends was absolutely outrageous. You knew this. And it scared you beyond belief. 

“Don’t give us that shit.” Topper dismissed, his fingers raised in air quotes. “‘Just different’ doesn’t make a guy drink enough alcohol to knock out an entire sorority.” 

You furrowed your brow, the revelation demanding a moment’s pause. “What do you mean?”

“Dude.” Topper responded, quirking an eyebrow at your ignorance. “He’s been a fucking mess.” 

“It’s true, Y/n.” Kelce frowned, his brow knitted in concern. “And he refuses to talk about it when he’s sober — which isn’t very often, to be fair, but —”

He hesitated, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “ — the thing that gets me, is that he hasn’t asked about you.”

“Oh.” You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek until you tasted metal. “Right. Good. That’s good.”

“That’s good?” Kelce repeated, incredulous. “You’re not serious?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose defeatedly, your stifled sob forcing him to adopt a gentler tone. “In the five fucking years I’ve known him, there hasn’t been a single conversation that hasn’t involved a mention of you.”

“Y/n…” He faltered, searching your features in earnest. “…if he’s not asking about you, that tells me this is serious.”

“Oh.” You repeated, the dry rasp of your throat matching Rafe’s — coated with laboured breaths in lieu of the burn of alcohol — so uncannily, even now. “Right.”

“What happened, dude?” Kelce frowned, his voice lilted soothingly. “Because whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fixable —”

“It’s not.” You interrupted, voice raised with as much conviction as you could muster. “At all. This is the right decision for the both of us.”

Kelce bit back a slew of curses, coaxing his jaw loose before responding. “Why do you think this is the right decision?”

“Because.” You laboured, scrunching up your features. “I’m ruining it for him. Everything. He’s meant to be…”

You trailed off languidly, disguising your sob as a particularly strained cough. “…having fun. And he already has enough to worry about — with Ward, and business school, and…”

“And he doesn’t need to be worrying about me.” You finished, eyes trained on your shaking palms. “This is what’s right for us. In the long run.”

“But worrying is all he’s been doing, Y/n.” Topper frowned, recalling a hushed conversation he had shared with Noah, not a week prior. “He’s barely been to any of his classes.”

“Bro.” Topper hissed, forcing Noah to stumble to a halt. “What the fuck happened?”

Noah grimaced, his jaw tightening almost immediately. “She broke up with him.”

“I don’t even fucking understand why.” He continued frustratedly, raking his fingers through his hair. “And Rafe’s barely able to string two fucking sentences together, let alone explain it to me.”

“Shit.” Topper exhaled, his forefinger punching in your number for what felt like the tenth time that day. “She’s not answering the phone. Fucking radio silence.”

“Yeah, well.” Noah muttered, his hardened features knitting Topper’s brow. “I don’t really care how she is, to be fair.” 

Topper paused, frowning slightly. “Dude. Don’t be a dick.”

“Whatever the fuck happened between them.” Noah continued, ignoring him. “I’m sure —”

“ — it was a difficult decision.” Topper finished, lifting an eyebrow warningly. “Let’s just leave it at that, alright?”

“So, what?” You levelled, jutting out your trembling bottom lip. “I’m meant to feel guilty, too, now? On top of all the other shit I’m dealing with?”

“Neither have I, by the way.” You continued, speaking over Topper’s timid protests. “Thanks for fucking asking. Seriously, Topper? A fucking lecture?”

“Y/n.” Kelce sighed, sending Topper a stern glance before continuing. “You know how worried we’ve been. Think we’ve managed to fit in a couple hundred missed calls between the two of us the past two weeks.”

He paused, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. “How are you?”

“You know.” You mumbled, averting your gaze. “Absolutely shit.”

“But.” You continued, scrunching up your features in an attempt to regain your composure. “That’s actually not why I called.”

“Not that speaking to you hasn’t helped.” You added hurriedly, registering the defeated sigh escaping Kelce’s lips. “Because it has. And I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“Oh.” Topper frowned, taken aback. “Why, then?”

“Your birthday, Top.” You swallowed, managing to plaster on a smile. “Our promise, remember?”

Topper’s lips parted, the revelation washing over his features agonisingly slow. Once blank, they twisted into an awkward grimace, his hand finding its way to the back of his neck — a sure sign that he was nervous, one you knew far too well. 

“Y/n…” He started, sharing a knowing look with Kelce before continuing. “…we were all drunk, and stupid young, and circumstances change —”

“No way.”

I’ve already lost Rafe. I’m not losing you and Kelce, too.

You let out a long breath, soothing your heaving chest before continuing. “No fucking way. When I said I wasn’t letting us drift apart when we went to college, I fucking meant it.”

It was true. Though the pinky promise — all bright eyes and rosy cheeks at the very end of junior year — was heavily laced with alcohol, it was perhaps the only thing that had gotten you through the college application season that occurred the following year. So what if your father’s impossibly high expectations were forcing you to apply for entirely the wrong degree, at entirely the wrong school? He wouldn’t take away your right (you had been best friends since you were nine, for God’s sake) to plan a trip to UNC for their respective birthdays. He couldn’t. 

“But Y/n.” Kelce responded, his tone low, frown lines creasing his forehead. “We’ll see each other for Thanksgiving, anyway, we can celebrate then —”

“Exactly.” You nodded, choosing to ignore the worry in his tone. “I have to come back that way for Thanksgiving, so why not make an early pit stop?”

“Because you’ll have a week of classes in between.” Kelce frowned, chewing at his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I mean, won’t you?”

“Just don’t tell Rafae—uh, Rafe, okay?” You continued, choosing to ignore him. “UNC is big. Right?” 

Topper let out a pained sigh, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “You don’t seriously think you’ll be able to avoid him? He’ll probably be at the party —”

“I’m not coming to a party.” You bit back, leveling him with a glare. “I’m coming to take you out for lunch.”

“Right.” Topper nodded, unconvinced. “And what happens when we’re all getting fucked up? You’re just going to be in our dorm like a sitting duck?“

“I’ll get Chloe to join me.” You offered lamely, absently fiddling with the silver chain around your neck. “We’ll get a small place off campus. We’ll find something to do.”

Their pointed silence only acted to spur you on, of course, arms folded across your chest as you jutted out your bottom lip. “What? You guys don’t want to fucking see me?”

“Of course we do, you fucking dumbass, but —”

“Then can you just let me have this?” You huffed, already revelling in the idea of re-introducing the idea to your father — of the strained argument that would follow; wanting to start another fight. “I’ll see you this weekend, yeah?”

—

“Wait, what?”

Noah paused, surveying Topper’s features almost too carefully; his eyes narrowed to such an assiduous degree it was almost as though he knew. “Why?”

“Because.” Topper shrugged, his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m busy on Saturday, now.”

“All day?” Noah frowned, skeptical. “We were only going to party at night —”

Behind him, Rafe Cameron’s figure stirred, his head near lolling backward as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Whennnnn?”

He squinted slightly as he shifted his gaze, and when he registered Topper’s pained expression, it was enough to jolt him upright, fully. “Your birthday.”

“Yeah.” Topper winced, quick to fix his features. “Don’t worry, though, she’s not coming.”

Rafe faltered, allowing his shoulders to slump — to crumple into himself, once again. “Oh.”

“Not like her.” He continued lowly, more to himself than anyone else. “Something’s wrong if she’s not coming.”

“If it’s not Y— her.” Noah coughed, keeping a careful eye trained on Rafe’s figure. “Then what the fuck are you doing on Saturday?” 

“Parents coming.” Topper offered lamely, raking his fingers through his hair. “Taking me out for the day.”

“Didn’t you guys make some kind of promise?” Rafe questioned, clearing his throat awkwardly — sober up. Sober up. This is important. This is about her. — before continuing. “I remember it.”

“You remember it?” Kelce snorted, quirking an eyebrow at the admission. “We haven’t talked about it since fucking junior year, I barely remember it — it’s a fucking wonder that she —”

He faltered, forefinger curling under his shirt collar, giving it a nervous tug. “ — I mean, I’m not surprised she didn’t remember it. With, uh…”

He trailed off, the rest of his sentence conveyed by means of a compilation of awkward gestures. “…you know.”

“Oh.” Rafe nodded, already reaching for the near empty bottle of liquor at his side. “Right. Of course.”

“Is she, uh…” A bottle cap screwed open, and then closed, again; the movement jerky like a nervous tick. “…uh, how is she? Is she well?”

“Is she well?” Topper scoffed, and though he was more than ready to launch into another lecture, Noah’s stern glare forced him to falter. “She, uh — no. She’s not.”

“Dude.” Noah winced, sending Rafe a wayward glance. “What the fuck?”

Rafe swallowed dryly, suddenly feeling extremely sober. “She’s not?”

He shifted off his bed, reaching for the bill of his backwards cap, as though on instinct. “But, she, uh — I haven’t been fucking calling her, because — because, fuck, I thought this is what she wanted, I — fuck, how not well is she, Topper? Is she okay? I should call her — no, I should book a flight over, yeah, that’s probably —”

His fingers found their way to his phone, card sliding out of his wallet with a characteristic ease. “ — why didn’t I ask sooner? What the fuck have I been fucking doing — I should’ve… fuck, I should’ve fought for her. I should’ve — fuck, I fucked up. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Dude.” Noah frowned, hand firm where it pressed against Rafe’s breastbone. “If anything, she should be calling you.”

He let out a harsh breath, pinching the bridge of his nose frustratedly. “I mean, she’s the one who broke it off, right?”

“What does that matter?” Rafe scoffed derisively, rough as he shook Noah’s hand from his chest. “She’s still my girl —”

“She’s not.” Noah interrupted, and though his tone was gentle, it was exact to the point of deliberation. “It’s been three fucking weeks, bro.”

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. “Yeah, but —”

“No fucking buts.” Noah warned, and when she spoke again, it was to Rafe’s next statement — one he knew was inevitable. “And no skipping Topper’s fucking party, alright?”

“Whatever.” Rafe muttered, carelessly tugging on an old shirt — he didn’t bother to smell it, knowing his side of the room was littered with unclean clothing; energy levels little to none — before heading toward the door. “I’m going for a fucking walk.”

Noah nodded encouragingly, brows snapping together only when Rafe was out of earshot. “So, what? She’s coming on Saturday?”

“Uh.” Topper faltered, wincing slightly. “Yeah.”

“But not to the party, right?” Noah pressed, his hardened features demanding their attention. “Not on campus, right?”

“No.”

Kelce lifted an eyebrow, his tone kilted warningly. “Though if she was, you can’t stop her, bro.”

“Look, she’s a nice girl, alright?” Noah dismissed, gesticulating frustratedly as he spoke. “But I’ve never seen Rafe so fucking broken.”

Topper drew his bottom lip between his teeth, thoughtful. “You know she’s been the same, right? At least you can fucking try take care of Cameron, we…”

He trailed off, his expression grim. “…we’re a million fucking miles away.”

—

“Huh?” Chloe frowned, seeing right through your feigned indifference. “You can’t be serious?”

“Why not?” You argued languidly, jutting out your bottom lip. “I’ll spend all of Saturday — his actual birthday, by the way — with him, and you get to meet Kelce —”

“He’s your best friend.” Chloe interrupted, an exasperated huff escaping your lips. “Not hometowns. You’re the one who should get to go to the fucking party.”

“Why doesn’t he just stay in his dorm?” Chloe offered, reaching out to thread her fingers through your curls, relaxing you beyond belief. “If we’re planning an entire trip to UNC, it’s not going to consist of a shitty breakfast diner and some lame sight-seeing.”

 “It won’t be lame.” You insisted, tugging your open laptop back onto your lap. “And look, this flight on Saturday morning will give us plenty of time —”

“Y/n.” Chloe sighed, feeling defeated. “Okay, listen, why don’t we just book a flight for Friday and see how you feel?”

“My feelings aren’t going to change.” You muttered, gazing heavenward as tears pricked your eyes. “If I see him, I think I’ll die, Chlo.”

Chloe nodded wordlessly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into her chest. When she heard your muffled sobs, she combed her fingers through your tousled hair; when her old singlet clung to her chest – perpetually damp; tears salting its cotton fabric – she brushed it off with a simple exhale. 

“I get it.” She murmured after a beat, the sound of several, strangled breaths ringing through the air like white noise. “But… let’s get the Friday night flight, okay?”

“It’ll give you some time to get used to it.” She explained, registering your knitted brow. “Being that close to him, again.”

“And we can just…”

She paused, gesticulating vaguely. “..we can see some of my friends – yeah, I have those too, by the way – or we can get some dinner, or we can watch pay per view movies in a stupid cheap backpackers, or –”

“Alright.” You nodded slowly, fingers pressed against your splotched cheeks. “Fine. We’ll go Friday.”

“But no party.” You added warningly, a pinky finger raised to Chloe’s face, expectant. “Promise me you won’t make me go to the party.”

Chloe curled her own around yours obligingly, shifting backward as you re-opened your laptop. “Promise.”

You didn’t bother telling Topper and Kelce that you were flying out a day early; you were sure the revelation would prompt them to cancel the party, and you would be damned if they – if anyone – dropped everything to accommodate your needs. 

The week prior – a bleary haze of sleepless nights, gait heavy along the length of your dorm, curls combed through several – several – times; limp like your wilted shoulders, curtaining your blank features. The day prior – tired eyes staring at the confirmation email, clothing crumpled in your carry-on, the swallowing urge to sink through the hardwood floor, several, laboured, exhales, and then eventually, a defeated sigh. Less than twenty-four hours to go. The morning of – Chloe’s voice a coaxing murmur, in the Uber at a higher register – you need to fucking pull it together. This doesn’t have to be a big deal. I won’t let it.

Tugged into first class with an expertly hidden glass of wine. The low hum of 10 Things I Hate About You in the background. You don’t see him in everything – Chloe’s low voice, a near inaudible hiss – don’t be fucking ridiculous; you’re torturing yourself on purpose. A beat passing. A slow breath in, a slow breath out. 

“We’re here already?”

You squint toward the backpackers with downturned lips, unsure when exactly you hopped out of the Uber, nor the short flight, nor your dorm room – nor this perpetual, nightmare-ish state. 

“Dude.” Chloe frowned, her bag flicking your exposed ankle as she dragged it across the gravel. “Where have you been?”

She paused, brow furrowing thoughtfully. “You only had that one glass of wine, right?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, tightening the straps of your backpack on your shoulders. “Don’t worry.”

Chloe cocked her head to one side, her mouth half-open in retort when the low beep of an incoming message rang through the air. Shifting her bag with a frustrated huff, she slid her phone out of her back pocket, halting momentarily to scan the bright screen. 

“Chlo.” You warned, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

Chloe drew her bottom lip between her teeth, her tone careful, purposefully slow. “Uh… just a friend texting me. No biggie.”

“Texting you what?” You pressed, arms folded across your chest. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Chloe dismissed, fingers pressed against your forearm in an attempt to pull you forward. “Just forgot to turn Snap maps off when I took that piccy of the view –”

“Oh.” You exhaled, paling. “They know you’re here?”

“Yes…” Chloe laboured, features contorting momentarily. “...but it’s no pressure at all, if you don’t feel like spending the night with them, we can just –”

“Chlo, don’t be silly.” You interrupted hurriedly, plastering on a smile. “If they know you’re here, you should definitely go see them.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Chloe frowned, her hand shifting to the small of your back to guide you forward. “Listen…”

She trailed off languidly, a pre-emptive wince twisting her features. “...come. You should come.”

You swallowed several times, a familiar heat stinging the back of your eyes. “I’m not stepping foot on that campus.”

“They’ll be at the party, anyway.” Chloe offered, gesticulating vaguely as she spoke. “The chances of bumping into hometown are little to none, and we’ll only be there a sec –”

“If I see him, I think I’ll die, Chlo.” You repeated, sounding like a broken record. “You know I can’t.”

“You won’t see him.” Chloe insisted, her brow knitted with concern. “You know I wouldn’t ask if I thought you would.”

You shook your head vigorously, unwilling to give in, not when it involved him; not when the mere thought brought a dangerous tremble to your bottom lip. “I can just stay here. It’s no biggie.”

“I’m not letting you sit in our fucking room and watch 10 Things I Hate About You for the millionth time this week.” Chloe levelled, stern tone eliciting a subtle grimace. “I just won’t go. It’s fine.”

“Chloe.” You laboured, pleading. “Don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything, Y/n/n.” Chloe shrugged resolutely, prompt to tug you through the suspicious-looking entrance. “I’ll just tell them I can’t come. It’s no biggie, Thanksgiving’s just around the corner, anyway –”

“Fucking fine.” You interrupted, pinching the bridge of your nose frustratedly. “I’ll come. I’m coming.”

“But only if it is just a second.” You added, a forefinger raised in warning. “Deal?”

“We’ll pick them up and go to a bar.” Chloe nodded, crossing her chest with every ounce of conviction she could muster. “We’ll be in their dorm for a single second. Half a second. A tenth of a second –”

“Okay, okay.” You laughed, shaking your head bemusedly. “Fucking hell. Okay. Come on.”

__

Rafe Cameron kept his eyes trained on the threadbare carpet, continuing to pace the small dorm room as though his life depended on it. In his chest, a gnawing sense of foreboding was threatening to spill into his veins – the blood threatening to run cold, to freeze against his skin, suspend him within this very feeling.

Something was wrong. Or rather, something was going to go wrong. Rafe Cameron wasn’t sure he could explain it. The air was heavy, and as it stifled his harsh breath, it was almost as though he knew why. Almost.

“Are you ready to go?” Noah questioned, thrusting a can of beers into his chest in an attempt to force him out of his reverie. “Think they’re starting.”

“Where is it, again?” Rafe frowned, a loose grip on the cardboard handle. “At the frat?”

“I think they were having a party there, anyway.” Noah shrugged, registering Rafe’s quirked brow. “Doubt they’re throwing one specifically for him.”

Rafe nodded slowly, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “Sounds like the real reason he wanted to move the party.”

“Shit.” Noah grinned, ushering him through the door. “You’re probably right, bro, knowing him.”

They traversed the long hallway with characteristic ease; Noah managing to coax a menial conversation amongst polite greetings, passing a number of familiar faces with similarly typical Friday night plans. 

The intermittent tug of a baseball cap against his head, the low hiss of discreetly opened beer, the heavy pad of sneakers on gravel, vision blurring into a haze of grey. The long pathway to the frat house, the distant sound of a heavy bass; one foot, then the other, then the first, once again. Keep going, focus on slowing your breath, stop thinking about her, stop thinking about her, stop –

“Dude, are you fucking listening?” Noah hissed, nudging Rafe’s shoulder repeatedly. “Stop being so fucking depressing.”

“Fuck off, White.” Rafe spat, his bottom lip chewed raw. “You know that I’m going through a fucking break-up –”

“Cameron.” Noah sighed, a calloused palm smoothing out his features. “It’s been three fucking weeks.”

“I’ve let you wallow, alright?” He continued, not letting Rafe interrupt. “But this is getting fucking ridiculous.”

“You don’t get it.” Rafe muttered, swallowing the lump in his throat. “She’s –”

“I don’t get it?”

Noah shook his head frustratedly, his jaw clenched as he spoke. “If anyone gets it, it’s me.”

“And.” He scorned, muffling Rafe’s protests. “Me getting it is exactly why I’m absolutely fucking over your shit.”

He paused, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, his voice laboriously slow. “You’ve done your pining, for what… five fucking years? And then, when you do get the girl, she… what? Breaks up with you after a fucking month?”

“This isn’t her fucking fault.” Rafe frowned, swallowing slightly. “It’s –”

“Yes, it is.” Noah interrupted, stern. “How can you be in such a state over her when she’s not even willing to put up a decent fight?”

His voice was carrying, now, Rafe’s despondence only acting to renew his aggravation. “You need to fucking pull it together.”

“I can’t.” Rafe muttered, his voice cracking as it caught in his throat. “Stop fucking yelling.”

He felt painfully aware of their plain sight, the sound of distant chatter acting to heighten his sense of vulnerability.

“Can we fucking talk about this later?” He continued, chest tightening threateningly. “When we’re not surrounded by so many people?”

“No.” Noah shrugged, unbothered. “Not until you tell me you’re going to pull your shit together.”

Rafe chewed at his bottom lip nervously, absently tugging at the bill of his backwards cap. “I don’t know if –”

He faltered, Noah’s audible swallow demanding a moment’s pause. “ – what?”

“Dude.” Noah muttered, averting his gaze awkwardly. “You’re right. Come on, let’s go.”

Gripping Rafe’s shoulder, he attempted to pull him forward, the action occurring with minimal avail – Rafe’s figure appearing so painfully tense it felt as though elaboration was unnecessary.

A hesitant turn of his head. Lips parting slightly. Breath held, and then, let go, almost at the exact same time. Is time standing still? Or is it the fact that you’re so fucking close to me that I’m willing it to, with every ounce of conviction in my beating heart?

--

A hesitant turn of his head. Lips parting slightly. A breath held, and then, let out, almost at the exact same time. Is time standing still? Or is it the way your eyes are meeting mine?

“Shit.” You swallowed dryly, and above your head, bright stars were beginning to dot the night sky — rooting you to the spot, glowing silver like strong magnets. “Shit, Chloe — shit.”

Chloe furrowed her brow by means of response, turning slightly in order to match your gaze. When she registered Rafe’s equally blanched features, it was enough to slap her hand over her mouth, wide eyes full of questions as she stepped in front of you — right into his line of sight, eye contact intense enough to elicit a wince. 

Eight and a half steps away, Rafe Cameron’s grip on his box of beers was loosening with a  dangerous haste. He wasn’t sure he was capable of anything more than remembering how to breathe — in, hold, shit she’s here, out, do something, hold, in — every single thought jumbled, the languidly proffered conversation starters appearing entirely too pathetic to grace your presence.

“Dude.” Noah frowned, registering the way you ducked your head. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Noah.” Rafe managed to mutter, the bill of his backwards cap worn thin where it found his calloused palm. “She’s here.”

“She doesn’t seem too keen on seeing you.” Noah responded, his tone stern enough to root Rafe to the spot. “I wouldn’t try anything, Cameron.”

Rafe’s Adam’s apple was bobbing to the point of contention, though when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a defeated sigh. “You’re probably right. Why would she want to see me?”

He allowed his shoulders to wilt, missing your searching gaze as you shifted back into sight. This time, it was your turn to exhale, your fingers ghosting over the space between your collarbones, attempting to find his heart – usually donning a golden glint, curved and weathered where it met your fingers – within it. 

“He’s leaving.” You faltered, chewing at your bottom lip nervously. “He doesn’t want to see me, does he?”

“Y/n.” Chloe coaxed, gentle. “You did break his heart, you know.”

“Yeah.” You swallowed, your features twisting into a painful grimace. “I did, didn’t I?”

“We should go.” You continued, nodding your head with every ounce of determination you could muster. “We should go, uh, find your friends. Shouldn’t we?”

A beat passed. Then, another. In the space between your figures, the promise of more rustled through the air like a gentle breeze, forcing a stumbled falter – your figure unmoving where it stood, matching Rafe’s with a fated ease.

“Come on, then.” Chloe hissed after a moment, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she pulled you backward. “Don’t just –”

“He’s coming over.” You interrupted, paling. “Am I imagining it, or is he coming over?”

Rafe Cameron – hopelessly smitten since the rosy age of fourteen – knew far too well the effect you had on him. Said effect was currently shifting one foot in front of the other; his breath caught in his throat as he drew nearer, three long weeks appearing infinitesimally longer – you’re like coming up for air after a long and dreadful swim. How exactly have I managed so long without you here? My girl.

Once within earshot, Rafe allowed a pause, his peripheral vision blurring – seeing you, and only ever you, within the stilled, Autumn air. 

“Rafe.” You exhaled, and though your voice was barely a whisper, it wrapped around Rafe’s figure like a warm blanket in winter. “Hi.”

“I’m –” You hesitated, fiddling with the silver chain around your neck. “ – sorry, I’m here for Top’s, uh –”

“Y/n.”

You allowed your eyes to close, not realising until now how very much you had missed his voice. Your golden boy. 

“Sorry.” He hurried, his eyes flitting over your features with a swallowing sense of desperation – Is this a dream? Are you really here? – attempting to commit it to memory. “Sorry, I’m…”

He trailed off, wincing slightly. “...how are you?”

“Fine.” You lied, smoothing out the non-existent creases hugging your waist. “You?”

“Good now that you’re here.” Rafe shrugged, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “You have no idea how much I’ve –”

“Rafael.” You warned, swallowing slightly. “You can’t say that to me.”

“Sweetheart!” Rafe grinned easily, tugging his backwards cap off his head to place it atop yours, instead. “When did you get here?”

“Not important, Rafael.” You frowned, rolling your eyes at his unwavering confidence. “Can you move?”

“No.” Rafe teased, crowding the entrance of the sliding door, denying you entry. “Stay here, with me.”

“Where?” You questioned, exasperated. “In front of the door?”

Rafe offered a simple shrug, too dizzied by your proximity – and, Noah would later add, the copious amounts of booze running through his veins – to think straight. “Anywhere. With me.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his response, willing yourself not to fall into his trap. “With you, and –”

You allowed a deliberate pause, features twisted in mock concentration. “ – Amber, and Soph, right?”

“No.” Rafe frowned, seemingly unaware of how problematic his actions may have appeared – naive beyond belief, despite his notoriety. “It’s only ever been you, you know that?”

“Of course.” You nodded, tone dripping with sarcasm. “And you’re telling me this, why?”

Rafe pressed his tongue against his cheek, far too drunk for his own good. “Because –”

He allowed a pause, arms raised in surrender as he shuffled backward. The threshold was clear for entry, now, your figure halfway stepping over it before Rafe flushed against it, again. When you looked up, it was to Rafe’s brilliant blue gaze, his forefinger tucked under the clasp of his cap, signet ring cool against your forehead.

When he spoke again, his husky voice elicited a low shudder, your palms splaying his broad chest with a near non-existent sense of warning. “ – I want you to go out with me. Will you?”

You cocked your head to one side, deciding to entertain him, if only for a single moment. “Where would we go?”

“On the Druthers.” Rafe answered without missing a beat, his bright eyes widening, anticipatory. “With champagne, and I’ll make you your favourite meal, and –”

“Rafael.” You interrupted, brow furrowed. “Sounds like an extremely fancy first date. Are you planning on proposing?”

Rafe bowed his head ever so slightly, eye contact leaving you heady, almost magnetic as it pulled you close. “You know I would in a heartbeat.”

“Rafael.” You warned, swallowing slightly. “You can’t say that to me.”

“Why not?” Rafe countered, his fingers ghosting over the small of your back, gentle enough to coax your eyes closed. “It’s the truth.”

Rafe swallowed the urge to give you the very same response he had one year ago, resigned instead, to forcing pleasantries far too foreign – Are we strangers, now? When I close my eyes, all I see is you. Am I all you see, too? – to belong to you and him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” You dismissed with a grimace, and when you rubbed your hand up and down your forearm, it took absolutely everything in Rafe not to replace it with his, instead. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you I was coming.”

Rafe shook his head quickly, tugging off his backwards cap to thread his fingers through his hair. In the beat that passed, you kept your eyes trained on your sneakers, the urge to do the same – to feel his skin against your nimble touch – threatening to swallow you whole.

“No, it’s okay.” He responded, brow furrowed slightly. “I – uh, it’s good to see you.”

“Don’t lie.” You attempted to joke, chewing at your bottom lip awkwardly. “I look like shit.”

“Sweetheart.” Rafe frowned, searching your features in earnest. “You’re so beautiful I can’t fucking think straight.”

“I, uh…”

He trailed off, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to gather his thoughts. “...I know I haven’t called, or, uh –”

The piercing ring of your phone forced a falter, an apologetic grimace twisting your features as you slid it out of your backpocket. “Sorry, hold on, I –”

You frowned as you registered the caller ID, realisation dawning on your features agonisingly slow. “ – shit.”

Shifting slightly, you answered the call, sandwiching the phone between your shoulder and ear to allow your fingers free reign over your glinting, silver chain.

“Dude.” James’ voice appeared to whisper, caustic as it hit Rafe’s ear – any other, and the animated chatter would have drowned it out; any other, and Rafe Cameron would have managed to ignore it’s low lilt. “Where are you?”

“Shit, James, sorry.” You winced, gesticulating wildly. “I forgot to tell you, I’m at UNC – Topper’s birthday is tomorrow.”

“Ah.” James nodded, rising from your usual table in the Arts’ library. “Algood, dude.”

“Next week?” You offered languidly, the sound of him shifting carrying through the phone. “It’s not due till then anyway, is it?”

“Yup.” James affirmed, popping the p with conviction. “Alright, algood, party it the fuck up!”

You crinkled your nose, at that, and when Rafe registered the almost imperceptible way your features lifted, his features dulled to the point of inebriation. “I’ll try my best. Bye!”

Rafe stepped backward as you ended the call, swivelling his backwards cap back onto his head. “James?”

“We have a stats assignment.” You reasoned weakly, knitted brow more telling that you were willing to admit. “Nothing major.”

“Nothing major?” Rafe near-scoffed, swallowing the derision in his tone at the very last second. “It’s always a little major, with him, though, isn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You frowned, folding your arms across your chest. “He’s different, now, you know –”

“And I don’t doubt that’s what he told you.” Rafe bit back, leveling you with a glare. “But you know he has a thing for you –”

“So?” You countered, raising your voice warningly. “We’re not together, anymore, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Rafe’s forced a dry swallow, at that, as though the revelation was hitting him all over again – this time, with a renewed sense of purpose. “Right.”

“Right.” You affirmed, biting the inside of your cheek – a languid attempt to halt the tremble of your bottom lip. “Anyway –”

You let out a shaky breath, arms twisting impossibly tighter around your chest, willing your figure to wilt; to disappear entirely. “ – I better go.”

“Right.” Rafe echoed, his vocabulary shrinking, shrinking still – This can’t be happening again. I’ll do anything to keep you here. Can I hold you, now? If only for a single, infinitesimally small second? – at the finality in your voice. “Okay.”

“Goodbye, Rafa –” You winced momentarily, failing to fix your features. “ – Rafe.”

You were already turning around before he could respond, tucked into Chloe’s side and disappearing as quickly as you had arrived. Frozen in place, Rafe’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, ripping open the cardboard box of beers before his conscious mind could intervene.

“Come on.” He muttered after a beat, his words punctuated at the low hiss of his beer can as he turned to address Noah. “Let’s go.”

Noah furrowed his brow, his palm pressed against Rafe’s chest to force a halt. “Dude, what was that?”

“What?” Rafe levelled — a thick swallow, several, keen gulps — with a slight wince. “What was what?”

“The James thing?” Noah questioned, the lilt to his tone telling enough to be rhetorical. “I’ve never seen you get like that with her.”

“Jesus, White, give me a fucking break, will you?”

He squeezed his eyes shut frustratedly, well aware that Noah was right, but willing himself not to care, all the same. “Didn’t you want me to have fun tonight?”

The beer can crinkled under his punishing grip, already empty, and replaced with another. “Come on. Let’s fucking go.”

“Don’t be a dick.” Noah warned, his voice low. “Listen, she’s probably not too far —”

“It doesn’t matter.” Rafe muttered, a steady shove as he pushed past Noah’s figure, a mind-numbing sense of defeat settling in his chest. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

The second beercan clicked open with a threatening hiss, and as Rafe tipped it back, it was to the single sentence gaining permanence in his mind — we’re not together anymore. Perhaps it was because the break-up was so very vague; the promise held within his, still-kept, signet ring, the inability to say the actual words, the yearning that laced his final admission. Whatever it was, Rafe Cameron wasn’t sure he would survive it. And as he scrunched up his pained features, seeing you — only ever you — he was fairly certain he didn’t care. 

In the hour that passed since your fated reunion, Rafe managed to slip into an entirely new — and entirely more punishing — state of inebriation. Instead of immobilising him, as it had over the past three weeks, it acted to renew his once constant, enamoured state, his voice raised and unforgiving — demanding everyone’s attention where it failed to find yours.

“Anddddd.” Rafe slurred, his bright eyes full of longing. “She’s — sh’does this little thing righ’ here —”

He paused with a purpose, squinting slightly as his forefinger found Kelce’s forehead. “— when she concentrates… drives me fucking crazy.”

“So, so crazy.” He sighed, frowning slightly as the last drop of alcohol met his lips. “I need ‘nother. Stay righ’ here.”

“I don’t think you do, buddy.” Kelce responded, quirking his eyebrow pointedly. “Come on —”

He attempted to shift Rafe’s figure with minimal avail, the boy too busy searching the busy Frat to register his loose grip. “ — let’s go.”

“This way.” Rafe responded, sidling out of his grasp, unbothered. “Drink.”

He managed to shift through the crowd with several, expertly placed, lopsided grins, intermittent sighs acting to spur him on — intent on talking about his girl, and his girl only. When he did enter the kitchen, it was to a huddle of beautifully leggy blondes, their shared glances more telling than one would admit; falling for Rafe’s ruggedly handsome charm before he had even opened his mouth.

“Hey!” He brightened almost instantly, nodding toward the drinks on the counter adjacent to them. “White claws.”

He furrowed his brow slightly, his vision dangerously close to blurring. “My girl drinks those.”

“A girl.” Rafe corrected, swallowing dryly — and then, fixing his features to an assiduous degree. “The girl. Not mine. Not anymore.”

The girl nearest to him cocked her head to one side, curious. “What do you mean?”

“We’re not together, anymore.” Rafe echoed, allowing his shoulders to wilt. “S’what she said.”

The alcohol, once a conduit for distraction — a simple way to relive every stolen moment, to recount them with detail so slight Kelce was stifling several gags, throughout the exchange — was beginning to hit him all over again. And as Rafe Cameron’s eyes found the floor, all he wanted was to sink through it, and into the Earth’s core.

“Oh.” The girl frowned, reaching out to give his shoulder an awkward pat, apologetic. “Is it fixable?”

“Saw her b’fore.” Rafe shrugged, feeling far from sober, his grimace forcing a falter. “Fucked it up.”

His palm found its way to the bill of his backwards cap, tugging it with a learnered absence, his mind moving a mile a minute. “Fuck ev’rything up, with her. She’s so fucking —”

He screwed up his features, unable to find the right words, unsure if any existed that would do you the very justice you deserved. “ — fuck, I lose myself in her. Y’know?”

“She’s —” A palm splayed across his chest, heartbeat quickening, eagerly matched by the jumbled pace of his thoughts. “ — here. Always.”

The girls shared in apologetic glances, speaking in near unison through sad smiles. “Have you told her that?”

Rafe chewed at his bottom lip thoughtfully, shaking his head after a beat. “She knows.”

“Even if that’s true.” The girl nearest him offered, her features gentle, coaxing. “Maybe she needs reminding.”

“Not right now.” She added hurriedly, eyes widening as Rafe unlocked his phone. “Later, when you’re sober —”

“Thank you —” Rafe dismissed, ignoring her. “ — white claw girls.”

He pressed his tongue between his teeth, wasting five minutes typing an almost imperceptible text message — y/n, plwas xom home — before deciding to call you, instead.

The steady ring of the dial tone replaced the sound of distant chatter, his figure finding a quiet spot on the deck in time to hear your meek voice mumble “Rafe?”. Dulcet to his ear, it demanded a moment's pause, a small sigh escaping his lips as the familiarity warmed every one of his senses — spurring on his unwavering sense of determination, unwilling to let you go, not for a third time; not ever again.

“Y/n.” He responded after a beat, and on the other end of the phone, you winced slightly at the slurred register, fiddling with the small signet ring held between your forefinger and thumb. “Swee’heart, I —”

“Rafael.” You interrupted, trying your very best to appear stern. “You’re drunk.” 

“I’m drink.” Rafe affirmed solemnly, crossing his forefinger across his breastbone. “S’doesn’t matter.”

“Rafe —”

“Y/n.” He continued, not letting you interrupt. “I can’t lose you.”

“Didn’t call before.” He added, his brow furrowed, full of concern. “B’cause I thought that’s what you wanted. But then Topper said —”

His voice cracked slightly, here, his fingers blanched where they clutched his phone, desperation lacing every word. “— you weren’t fine. S’thought this is what you wanted?”

You squeezed your eyes shut helplessly, unsure what exactly to say. “Of course I’m not fine, Rafe. I —”

You swallowed the urge to tell him you love him, knowing it would do more harm than good when met with his intoxicated state. “ — it doesn’t matter. You’re drunk. I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“R’member what I said, when we were fourteen?” He questioned, ignoring you. “On track. R’member?”

You swallowed thickly, echoing the sentiment in question with fresh eyes — what you would do to return to that naivety, to the teasing quips that had once complimented every interaction. “I’m a patient guy.”

“Patient guy.” Rafe slurred, stumbling slightly. “Forever for you, swee’heart. Should’ve told you that from th’start. Should’ve never walked away.”

He shook his head slowly, attempting to make sense of his thoughts. “S’you till the end. Just been existing th’past three weeks.”

“Not living.” He added with a frown, a pang of yearning elevating his senses, twisting at the skin under his polo where your soft hands should have been. “Not w’out you.”

“Rafe.” You laboured, pinching the bridge of your nose, feeling so impossibly helpless it slouched your lumbar spine like deadweight. “Stop.”

“Never ever.” Rafe shook his head, and a pinky finger was held up in promise, willing the sound of your voice to melt into your skin. “R’member Midsummer’s?”

“Don’t be in love w’someone else.” He answered before you could open your mouth, audibly swallowing before continuing. “W’James. Promise?”

“Rafe —”

“Alright, buddy, that’s enough.”

The phone was snatched out of Rafe’s hand with a single, deft motion, the slowness of his drunken figure a much needed advantage.

“Y/n?” Noah questioned, the tense silence on the other end telling, almost palpable as it hit his ear. “I’m going to hang up now, yeah?”

“Noah.” You exhaled after a beat, anxiously biting the inside of your cheek. “How much has he had to drink?”

Noah bit back his harsh retort (“All he’s done is fucking drink the past three weeks, you know that?”), a small sigh escaping his lips. “Too much.”

He scrunched up his features momentarily, and when he spoke again, his tone was exact to the point of deliberation. “Whatever he said during your call, he meant it, you know.”

You swallowed several times, paling. “Right.”

“He’s been a mess over you.” Noah continued, careful to keep his voice low. “And granted, the James comment was a dick move —”

“Yeah, I felt —”

“— but you, more than anyone, knows how he gets when you’re around.”

The accusation settled in your chest until it felt heavy to the touch, and when you spoke again, the defeat in your voice forced Noah’s features to soften. “It’s complicated.”

“Hey.” Noah shrugged, applying a punishing grip on Rafe’s shoulder as he clawed at the phone in his hand. “Not my place.”

“Right.” You nodded, and in the distance, Rafe’s slur managed to break through the weighty silence — “S’my girl, on the phone, give it back.” — comforting where it shouldn’t have been, so unequivocally like home that you felt a fumble as it dipped through the phone. “Okay, well, thank you.”

You ended the call before Noah could voice his weak response, phone replaced on your comforter before you buried your head in your hands. That same, breath-hitching sense of conviction — so very constant in your relationship, present at the rosy age of fourteen, and present still, where you currently stood — that so effortlessly followed Rafe Cameron, was lacing every one of his words, ringing through your ears like a broken record; paling your features, taut against your palms. 

When you did finally raise your head, it was to Chloe’s apologetic gaze, the bed shifting against her weight as she pulled you into her chest.

“What happened?” She murmured, coaxing the signet ring from your grasp (she knew giving it back was a good idea, but the helplessness that followed your reunion with Rafe was enough to wear even her down). “What did he say?”

“Did I make a mistake?” You swallowed a dry sob, eyes swimming with tears. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Y/n.” She sighed, shaking her head slowly. “Listen, it was a hard decision, yeah?”

You squeezed your eyes shut frustratedly, tears flowing freely, now, unwilling to ever let out. “Yeah.”

“And when you explained the situation to me, it made sense.” Chloe continued, encouraging. “It really did.”

“Like…”

She trailed off, gesticulating vaguely. “…like all the little things.You can handle them individually, sure, but when you were with hometown, it was altogether, you know?”

“It’ll be hard either way.” She explained, chewing at her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Staying together isn’t going to fix anything. It’ll just replace this pain with something equally shitty — like how Rafe made all the shit with your dad, worse, and —”

She thread her fingers through your curls, feeling your body shake against her chest. “ — and how he’ll never be able to visit again, not properly, because you’ll be worrying about him, and his dad, and college, and…”

This time, when her voice faded to silence, it was with an empathetic frown, attempting to make sense of every broken statement you had managed to relay over the past three weeks. “…and the pressure would have destroyed you.”

She allowed a pause as your sobs filled the air, thumbing over the mascara streaking your wet cheeks. “So no, I don’t think it was a mistake. Break-up’s are never fucking easy, you know?”

Your breath was shallow, and worn thin, slowing slightly as you nodded through her advice. “But…if it’s going to be like this every time I see him —”

“It won’t, though.” Chloe frowned, shaking her head. “It’ll get easier with time, and space —”

“Space?”

Your heaving chest rose again, panicking at the thought. “I can’t have — I mean… we — I — have the same friends, though —”

“— you guys will be friends, too.” Chloe encouraged, soothing. “Eventually.”

“Eventually.” You echoed, though the declaration sounded almost laughable as it rang through the air. “Yeah.”

“Rafaelllll.” You pouted, head propped up on your elbows as you squinted toward his figure. “C’mere.”

With a copious amount — or rather little, Rafe would lovingly correct, knowing a few drinks was enough to inebriate your smaller frame — of booze in your veins, you raised your arms expectantly, stumbling slightly as it shifted your center of gravity. “Now.”

Rafe offered you a mock salute, wrapping you up in his arms before placing the burger shack atop the kitchen counter. “Boys night, huh, baby?”

“M’one of the boyyyysss.” You grinned through a mouthful of fries, missing his lips by several inches as you leaned in for a kiss. “Topper, Kelce, me. The boys.”

You paused, brow furrowing slightly. “They always wanted you too.”

“To be o’of the boys.” You explained, the patty of your burger slipping out where you held the bun, haphazard and messy. “Wouldn’t let ‘em.”

“Why?”

Rafe cocked his head to one side, teasing. “Because you’d fall in love with me?” 

You pouted a little and that, the unshed tears in your eyes forcing Rafe to falter. He pulled your barstool toward him with a single, purposeful, tug, a strong arm wrapping around your waist, the other threading through your curls. “I was kidding, sweetheart, I —”

“Never gave you a chance.” You swallowed, your bottom lip trembling dangerously. “Not even for friends. Ever.”

“S’my biggest high-school regret.” You continued, biting the inside of your cheek. “You. This. So good to me, and I was such an idiot —”

“Y/n.” Rafe murmured, pressing soothing kisses on your skin. “I was a douchebag, a big one, and…”

He trailed off slightly, tilting your chin to meet your lips for a kiss, gentle and slow. “…and I don’t think we could ever really be friends, sweetheart.”

“Why not?” You mumbled, his polo streaked with your wet mascara as you drew backward. “What’s wrong with friends?”

“Remember in Europe?” Rafe smiled, nostalgic. “Think that‘s when I realised.”

He guided your arms around his neck, nudging at your jaw to allow him free reign over your nape. “Being that close to you — and being just friends? No fucking way.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, dizzied by the alcohol, dizzied by his woody cologne, dizzied by his touch, dizzied by him. “Right.”

“Didn’t last, either.” You breathed, his fingers pressed into your thighs as he rested on the adjacent barstool to pull you into his lap. “Friends.”

“Couldn’t have.”

Rafe brought his head back to eye-level, so hopelessly smitten his gaze felt warm against your skin. “Not us. Not with you.”

And though the lyrics of Strange matched your defeat to a sedulous degree, there remained one that you didn’t know (till now) why you couldn’t place, one that didn’t quite fit your story, not with Rafe, not with the him that was yours — 

From strangers to friends

Friends into lovers

And strangers again

From strangers to lovers, not to friends — all or nothing, with absolutely everything in between. It was how you had always operated, when it came to him, and you were fairly certain you knew exactly why (though it wasn’t something you were willing to admit).

—

“God, Y/n.” Topper groaned jokingly, overplaying his hangover as he answered the phone. “Why are you waking me up at the crack of dawn on my fucking birthday?”

“It’s 9am.” You quipped, though the smile on your lips was audible, a hand fishing through your makeup bag as you spoke. “Oh, and happy birthday, dumbass.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Topper grinned, propping himself up on his elbows before throwing a pillow at Kelce’s snoring figure. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Breakfast.” You responded, sandwiching the phone between your shoulder and ear as you twisted open your mascara. “In a half hour. I hope you’re ready.”

“Ready?” Topper snorted, flipping Kelce off as the pillow soared back to his side, hitting him square in the chest. “This phone call was our fucking alarm.”

“Well I’m going to be in front of your dorm in 30 — 29, now, I don’t hear you getting the fuck up, buddy — minutes, whether you like it or not.”

Topper forced a falter, at that, having received a play-by-play of the previous night’s events by a worried-enough-to-sober, Kelce Smith. “Uh, Y/n…”

He trailed off, grimacing. “…are you sure you want 

to come here? Because we can —”

“Why?” You swallowed, your mouth going dry. “Did Rafe say something?”

“No, no, no!” Topper insisted, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “But, uh, if it’s too much —“

“It’s like you said the other day.” You levelled, convincing yourself more than anyone else. “Can’t avoid him forever, can I?”

“30 minutes, okay?” You continued, meeting Chloe’s eye as she exited the bathroom — her searching gaze resolute, questions already halfway slipping off her tongue. “See you very soon, birthday boy!”

—

Rafe Cameron was pacing.

Despite barely sleeping a wink the previous night — the moon’s silhouette glowing white against his lidded eyes, illuminating his intermittently twisting features; cringing — his shirtless, backwards cap clad figure appeared ruggedly handsome as ever, the rings under his eyes barely visible, irises brilliant blue as ever against the gentle beam of the morning sun. 

It wasn’t as though he knew why he was so anxious; the alcohol had managed to wipe his memory completely, forcing him to rely instead, on the broken — no one knew, except you and him; and he’d be damned if he troubled you again, especially for something so small — retelling of the night’s events by his best friend, Noah.

He forced himself to halt as he reached the dorm door, careful not to bother Noah’s stirring figure as he unlocked his phone. Staring back at him, within “Recent Calls”, was evidence of his indiscretion — if I look at it long enough, will I hear your voice, within it? — mocking his tired eyes as he attempted to piece the conversation together.

All he remembered, really, was attempting to breathe you in through the screen. Your voice was crystal clear and dulcet, soothing to his ear; the words it relayed — not entirely important, not in that moment, at least.

Letting out a defeated sigh, he allowed his phone to lock with a desolate click, resigning himself to head out and toward the bathroom, instead.

It was as he was passing Topper’s dorm that he halted; though this time, it wasn’t with a purpose — it wasn’t forced, nor particularly conscious. No. This time, it was the red string of fate. And as it tightened around his chest, it left you — only a few feet away — equally breathless.

The sound of gentle laughter. The low rustle of a distant breeze. The padding of footsteps along the dorm floor. A single, indignant, huff. And then finally, the resonant rap of knuckle on hardwood.

“Weird.” Topper frowned, sharing a bemused look with Kelce before tugging on a new t-shirt. “Wonder who that is.”

“I can get it?” Chloe offered politely, reluctant as she shifted off Kelce’s bed. “Hold on —”

“No, no.” You interrupted, all waggling eyebrows and suggestive glances. “I’ll get it. You —” A forefinger jerked in Chloe’s direction, darting between her and Kelce with a telling lilt. “ — stay close to him.”

Chloe offered you a sheepish, half-grin, returning to her conversation with Kelce with a characteristic ease. Shaking your head as though to say — ah, young love, you absently picked at the cut hem of your denim shorts, a single, easy, stride allowing you to find the door handle to their dorm.

Your lips parted as you opened the door, words appearing strangled where they caught in your throat. “Rafe?”

“Y/n.”

Rafe faltered, and though his eyes widened in surprise, Kismet weighed the momentary silence like a bird on a wire, appearing to almost kiss death as they balanced atop the electricity running through it.

“Shit, sorry.” You responded hurriedly, stepping sideways with a small fumble. “You’re probably here to say happy birthday to Topper.”

Behind you, Topper let out an irate huff, a raised eyebrow meeting Rafe’s features, daring. “I doubt that.”

“Happy birthday, bro.” Rafe responded distractedly, tugging at the bill of his backwards cap as he shifted his gaze back toward you. “Actually, uh, no — I…”

He trailed off, gesticulating helplessly. “…listen, can we talk?”

“Only a second.” He promised, registering the way you jerked your head back toward your best friend, your expression apologetic. “Just so I can say sorry.”

You chewed at your bottom lip until you were certain it was raw, nodding slowly before stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind you.

Taking your hand in his — the action so very nostalgic it caused your breath to hitch — he stole you toward a hidden corner, giving the hallway a fleeting, once-over, before launching into speech.

“Listen —” A pause, backwards cap tugged off (an impermanent thought — can I wear it, instead?), hair limp and ran through. “ — I, uh, whatever stupid things I said when I called you last night —”

“Oh.” You exhaled sharply, leaning against the opposing wall with a low thud. “Right.”

Your back was flush against it, now, and when you raised your chin, Rafe Cameron’s proximity was making your head spin. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

Rafe faltered, absently licking his bottom lip as he searched your paling features. “Really?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, careful to keep your tone even. “It’s uh — we all say stupid things when we’re drunk, you know?”

Rafe raked his fingers through his hair, the revelation forcing him to break eye contact. “What stupid things did I say?”

“Not stupid things.” You corrected languidly, speaking through a wince. “Not — I just mean, things we aren’t meant to say. The conversation wasn’t very long; don’t worry.”

Rafe didn’t realise he was inching nearer until the smell of your lavender shampoo threatened to overtake his senses, his eyes half-closed, it’s mere presence demanding a moment’s pause.

When he opened his eyes again, he was so close you could hear his heartbeat; the way it quickened as his eyes flitted down to your lips — so very slight it was almost too discreet to notice. Almost.

“Rafael.” You warned, eyes widening. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Whatever I said.” Rafe breathed, the shift in your demeanour telling — allowing him to piece together at least half, if not all, of the story. “I’m sure I meant it, sweetheart.”

“You know I always do.” He continued, brow knitted slightly. “With you.”

“You can’t just —”

You pinched the bridge of your nose frustratedly, allowing it’s sting to renew your sense of self-perseveration. “— you have to stop. We’re not together anymore.”

Rafe swallowed several times, his Adam’s apple bobbing dangerously in his throat. “Y/n — it’s not meant to be like this. We belong together.”

“It’s too hard, Rafe.” You laboured, feeling your bottom lip begin to tremble. “We can’t belong together. Not when it’s so hard.“

“Don’t act like being apart is not equally difficult.” Rafe countered, and his palm was pressing against the wall beside your ear, now, raising goosebumps when his bicep rippled the skin. “We’re torturing ourselves, sweetheart.”

“What about that James comment, huh?” You accused, choosing to ignore him. “Do I get an apology for that?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Rafe paused, bowing his head ever so slightly. “We’ll find our way back to each other, you know. It’s fate.”

He used every ounce of self-control he could muster to push himself backward, allowing you space to breath — though his declaration was rendering you incapable, so very sure it was frustrating — before continuing. “But until then…”

He trailed off awkwardly, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “…friends?”

“Friends?” You echoed, frowning slightly. “Really?“

“We’re in the same group.” Rafe reasoned, swivelling his backwards cap in his hand. “And we’ll see each other back in the Eight — we can’t avoid each other, forever, and —”

He squeezed his eyes shut languidly, speaking slow. “ — and the past three weeks have been fucking hell on Earth, and even though seeing the you that isn’t mine, anymore, hurt like a bitch —”

Another paused, renewed conviction, a breath held, and then let out, once again. “— it’s the only time I’ve felt anything since I left. I need you like I need to breathe, you know?”

“So, yeah.” Rafe nodded with finality, ushering you away from the wall and back toward Topper’s dorm. “Friends. If that’s what it takes to have you in my life, then yeah. Friends.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say. 

“Friends.” Was all you managed, shoulder pushed against the dorm door, eyes trained on your faded sneakers. “Okay, yeah. I can do friends.”

--

--

--

babe wake up, college trip pt 2 is up

College Trip

(the Euro Trip sequel, part 2/5)

I don’t know it but I feel it coming / Might be so sad might leave my nose running

a/n: I forgot how angsty this was until just now, damn 💔💔 this part also features some smut so minors please DNI, 18+ only!

wc: 12.5k

Noah hesitated, brow snapping together as the revelation washed over his features. “It might have been out of his control.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Rafe scoffed, his words strangled in his throat. “He’s had a copy of the UNC calender since before I even fucking enrolled.”

He paused, his breath forced through gritted teeth. “He did this shit on purpose. He doesn’t fucking care.”

Rafe Cameron stumbled to a halt, the carpet under his feet worn thin. “Oh.”

“You understand, of course?” Ward continued, his fingers clutching his phone lazily, almost bored. “Business comes first.”

“Yeah.” Rafe muttered, his jaw painfully tight. “Of course.”

“Good.”

Ward cocked his head to one side, a desirive amusement evident on his features. “And how are classes?”

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, his twisted features doing little to subdue his disappointment. “Uh, fine.”

“Fine?” Ward repeated, letting out a mirthless laugh. “I hope fine is enough, son.”

“Good.” Rafe corrected, wincing slightly. “I meant to say good. They’re going great.”

He paused, the next few words coming out in a nervous jumble. “And listen, I know you said no, but if you could find even a little time to come to Parent’s Weekend, I could tell you more about it, and everything, and I don’t know, it’s better than hearing about it over the phone –”

“I have real work to do, Rafe.” Ward interrupted, his voice stern, forbidding enough to blanch Rafe’s features. “I don’t have time for a silly little weekend of fun –”

“It’s not –”

“That’s enough.” 

Ward’s voice resonated through Rafe’s phone at a dangerous pitch, unforgiving as ever, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake. “Have I made myself clear?”

Rafe willed his jaw to slacken, shaky fingers brushing over his stubble in an attempt to coax it loose. “Yes.”

“Yes, sir.” Ward corrected, his figure so sharply contrasting Rafe’s, slumped and absent as he shuffled through paperwork. “Now if that was all…?”

Rafe allowed a beat to pass before he responded, his splotched cheeks uncomfortably taut. “That was all.”

“Good.” Ward nodded, and as his finger hovered over the end call button, it seemed as though speaking to his only son was nothing more than an irritating chore. “I have a meeting.”

He didn’t bother to say goodbye before he hung up the phone; such pleasantries seemed arbitrary, at this stage, almost invalid, against the backdrop of their strained relationship.

“Of course you do.” Rafe muttered, the heavy silence settling on his broad shoulders, appearing to aid, almost inevitably, in his painful self-destruction. “Your time is much more important than mine.”

“It’s probably going to be boring, anyway.” Noah offered, his tone careful. “You can spend it with my family.”

Rafe forced his features to soften, absently tugging at the bill of his backwards cap. “For real?”

“Dude. Of course.” Noah grinned, leaning back into his chair, satisfied. “My parents fucking love you.”

“Yeah well.” Rafe muttered, his expression dull. “At least one set of parents does.”

He let out a harsh breath, pushing past Noah’s figure with an uncharacteristic haste. “Listen, I just need some air, alright?”

“Uh, of course.” Noah faltered, watching Rafe shove his shoulder against the door. “See you later.”

Rafe Cameron barely registered the sentiment, his gait dangerously erratic as he strode toward the hallway elevators. It felt as though his body was moving of its own accord; his grip on his phone unforgiving, tight enough to leave reddened imprints on his palm. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, a forefinger punching your contact — the only thing he saw, within the anger blurring his vision — before his rational mind could intervene. 

“Rafael!” You whispered, the gentle lilt to your tone comforting beyond belief. “I’m just in the middle of finishing an assignment, baby —”

You faltered as you registered his shallow breath, the sound alone enough to prompt you to rise from your seat. “— hold on, let me just get out of the library.”

“Okay.” Rafe nodded, your — his girl — voice impossibly warm against his skin. “Thank you.”

“Rafe.” You frowned, the near imperceptible quaver to his tone quickening your pace. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe bit his bottom lip until he drew blood, an untenable attempt at halting its tremble. “Parents Weekend this weekend.”

He paused, feeble tone leaving you helpless, willing the air around you to swallow you whole. “They’re not coming. Typical.”

“You’re golden.” You murmured, the revelation softening his features almost immediately. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“My girl.” Rafe sighed, leaning his forehead against the adjacent wall, the smooth paint cool against his skin. “Thank you. I just needed to hear your voice.”

You nodded slowly, and though the admission was far from accusatory, you couldn’t help but feel small, projecting your own insecurities onto them with a characteristic haste. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distant.”

Rafe felt his shoulders tense, hands pressed against the wall as he straightened. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know!” You insisted, shaking your head vigorously. “I know. I just needed to say it. For you to hear it.”

“Sweetheart.” Rafe frowned, readjusting his backwards cap. “I get it. We’re busy. You’re busy. I’ll always get it.”

And though you nodded, and hummed appreciatively, you couldn’t help the painful wince that twisted your gentle features; the sentiment almost threatening, laced with a feeling of imploration that felt far too equable to overlook.

Were you busy? Were you really?

You swiped through Rafe’s latest photo dump for what felt like the tenth time today, your forehead creases gaining permanence against the backdrop of your hardened skin.

It was as you were zooming in on picture in particular, Rafe’s undeniable charm appearing to match Amber’s so strikingly, that the once comforting flash of a FaceTime call took over your bright screen, your boyfriend’s contact photo lighting it up with an unwavering sense of confidence.

Your forefinger punched the decline button before it fully registered, drawing back, as though burned, to clutch Rafe’s signet ring immediately after.

Rafe: busy?

You hesitated, the contents of your stomach swirling dangerously.

Y/n: unfortunately :( soon?

Rafe: always

Rafe slumped back against his pillow, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. 

Having suffered through two long weeks of limited contact (courtesy of a busy frat schedule, one that you insisted — “Rafe. We’ll talk after rush week.” — he participate in wholeheartedly), he welcomed a steady class schedule with open arms, eager to finally have an excuse to spend his nights holed up in his dorm room.

It was therefore rather unfortunate that he played the unbothered boyfriend so well; your equally slumped figure, all splotchy cheeks and downturned lips, convinced that he was better off without the monotony of your presence.

And though that remained the only time you avoided his call, it was obvious that the cracks were beginning to show; the distance was hurting you, and this in turn, was hurting Rafe Cameron.

“Babbbbyyyyyy.” You slurred, stumbling slightly with Chloe’s worried figure close behind. “S’me.”

Rafe sandwiched his phone against his shoulder and ear, swivelling his hat so it sat backwards on his head. “Sweetheart. Are you drunk?”

“Shhhh.” You giggled, pressing his signet ring to your lips before lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone.”  

“Y/n.” Rafe lilted, an endeared smile tugging at his lips. “I won’t. Swear.”

“Good boy.” You grinned, carelessly moving the phone toward your lips, a wet kiss pressed against the surface. “S’for you.”

Rafe felt a familiar flutter erupt in his chest, and the feeling alone was enough to warm his cheeks. “Thank you baby.”

He paused, brow furrowing slightly as he heard a small yelp come through the phone. “Y/n. You alright?”

“Oh my god.” Chloe tutted, wrapping an arm around your waist before tugging your phone from your hand. “Watch your step, dumbass.”

She cast you a stern glance, shifting slightly to press the phone against her ear. “Don’t worry about it Rafe, she’s just had one too many white claws.”

“Chlo.” Rafe recognised, relieved. “She’s alright, though?”

Chloe nodded slowly, her eyes darting toward your tired frame before lowering her voice. “She’s been a real mess over you, you know that? Just went overboard trying to get her to have some fun. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Rafe swallowed, scrunching up his features momentarily before responding. “Really?”

“Really.” Chloe affirmed, her voice careful, but exact. “I mean I know it’s not my place or anything, but long distance is hard, and —”

“Thanks, Chloe.” Rafe interrupted, his jaw tightening, defensive. “You’ll be alright getting her home?”

“Mm-hm.” Chloe exhaled, frowning slightly as you leaned into her side. “Here, I’ll pass it back to her.”

Rafe nodded slowly, using a calloused palm to smooth out his hardened features. “Hi, baby.”

“Miss you.” You mumbled, and it was as though it was only now registering, your wide eyes swimming with unshed tears as you spoke. “Lots.”

“Me too.” Rafe sighed, helplessness seeping into his skin, so heavy he wasn’t able to think straight. “I miss you so much it hurts.”

“M’too.” You slurred, your bottom lip trembling dangerously. “Come home.”

Rafe Cameron had, of course, booked the first flight out of North Carolina the next morning, already zipping up his near-empty suitcase when a familiar ring resonated through his dorm.

“No way, Rafe.” You groaned, headache doing little to settle the unease in your stomach. “Cancel it. You’re not dropping everything because I said something when I was drunk.”

“But I would.” Rafe insisted, though his shoulders were slumping, all the same. “Drop everything, I mean. If you wanted me to, I would.”

“You shouldn’t.” You frowned, throat dry and raspy. “Not for me. College is important.”

“You’re infinitely more important.”

“Rafael.”

“Y/n.” Rafe sighed, and when he spoke again, his voice appeared so alarmingly strained all you wanted to do was wrap yourself in his arms. Home. “I love you always.”

You drew in a long breath, feeling small. “I love you always.”

Such agonising exchanges had dotted the past month at an unrelenting pace, blurring them into one, long, steady path to self-destruction. And though there remained an obvious, physical distance between the two of you, the forbidding promise of an emotional distance loomed dangerously over your head; threatening to engulf you whole, threatening to shatter you entirely into pieces. 

You needed to fix this. And you needed to do it before your ability to ruin everything you touch managed to take over the rational part of your mind.

“Listen.” You started, swallowing a harsh breath. “It’s Parents Weekend for me too.”

Rafe’s eyes widened apologetically, ever in tune to the subtleties in your emotions, aware of the immense amount of pressure your parents put on you. “Sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“No, no, no.” You dismissed, gesticulating wildly as you spoke. “I mean, if you’re going to be free this weekend, you should come. You can spend it with my family.”

You paused, chewing at your bottom lip nervously. “If you want to, of course.”

Rafe’s lips parted slightly at the offer, the brilliant blue of his eyes impossibly bright, all you saw when you closed your eyes. “Really?”

“Of course.” You nodded, the encouragement in your tone lacing Rafe’s softened features. “It’s a good excuse for us to see each other, too.”

You hesitated, the pout on your lips audible. “I miss you.”

“So much it hurts, sweetheart.” Rafe affirmed, turning back to walk toward his dorm. “When are your parents arriving?”

“Saturday morning, I think.” You responded, cocking your head to one side. “Why?”

Rafe pressed his tongue against his cheek, already falling back into his old habits; falling back into you. “Because I want to come a day early, of course.”

“Right.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes pointedly. “Because they’re going to be totally okay with us sharing my dorm —”

“Relax, sweetheart.” Rafe grinned, his free hand opening the dorm room door with a characteristic ease. “I’ll sneak out before they arrive. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You felt a familiar flush creep up your cheeks, your hand reaching out, almost instinctively, to swat at his non-existent broad chest. “Rafael.”

“Y/n.” Rafe teased, tugging his laptop into his lap. “I’ll see you Friday, yeah?”

“Night, okay?” You frowned, faltering momentarily. “Don’t miss any classes for me.”

Rafe drew his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling his excitement fade, if only a little. “Okay.”

“Okay.” 

You blinked several times, the spontaneity of it all throwing you, a beat passing before you regained your composure. “Love you always.”

“Love you always.”

—

You were waiting in front of your dorm building impatiently, the pads of your forefinger and thumb raw, still clasping the magnificently golden signet ring between its callouses. 

Chloe Peterson, gracious as ever, had promptly exited your dorm room no less than two hours ago, promising to make herself scarce in anticipation of the return of your golden boy. An hour after her willful departure, you had dragged your feet toward the elevator, fingers smoothing out non-existent creases like a nervous tick, feeling so impossibly flustered it felt almost nostalgic.

You clicked the side of your phone for what felt like the millionth time, Rafe’s last message — in an Uber now! — a comforting presence atop the screen. 

Rafe Cameron barely registered the Uber driver’s audible gasp as he pressed a wad of cash into his outstretched palm, the steady thump of his chest quickening as he registered your figure across the road. You look so effortlessly beautiful, in the late Autumn sun, the creases on your forehead begging to be smoothed out, loose dress waiting to be wrapped up in his arms.

“Keep it.” Rafe smiled politely, giving the man a fleeting once-over before turning fully. “Got me to my girl.”

It felt as though the world was moving in slow motion; his peripheral vision appearing to blur, feeling spectral, seeing only you, amongst the very fabric of reality. Gait quickening slightly, he threw his bag over his shoulder, shoes hitting gravel at the same pace at his heartbeat, quickening, quickening still, when you finally registered his figure.

Your jaw slackened as you caught his eye, the magnificent glint of his signet ring dancing across your gentle features, so close Rafe could barely breathe. “Sweetheart.”

“Rafael.” You breathed, your arms finding their way around his neck almost immediately. “Oh my god. You’re here.”

Rafe dropped his bag carelessly, wrapping his forearms around your waist with his head buried in your hair. “I’m here.”

He breathed in the sweet smell of your lavender shampoo, his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of your back before gently tightening his grip. He willed you to melt into him, picking you up easily before twirling you around. “My fucking girl.”

“Mm-hm.” You giggled, feeling so impossibly free in his arms, skin electrified, warm to the touch. “Your girl.”

Rafe kept you flush against him as he guided you back to your feet, meeting your lips in a beautifully slow kiss. Balancing on tip-toes, your fingers found themselves in his ruffled hair, tugging at it teasingly as you deepened the passionate embrace. 

“God I’ve missed you.” Rafe breathed, each word punctuated by an ardent peck on the lips. “So fucking much, baby.”

“Me too.” You responded, lips brushing against his skin with your eyes half-closed. “I can’t believe you’re really here.” 

Rafe’s intense gaze left you breathless, his eyes taking in every part of you, creating the only memory that ever mattered. “Me either, sweetheart.”

He pouted as you made to unclasp your fingers, his hands pressed into your waist, unwilling to ever let go. “No way.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He continued, keeping his arm wrapped around your figure as he reached for his bag. “Ever.”

“Of course.” You nodded solemnly, kissing the prickly stubble on his jaw. “Never.”

He pressed his lips against your temple, slotting you into his side before guiding you forward. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”

“Whatever you want.” You responded, doe-eyes catching his gaze with a teasing sense of feigned innocence. “We can get some dinner, or watch a movie, or you can, you know, take this tiny dress off me —”

Rafe stumbled to a halt beside you, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth. “Where’s your dorm?”

“Third floor.” You grinned, wriggling out of his grasp with a wink. “Well don’t just fucking stand there —”

“Y/n.” Rafe muttered, tugging at his shirt collar as he gave the foyer a once-over. “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder.”

You cocked your head to one side, teasing. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh?” Rafe challenged, smirking knowingly at the way your breath hitched. “Wouldn’t I?”

He slipped a finger under the loose strap of your dress, tracing it’s hem before reaching the signet ring on your neck. “Mine.”

You swallowed, registering the way his blown-out pupils caught the dull glow of the overhead light. “This way.”

Purposefully, you took his hand in yours, tugging his figure toward the elevator with an uncharacteristic haste. 

His free hand found its way to the curve of your ass, a small squeal escaping your lips as he gave it an appreciative squeeze. 

“Rafael.” You hissed, dragging him into the elevator with pursed lips. “Stop.”

“Y/n.” He echoed, whirling you around before pushing you against the opposing wall. “No.”

He placed his hand on either side of your face, his biceps rippling slightly, hungry gaze keeping you frozen in place.

“What was that you said?” He breathed, bowing his head to graze his teeth over your collarbone. “About taking this tiny dress off?”

“Not in the elevator, Rafe.” You swallowed, lashes fluttering shut as he began sucking on the sensitive spot on your nape. “Rafe.”

“Really?” Rafe challenged, his lips ghosting over the reddened bruise. “You sounded awfully eager, before —”

Your eyes snapped open as you heard the familiar ding of the elevator, using the heels of your hands to push Rafe’s figure backward.

“Jade!” You smiled weakly, attempting to fix your curls. “Hey.”

Jade raised an eyebrow at your harried expression, her lips parting slightly as she registered the boy standing to your left. “Hey, Y/n/n.”

“This is Rafe.” You announced, catching his eye fleetingly before ushering him forward. “Rafe, this is my friend Jade.”

“Hey!” Rafe smirked, his tone lilted, mischievous as ever. “Would love to stay and chat, but this one —”

“Oh my god, shut up.” You hissed, promptly reddening. “Anyway, Jade, good to see you, I’m just showing Rafe my dorm room —”

“Ah, of course.” Jade nodded sagely, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Well enjoy exploring her room, Rafe —”

“Good bye Jade.” You groaned, mouthing an irate “I’m going to kill you” before pivoting on your heel. “Let’s go, Rafael.”

“You know.” Rafe grinned, thumbing over the bruise on your neck, enjoying the way it blanched under his touch. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, baby.”

“I’m not flustered.” You argued, tugging him through your dorm door with a small pout. “Don’t be mean.”

You stepped forward as he closed the door behind him, twirling coyly as you gestured around the room. “My humble abode.”

Rafe nodded, closing the space between with a single, purposeful stride. “Respectfully…”

He trailed off, fingers slipping down the straps of your dress, feather-light touch eliciting a shudder. “…all I’m able to see right now is you, sweetheart.”

The loose fabric bunched up at your feet, Rafe’s palms pressed against your waist as he leant backward.

“Fuck.” He groaned, his eyes raking over your figure shamelessly. “Is this new?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, cocking your head to one side, playful. “It’s for you.”

The words alone made Rafe’s crotch tighten, attaching his lips to your neck before desperately grinding into you.

“Baby.” You continued coltishly, tugging down the waistband of his grey sweatpants and palming his cock through the fabric of his Calvin Kleins. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” Rafe breathed, his voice straining slightly. “I —”

The rest of his words caught in his throat as you pushed him onto the bed, slipping down his boxers before curling your fingers around his hard cock. “Mmm? You were saying?”

You gazed up at him for a split second, jacking it teasingly before taking it in your mouth. 

“Fuck.” Rafe cursed, his finger bunching your curls to one side as you began bobbing up and down. “Fuck.”

You hummed around his cock in response, his strangled groans spurring you on, eyes trained on his features, just how he liked it. 

“Y/n.” Rafe breathed after a beat, carelessly cupping your cheek before slowly pulling you upward. “As much as I love you taking control —”

He paused as you straightened, quick to wrap an arm around you and pin you down against the mattress. “ — I want you to feel me in your stomach, now, angel.”

He near ripped the lacy bra and underwear from your figure, his lips attaching themselves to your hard nipple almost immediately. Pulling away, he lubricated his forefinger with his tongue, groaning appreciatively as he slipped a finger in your core.

“Already so wet.” He breathed into your skin, his lips leaving bruising kisses in the valley of your breasts. “Did you miss me?”

“Mm-hm.” You managed to mumble, using your weak grip to tug off his polo. “Can we fuck now, baby?”

Rafe’s fingers curled against your core teasingly, circling your swollen clit one last time before meeting your eye. “Those words alone are going to make me cum, sweetheart.”

You moaned into the crook of his neck, a small gasp escaping your lips as he teased his cock over your entrance. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you nodded slowly, encouraging him to push himself in fully as you tightened.

“Fuck.” He muttered, propped up on his biceps as he began thrusting into you. “You’re so fucking tight.”

The silver chain on his neck glinted slightly in the light, hovering above the skin of your neck as he quickened his pace. A desperate moan escaped your lips as he hit your swollen clit, fingers clutching at his chain to pull him in for a breathy kiss.

“Baby.” He managed to say, his fingers leaving red marks on the skin of your waist. “M’not going to last.”

He continued to thrust into you deeply, fingers curling around your head as it hit the headboard, muttering strangled curses into every inch of your soft skin, so desperate he could barely breathe. You felt the familiar sensation building in your stomach, shallow breath matching his in a symphony of pure pleasure.

“Neither.” You breathed, your head rolling back as you keened. “I’m —”

Rafe grunted as he felt you tighten, the action feeding his own orgasm, bucking desperately against your core as you finished, his own climax close behind. With a satisfied sigh, he pulled himself out of you, an emerald ring clad forefinger tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“I’m so fucking lucky.” He mumbled, absently cupping your breast in his calloused palm. “How are you real?”

You crinkled your nose playfully, ghosting over the skin of his jaw, nimble fingers so gentle Rafe was certain he was dreaming. “I missed you.”

“So much it hurts, baby girl.”

—

“Oi!” Chloe shouted, her fingers twisting the door handle warningly. “It’s been 2 fucking hours, I swear to god if you’re still going —”

“Relax, Chlo.” You laughed, Rafe’s arm reluctantly slipping off your shoulder as you straightened. “We’re ready.”

Taking Rafe’s hand in yours, you brushed over his calloused knuckles, allowing a beat to pass as you marvelled at his physical presence, your golden boy, here, with you. “Come on. We haven’t eaten.”

Rafe cocked his head to one side, teasing. “There’s actually something else I’d like to eat —”

“Rafael.” You admonished, the tips of your ears reddening. “Stop that.”

“Can’t.” Rafe shrugged, and when he bowed his head, his breathy voice raised goosebumps on your skin. “All I can think about is the lingerie you’re wearing under this tiny dress, baby.”

“Caveman.” You quipped, poking your tongue out at him before reaching for the door handle. “Focus. Need you to meet my friends.”

Rafe raised his arms in surrender, nodding obligingly. “If there‘s one thing high-school has taught me, it’s how to focus when you’re around.”

You shook your head bemusedly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Unbelievable.”

“Y/n!” Chloe announced excitedly, Jade and Priya flocking either side as you opened the door. “Dinner?”

She peered over your shoulder shamelessly, interest piquing as she spotted Rafe’s tall figure. “Hometown boyfriend?”

“Rafe.” Rafe corrected, a roguish grin decorating his features. “The infamous Chloe?”

“The very same!” Chloe nodded, wrapping an arm around his shoulder for a fleeting, side hug. “And this is Jade and Priya!”

Rafe waved an arm in greeting, a polite symphony of ‘hello’s and ‘how are you’s ringing through the air as you locked the door behind you.

“So, hometown boyfriend.” Jade lilted, smirking mischievously. “Y/n really gave you the whole tour.”

“Of your room, I mean.” Jade added, brow furrowed in feigned concentration. “Does it really take two hours to look over 130 square feet nowadays —”

“Anyway.” You interrupted, fixing Jade with a pointed glare. “Where are we going?”

“Denny’s?” Priya offered, chewing at her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Think it’s the only place that’s open.”

Rafe nodded obligingly, punching a forefinger against the ground floor button before responding. “I don’t mind.”

He paused, wrapping an arm around your neck to pull you back into his chest, his impossibly soft lips brushing over your temple, electrified. “As long as I’m with you.”

“Jesus.” Chloe whooped, sharing a knowing look with Jade and Priya before continuing. “You really are down bad, huh.”

“Absolutely.” Rafe grinned without missing a beat, his eyes flitting over your reddened features, endeared beyond belief. “Always have been.”

Chloe let out an ardent sigh, pausing momentarily before following your figures into the elevator. “Hey, hometown boyfriend?”

“Yeah?”

“How was she like in high-school?” Chloe asked, surveying your intertwined figures with interest. “From the limited contact I’ve had with Topper and Kelce — Kelce by the way, totally hot, you should set me… anyway, not important — she was really different in high-school.”

“Really?” Rafe frowned, resting his chin atop your shoulder, his cheek pressed against your ear. “How so?”

“For starters.” Chloe grinned, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know about her being shy, she’s actually super fucking sassy, bit annoying, really —”

“Chlo.” You interrupted sternly, feeling helpless under Rafe’s searching gaze. “Not true. Only sassy with you three.”

“And that James guy.” Chloe added boorishly, wincing almost immediately after the admission escaped her lips. “Not that he’s important, or anything —”

“James?” Rafe repeated, and when you felt his figure tense, your hand flew to the golden signet ring on your neck, fiddling with the weathered metal as though your life depended on it. “Johnson’s here?”

You hesitated, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth before slowly nodding. “Mm-hm. He’s in my Stats class.”

“Oh.” Rafe responded, his expression unreadable. “You guys are friends now?”

“I don’t know, really.” You swallowed, tilting your head to offer him a tight-lipped smile. “It’s no biggie. Amber’s at UNC and that’s no biggie, right?”

Rafe lifted an eyebrow at the comparison, the tension in the air palpable. “Right.”

“Anyway.” You coughed, averting your gaze to follow your friends out of the elevator. “C’mon. Denny’s is a walk away.”

—

Rafe Cameron, all undeniable charm and carefully planned quips, had required only a few hours to win over all your friends; gracious as he paid for their food, cheeky as he set them up with his many friends.

After a far-too-long dinner spent recounting an embarrassing number of high-school memories (“No fucking way this was your almost promposal… Y/n, where the fuck can I find one of him?”), you had promptly retired to your dorm room, Chloe’s generosity affording you a night alone, wrapped up in Rafe Cameron’s strong arms.

Currently, your head was resting atop his chest, fingers absently fiddling with the emerald ring on his forefinger, talking about everything and nothing all at once.

“And how’re classes?” You questioned, sidling impossibly closer to his finger, attempting to melt completely into him. “Have you had any tests yet?”

“Just assignments.” Rafe responded, making a face. “Boring as ever. How about you, sweetheart?”

“Good.” You nodded, moving your head into the crook of your neck, pressing lazy kisses onto his jaw. “I mean, psych papers are lame, but the one art history paper I have this Semester is incredible, I mean…”

Rafe’s lips parted slightly as you rambled, marvelling in the way your bright eyes lit up, his heart soaring as he registered the pure joy emanating from your features. In this moment, it felt as though his sole mission in life was to keep you this happy, always. In this moment, it felt as though he would die if anything messed with your ability to feel so impossibly free.

“… and then, I have to take Stats, for some reason —”

Your mention of the compulsory paper forced Rafe out of his reverie, shaking his head slightly as he gathered his thoughts. “The one with Johnson?” 

You winced, eyes wide as you tilted your chin. “Yeah.”

“Right.”

Rafe cleared his throat awkwardly, threading his fingers through his hair. “How is he?”

“You know we’re family friends, Rafe.” You frowned, tone impossibly meek, almost catching in your throat. “Right?”

“He’s a fucking douchebag, though.” Rafe sighed, his nostrils flared as he thought back on the Bonfire incident. “I mean —”

“I can’t avoid him, though.” You interrupted, shrugging helplessly. “It’s hard, being here, Rafe.”

You paused, eyes squeezed shut as you forced out a harsh breath. “Gets lonely when you’re so far from home.”

“Sweetheart.” Rafe murmured, thumbing over the bare skin of your waist soothingly. “I know.”

“Do you?” You questioned, brow knitted slightly. “Everyone’s at UNC with you. And you can make friends easy, and —”

“Your friends are lovely, too, though.” Rafe encouraged, and as his lips ghosted over your temple, you realised how much you had missed his comforting touch. “But I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” You mumbled, turning slightly as his grip around your waist tightened, keeping you close enough to feel his chest rise and fall. “I’m just… that’s why, okay? He’s just a familiar face. That’s all.”

Rafe nodded, a forefinger raising your chin to give you a kiss, gentle and slow. “I get it.”

He brushed his lips against yours tenderly, his next few words spoken carefully, purposeful. “How are you feeling about tomorrow? Your parents coming down?”

“I don’t know.” You responded honestly, the inside of your cheek chewed raw. “Obviously I want to see them, and everything, and my dad is insanely excited, but…”

You trailed off, paling. “…I don’t know if we’re going to be on the same level. And it scares me, a little.”

Rafe nodded slowly, propping himself up on his elbows to better survey your features. “I get it.”

“Like…” You laboured, scrunching up your features frustratedly. “…I don’t want to talk about his old Law professors, and how he topped all his papers in first year, and…”

“What do you want to talk about?” Rafe encouraged, gentle as he unclasped your whitened knuckles where they clutched his signet ring. “Art history?”

“Art history.” You affirmed, absently nibbling on your cuticle. “Like I was with you, you know?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back into your side with a small smile. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’ll get over it.”

“Yes, it does.” Rafe frowned, a calloused palm brushing over your forearm, coaxing your harsh breath to slow. “You shouldn’t have to get over it, baby.”

“It’s fine, Rafe.” You sighed, fingers carding through his hair, body flush against his chest, so close it felt as though nothing bad could ever happen, so close you finally felt like yourself again. “Used to it.”

“Y/n.” Rafe started, his voice comfortingly low, careful not to butcher his words. “You should bring it up, tomorrow.”

“Listen.” He continued, registering your furrowed brow. “When they see how happy it makes you, they’re going to want to reconsider. Trust me.”

The image of your beautifully free features swam to the forefront of his mind, your imperceptible words blurring into each other, focussing only on your excitement; the very sense of delight that had warmed your skin as you told him about the subtleties of Art history.

“But —”

“Trust me.” He repeated, whirling you around so your back was pressed against his chest. “They love you. Always.”

—

“Y/n.” Rafe murmured, gentle as he caught your wrist. “I’m going to need you to breathe, baby.”

Thumbing over the blanched skin of your knuckle, he coaxed your clenched fist loose, lips feather-light, tender to the touch, as they brushed over the reddened, signet ring shaped imprint within it.

He paused, breaking contact for a moment in order to wrap his strong arms around your torso. When he pulled you close, it was with every ounce of conviction he could muster, his bowed head tucked over your shoulder, his brows pinched — Is there any way I can take away your worry? If I press my forehead against yours, will it seep through your skin and into mine, instead? — as he surveyed your features.

“It’s just a reception.” Rafe encouraged, his lips ghosting over your temple, comforting beyond belief. “And I’ll be right there.”

“I know.” You managed to sigh, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. “But my dad’s going to be whisking me away every five seconds —”

“I’ll still be right there.” Rafe interrupted, splaying your palm as he guided it toward your beating heart. “Right here. Always.”

Your features softened almost immediately, the admission prompting you to turn around and wrap your arms around his neck. “I love you. Always.”

Balancing on tip-toes, you pressed your lips against his; the action, not breathy nor particularly ardent, occurring with such a habitual sense of opulence you weren’t certain who you were before you were his. 

“I love you.” He murmured, lips brushing over your cheek, forefinger tracing soothing circles into the small of your back. “Always.”

When you did pull away, it was after an infinitesimal beat, a low groan escaping your lips as you registered the notifications lighting up your phone screen.

“They’re here.” You announced grimly, rolling your eyes as you scrolled through the impatient messages. “We better go.”

Rafe let out an easy laugh, faltering momentarily to tuck a stray lock of hair back into place.

“You know.” You lilted teasingly, ignoring Rafe’s protests as you ruffled his gelled hair. “Like it better messy.”

Rafe cocked his head to one side, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Why do I feel like this is building to something that’s going to get me frustrated?”

You crinkled your nose in feigned innocence, raising your chin to playfully nip at his bottom lip. “Mm-hm. Probably shouldn’t say it with my parents waiting downstairs, huh?”

“Probably.” Rafe nodded sagely, tightening his grip on your waist, his biceps rippling against the fabric of his dress shirt. “Let’s go. Before my imagination gets the better of me.”

Slotting you into his side, he pressed a chaste kiss on your temple, giving his own reflection a fleeting, once-over before guiding you toward the exit. Traversing the long hallway with a characteristic ease, he kept his eyes trained on your concentrated features, brow furrowing as he registered the shallow creases lining your forehead.

“Sweetheart.” He murmured, callouses thumbing over the puckered skin tenderly. “What are you thinking about?”

“Art history.” You frowned, meek. “About whether I should bring it up to my dad.”

Rafe’s thumb traced the curve of your cheek, brushing across the soft skin of your jaw, feather-light as it reached your nape. “Why don’t you just see how things go?”

He paused, his free arm outstretched momentarily — an almost laughable understatement; drawn back to your side with a characteristic haste, eager to keep you close — to press the elevator button. “Don’t put any pressure on it. It’s a difficult conversation.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, chewing at your bottom lip nervously. “You’re right. See how things go.”

Your tense figure sidled impossibly closer, the wordless action Rafe’s queue (though he seldom required one; the need to melt into your skin almost innate — quintessential) to snake his strong arm further around your waist.

And though there remained a hushed silence in the air, interrupted only by the distant hum of dorm room chatter, it didn’t feel heavy, nor threatening, nor suffocating beyond belief; it wrapped around your figures like a warm blanket in winter, affording you a single moment of relief — of matching heartbeats, arduous breaths, and the shared will for time to stand still. 

Staying close, you strode through the large foyer toward the double doors, your parents easy to spot amongst the throng of college students loitering in the courtyard.

Rafe plastered on a winning smile, his figure straightening as they came into view. The bright sun cast an intimidating shadow against the frown lines decorating your father’s features, his steady gaze — punishing as ever — forcing Rafe to falter.

“Sweetheart.” Rafe swallowed, his lips barely moving. “Did you tell them I was coming?”

Your eyes widened, a few, imperceptible curses forcing their way through the rasp of your dry throat. “Fuck. Fuck. Forgot. I’m sorry. I completely forgot, I was… fuck, I —”

“Shhh.” Rafe hushed, rubbing his hand up and down your forearm, soothing the goosebumps raising your skin. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Rafe!” Your father exclaimed, fixing his features admiringly quickly (in customary, Figure Eight fashion, of course; false pleasantries the mainstay of almost every, forced interaction). “I didn’t realise you were joining us, son.”

“I apologise, sir.” Rafe responded, his brow knitted in concern. “I don’t mean to intrude on family time —”

“Nonsense, dear.” Your mother dismissed, giving his taut cheek a gentle pat. “It’s lovely to see you.”

Rafe offered her a gentle, almost reverent smile, loosening his grip on your waist as you stepped forward.

“Oh come here, sweetheart.” Your mother laughed, her voice slightly strained as she pulled you into a tight hug. “How are you?”

She allowed a beat to pass before she leant backward, pinching the side of your waist with a feigned sense of austerity. “Have you been eating? What are they feeding you at this place? Dear me — Bill, I told you we should’ve sent her that care package — I simply…”

She trailed off, shaking her head crossly. “Are you taking care of yourself, young lady?”

“Jesus, mom, it’s college.” You groaned, a familiar flush creeping up your cheeks. “Will you give me a break?”

“She’s hardly given me a break, back home.” You father laughed, his booming voice reverberating through the still, Autumn air. “Honestly, Y/n, it’s as though she’s forgotten how much she used to party back when she was here —”

“Bill.” Your mother chided, though a small smile was tugging at her lips, allowing him to pull you away from her and into his side. “Now I’m sure our Y/n is being extremely responsible —”

She paused, quirking an eyebrow at your averted gaze. “ — or at least, has the common decency to pretend she is. Right, sweetheart?”

“Totally.” You nodded earnestly, stealing a glance at Rafe’s expression, registering the way his mouth twitched, teasing. “Anyway…”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, offering your father a fleeting, side-hug before stepping back toward Rafe’s figure. “Shall we go?”

“Of course.” Your father smiled, gracious as ever as he beckoned you forward. “So, Rafe, how UNC?”

“Good, sir.” Rafe nodded, unsure what exactly to do with his hands without the comforting presence of his backwards cap. “Yeah, getting into the swing of things.”

“Bill.” Your father corrected warmly, giving his shoulder a firm pat. “And how’s Ward? I’m sure he wasn’t happy that he had to miss parent’s weekend!”

You felt Rafe’s broad shoulders tense against your side; your fingers finding their way to his hand almost subconsciously, brushing over the roughened skin of his knuckles, encouraging a small sigh to escape his pursed lips. 

“Uh, yeah.” Rafe coughed after a beat, his stiff figure relaxing as your fingers intertwined. “He had a whole heap of business meetings.”

“A busy man.” Your father nodded knowingly, his tone careful, exact. “Well, I’m certainly happy you’re not spending it alone.”

He paused, and when he spoke again, it was through a genuine smile. “You’re always welcome, you know. Even during a holiday as menial as parent’s weekend!”

“Menial?” Your mother scoffed, affording Rafe a moment to let out a heaving sigh of relief. “Honey, this weekend is absolutely all you’ve talked about since she left.”

“Yes, well.”

Your father puffed out his chest proudly, weathered features appearing younger, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “It is my alma mater, of course —”

“Yeah.” You interrupted, the corners of your mouth twitching mischievously. “Alma mater, as in, former place of study, not —”

“Now now, Y/n.” Your father chastised, his tone lilted playfully. “Once I introduce you to all my old professors…”

The remark was enough to set him off on an animated ramble, his bright eyes flitting over the campus grounds, missing the way your shoulders slumped into Rafe’s chest. After an endless stream of similarly spirited conversations shared throughout your senior year, the sound rang through your ears like white noise; forehead creases gaining permanence against your soft skin, features paling, paling still, with every painfully intermittent mention of Law School.

“...anyway!” Your father finished airily, a boyish excitement evident on his features. “I believe this is the spot. Correct?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, a languid attempt to fix your pained expression. “Yes. Yeah, I think this is it.”

Forcing out a harsh breath, you drew your hand back to your side, taking solace, instead, in fiddling with the emerald ring adorning Rafe’s forefinger. He was quick to recognise the action, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze (and though your grip was tight enough to blanch his knuckles, the pinch of pain appeared indiscernible; willing to do absolutely anything — suffer through far worse — for his girl) before guiding you forward.

“Y/n!” Your father called, jerking his head backward impatiently. “Come on, now.”

“Go.” Rafe encouraged, giving your cheek one last, fleeting kiss before making to step away. “I’ll be here.”

You shook your head discreetly, unwilling to let his hand go, purposeful as you pulled him forward. “Coming!”

Flocking your other side, your mother’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, narrowed eyes careful as they surveyed your harried features.

“Rafe, honey.” She smiled sweetly, gently threading her fingers through your curls. “Do you mind if I have a quick word with Y/n?”

“Not at all!” Rafe responded quickly, his tenacious desire to please your parents endearing beyond belief. “Sorry, of course.”

“No, no.” Your mother dismissed, an arm raised in farewell as Rafe broke into a slow jog. “I won’t keep her for long, don’t worry!”

She allowed her smile to fade as Rafe’s figure slotted into your father’s side, her expertly shaped brows drawn together, contemplative. “What’s going on?”

You offered her a shrug far too exaggerated to reign true, the steady heave of your chest shifting her stern gaze. “Nothing. What are you talking about?”

“Honey.” Your mother frowned, her tone impossibly gentle. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know.” You laboured, sucking in a harsh breath through gritted teeth. “Dad’s so excited about pre-law that he hasn’t bothered to ask how I’m feeling about it all.”

“And he never does.” You added, the comforting smell of her signature perfume wrapping around your desolate figure, acting to cajole every gnawing insecurity. “Even in senior year, he never wanted to hear about my minor, or if I even wanted to do Law —”

You faltered, swallowing dryly as you registered your mother’s expression in your peripheral vision. “— that’s not to say that I don’t want to, of course. I just…”

You trailed off, squeezing your eyes shut frustratedly. “…I don’t know. He doesn’t even want to have a conversation about it.”

“Y/n.” Your mother exhaled, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re our only child. We’ve always had a plan for you.”

“And I understand that Art History is important to you.” She continued, raising her forefinger when you opened your mouth in protest. “But it’s not a degree you can do if you want to live comfortably, sweetheart.”

She paused, muffling a defeated sigh as she smoothed out her tense features. “I don’t want you bringing this up with your father. Not today. Have I made myself clear?”

You kept your eyes trained on the smooth gravel below your feet, fingers kissing the space between your collarbones, willing the signet ring within your palm to be Rafe’s comforting hand, instead. “Okay.”

“Now.” She cleared her throat with conviction, tucking a stray curl behind your ear before beckoning your forward. “Come on. Before he throws a fit.”

You nodded reluctantly, linking arms with your mother’s figure before purposefully quickening your pace. 

“There they are.” Your father shook his head bemusedly, pulling you into the space between himself and Rafe. “I already see an old classmate, come on!”

“Rafe?” You questioned, and when you offered him an outstretched palm, Rafe Cameron — enamoured as ever — was briefly reminded of the fated nights you had shared during your summer in Europe. “You coming?”

Rafe paused, his eyes flitting toward your father’s figure momentarily, prompting him to jam his hands into his front pockets. “I’ll catch you up after introductions, yeah?”

You knitted your brow, folding your arms across your chest defiantly as you turned. “Dad. What did you say to Rafael?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Your father retorted, his eyebrows raised warningful, daring you to continue. “And I don’t appreciate your tone, young lady.”

“Well why can’t Rafael come meet everyone, too?” You scorned, stubborn as ever, frustratingly so. “He doesn’t have to stay back.”

Your father pinched the bridge of his nose defeatedly, adopting a gentler lilt when he spoke again. “This is just something I’ve been waiting to do with my daughter for a long long time.”

He shifted slightly, his features earnest as they scrutinised Rafe’s figure. “And I’m sure Rafe doesn’t mind. Do you, son?”

“Not at all!” Rafe nodded obligingly, hands drawn behind his back, awkwardly rocking back on his heels. “I completely understand, sir — uh, Bill.”

You chewed at your bottom lip gloomily, fingers clammy where they fiddled with Rafe’s signet ring. “Fine.”

“Well, come on.” You lilted, quick to fix your features. “Let’s go talk about how much of a nerd you were in college —”

“Like father, like daughter.” He winked, pointing toward the large ‘Welcome, alumni!’ sign decorating the very front of the building. “Look. They knew I was coming.”

You let out an exaggerated groan, shaking your head warningly (and promptly mouthing suck-up when your father averted his gaze) at the forced laugh Rafe offered in response. “Don’t encourage him. He won’t stop. It’s torture.”

“Hey.” Rafe grinned, raising his arms in surrender. “I thought it was funny.”

Your father nodded appreciatively, his hand finding its way to the small of your back in order to guide you forward. “Enough about all that. I think I saw an old friend, come on!”

__

“...I simply cannot believe that he’s still here!” Your father continued, a crooked smile hidden beneath a mouthful of pasta. “The same man who handed me my Law degree. Still here to hand you yours.”

You spluttered weakly, swallowing several mouthfuls of water before responding. “I’m still pre-law, dad –”

“Oh don’t worry about that.” Your father dismissed, his twinkling eyes, once bright and enigmatic, appearing almost punishing against the backdrop of the stuffy reception. “It’s in your blood, Y/n. You’re a shoe in.”

“Besides.” He added thoughtfully, a triumphant smile tugging at his lips. “Now that you know everyone who’s everyone…”

“Good to see you, old friend!” Your father boomed, calloused palm raised in greeting. “I want you to meet someone very special.”

He gave you a meaningful nod, encouraging you to step into view. “My daughter, Y/n. Pre-law.”

“Ah, of course!” The man smiled, giving your hand a firm shake. “And what’s your major, Y/n?”

“Psychology.” You answered weakly, absently rolling your silver chain between your forefinger and thumb. “And uh, art history minor.”

“Art history?” The man repeated, quirking an eyebrow at your father’s figure, almost amused. “You definitely don’t take after your old man, then, eh?”

“Oh, no.” Your father chuckled, his tone lilted dangerously high, falsely cheerful. “Not that the art history minor is important, by any means –”

He paused, mockingly raising his fingers in air-quotes. “‘Just a bit of college fun’, isn’t it, Y/n?”

“Oh.” You coughed, biting the inside of your cheek until you tasted metal. “Yeah. Course.”

“...you’re exactly where you want to be.”

“Proud of you, my dear.” Your mother added, leaning in to give your shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Aren’t you hungry? You haven’t touched your plate.”

“Had too much at the reception.” You offered languidly, forcing your breath to slow, coaxing your clenched jaw loose. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m sorry.” You muttered apologetically, accepting the small napkin of hors d'oeuvres Rafe thrust into your chest. “My dad is being fucking insane.”

“Don’t be.” Rafe insisted, gracious as ever despite enduring several, forced conversations in your absence. “I get it.”

He wrapped a comforting arm around your torso, allowing you a moment to swallow a mouthful of bruschetta before continuing. “How’s it going, though?”

“Well.” You responded grimly, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. “We’ve had a total of five conversations with five different Law professors, and every single one of them consisted of my dad dismissing my minor.”

“So.” You continued, forcing out a strained laugh. “Great. It’s going great.”

Rafe let out a defeated sigh, hating the situation for rendering him so frustratingly powerless. “I’m sorry. He…”

He trailed off, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, careful not to butcher his words. “...he does it because he cares about you, you know? He wants you to be successful. I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know.” You mumbled, focussing on the soothing pad of his forefinger, the way it traced small circles on the skin of your palm. “I know. It’s just a whole lot of pressure.” 

You paused, a painful grimace twisting your features as you recalled the conversation you had shared with your mother. “Like, my mom before, she was going on about how I’m ‘the only child’, as if my shoulders aren’t already fucking weighed down with their impossibly expectations –”

“Sweetheart.” Rafe interrupted, his brow knitted slightly, apologetic. “I’m sorry, I hear you, your dad’s just coming over.”

He scrunched up his features momentarily – When you’re unhappy, it makes me want to die. Does the colour of the tall ceiling appear muted, to anyone else? Does the low hum of gentle birdsong appear irreverent, to anyone else? – your distress demandings a moment’s pause before he raised his chin.

“There you are!” Your father hummed, the astute figure of a greying man bringing up his right side. “Allow me to introduce you to one of my favourite professors, Dr. Leonard Knight.”

“A pleasure, Miss. Y/l/n.” Dr Leonard smiled, giving your hand a firm shake before turning toward Rafe’s figure. “And you are…?”

“Rafe Cameron, sir.” Rafe answered confidently, accepting his outstretched palm with a gracious nod. “Just here to visit.”

“I see.” Dr Leonard nodded, his eyes flitting toward your figure momentarily. “The boyfriend?”

“Correct.” Your father answered, Rafe’s mouth half-open as he waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Anyway, I believe you’re teaching some of Y/n’s first year papers…”

“Of course!” Your father accepted easily, imperceptive to the point of deliberate ignorance. “Flitting around that party like a busy bee with your hors d'oeuvres in hand. Fitting right in.”

He paused, puffing his chest out proudly. “Just like your old man.”

You offered him a weak, half-smile, shifting your gaze to the wilting spinach mixed into your fettuccine. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“And how did you enjoy it, Rafe?” Your father questioned, letting out a powerful laugh before continuing. “Not too overwhelming for you?”

“Dad.” You grimaced, jaw tightening. “Why would it be overwhelming for him?”

“I’m just saying.” Your father dismissed airily, stealing a glance at your mother’s stern expression before awkwardly clearing his throat. “All I mean is that you’re going to be surrounding yourself with powerful people over the new few years, Y/n –”

“Or I won’t.” You muttered, the clang of cutlery rendering your voice near inaudible. “Or I’ll just fill my timetable with Art History papers –”

“It wasn’t overwhelming.” Rafe coughed, coaxing your clenched fist loose under the confines of the large tablecloth. “A lifetime of Figure Eight events has definitely helped.”

“Ah, of course.” Your mother laughed, the sound particularly over-eager as she attempted to change the subject. “Enough about all that, you two! Do you have any evening plans?”

“I think a few of my friends are going to a party.” You shrugged wryly, pushing your plate away from your figure before forcing yourself to straighten. “When are you guys heading back to the hotel?”

“Probably soon, sweetheart.” Your mother responded, hazarding a glance at the slender watch on her wrist before turning toward your father. “You wanted to finish off some paperwork, didn’t you Bill?”

Your father drew his brows together, setting his fork back onto his plate before shaking his head. “Paperwork? I didn’t –”

He faltered, lips parting slightly as he registered your mother’s pointed glare. “ –oh yes, of course.”

“Okay.” You nodded, feeling yourself relax. “We can do a bit of sight-seeing tomorrow morning? Before your flight?”

“Of course.” Your mother smiled, absently combing through your curls before shifting her gaze toward Rafe. “When are you leaving, Rafe?”

“Tomorrow morning, Mrs Y/l/n.” He responded without thinking, letting out a spluttered cough as realisation dawned. “Uh – I’m staying at a hotel, too, just on the outskirts of campus, so I won’t be –”

“Rafe.” Your mother interrupted amiably, an affectionate smile tugging at your lips. “If you stop talking now, we can pretend we didn’t hear a thing.”

“Right, Bill?” She added, quirking a pointed eyebrow at your father’s expression. “I can’t quite remember what he said. Can you?”

Your father cocked his head to one side, drumming his fingers on the table with gentle remonstrance. “Well…”

He narrowed his eyes punishingly, satisfied when he registered Rafe’s Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “...just this once. Are we clear?”

“Yes.” Rafe swallowed, his features – so impossibly earnest your mother had to bite back a pleased chuckle – frozen as he met your father’s eye. “Yes, sir. Uh, Bill. Yes, Bill.”

“Good man.” Your father responded, and though the smile on his face was menial, his grip on Rafe’s shoulder was sure to leave a lasting bruise. “Now. Shall we?”

__

Rafe propped himself up on his elbows, abdomen tense as he surveyed your features. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to go –”

“No way, hometown boyfriend.” Chloe chided, jerking the curling wand toward his figure warningly. “We’re definitely fucking partying tonight.”

“Chlo.” You groaned, slumping forward to bury your head in your hands. “I’ve had a shitty day.”

“So…” Chloe cajoled, bumping her shoulder against yours teasingly. “We get extra fucked up to help you forget about it.”

“I’m not getting fucked up.” You grumbled, though the lilt to your tone was playful, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Not when Rafael is here.”

“Especially when hometown boyfriend is here.” Chloe grinned, mischievous as ever as she turned toward him. “He’ll take care of you.”

“Not just when she’s drunk.” Rafe frowned, sliding off your blue comforter to wrap his arms around your waist. “She’s right, though, baby. I don’t mind staying sober.”

You pouted appreciatively, your palms splayed across his broad chest as he pressed a slow kiss on your lips. “Rafael, you fucking simp.”

“Don’t fucking complain.” Chloe scolded, fixing you with a pointed glare. “Hometown boyfriend, what’s the 411 on Kelce?”

“Ooooh.” You teased, turning around (Rafe wrapped his arm around your neck after an infinitesimally small beat, eager to keep your back flush against his chest) to better survey Chloe’s features. “You know he’s my best friend, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chloe dismissed, rolling her eyes playfully. “But you’re here. Not very useful.”

She paused, cocking her head to one side as she shifted her gaze. “Go on. Is he seeing anyone at UNC?”

“I don’t think so.” Rafe responded, brow furrowed in concentration. “A few hook-ups during syllabus week, but –”

“A few hook-ups during syllabus week?” You gawked, folding your arms across your chest crossly. “Why the fuck didn’t he tell me?”

“Ignore her.” Chloe insisted, leaning forward, interested. “Continue. Nothing steady?”

“Nothing steady.” Rafe affirmed, biting back a laugh at your frustrated huff. “Sweetheart, he’s probably just been busy –”

“Fake friend.” You scowled, making a face. “Chloe, don’t go out with him. He’s a fake fucking friend.”

“A fake fucking hot friend.” Chloe corrected, clicking her curling wand off before uncrossing her legs. “Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, hands on her hips as she gave her reflection a defeated, once-over. “Nothing to wear. Going to force Priya to let me borrow that tiny dress she wore last week.”

“The dress she wore when she hooked up with that pledge?” You questioned, grinning appreciatively when met with Chloe’s nod. “Approved. See you soon!”

Your eyes followed her figure to the door, only allowing your shoulders to wilt once you were certain she was out of sight. Tense against his feather-light touch, the action demanded Rafe’s attention, prompting his chin upward in an attempt to study your hardened feature.

“We don’t have to go.” Rafe murmured, peppering gentle kisses along your exposed nape. “Seriously.”

You let out a laboured sigh, gratefully leaning into his touch. “No, no. Just…”

You squeezed your eyes shut arduously, attempting to gather your thoughts. “...a lot on my mind. I don’t know.”

Rafe swallowed, features appearing so painfully assiduous it was almost as though he knew. “What’s on your mind?”

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze averted as you shifted uncomfortably. “Today was hard.”

“Not just because of my dad.” You added, forcing Rafe to falter. “Because of me too. Because of everything.”

“Pre-law is, of course, extremely competitive.” The man pressed, gesticulating animatedly as he spoke. “Though I’m sure you’ll be fine, if you’re as serious as your father was.”

“Oh, don’t act coy, Andrew.” Your father chuckled, shaking his head bemusedly. “You were second in our class, were you not?”

“Good memory.” Andrew inclined, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he turned toward you. “Nasty pain in my ass, your father. But he sure kept me in check!”

You nodded awkwardly, smoothing out the shallow creases decorating the hem of your dress. “I’m sure he did.”

“I’m not sure I’m as serious as he was, though.” You added, forcing a laugh. “He sets the bar too high, you see.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re great.” Andrew dismissed airily, giving your shoulder an encouraging pat. “As long as you’re not being held back by any distractions…”

He paused, quirking an eyebrow knowingly. “ …any 6 foot 4 distractions, I mean –”

“Oh.” You spluttered, words catching in your throat. “I, uh –”

“A joke, my dear.” Andrew interrupted, eyes widening as he registered your subtle grimace. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Nonsense, Andrew.” Your father responded quickly, his eyes darting toward you, willing your mouth to snap shut. “She’s got a great sense of humour.”

“Because of you?” Rafe repeated, his brow knitted worriedly. “Sweetheart, you’re perfect –”

“I just mean.” You interrupted, frustrated. “I can’t afford to not get into Law school, especially not after today, and it’s so hard to do, and…”

You trailed off languidly, unwilling to continue. “... whatever, just in my head.”

Rafe was halfway opening his mouth in retort, his bottom lip chewed raw, when the swing of the door interrupted his train of thought, the beguiling figure of Chloe Peterson twirling into your line of sight.

“Chlo!” You exclaimed, false cheerfulness twisting his features, if only for a single moment. “Dress acquired?”

“Dress acquired.” Chloe affirmed, narrowing her eyes pointedly as she surveyed your intertwined figures. “Why aren’t you ready?”

She stepped forward, tugging you upward by the nimble strap of your singlet. “We’re going to be fucking late!”

“Relax.” You grumbled, rubbing at your shoulder irately. “It’ll only take me a second.”

“One less second that you could be downing a tequila shot.” Chloe sang, pausing momentarily before ushering Rafe toward the door. “Hometown boyfriend, you’re going to have to give us a moment to change.”

Rafe gazed up at you with his tongue pressed against his cheek, his pointed once-over more expressive than the endless stream of teasing quips swimming to the forefront of his mind. “Of course.”

__

Rafe wrapped a protective arm around your neck, rolling his shoulders preemptively.

“Baby.” You grinned, shaking your head bemusedly. “I’ve been to this frat, like, a million times –”

“You may know this frat.” Rafe grumbled, eyes trained on his surroundings as he pressed an ardent kiss on your temple. “But I know frats.”

“Alright sigma phi.” You quipped teasingly, tilting your chin to kiss him slow. “Let’s relax with the testosterone, alright?”

His calloused palm found its way to your cheek, his other tracing the curve of your ass, eliciting a breathy moan as he deepened the embrace. “You know I’m all testosterone when you’re around, right, baby?”

“Shut up.” You retorted, nipping at his bottom lip playfully. “C’mon, let’s get a drink.”

You took your hand in his, craning your neck in an attempt to find your friends amongst the bustle. Beside you, Rafe Cameron’s punishing gaze created a muted halo around your figure, his fingers pressed against your waist as he pulled you back into his chest. 

“Rafael.” You chided, swatting at his hands to minimal avail. “Will you let me fucking walk?”

“No fucking way.” Rafe retorted, prompt to slot you into his side. “Not without me.”

Using his height to his advantage, he spotted Chloe’s figure easily; found leaning against the wall beside the kegger, batting her lashes at the soon-to-be besotted pledge manning it. He flitted through the throng with a characteristic ease, his grip on your waist comfortingly tight, woody cologne threatening to overtake your senses. By the time you had traversed the busy room, her lips were already attaching themselves to his, drink sloshing against her knuckles as she wrapped an arm around his neck.

“Oh.” You snorted, stifling a laugh. “We should probably leave her be, huh?”

Rafe nodded sagely, whirling you around and pushing you up against the opposing wall. “Definitely.”

He cocked his head to one side, smirking teasingly. “What should we do while we wait, sweetheart?”

“Hmmm.” You mused, doe-eyes meeting his with a coy sense of feigned innocence. “Not sure. We can talk about the weather – beautiful day today, though the humidity was particularly irritating – or perhaps about the seven o’clock news – I can’t believe I’m missing it for a fucking frat party, by the way –”

You faltered, feeling the steady ripple of Rafe’s biceps against your cheek. “-- or, uh…”

“Or.” Rafe offered, his hungry gaze raising goosebumps on your skin. “We can talk about that time we fucked against a wall.”

“Rafael.” You swallowed, absently chewing at your bottom lip. “This wall is sticky.”

Rafe quirked an eyebrow at the remark, letting out a knowing laugh as you groaned, the opportunity presented to him on a silver platter. “You know what else is sticky?”

“Shut up.” You muttered, reddening slightly. “And kiss me, you idiot.”

He didn’t require further encouragement, of course, trailing lingering kisses up your neck before meeting your lips in an impossibly heady embrace. His hands roamed your figure fervently, teasing the high hem of your dress, ghosting over the raised contour of your bra clasp, and when you arched your back into his chest, flirting with the idea of slipping his calloused thumb under the spaghetti strap of your dress.

“Stop.” You mumbled lamely, palms splayed across his chest. “We’re at a party.”

“So.” Rafe teased, his lips brushing over the sweet spot on your neck. “Let’s go home.”

You were half-way nodding in response, knees weak under his desperate touch, when the steady ring of his phone interrupted the stolen moment, Rafe letting out a disgruntled sigh before sliding it out of his back pocket.

His eyes widened as he registered the caller ID, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before stepping backward. “It’s my dad. Sorry.”

“Oh.” You swallowed, nodding vigorously. “No, yeah, of course, go.”

Rafe scrunched up his features helplessly, forcibly dragging his feet along the beer-stained, hardwood floor. “I won’t be long. Stay right here, yeah?”

“Of course.” You proffered, brows drawn together earnestly, an encouraging smile on your puffy lips. “Right here.”

Rafe answered the phone on it’s very last ring, a forefinger pressed his tragus as he separated from the animated crowd. “Hey, dad. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Ward repeated, a cruel derision lacing his tone, eliciting a painful grimace. “Why am I hearing that you’re not in the Carolina’s from the likes of Frank and Martha?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Graham?” Rafe echoed, paling. “They’re at UNC for Parent’s Weekend?”

“Of course they are.” Ward scoffed, slamming his fist against his desk, the sound reverberating through the phone and raising goosebumps on Rafe’s skin. “When I told them that I wasn’t going to make it, they offered to take you out to dinner.”

Rafe faltered, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to see Y/n.” Ward snarled, grinding his jaw until it prompted an audible exhale. “When did you make this plan?”

“When you told me you weren’t coming.” Rafe muttered, the admission acting to renew his sense of defiance. “What else was I supposed to do? Spend the weekend alone?”

Ward let out an exasperated huff, his fingers jerky as they raked through his hair. “You weren’t going to be alone. Everyone that matters is at UNC –”

“No.” Rafe deadpanned, his mouth set in a hard line. “The only person that matters is at UPenn.”

Ward halted in his tracks, allowing a single beat to pass, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose until they left reddened imprints against the wrinkled skin. “This is exactly what I was afraid of.”

“What?”

“Rafe, it’s barely been a month since college started.” Ward sighed, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “And you’re already running off to meet her every whim.”

“You need to focus on UNC.” He continued, ignoring the muffled protests threatening to interrupt his reductive train of thought. “You need to focus on Business School. Not on a silly little fling –”

“It’s not a silly little fling.” Rafe gritted, feeling a muscle in his jaw twitch. “I can focus on school and be with her. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

“But why are you making it so unnecessarily hard on yourself?”

Ward screwed up his hardened features, his taut cheeks splotched red. “I want you home on the next flight. Do you understand?”

“It’s already booked.” Rafe muttered, tugging at the bill of his backwards cap, defeated. “First thing tomorrow.”

__

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rafe frowned, his eyes trained on your features as he zipped up his Nike bag. “You’re being quiet.”

“What was that about?” You questioned gently, allowing Rafe to find solace in the soothing lilt to your tone, pulling you into his chest to breathe you in fully. “Everything okay?”

Rafe buried his head in your hair, focussing only on the pads of your fingers, impossibly gentle as they brushed over his nape. “Mr and Mrs Graham are at UNC for Parent’s Weekend.”

He paused, willing your curls to muffle his voice, render it almost imperceptible. “Apparently they were planning on inviting me to spend it with them.”

“Oh.” You swallowed, fingers freezing against his skin. “Right.”

“And my dad.” He continued, drawing backward with his brow knitted. “I think he just wanted an excuse to yell at me. He kept going on about how I should be at UNC, and should be focusing, and…”

He trailed off with a small shrug, seemingly unbothered. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He’s not ruining my last night with my girl.”

You kept your gaze trained on your trainers, forcibly plastering on a smile before raising your chin. “Yes! I’m totally fine. Just sad to see you go.”

“Me too, baby.” Rafe frowned, closing the space between you with a single, purposeful stride. “I’ll visit again. Soon.”

The admission – an arduous attempt at relieving the tension – did the exact opposite of what it was intended to do, earning Rafe a subtle grimace as he pulled you into his chest. He faltered, thumbing over your puckered forehead with his tongue pressed between his teeth.

“Y/n.” He sighed weakly, ever in tune to subtle changes in your demeanor. “What’s going on?” 

“You guys are the bestest.” Chloe pouted, the slur in her voice appreciable as she stumbled into your side. “Soooooo cute. M’gonna puke.”

“Not actually.” She added hurriedly, her eyes narrowed as she registered your stern glance. “Just you too. In looooovvvveeee.”

You offered her a weak, half-smile, the day’s events swirling through your mind, dangerously close to prompting a spiral.

“D’ya think y’ll last?” She questioned, punching a forefinger against Rafe’s chest. “B’cause long distance’s hard. For…”

She paused, squinting slightly as she brought her hand to her face. “...one, twoooo, three? Mm-hm, three, years.”

“More.” You managed to cough, acutely aware of Rafe’s brilliantly blue eyes as they bored into the side of your face. “If I get into Law School, probably more.”

Rafe fidgeted with the buckle of his backwards cap, forehead puckered as the revelation washed over him. “It’s no biggie. Always just a flight away.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, and though you privately agonised over the sheer number of air miles, you forced the corners of your mouth to lift. “True.”

The tension in the air felt suffocatingly tight, forcing a harsh breath as it swathed your figure; lacing your skin with a dangerous sense of foreboding, forcing you to avert your gaze. “Don’t you think…”

You trailed off helplessly, unable to find the right words, unsure if they even existed. “...I don’t know, that this weekend was kind of a reality check?”

Rafe tensed, swallowing nervously. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” You laboured, squeezing your eyes shut defeatedly. “Like with the reception, and the pressure from my dad, and then your dad calling, and his obvious disapproval, and –”

You faltered, attempting to hide your unshed tears by gazing heavenward. “– three years is a long time, Rafael.”

“I know.” Rafe managed to choke out, a shaky breath escaping his lips. “But it’s us.”

He leaned forward in a panicked fit of desperation, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your cheek, vision dangerously close to blurring. “It’s not three years apart, we’ll see each other on the holidays, and I’ll visit, I don’t care about what my dad says, nor yours –”

“But I do.” You interrupted, wincing as a single tear splotched your reddened cheek. “I care about what your dad says, and how he wants you to stay at UNC, and…”

You trailed off, paling. “...and I need college to go well for me, I –”

“It will, sweetheart.” Rafe insisted, though his breath was dangerously heavy, words strangled against his dry throat. “You’re going to be absolutely fine, you’re so bright, and I –”

“I was a mess during rush week.” You interrupted, barely registering the pinch of pain as you bit the inside of your cheek. “A mess. Because you were calling me when you were meant to be having fun, and you were worrying about me when you shouldn’t have to, and –”

You paused, forcing a breath through gritted teeth, willing it to halt the tears flooding your bloodshot eyes. “ – and now you’re getting yelled at by your dad, because you’re here, with me, and I just…”

“... it shouldn’t be like this.” You finished, exhaling sharply. “It can’t.”

“So, what?” Rafe swallowed dryly, the colour draining out of his face. “That’s it?”

Your shaky fingers found the clasp of your silver chain, nimble as they slid the golden signet ring from it’s thin shackles.

“Here.” You muttered, your bottom lip trembling dangerously. “It doesn’t belong to me, anymore.”

“That’s it?” Rafe pressed, ignoring you. “We’re done?”

“Rafael.” You laboured, coaxing his fingers loose to place it in his palm. “Please.”

Rafe studied it for a single moment, drawing blood as he chewed at his bottom lip. “I’m not accepting this.”

He used his forefinger and thumb to press it back into the space between your collarbones, fingers lingering over the soft skin of your nape – How am I meant to go back to my own life after living in a fucking dream? How am I meant to willingly let you go knowing that I need you to breathe? – as he sucked in a sharp breath. He paused, leaning in to brush his lips against it; a conduit for every, single, beautifully broken memory, imbibed with every stolen glance, laced with the very thump of his beating heart.

“It’s always going to belong to you.” He coughed, using every ounce of conviction in his chest to reach forward and grab his Nike bag. “You’ve had my heart since I was fourteen, sweetheart.”

Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, fingers clutching the ring against your skin, committing his feather-light touch – This can’t be the last time I feel your soft lips. This can’t be the last time I hear your confidently lilted voice. This can’t be the last time I call you mine – to memory. 

He halted as he reached the threshold, the way his eyes met yours – I can’t lose you. I can’t fucking lose you. What happens if I refuse to walk away? What happens if I keep you close until you let me stay? – forcing you to avert your gaze. “I’m not your sweetheart, Rafael.”

__

i won

College Trip

(the Euro Trip sequel, part 1/?)

The beginning of the end / Something bad is ‘bout to happen to me

a/n: Gonna take me a wee bit longer to repost this series because of how much longer each part is compared to Euro Trip, so bear w me. (Also, come get sentimental in my ask box please 🥹)

wc: ~12k

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Rafe swallowed several times, his features blanching as he turned around. “Dad. I didn’t realise you were home.”

“Came home yesterday.” Ward deadpanned, his narrow eyed gaze punishing, as always. “Rose tells me you’ve gotten into the nasty habit of skipping dinner.”

“Not skipping.” Rafe hurried, a calloused palm carding through his hair. “I’ve just been–”

“–with Y/n?” Ward finished, cocking his head to one side. “So I’ve heard.”

Rafe’s fingers froze against his tousled locks, the menacing lilt in Ward’s tone throwing him, forcing him to falter. “I, uh, I was going to tell you –”

“Why do I get to meet her?” Ward interrupted, lifting an eyebrow at Rafe’s splutter. “Rose hasn’t stopped gushing about her since the BBQ.”

“Well?” Ward continued, gesticulating vaguely as he spoke. “Invite her over for dinner.”

“Tonight?” Rafe frowned, chewing at his bottom lip nervously. “We’re already –”

“Oh, she’s a polite girl. I’m sure she won’t mind a change of plans.”

Ward paused, his gaze hardening. “Unless you don’t want me to meet her?”

“Of course not!” Rafe swallowed, tensing slightly as he unlocked his phone. “I’ll, uh, I’ll ask her now.”

“Good.” Ward nodded, waving the stack of envelopes in his hand as a lazy sign of farewell. “Dinner in an hour. I’ll be in my office.”

Rafe allowed his finger to hover over the call button until Ward disappeared out of sight, his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to gather his thoughts. He had almost forgotten the burdensome grip his father held over Tannyhill; how easily his presence weighed over the air, left it suffocatingly tight, tighter still, when it came to him. 

Having arrived home just as his father left for the Bahamas, he had been afforded the rare luxury of a blissful end to summer break. He had gotten the girl (a fact he boasted about openly, and far too often), and without his father’s withering side-eye, he had allowed himself to wholly embrace it; to enjoy it, feel free.

Though as he stood there, bottom lip drawn between his teeth, he was certain that this moment was the beginning of the end. Most things were, when it came to Ward Cameron.

“Rafael!” You beamed, your voice softening his features almost immediately. “When are you coming over?”

Rafe grimaced, letting out a harsh breath before responding. “About that…”

He trailed off, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake. “...uh, change of plans?”

“Oh.” You mused, frowning slightly. “We can reschedule?”

“No, uh –” Rafe faltered, pinching the bridge of his nose frustratedly. “Listen, my dad wants you over for dinner tonight. Will you come? I mean, it’s fine if not, I can just tell him that –”

“Rafael.” You interrupted, seemingly bemused. “Of course I’ll come for dinner.”

Rafe let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, already halfway grabbing his keys from the side table. “Really?”

“For sure.” You nodded, eyes narrowed as you scrutinised your reflection. “I should probably change, though –”

Rafe pressed his tongue against his cheek, his composure regained almost instantly. “Really?”

“Rafael.” You warned, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Careful –”

“Because I can help with that.” Rafe continued, ignoring you. “If you could be so helpful as to take your clothes off and not put any more on –”

“Hanging up now.”

“Hanging up with no clothes on?”

You bit back a laugh, attempting to lilt your tone threateningly (an action Rafe Cameron lovably touted ‘kind of adorable’, knowing it lacked any real conviction) before hanging up. “Good fucking bye, Rafael.”

Throwing your phone back onto your duvet, you forced yourself to straighten, head tilted sideways as you gave your reflection another once-over. Though you had feigned nonchalance on the phone, it was obvious that the prospect of a Figure Eight-esque formal dinner (with the most powerful patriarch on the Island, no less) was proving more daunting than you were willing to admit. You weren’t sure why exactly you were nervous; as a Kook, you had spent the better half of your adolescence learning how to make small talk with powerful people. Perhaps it was the lasting impression Rafe had made when he had been invited over, the previous week; you weren’t certain you could compete, you weren’t certain you were quite as golden as your golden boy.

“Welcome, son!” Your father boomed, giving Rafe’s shoulder a firm pat before nodding him toward the nearest seat. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rafe responded, ever gracious as he guided you to your own. “And thank you Mrs. Y/l/n, for having me.”

“Oh of course, m’dear.” Your mother smiled, leaning against the kitchen counter as she tossed a summer salad. “I’m sorry about the mix-up at the BBQ, I’m awfully embarrassed about that.”

Your father let out an appreciative laugh, eyebrow raised as he turned toward you. “Yes, well, we can’t blame you entirely, sweetheart, she’s has been after Topper for as long as –”

“Dad.” You hissed, eyes widening pointedly. “Please stop.”

“I’ve barely begun.” Your father teased, giving Rafe an easy wink. “Anyway, m’boy, how are you? How’s your father?”

Rafe faltered, an action that almost went unnoticed, one that you had learned to tune in, when it came to Ward Cameron. “I’m good. He’s, uh, good.”

“Busy as always, I presume?” Your father questioned, accepting the large salad bowl from your mother’s hands. “And he’s passed on his passion for business, I’m sure.”

“Dad.” You groaned, casting Rafe an apologetic glance. “Can we at least warm up to the interrogation?”

“Y/n.” Rafe laughed, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

“Uh, yeah.” He continued, turning slightly to meet your father’s eye. “Business school at UNC has always been the plan, sir.”

“Very good.” Your father nodded, forking through his spaghetti thoughtfully. “Y/n’s plan has always been pre-law, of course, following in our footsteps.”

He paused, puffing out his chest proudly. “Going to UPenn, just like her old man.”

“Mm-hm.” You swallowed, and Rafe swore your smile didn’t quite meet your eyes. “And, uh, my art history minor –”

“Of course, of course.” Your father dismissed airily, desperate to change the topic. “That’s nothing serious, anyway.”

Though you opened your mouth in retort, you weren’t sure you could survive another strained, college conversation, having spent the better half of senior year attempting to persuade your father to take an interest in your minor. Pressing your lips into a hard line, you offered him a simple nod, your response appearing rather weak against the resonance of your father’s tone. “Yeah, for sure.”

Averting your gaze from his figure, you allowed an uncomfortable silence to fill the air, punctuated by the low clang of cutlery, feeling heavier, heavier still, as the seconds ticked by.

“Anyway.” Your mother said finally, fixing your father with a pointed glare before continuing. “Enough about all that. How was the trip, you two?”

“Good, I presume.” She continued, quirking an eyebrow knowingly. “You have been inseparable, since you returned –”

“True.” You father added thoughtfully, his lower lip drawn between his teeth. “And long distance is on the cards, for you two?”

Rafe didn’t miss a beat, a calloused palm pressed atop your own, thumbing at your soft skin. “Of course.”

“Of course.” You echoed, features softening at his conviction. “UPenn isn’t that far.”

“Y/n.” Your father warned, the playful lilt in his tone fading as he frowned. “You’re to focus on your school work, first and foremost.”

“Dad, I –”

“Don’t worry, sir.” Rafe interrupted, feeling your figure tense at his side. “I’ll make sure I’m the one doing the visiting.”

Your father nodded appreciatively, clapping his hand against Rafe’s back. “Good lad.”

Rafe matched his expression, his eyes flitting toward you momentarily. “Y/n tells me you’re a big golfer, sir?”

“Ah!” Your father exclaimed, raising an eyebrow at the admission. “At the Club almost every weekend, Rafe. You play?”

“I try to.” Rafe grinned, his modesty almost endearing, having smoked Topper and Kelce in their most recent game. “Trying to get Y/n here on the course, but I can’t seem to break through.”

“Yes, she’s a lost cause.” Your father nodded sagely. “Tried to sign her up for lessons –”

“I don’t need lessons.” You insisted, folding your arms across your chest. “The game is a boring waste of resources, at best.”

Your mother cast Rafe a knowing glance, rolling her eyes pointedly as she spoke. “It’s a wonder you’ve put up with her this long, Rafe.”

“No way, Mrs. Y/l/n.” Rafe smiled, his gaze trained on your features, so genuine you were certain you would melt. “It’s definitely the other way around.”

Peeling your eyes away from your slumped figure, you forced yourself toward the open closet, fingers carding through your dresses carefully in an attempt to find the perfect outfit. After significant chagrin, you managed to settle on a modest, baby blue number; one you had worn and re-worn a million times over. 

Sidling into it slowly, thick straps loose on your shoulders, you grabbed your makeup bag from your counter, halfway untwisting your mascara when you heard a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” Rafe questioned, though the doorknob was already turning before he received an answer. “Are you indecent?”

“Rafael.” You admonished, catching his eye in the reflection of your compact mirror. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“Y/n.” Rafe mocked, a teasing smirk on his features as he strode toward you. “Your zip is undone.”

“I’m aware.” You quipped, breath hitching as his fingers made contact with your bare back. “Will you do it up?”

Rafe cocked his head to one side, bowing his head until it rested atop your shoulder. “And if I don’t?”

You raised the mascara wand warningly, wincing slightly at the way it trembled. “Rafe, I’m serious.”

Rafe ignored you.

He kept his eyes trained on your features, smiling fading as he caught your wrist. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m —”

You faltered, your tone impossibly meek. “I’m nervous.”

“Nervous?” Rafe echoed, his free hand padding over the fabric hugging your waist, soothing. “Are you kidding?”

He raised your chin slightly, meeting your lips in a beautifully slow kiss. “When dad asked me to invite you over, it was because, and I quote ‘Rose hasn’t stopped gushing about you’.”

“You’re bluffing.” You reproached, though you melted into his touch, all the same. “Besides, it’s Ward that I’m worried about —”

“You shouldn’t be.” Rafe interrupted, momentarily averting his gaze. “The only problems he’s ever had have been with me.”

And it was true. Though Rafe Cameron was yet to bring a girl home (unless you counted the many summers the Graham family had frequented Tannyhill), he was certain the illustrious Ward Cameron wouldn’t dare make a fellow Kook feel unwelcome. No, the dinner would most definitely go well; the Cameron’s, ever gracious hosts, would rather die than leave a bad impression.

“Rafe.” You frowned, wrapping your free arm around his torso gently. “That’s not true.”

Rafe frowned, shaking his head slightly before responding. “It is. But that doesn’t matter.”

He turned your figure fully, palms pressed against either shoulder. “You ready?”

“Uh, nearly.” You nodded, jerking your head toward the mirror as you applied a modest coat of mascara on your lashes. “That’s probably enough make-up, right? I don’t want to wear too much, but I also don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, you know? Oh, and I’ll be wearing lip-gloss too, of course — it’s just in my bag, right over there, can you hand it to me baby? — and listen, is this dress okay? It’s not too much, is it? Because I can —”

“Y/n.” Rafe interrupted sternly, his chin perched on your shoulder. “You look perfect.”

Leaning backward, he cocked his head to one side, a low groan escaping his lips as he eyes raked over your figure. “And, sweetheart…”

He trailed off, his fingers teasing at the silver zip of your dress. “…as much as I would love to watch you change —”

“Rafael —”

“— you’re somehow making this fucking church dress look sexy, so we should probably go before I get carried away.”

“I’m not meant to look sexy.” You huffed, though your arms were finding their way around his neck, eager to pull him close. “And it’s not a fucking church dress.”

“Whatever it is.” Rafe breathed, his lips inches from your own. “It’s making my head feel fuzzy, sweetheart.”

He bowed his head slightly, lips ghosting over the skin of your neck. “We should go. Now.”

“Yeah.” You swallowed, palms pressed against his chest. “Good idea.”

“And hey.” Rafe added, catching your wrists, his lips peppering kisses on your soft knuckles. “We’re going to be fine.”

“Yeah.” You affirmed, pulling away to reach for your bag. “We have to be.”

Taking his hand in yours, you allowed your fingers to intertwine, guiding him down the hallway and stairs to re-enter the main living room.

“Rafe!” Your mother smiled, placing her reading glasses back atop her head. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry Mrs. Y/l/n.” Rafe swallowed, sending her a nervous glance. “Door was open, so I —”

“Oh it’s not a problem.” Your mother dismissed, pausing momentarily before fixing you with a stern glare. “I don’t want you home too late, tonight, young lady. It’s —”

“— my last day in the OBX tomorrow, you want to spend quality time with your only child, yeah yeah yeah.” You finished, rolling your eyes playfully before dragging Rafe toward the door. “I’ll be home early, promise.” 

“No more stealing her away, Rafe!” Your mother called, though the lilt in her tone was playful, having spent the past few weeks gushing over the two of you. “I’m sure I can count on you?”

“Of course!” Rafe nodded vigorously, earning an indignant scoff (“Mom, you can count on me to take care of me.”) as you pulled him through the door. “You always can, Mrs. Y/l/n!”

Your mother raised an arm in farewell, catching Rafe’s eye with an appreciative smile. “It’s Evelyn, dear. Call me Evelyn.”

—

“Sweetheart.” Rafe murmured, an outstretched palm closing the car door behind you. “We don’t have to do this.”

You scrunched up your features momentarily, hands clasped together as you met his worried gaze. “We do.”

“Not if you don’t want to.” Rafe frowned, thumbing at your cheek, tender. “I can come up with an excuse —”

“No.” You interrupted, palms pressed against his torso as you stepped forward. “No. I do want to, I just…”

You trailed off, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. “…I’m scared of being a let down.”

“I mean.” You continued, the inside of your cheek chewed raw. “You guys are the Cameron’s, you know? And —”

“And.” Rafe interrupted, gentle as he unclasped your fingers, gentler still as he intertwined them with his own. “You guys are the Y/l/n’s.”

“You know what I mean, Rafael.” You exhaled, guiding his arm around your shoulder, prompt to slot into his side. “Plus, you are an extremely hard act to follow.”

Rafe quirked an eyebrow at the admission, a familiar flush creeping up his cheeks. “Really?”

“Really.” You affirmed, giving him a smile so genuine he wasn’t certain he deserved it. “You’d won as soon as you brought up golf.”

Rafe let out a relieved laugh, his fingers ghosting over the goosebumps on your skin. “He’s pretty great, your dad.”

“Alright, buddy.” You quipped, rolling your eyes.“He’s still my dad.”

“I just mean.” Rafe corrected, coughing awkwardly as he averted his gaze. “You’re lucky. He really cares about you.”

You halted at his side, brow furrowed as you raised your chin. “Hey.”

Balancing on tip-toes, you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him toward you to press a chaste kiss on his jaw. “Your dad cares about you in his own way.”

Rafe offered you a half-shrug in response, not entirely convinced. Using a forefinger to shift your chin, he met your lips with his, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you close. It was as your fingers met his tousled locks that a stifled giggle filled the air, leaving your cheeks pinks as you made to pull away.

“Rafe!” Wheezie sang, her eyes trained on the dry grass, the ladybug landing atop her forefinger, the brilliantly brown glaze on the porch, anywhere but your intertwined figures. “Rose said we’re waiting for you.”

You bit back an embarrassed laugh, fingers teasing through Rafe’s ruffled hair. “Sorry, Wheeze.”

“Mm-hm.” Wheezie lilted, ever mischievous as she beckoned you over. “Come on.”

You shared a knowing look with Rafe, offering her a mock salute before guiding him forward. Heading up the porch steps and through the large foyer, you found the rest of the Cameron family already seated at the dinner table, Rose’s fingers fiddling with the place mats, Sarah’s quirked brow earning an apologetic grin.

“Ah, there you are!” Ward exclaimed, narrowed eyes trained on your features as you stepped forward. “Welcome!”

He offered a calloused palm in welcome, missing the way you winced at his firm grasp. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Cameron.” You hurried, nervously teasing through your curls. “Sorry that I’m late –”

“Nonsense, dear.” Rose interrupted, positively beaming as Rafe guided you to your seat. “You’ve made him into a right gentleman, you know that?”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Sarah added solemnly, corners of her mouth twitching as she met Rafe’s wayward glance. “He usually uses the back door when he brings girls over –”

“Sarah.” Rose admonished, huffing indignantly as Rafe raised his fist. “Rafe.”

At the head of the table, Ward pressed his palms against the table, his presence demanding order, forcing Rafe to falter. “Rafe. Sit down.”

Rafe gave him a curt nod, wiping a sweaty palm on his shorts before settling in the seat beside you. Registering his harried features, you took his hand in yours, resting it atop your thigh before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Y/n.” Rose encouraged, ladling a heavy spoonful of pasta salad onto her plate. “Please, help yourself.”

Nodding gratefully, you made to follow suit, Rafe’s fingers still gripping your thigh; keeping you close, keeping you close always. “Thanks, Rose, everything looks delicious.”

“I helped, you know.” Wheezie chimed, puffing out her chest as she pointed at several plates of food. “I made this, and this, and –”

She paused, thrusting a Caesar salad toward your figure eagerly. “ – you absolutely have to try this.”

“Wheeze.” Rafe reproached, fixing her with a pointed glare. “She’ll have some if she wants to, okay?”

“Rafael.” You laughed, your free hand absently teasing through his blonde locks. “It’s fine. I’d love some.”

Ward quirked an eyebrow at the action, his gaze trained on Rafe’s softened features; how effortlessly natural you looked, slotted into his son’s side. “So. Y/n.”

He paused, allowing an uncomfortable silence to fill the air. “I’m so sorry about how long this has taken to organise!”

“I’ve been on business in the Bahamas, of course.” He continued, flashing you a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “And Rafe here, has been intent on hiding you –”

“That’s not true.” Rafe frowned, his grip on your thigh tightening. “You were gone, I was waiting for the right moment –”

“Anyway.” Ward interrupted, ignoring him. “It’s lovely to officially meet you.”

“And you, Mr. Cameron.” You nodded, reaching down to pad your fingers over Rafe’s whitened knuckle. “How was your business trip?”

“Please, call me Ward.” Ward corrected blithely, words punctuated by the low clang of cutlery against his plate. “Nothing interesting to note. I’m sure your trip was much more fun. Must be hard, being back home, eh?”

“Yeah, it’s been a bit of a reality check.”

You paused, your eyes darting toward Rafe’s figure momentarily. “Wouldn’t say it’s been hard, though.”

“You guys.” Sarah pouted, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Stop it. You’re so cute.”

Ward’s fingers tightened around his wine glass, purposeful as he took a long sip. “And you’re off to college, of course?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Starting my freshman year at UPenn in a few days.”

“Ah.” Ward smiled, raising his glass appreciatively. “Your father’s daughter. I’m sure you’re very excited.”

You faltered, chewing at your bottom lip awkwardly. “Yeah, for sure.”

Ward didn’t seem to register the action, too busy fixing his hardened gaze on his son. “If only Rafe, here, took on the same conviction.”

“Dad.” Rafe gritted, offering him a tight-lipped smile. “Can we talk about this, later?”

“Yes, Ward.” Rose scolded, and though her tone was light, her nervous features were anything but. “They’ll have enough to worry about once they’re away.”

“Including.” She continued, her brows drawn together thoughtfully. “Long distance?”

“Long distance.” You affirmed, fingers ghosting over the signet ring, the way it kissed the space between your collarbones. “We’ll make it work.”

Ward nodded slowly, expression unreadable as he gave you a fleeting, once-over. “I’m sure you will.”

“We will.” Rafe defended, registering his father’s lack of conviction, the way his eyebrow quirked, almost entertained. “I know we will.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Rafe.” Ward deadpanned, already bored of the conversation. “So, Y/n.”

He forced his features to soften, a smile plastered on his lips as he addressed you. “Tell us more about yourself.”

__

Ward Cameron was the first to stand, his broad figure silhouetted by the purple sky. “Anyway –”

He scraped his chair against the hardwood floor, wilted portions of spinach decorating his large plate. “ – I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you.”

“Ward.” Rose reproached, a palm pressed against his shoulder. “Whatever it is, it can wait –”

“I’m afraid it can’t.” Ward dismissed, offering you an apologetic smile before stepping backward. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Y/n. Lovely to meet you, again.”

“And you, Mr. Cameron –”

You paused, features twisting into a meek grimace. “ – uh, Ward.”

“Rafe.” Ward added, clearing his throat as he turned toward his son. “See me in my office when you’re done.”

“I actually have to drop Y/n home –”

“I’m sure she won’t mind waiting.” Ward inclined, his tone laced with venomous remonstrance, already turning his back on the table. “Once you’re done, Rafe.”

“It’s fine.” You murmured, registering Rafe’s tensed shoulder. “You go, I’ll be here.”

Rafe drew his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding slowly as he made to stand. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

“We aren’t that bad!” Sarah joked, though her gaze was apologetic, a sad smile on her lips. “Don’t worry, you idiot. We’re capable of taking care of Y/n for a minute.”

Rafe made a face as he turned, flipping her off behind his back (“Language, Sarah – Rafe, that is not an appropriate gesture –”) before heading toward his father’s study. Slowly, the sound of clinking porcelain faded into the background; the burgeoning silence heavy against his shoulders, stagnating in every corner of his chest. 

Halting in front of the study door, he forced out a laboured sigh, willing his breath to slow, willing his fingers to stop shaking. 

“Dad?” He called, turning the door knob slowly. “Can I come in?”

Ward’s voice appeared impatient as he responded, his figure leaning against themahogany desk sitting in the very middle of the room. “Yes, yes, enter.”

Rafe stepped over the threshold reluctantly, his hands jammed in his front pockets. “What, uh, what’s up?”

“Yes.” Ward responded wryly, careful as he scrutinised Rafe’s features. “What is up?”

He cocked his head to one side, the corners of his mouth twisting derisively. “How long have you and Y/n been together, son?”

“A few weeks?” Rafe answered, seemingly bemused. “Why do you ask?”

Ward knitted his brow in feigned concentration, appearing to tower over Rafe’s figure despite his shorter height. “I see. You’ve barely been together a few days —”

“Weeks —”

“— days.” Ward repeated, letting out a harsh laugh before continuing. “And you’re planning on putting your college education on the line for her?”

Rafe swallowed several times, palms clammy as they pawed at his pockets. “What do you mean?”

“Long distance?” Ward mocked, shaking his head disappointedly. “Son…”

He trailed off, the silence in the air suffocating, his caustic tone providing minimal relief. “…are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

“Because if I know the Y/l/n’s.” He added, raising a forefinger to signal that he wasn’t finished. “I know their daughter isn’t going to be bending over backwards to visit you over the semester.”

He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. “I don’t want you throwing away all our hard work because you’re too busy flying across the country every other weekend.”

Rafe’s lips pressed into a hard line, his expression void of any emotion. “That’s not going to happen.”

“I should hope not.” Ward derided, lifting an eyebrow at Rafe’s brittle tone. “Because UNC has always been the plan —”

“Your plan.” Rafe corrected, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. “I applied to UPenn, too —”

Ward cut off his sentence with a contemptuous scoff, his lips drawn back in a snarl when he spoke again. “I sure hope that wasn’t for some girl —”

The taunt acted to renew Rafe’s determination; his jaw tightening at his father’s dismissal of your importance.

“She isn’t just some girl.” He gritted, and when he stepped forward, it was with every ounce of conviction in his bones. “She’s the girl. She always has been.”

—

“Oh my god, okay.” You muffled, attempting to wriggle out of your father’s iron grip. “Enough hugs.”

“Now young lady.” Your father reproached, clearing his throat several times in an attempt to stave off unshed tears. “Don’t get into too much trouble, okay?”

“And listen.” He added, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “If you’re going to party, make sure you’re hiding your alcohol —”

“Bill!” Your mother scolded, her bottom lip trembling dangerously as she wrapped you in her arms. “Don’t encourage bad behaviour.”

You father waved a dismissive hand in the air, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he spoke. “As I seem to recall, your time at UPenn wasn’t exactly —”

“Bill.” Your mother warned, leaning backward to card her fingers through your curls. “Enough.”

“No, no!” You grinned, quirking an eyebrow at her harried features. “What exactly did you get up to, mom?”

Your mother simply huffed in response, thrusting a bag into your chest before taking another in her hand. “You’re going to be late.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you.” You quipped, though you felt yourself falter at the threshold, knowing that this was it, before you left. “I’ll call, you know.”

Your father gave you an appreciative nod, his arm wrapped around your mother’s figure to pull her close. “We know, Y/n.”

His gaze shifted past your figure, an arm raised in greeting as Rafe pulled into the driveway. “Ah, right on time!”

Rafe was quick to match the action, slowing to a stop right outside your front porch. He stepped out of the car with a smile, Topper and Kelce’s broad figures flocking either side.

“Are we ready?” He questioned, drawing nearer to press a fleeting kiss on your lips (you insisted your parents didn’t mind PDA; to no avail, of course, Rafe was intent on staying off their non-existent “bad side”). “We should probably go now if we want to make the ferry.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded, gesturing for the three boys to help you with your luggage. “Let’s go.”

“Mr and Mrs Y/l/n.” Topper grinned, hunching over to grab the nearest suitcase. “A pleasure as always.”

“Don’t worry.” Kelce added, his palm pressed against his chest solemnly. “We’ll get her to UPenn in one piece.”

“I don’t doubt that, boys.” Your father lilted, handing the last bag to Rafe before lowering his voice. “Text me when you get there, won’t you son?”

“Because I know that this one.” He added, jerking a thumb toward your figure. “Is going to end up forgetting.”

Rafe nodded earnestly, his free hand outstretched to shake your father’s hand. “Of course.”

Your father shook his head with a smile, dismissing the action to wrap a strong arm around Rafe’s shoulder, instead. “Thank you.”

—

“ — and.” Topper huffed, fixing you with a pointed glare as he shifted your luggage onto the trolley. “Don’t be fucking lame, okay? I know the desire to revert back into a sad little nerd is going to be really hard to resist without Kelce and I keeping you in check —”

“Hey.” You scowled, jutting out your bottom lip obstinately. “You didn’t mind me being a sad little nerd when you were asking for the homework every fucking weekend.”

“True.” Topper nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I can just send you my college assignments on Facebook or something, right?”

“Topper —”

“Kidding.” Topper interrupted, his smile fading as he registered you visibly swallow. “Oh come here.”

He wrapped his arms around your figure, Kelce prompt to take your other side.”

“How am I going to do life without you guys?” You managed to sob, wincing slightly as your tears wet Topper’s polo. “Shit, sorry.”

Topper simply shook his head, his words laboured when he spoke again. “Don’t be.”

You faltered, an endearing smile tugging on your lips. “Fuck off, Topper. Are you crying?”

“No!” Topper insisted, clearing his throat with far more conviction than necessary. “Oh shut up. We haven’t spent more than a week apart since we were like eight.”

“Not me.” Kelce frowned, and when you turned toward him, he was wiping at his cheeks roughly. “You better not go MIA on me like you did during the fucking trip.”

“You’re going to be annoyed at how much I call.” You affirmed, leaning into Kelce’s chest comfortingly. “Annoyed. I promise.”

Faltering momentarily, you swallowed, suddenly feeling extremely ill. “Especially because I’m doomed. Who the fuck am I going to hang out with?”

Topper raised an eyebrow at the admission, his expression puzzled, a stark contrast to Kelce’s knowing glance. “You’re going to make friends easy, Y/n/n.”

“He’s right.” Kelce encouraged, pulling you back into his chest before lowering his voice. “Promise.” 

Raising his chin slightly, he registered Rafe’s figure walking back toward them, boarding pass in one hand, takeaway cup of coffee in the other.

With a smile, Kelce pressed his hands on your shoulders, turning you fully to meet Rafe’s eye. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“What?” Rafe shrugged, flashing you an easy wink. “Persuaded them to print it out for me.”

“Don’t they like, need ID or something?” You frowned, raising an eyebrow as he thrust it against your chest. “Rafael. What did you do?”

“Told them you were my wife.” Rafe grinned, catching your wrist easily as you aimed a punch at his torso. “Oh, it’s no biggie. I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

He guided the coffee into your free hand before pulling you close, his gaze gentle, soft as they flirted over your features. “It’s nearly time, sweetheart.”

“We’ll uh, we’ll wait by the car.” Kelce coughed, eyes widening pointedly as they met Topper’s. “Good to go?”

You wrapped an arm around Rafe’s neck, raising your chin slightly as they said farewell. “Goodbye, idiots! Don’t you dare replace me with someone at UNC!”

“We could never!” Topper lilted, Kelce finishing his sentence, as though on queue. “There’s no one as annoying as you, Y/n.”

“Oh, shut up!” You pouted, willing them to feel every ounce of your love, to match it with their own, with one last, endearing glance. “I’ll see you soon!”

“Yes you will!”

Once you were certain they were out of sight, you allowed your shoulders to slump, propping your boarding pass and coffee cup atop the trolley to give Rafe your full attention.

“Rafael.” You murmured finally, the hands clasped around his neck tightening. “What are we going to do?”

Rafe pressed his forehead against your own, wishing more than anything for you to melt into his arms. “I have no idea.”

You nodded slowly, breaking contact to slide something out of your back pocket. “I want to give you something.”

“Y/n.” Rafe frowned, his lips parted slightly at the revelation. “You didn’t have to get me anything, I —”

“Stop.” You reproached, taking his hand to place the small item within it. “Just, please, look at it.”

You leaned backward, surveying his features desperately as he picked up the small ring. It’s curves glinted golden in the sunshine, a single, bright emerald adorning it’s very middle. 

“No big deal.” You smiled, a playful lilt to your tone as you fiddled with the signet ring around your neck. “Your fingers just looked awfully bare, Rafael.”

“Y/n.” He breathed, his eyes widening as he registered the initials carved into the inside. “This is…”

He trailed off, sliding it onto his forefinger before wrapping his arm back around your waist. “This is perfect, sweetheart. I’m never taking it off.”

“Never?” You teased, passion seeping through your skin and you kissed him. “Not even when —”

“Y/n!” Rafe admonished, feigning shock as he broke away. “No way you’re the same girl who told me off for ‘objectifying you’ in junior year.” 

“Hey.” You quipped, exhaling appreciatively as he peppered kisses down your neck. “You were being inappropriate.”

You felt Rafe’s smile against your jaw, his lips remaining inches from your skin, not quite ready to pull away. “I said you got hot over summer, sweetheart.” 

“Yes.” You frowned, swatting at his shoulder playfully. “Uncalled for.”

“That blue dress you were wearing was uncalled for.” Rafe retorted, his chest tightening as you made to pull away. “No way. You’re staying right here.” 

He buried his head in your curls, his fingers tracing circles on the skin of your waist as he committed every part of you to memory. He didn’t think he would ever get used to breathing you in; how effortless it felt, holding you in his arms. 

“Rafael.” You mumbled, willing his cologne to lace your veins. “I should go.”

“You know.” Rafe muffled, his grip on your waist tightening. “It’s not too late for me to get a flight, too —”

“Rafael.”

“ — just until you’re settled!” Rafe insisted, his desperate gaze catching yours, knowing you were seconds from slipping away. “And then I can —”

“Rafael.” You interrupted, meeting him in one last, heady embrace before stepping backward. “We’re going to be fine.”

Rafe’s arms remained wrapped around air, not yet willing to let go, not certain he would ever be willing to do so. “I know.” 

“Now turn around.” You laboured, attempting to stifle your sobs. “Please. Before I cry.”

“Sweetheart…”

Rafe pressed his forefinger against his lips, giving your initials the gentlest kiss. “…I love you.”

“I love you.”

—

“So…” Topper started, FaceTime image freezing momentarily as he peered over your shoulder. “...is your roommate, like, hot?”

“Dude, that’s the first question you’re going to ask her?” Kelce chided, though the smirk on his lips was playful, his eyes searching your room in earnest. “But yeah, is she hot?”

Rolling your eyes, you beckoned your roommate Chloe over, her figure lazily perched atop her bed. “Chlo! Do you want to meet my hometown friends?”

“Hometown friends?” 

Kelce gasped dramatically, feigning indignation as he clutched at his chest. “That’s all we are to you?”

Chloe grinned, nodding slowly before making her way toward your desk. “And the yummy boyfriend?”

“The yummy boyfriend?” Topper mouthed, promptly gagging at the admission. “Disgusting.”

Fixing him with a pointed glare, you shifted your chair sideways, watching Chloe place her phone down to confidently duck into the frame. “Topper, Kelce, this is Chloe!”

“Hey!” Chloe smiled, beautiful as ever, despite the heavy pixelation. “It’s lovely to unofficially meet you!”

“Pleasures all ours.” Kelce grinned, missing the way your eyes narrowed as you registered his heated cheeks. “Right, Y/n, so your roommate is super hot —”

“Kelce.” You interrupted, predictably austere. “Stop flirting with my roommate, please.”

Chloe stifled a small giggle, her nose crinkled as she looked toward you. “It’s fine, Y/n, I don’t mind.”

“Besides.” She continued, turning back toward Kelce with a wink. “I like flirting with cute guys.”

You let out a playful scoff, prompt to push her out of the frame. “Okay, enough.”

“Never enough.” Chloe lilted, though she stepped backward, all the same. “Hey, we’re still going to that party later, right?”

“A party?” Topper gaped, eyes comically wide as he began to slow clap. “Chloe. How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Fuck off, Top.” You scowled, chewing at your bottom lip thoughtfully as you turned toward your roommate. “I don’t know, it’s syllabus week —”

“Exactly!” Chloe interrupted, making a face. “Who the fuck does work during syllabus week?”

“Me!” You frowned, folding your arms across your chest. “I don’t wanna get behind —”

“No way, Y/n.” Topper and Kelce said in unison. “No being a sad little nerd. You promised.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, shifting your phone so you could flip them off. “Hanging up now.”

Topper and Kelce shared a knowing look, donning matching pouts before leaning back into the frame. “You’ve changed, Y/n.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Topper furrowed his brow in feigned concentration, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he spoke. “Hmmm, let me think. So you can FaceTime Rafael for two fucking hours, no problem, but five minutes with your best friends (“For over ten years, I might add!” Kelce chimed) is —”

“Goodbye.”

Shaking your head, you pressed the end call button, trying to ignore the familiar flush creeping up your cheeks. Chloe’s presence didn’t help your cause, of course; all waggling eyebrows and teasing whoops, her mischievous smile forcing you to bury your head in your hands.

“Oh don’t be embarrassed.” Chloe quipped, ever coltish. “Your friends are sweet.”

“Sweet, derogatory.” You corrected, voice muffled against your soft palms. “They suck.”

Chloe nodded sagely, and when you raised your chin, she was too busy shuffling through her closet to register your sheepish expression. 

“I have a 9am, tomorrow.” You announced, brow knitted as you shifted your desk chair toward her. “So we can’t stay for long.”

“Noted.” Chloe grinned, tossing a skimpy outfit toward your figure. “C’mon, it’s at our brother fraternity. Can’t miss it.”

“Your.” You frowned, letting out an embarrassed huff (“This is a single fucking piece of fabric, Chlo.”) as you surveyed the tight dress. “I didn’t rush, remember?”

“But you came to most of the events with me!” Chloe argued, jutting out her bottom lip obstinately. “You’re basically a theta.”

It was true. You had first entered your dorm room the week prior to a sight for sore eyes; Chloe’s harried figure attempting to curate a set of perfect outfits for rush week. Ever gracious, you had tried your very best to help (“Holy shit, all of this is yours? How rich are you?”); with a shared closet, dodgy booze, and endless moral support forging your unconventional friendship.

You weren’t sure how exactly the two of you worked so well; on paper, you were fairly certain you were polar opposites. Perhaps it was the way Chloe mirrored Topper, so uncannily; entertaining you with the same teasing quips, moving through life with the same unwavering confidence. 

“Y/n.” Chloe hissed, tugging at your linked arm expectantly. “I recognise those girls from our floor. Let’s go talk to them.”

You faltered, following her gaze to a huddled group of girls, all narrowed eyes and downturned lips as they looked over the frat party. “They look unfriendly.”

“Well then.” Chloe responded, nodding determinedly. “We’ll be unfriendlier.”

She bumped her hip against yours, offering you an encouraging smile before guiding you forward. As you drew nearer the group of girls, Chloe cupped her free hand around her mouth, bright eyes dazzling as she addressed their leggy figures. “Guys! I think we’re suitemates!”

The tallest of the group cocked her head to one side, giving the two of you a fleeting, once-over, before slowly nodding. “Oh, yeah! I recognise you from move-in day. Chloe, right?”

“Mm-hm.” Chloe nodded, smile widening as they shuffled sideways to make room. “And this is Y/n.”

A polite synchrony of “Hello!”s, “How are you?”s, and “Where are you from?”s later, it felt as though they were beginning to warm up to you. You were fairly certain this had entirely everything to do with your company; Chloe, ever the attention grabber, has already followed everyone on Instagram, chatting away about mutual friends, gushing over the excitement of Sorority Rush.

“Are you rushing?” A girl named Priya, questioned, turning slightly after her conversation with Chloe. “It was Y/n, right?”

“Right.” You affirmed, offering her a shy smile. “No, rushing isn’t really for me. More excited for classes to start, if I’m being honest.”

Priya nodded appreciatively, lowering her voice as she shifted toward you. “I totally feel that! What’s your major?”

“Psychology, with an Art History minor.” You answered, perhaps more eagerly than you intended. “Pre-law. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m doing Art History too! We should totally exchange details — here…”

And so, Chloe had persuaded you to spend Rush Week at her side; her presence alone forcing you out of your comfort zone, surprising you with how effortless pleasantries could be.

That didn’t stop you overthinking every interaction, of course; moments alone spent buried under your comforter, your muffled voice, worryingly meek, forcing Rafe to open a permanent “Flights to Pennsylvania” tab on his phone.

“Sweetheart —”

“Rafael.” You interrupted sternly, registering the heavy bass in the background. “You told me you weren’t busy.”

“I’m not!” Rafe insisted, mouthing a “Be right back!” to Noah before heading through the back door of the Frat house. “Never too busy for you. What’s up?”

“I can hear the music, Rafe.” You frowned, exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing —”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Rafe paused, absently twisting the emerald ring on his forefinger. “Talk to me.”

“I will.” You promised, mentally preparing yourself to hang up the phone. “After Rush. When you’re not busy.”

Rafe readjusted his backwards cap defeatedly, his painful awareness of your distance leaving him helpless. He wanted more than anything to wrap his arms around you, to brush his lips against your temple, to ghost over the signet ring between your collarbones, to melt into your touch, keep you close, keep you close always.

“But I don’t care about Rush Week.” Rafe sighed after a beat, his fingers blanching where they held his phone against his ear. “I care about you.”

You raised your chin slowly, switching out of speaker to rest your ear atop your own phone. The action was a languid attempt to close the distance between you; concentrated features willing him to appreciate the sentiment, to feel your presence against his cheek, how desperately you wanted to be in his arms. 

“I care about you too.” You mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily. “Seriously though, I’m overreacting. This week has been great. My roommate is a serious gem.”

Rafe nodded, his brow knitted slightly. “You’re sure?”

“Mm-hm.” You responded, the cheerful lilt to your tone painfully forced. “You know I have a habit of overthinking. It’s no biggie. Seriously. Don’t worry.”

“Sweetheart.” Rafe encouraged, and though his voice cracked slightly with static, it was enough to relax your shoulders, comforting against the unfamiliarity of your new environment. “You saying don’t worry is making me worry.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, willing your features to soften. “Rafael. I’m going to hang up now so you can enjoy your night.”

“Y/n —”

“Goodbye!”

You faltered momentarily, and when you spoke again, the heart-felt admission felt warm against Rafe’s skin. “I love you. Always.”

And though Rafe Cameron was having far less trouble traversing the world of Greek life (golden as ever, his pursuit of Sigma Phi had been frustratingly effortless), it took him just as much time to adjust to the shift. He was hopelessly enamored; swearing the world appeared duller, almost prosaic, without his girl by his side.

Noah elbowed Rafe’s forearm pointedly, handing him a red cup filled to the brim with a poorly mixed alcoholic beverage. “Dude, stop fucking pouting.”

“Fuck off, White.” Rafe scowled, attempting to fix his features to minimal avail. “I didn’t even want to come.”

Noah willed himself not to roll his eyes, purposeful as he thrust Rafe’s figure forward. “Enough. Fucking. Sulking.”

He paused, a sad frown etching his features. “We’ve been talking about being at UNC together for-fucking-ever.”

“I know, I know.” Rafe laboured, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But you don’t get it –”

“Cameron.” Noah scoffed, thinking back on the countless, high-school nights he had spent listening to Rafe’s incessant (endearing, Rafe would correct feebly) pining. “I don’t get it?”

“Look.” He continued, brow furrowed apologetically. “I know you miss her, but –”

“Miss her?” Rafe repeated, incredulous. “I don’t just fucking –”

He raised his fingers in air-quotes, his words strangled as they escaped his throat. “ – ‘miss her’, she’s…”

He trailed off with a harsh exhale, seeing you, only ever you, and absolutely nothing else. “... everything. And she’s not here.”

“She’s not.” Noah affirmed, his tone gentle, but stern. “But fucking crying about it – shut up Cameron, I heard you last night – is going to get you nowhere.”

“So.” He continued, drink sloshing dangerously as he clinked his cup against Rafe’s. “Bottom’s up, buddy.”

Rafe nodded reluctantly, a long sip of his drink prompting a grimace. “What the fuck is in this?”

“Something to get us fucked up.” Noah grinned, pulling Rafe through the crowd, toward the group of freshman girls eye-ing them from a distance. “Come on. Can you be my wingman for a change?”

The plea had forced Rafe to plaster on a charming smile, diplomatic as ever as he followed his best friend’s lead. After several “White’s the most perceptive person I’ve ever met –”s and “Dude, tell them about that charity event you ran for our football team –”s, Rafe was shoo-ing Noah away with a quirked brow, only allowing his shoulders to slump once he was certain he was out of sight. 

“Rafe, right?” The girl beside him questioned, only faltering when she saw Rafe’s smile fade. “I’m, uh, I’m Izzie.”

Rafe nodded politely, offering her a fleeting, side-ways glance. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too!” Izzie nodded, clinking her cup against Rafe’s encouragingly. “Rafe’s an interesting name! Is it short for anything?”

“Yeah.” Rafe responded without missing a beat. “Rafael.”

He hesitated, expression dulling as he remembered who the nickname belonged to; the version of him that was yours feeling more alone than ever. “But only one person calls me that.”

Izzie cocked her head to one side, gesturing for him to continue. “Who?”

“My girl.”

“Y/n!” Chloe tutted, her resonant voice forcing you out of your reverie. “Are you listening?”

You crinkled your nose playfully, flipping her off as you rose from your desk chair. “Fucking fine. I’ll come, alright?”

“Fuck yes you’ll come.” Chloe whooped, her eyes twinkling as she jerked a forefinger toward the dress. “Now change. We’re already behind schedule.”

You bit back a laugh, furrowing your brow ostensibly. “Which one? Because I haven’t seen you go to a single lecture all week –”

Chloe was half-way opening her mouth in retort when the punctuating sound of your ringtone filled the air, forcing your figure to halt in order to grab it from your desk.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, brightening as you picked it up. “It’s Rafe.”

“Again?” Chloe groaned teasingly, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “How much fucking phone sex can two people have –”

“Leaving now.” You interrupted, bowing your head lest she see your flushed cheeks. “Back in a sec.”

Chloe waved a lazy arm in farewell, returning to the steady pile of potential outfits stacking up on her comforter. “Party in an hour!”

“Rafael!” You answered, the smile on your lips audible, dulcet against Rafe’s ear. “What’s up?”

“Babbbbyyyyyy.” Rafe grinned lazily, unbothered by the heavy bass in the background. “Baby. I loooooooove youuuuu.”

You stumbled to a halt, recognising the obvious slur to his tone. “Rafe. Are you drunk?”

“Mm-hm.” Rafe nodded, his eyes widening slowly, slower still, when he registered how far away you sounded. “Wish you were here.”

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, the revelation tugging at your heart strings. “Me too.”

“Buttttt.” Rafe slurred, and in the distance, you swore you heard an unrecognisable voice shout ‘Cameron! You better not be talking to your fucking girlfriend, bro!’ through the clamour. “S’very fun. Are you having fun too?”

You ignored him. You were too busy fixating on the background noise; the stranger’s words twisting your features into a painful, almost knowing, grimace. 

Rafe tugged at the bill of his backwards cap nervously, his bottom lip chewed raw. “You still there?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitated, eyes squeezed shut as you concentrated on your carefully planned response. “Rafe. Am I holding you back?”

“Of course not!” Rafe reproved, his shoulder pushing against the exit door, more than ready to leave the party. “Where is this coming from?”

“You’re…”

You trailed off, feeling defeated. “...you’re almost always out when I call, and I know it’s Rush Week and everything, so you’re going to be busier than I am, and you can totally tell me if you want me to stop –”

“Sweetheart.” Rafe insisted, the certainty in his tone never wavering. “Speaking to you is the only thing I look forward to all day.”

“But –” You laboured, wincing slightly as your bottom lip began to tremble. “But you were so excited for Greek life, and the parties, and now I’m –”

“Y/n –”

“No, Rafe.” You frowned, not letting him interrupt. “I can hear the music in the background. Don’t you dare leave that party.”

Rafe forced himself to halt, removing his backwards cap to thread his fingers through his hair. “You know I'd do anything for you, right?”

“Right.” You affirmed, raising your voice in an attempt to disguise it’s quaver. “So do this.”

“Y’there?” Rafe pouted, nudging his jaw against his shoulder impatiently. “Baby?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, plastering on a smile. “Definitely having fun.”

You hesitated, forcing your features to soften. “Uh, who was that before?”

“Who?” Rafe questioned, stumbling slightly as he whirled around. “Ohhhh. Matt?”

Rafe caught his eye with a sheepish grin, a middle finger aimed in his direction as he spoke. “S’just being an asshole. Ignore ‘im.”

You forced a laugh, false cheerfulness sounding slightly brittle against your own ears. “Right. Well, say hi to him for me!”

“Anyway.” You continued, swallowing slightly. “I have to go!”

Rafe nodded pensively, the emerald ring on his forefinger pressed against his lips. “S’okay. Bye baby. Love you always.”

“Love you always.” You echoed, your own fingers finding their way to where Rafe’s signet ring kissed your collarbone. “Talk soon.”

It remained between your palmar creases as you tread back down the hallway, the metal pleasantly cool, tight grip desperate enough to leave a weathered imprint on your skin. 

Rafe Cameron was finally feeling free, and he was doing so, without you by his side. And though the revelation should have left you equally unbothered, you couldn’t help the painful way that your chest began to tighten; Matt’s harmless taunt gaining permanence as it rang through your ears on repeat. Because if the brilliantly golden signet ring in your hand was so arduously named his ‘something of mine’, you wondered – albeit, fleetingly – whether there was space for you to be his, too.

Drawing in a sharp breath, you halted in front of your dorm, palm sweaty as you removed it from your neck, sweatier still, as you gave the door a sharp rap.

“Open!” Chloe lilted, a curling wand wrapped around a lock of hair as you entered. “How was your phone sex –”

Chloe faltered, eyes wide as they darted over your pale features. “Dude. What happened?”

You blinked several times, swallowing your strangled breath before responding. “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Y/n.” Chloe frowned, absently bobbing the tight curl against the side of her face. “Are you sure?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, averting your gaze. “How long do I have?”

Chloe furrowed her brow momentarily, allowing a beat to pass before she shrugged, defeated. “Uh, twenty minutes?”

“Perfect.” You responded, already curling your finger under the waistband of your shorts. “I can do twenty minutes.”

Chloe nodded carefully, turning back around as you began to change. “I think Jade and Priya are pre-gaming in their dorm before they head over. We can join?”

“Is that allowed?” You questioned, though you were certain you would say yes, either way, feeling uncharacteristically reckless following your call with Rafe. “We’re not supposed to drink in our rooms, are we?”

“Shhhh.” Chloe grinned, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Don’t tell on us.”

You untucked your curls from the thin straps of Chloe’s dress, brows drawn together as you surveyed your appearance. “Too much?”

Chloe let out an appreciative whoop, leaning forward to give the curve of your waist a gentle squeeze. “No way. You look totally hot.”

“Shut up.” You laughed, nose crinkled as you tilted your head. “You’re sure?”

“Definitely.” Chloe nodded solemnly, her head cocked to one side, teasing. “If anything, it’s far too little. Now, maybe if wore it without a bra –”

“Unbelievable.” You reproached, shaking your head bemusedly. “You are fucking unbelievable.”

Seating yourself beside her, you began fishing through your make-up bag blindly, eyes trained on the phone in your free hand, attempting to find the perfect playlist. Ever since your birthday, you had developed the winsome habit of scrolling through Rafe’s Spotify, instead of your own; exploring every playlist he had ever created before settling on the one you loved the very most.

“Buzzkill.” Chloe groaned, swiping the phone from your grasp. “We’re not fucking listening to Frank Ocean, right now.”

Her eyes narrowed steadily as she scrolled to the very top, reading over the two-word title with her mouth agape. “Jesus fucking christ. Tell me he didn’t make you a fucking playlist.”

“What?” You levelled, jutting out your bottom lip. “So?”

Chloe cast you a bewildered glance, the corners of her mouth twitching. “I didn’t realise men like this still existed in the 21st century.”

And though the admission – a carefully planned attempt at lightening the mood – should’ve prompted a low chuckle, all you could manage was a tight-lipped smile, cheeks appearing taut, words forced through your teeth. “I don’t think they do, really.”

Chloe faltered, placing the phone back onto the ground before responding. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know.” You swallowed, chewing at your bottom lip nervously. “Rafe’s really thriving at UNC.”

“That’s good, right?” Chloe questioned, daubing a thin coat of concealer under her eyes. “Him thriving?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, appearing to agree, despite the way your make-up brush froze against your skin. “No thanks to me.”

Chloe furrowed her brow, shifting her figure to give you her full attention. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” You responded, downcast. “I guess…”

You trailed off awkwardly, coaxing your jaw loose. “...I don’t know. I need to stop calling him all the time, I think.”

“Y/n.” Chloe cajoled, carding her fingers through your curls soothingly. “I was just teasing before, about the phone sex thing, I don’t think that you guys –”

“Don’t worry about it.” You interrupted, a controlled smile on your face, firm enough to force her to drop it. “Let me focus, Chlo. We’re going to be late.”

__

You were fairly certain the amount of alcohol hidden in Jade and Priya’s dorm room was point-blank illegal.

“Shot?” Priya grinned, spaghetti strap sliding off her shoulder as she poured a questionable amount of tequila into a small glass. “Not taking no for an answer.”

You accepted it reluctantly, sharing a knowing look with Chloe before responding. “How did you guys manage to get your hands on this much booze?”

“My brother’s in his final year.” Jade sang, her figure splayed across the grey carpet, already fairly tipsy. “Hooked us uppppp.”

Priya nodded agreeably, her breath laced with alcohol as she leaned in. “He’s totally hot, too.”

“Heard that.” Jade scowled, narrowing her eyes waringly. “Off-limits, Pri.”

“And Chlo.” Jade added, quirking an eyebrow at the girl’s teasing smirk. “And Y/n.”

“Oh don’t worry about Y/n.” Chloe responded, mouth twitching as she gave your shoulder a firm pat. “She’s got a down-bad hometown boyfriend who makes her fucking playlists.”

“Shut up, Chloe.” You spluttered, blushing crimson. “It’s not a big deal –”

“Totally is.” Priya interrupted, clinking her shot glass against yours before downing it with a wince. “Show. Immediately.”

You crinkled your nose, offering her a shy nod before flashing your lockscreen in her face. Several “Holy shit, he’s seriously hot”s and “He’s how tall? Okay, his dick is definitely like –”s later, you had received a set of approving nods, an amiable feat considering how very hostile they had appeared when you first met them.

“Okay.” You announced finally, thrusting your shot in Chloe’s direction. “Enough. Drink.”

Ever the responsible friend, you had cut everyone off after a single shot, encouraging them to switch to white-claws in their pursuit of a pleasant buzz. It was therefore to your merit that no one was stumbling along the street, your linked arms loose and free, giggly conversation resonating through the air.

“You totally should’ve rushed, Y/n.” Jade frowned, her leggy frame allowing her to peek over the steadily growing crowd. “Being a pledge is fun.”

“Not my thing.” You shrugged, pausing momentarily before giving her a playful nudge. “Besides. I get to come to all the parties anyway.”

“True.” Priya mused, nodding thoughtfully. “Should’ve just done that too.”

Chloe’s eyes widened in mock indignation, tutting disappointedly as she turned toward you. “You’re a bad influence.”

“You’re a bad influence.” You teased, allowing her to guide you into the line. “It’s syllabus week, and I’m at a party.”

“Everyone is at a party.” Chloe corrected, unlinking her arm as she stepped onto the porch of the Frat house. “Live a little, baby.”

You rolled your eyes at the sentiment, nodding Jade and Priya forward before following suit. Too busy readjusting the straps of your dress, you didn’t notice the boy manning the entrance, his brazen features unchanged as his eyes shamelessly raked over your figure.

“No fucking way.” 

You froze, the familiar voice eliciting willful gasp. “James?”

“Y/n.” James smirked, a strong arm wrapping around your shoulder before you could protest. “I should’ve fucking known.”

He broke away with his tongue pressed against his cheek, faltering only when he registered your controlled grimace. “Uh, how are you?”

“Good.” You responded, offering him a tight-lipped smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a pledge.” James shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Listen, I, uh, never said sorry about how I acted at Noah’s –”

“Noah’s?” You repeated, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

James paused, leaning backward to better survey your expression. “You don’t remember?”

“James.” You forced a laugh, signet ring glinting in the dull light, clasped between your forefinger and thumb. “I had like, twenty shots. I didn’t even remember my own name by the end of the night.”

“Right.” James grinned, quick to fix his apologetic features. “Don’t worry about it. Just spilled a drink on you.”

You nodded slowly, brow knitted in an attempt to recount the night’s events. “I think I remember that?”

“Anyway.” You continued, giving his forearm an awkward pat. “All’s forgiven.”

“Lovely to hear.” James responded, leaning against the doorframe gaily. “You’re absolutely welcome to enter. We’re only meant to let hot girls in, and…”

He trailed off, bowing his head to eye level. “...you most definitely make the cut.”

You quirked an eyebrow at the admission, Chloe’s fingers tightening around your wrist to tug you through the door. “Weird compliment, James.”

“Just shut up and take it!” James called, his figure disappearing as you were dragged through the steady crowd. “I’ll see you when I’m done!”

“Okay, who was that?” Chloe lilted, loosening her grip as you straightened. “He’s cute.”

You shook your head vigorously, expression stern as you turned toward her. “You are absolutely out of his league. Do not even bother.”

Chloe cocked her head to one side, interested. “Is he another hometown boy?”

“And family friend.” You added, making a face. “Super sleazy. Not worth it.”

“Lame.” Chloe pouted, though she nodded obligingly, ushering you toward Jade and Priya. “Wanted to hook up with someone tonight.”

“Same.” Jade added, casting you a searching glance. “Who’s pledge boy?” 

“No one worth meeting.” You muttered lowly, averting your gaze to look around the room. “C’mon. Let’s go find more alcohol.”

The drinks stand was manned by another, far more handsome pledge, his fingers finding their way to Chloe’s waist almost immediately. Dancing over her bare skin, he bowed his head, his inaudible whisper prompting an appreciative nod.

“He has friends.” Chloe mouthed, jerking her head toward you as he dragged her forward. “C’mon.”

“But Chlo.” You laughed, reluctantly following suit. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

Priya elbowed you pointedly, her forefinger darting between herself and Jade as she spoke. “We don’t, though.”

“Ah.” You nodded sagely, falling behind to allow them to take the lead. “Go on, then.”

Jade puckered her lips, fingers pressed against them to blow you a kiss. Once you were certain they were adequately settled (“No way, she’s off-limits, you do not want to mess with her boyfriend. Dude, show them that one photo of — what? How am I overstepping?”), you allowed your figure to slump against the wall, an attentive eye trained on your friends as you slowly unlocked your phone. 

You felt your brow furrow as you registered the surprising lack of notifications, having expected to return to a fair few drunken “Lookovvve you”s from Rafe following your phone call. You knew your disappointment was gratuitous; he was a Sigma Phi pledge, his schedule likely filled to the brim with Frat related tasks, leaving his girlfriend the very last thing on his mind. 

You looked around the room briefly, flashing Chloe an encouraging smile before bowing your head to open up Instagram. Topper’s familiar profile photo lit up the very top of the screen, it’s green outline brightening your features almost immediately. If there was one thing you knew, it was that drunk Topper was a Close Friend’s Story menace; clicking on his photo eagerly, you were certain you were about to be entertained.

Topper’s hand, shaky as ever when under the influence, was haphazardly bobbing his phone to the music, Noah, Kelce and Rafe jumping up and down in the distance. What appeared to be a mystery girl had her arm wrapped around Rafe’s neck, slotted neatly into his side, hips swaying with the beat.

@yourinstagram replied to your story: I didn’t realise Amber got into UNC

Topper’s phone screen lit up within his outstretched palm, his figure halting to bring it closer to his face.

@topthornton: yesssssss she’s been hanging with us all week

All week.

Suddenly, you felt extremely ill, and the minimal alcohol running through your veins was fairly poor justification. Clicking the lock button, you forced yourself to straighten, shoulders painfully tense as you stepped away from the wall. It left a sticky residue against your skin, mirroring the cloying feeling building in your chest, bubbling upward into your features and settling in the frown lines etching your forehead.

“Dude.” Chloe frowned, shifting away from the boy as she registered your sad grimace. “You alright?”

You clenched your jaw, wondering whether you should tell her, whether this situation even warranted the response it had elicited. “Uh. Rafe’s ex-girlfriend’s at UNC. He didn’t tell me.”

“Fuck off.” Chloe breathed, pulling you into her side gently. “How’d you find that out?”

“Topper’s story.”

You faltered, frowning slightly. “I mean, she’s not technically his ex, but they have a lot of history, and —”

“It doesn’t matter.” Chloe interrupted, her tone firm. “If she means enough to him for this to upset you, then he should’ve told you.”

“You should…”

She trailed off, brow furrowed as she gathered her thoughts. “You should call him and ask.”

“No way!” You responded, shaking your head vigorously. “Now? He’s drunk, and he’s finally getting over the distance, and –”

Chloe’s grip on your forearm forced you to falter, tightening slightly, warningly, as you laboured through the excuse. “Y/n.”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, forcing a harsh exhale before continuing. “If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my past relationships, it’s that lack of communication is always the first…”

She trailed off, registering the way you paled. “…ask him tomorrow, okay? But make sure to ask. Who knows, maybe it’s a misunderstanding.”

And though you weren’t exactly sure how it could be, their entertwined figures painfully clear, painfully far from a simple ‘’misunderstanding’, all you could manage was a small nod, the action a timid plea; hoping against hope that Chloe was right.

“Right.” You swallowed. “A misunderstanding.”

You repeated the phrase several times in your head, labouring through every consonant, willing, with every ounce of conviction in your chest, for it to be true. It was fruitless, of course; the cavity within which your heart once lay was hollowed out and empty, it’s new home within Rafe Cameron’s calloused palm, held within his fingers so carelessly you weren’t certain he realised it’s significance. 

__

Squinting at the very top of your phone screen, you realised you were far too early for your 9am lecture.

“Oh my god.” Chloe groaned, her voice raspy and dry. “Stop fucking pacing. It’s making my headache worse.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled, the inside of your cheek chewed raw. “Can’t keep still.”

Chloe paused, apologetic features peeking out from under her pillow. “Have you called him?”

“It’s 8.30am.” You frowned, brow knitted helplessly. “He’s probably still asleep.”

“It’s only 8.30am?” Chloe repeated, blindly reaching for the drink bottle sitting atop her bedside table. “Please fucking go back to sleep.”

“Can’t.” You exhaled, feeling helpless. “Too much on my mind.”

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, gulping down several mouthfuls of water before straightening. “Give me your phone.”

“No! No, I’ll do it, I swear –”

“Good.” Chloe nodded, her eyes narrowed as she surveyed your downcast expression. “Do it now, or so help me god, I will find his Instagram handle, and –”

You had backed out of your dorm with arms raised in surrender, empty promises escaping your lips as you willed her to go back to sleep. 

Having dragged your feet through campus (unsurprisingly bare, considering the syllabus week festivities that had taken place the night prior), you had settled on a wooden bench beside the lecture hall, sunbeams softening your tensed features, forcing your breath to slow.

With Rafe’s signet ring clutched in your palm, you used your free hand to unlock your phone, forefinger hovering over the Instagram app (rewatching Topper’s Instagram Story one more time couldn’t hurt, right?) before settling atop the messages icon sitting at the bottom of the screen.

Y/n: how was the rest of your night?

A fair few miles away, a resonant ding forced Rafe Cameron to stir. Clawing at his bedside table with one eye closed, he successfully retrieved his phone, pressing the cool screen against his forehead momentarily in an attempt to soothe his pounding headache. 

And though it acted to soften his disgruntled grimace, if only for a single moment, it had absolutely nothing on the way his face brightened when he registered your name in his notifications; his girl, the only person he would willingly — if ever — fight a hangover for.

Rafe: morning baby! Had nothing on you. Can I call? 

Y/n: have a lecture soon

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, allowing an uncomfortably long beat to pass.

Y/n: :( sorry!

Rafe: no biggie. How was your night?

On Rafe Cameron’s phone screen, the intermittent appearance and disappearance of the typing bubble was drawing his eyebrows together. He was halfway typing another message (I miss you so much it hurts, you know), when he finally received a response; one that forced him to falter, to swallow dryly before responding.

Y/n: pretty uneventful! PS. Saw Top’s story. Why didn’t you tell me Amber was at UNC?

Rafe: she’s a family friend, baby. Can’t exactly ignore her

In his head, the admission read as the spitting image of reassurance; “I’m not with her because I want to be, sweetheart –”, he could hear his voice reason, “I’m with her because I have to be.”

Y/n: right

Unfortunately, it’s reception appeared to bring about the exact opposite. 

Y/n: anyway, better go. Talk soon

Rafe: alright, sweetheart. 

Rafe: Love you always

“Is that you, Y/n?”

You faltered, the familiar voice forcing you out of your reverie. “James?”

James offered you a cheeky, lopsided grin, taking your hand in his as he guided you to your feet. “What are you doing out here?”

“Nothing.” You responded hurriedly, quick to fix your pained features. “Don’t worry about it.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, snatching your hand from his grasp to lock your phone. “What are you doing out here?”

James raised an eyebrow at your terseness, nodding toward the lecture hall to your right. “Got a 9am.”

“What?” You puzzled, furrowing your brow. “Aren’t you a Poli Sci major?”

James nodded, shrugging bemusedly. “Yeah. Apparently all Arts majors have to take a compulsory Stats paper, though. Why?”

He paused, eyes widening as realisation dawned. “Oh shit, you’re taking it too?”

“Mm-hm.” You affirmed, forcing a smile. “Same with Psych majors.”

You readjusted the strap of your tote bag against your shoulder, shifting your gaze past his figure. “Anyway, good seeing you –”

“Hey.” James frowned, prompt to catch your wrist. “Wait.”

“We should stick together.” He added, his grip loosening as he stepped into your side. “Don’t you think?”

You quirked an eyebrow at the question, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. “Uh. I guess?”

“I mean.” James reasoned, gesticulating vaguely. “We’re both pre-law, and we’re both OBX kids, and our parents know each other, and…”

He trailed off defeatedly, his tone impossibly meek. “...we’re friends?”

“Friends?” You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “James, we’re not friends.”

James swallowed, the revelation far more hurtful than he was willing to admit. “Can we be?”

“Look.” He continued, shaking his head slowly. “I know I was a bit of an asshole in high-school. But seeing a familiar face, yesterday? It, uh –”

He paused, forcing a breath through his pursed lips. “ – it was nice, alright? Just… just don’t be a stranger.”

And as you registered his tense shoulders, how unlike his usual self he looked, against the backdrop of a new city, you couldn’t help but offer him a small nod, your doe eyes meeting his with a renewed sense of sincerity. “I won’t be.”

“Good.”

“Good.” You affirmed, sliding your phone back into your bag. “Come on, let’s go in.”

In your haste to find a seat in the lecture hall, you forgot to respond to Rafe Cameron’s last message; phone laying forgotten at the very bottom of your tote, hidden under a mess of syllabus week introduction sheets. 

Unbeknownst to you, he began to straighten as he refreshed the message thread, waiting, rather impatiently, for you to confirm that you love him always, too.

--

--

--

Midnights is a wild ride of an album and I couldn’t be happier that my co pilot on this adventure was Jack Antonoff. He’s my friend for life (presumptuous I know but I stand by it) and we’ve been making music together for nearly a decade HOWEVER… this is our first album we’ve done with just the two of us as main collaborators. We’d been toying with ideas and had written a few things we loved, but Midnights actually really coalesced and flowed out of us when our partners (both actors) did a film together in Panama. Jack and I found ourselves back in New York, alone, recording every night, staying up late and exploring old memories and midnights past. We were so lucky to also work with our brilliant collaborators Sam Dew, Sounwave, Lana Del Rey, Jahaan Sweet, Keanu Beats, William Bowery, and Zoe Kravitz. Laura Sisk was our excellent engineer. The wonderful and wise Beth Garrabrant took the album photographs. Midnights is a collage of intensity, highs and lows and ebbs and flows. Life can be dark, starry, cloudy, terrifying, electrifying, hot, cold, romantic or lonely. Just like Midnights. Which is out now  

https://taylor.lnk.to/taylorswiftmidnights

I’ve always said that the world is a different place for the heartbroken. It moves on a different axis, at a different speed. Time skips backwards and forwards fleetingly. The heartbroken might go through thousands of micro-emotions a day trying to figure out how to get through it without picking up the phone to hear that old familiar voice. In the land of heartbreak, moments of strength, independence, and devil-may-care rebellion are intricately woven together with grief, paralyzing vulnerability and hopelessness. Imagining your future might always take you on a detour back to the past. And this is all to say, that the next album I’ll be releasing is my version of Red.

Musically and lyrically, Red resembled a heartbroken person. It was all over the place, a fractured mosaic of feelings that somehow all fit together in the end. Happy, free, confused, lonely, devastated, euphoric, wild, and tortured by memories past. Like trying on pieces of a new life, I went into the studio and experimented with different sounds and collaborators. And I’m not sure if it was pouring my thoughts into this album, hearing thousands of your voices sing the lyrics back to me in passionate solidarity, or if it was simply time, but something was healed along the way.

Sometimes you need to talk it over (over and over and over) for it to ever really be… over. Like your friend who calls you in the middle of the night going on and on about their ex, I just couldn’t stop writing. This will be the first time you hear all 30 songs that were meant to go on Red. And hey, one of them is even ten minutes long.

Red (Taylor’s Version) will be out November 19.

https://taylor.lnk.to/RedTaylorsVersion