New Light Blurb: Just For Me Rafe Cameron

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.”

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."

In my Eras era. 💅

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.

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.”

--

--

--

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