The window creaks softly as Sarah slips through it, landing barefoot in the grass with the quiet confidence of someone who’s done this a hundred times. She turns back, brushing her hair off her face, and flashes you a grin from outside.

“Don’t fall asleep too fast,” she whispers. “Just in case Rose checks in.”

You roll your eyes, already curled up under her duvet. “I’ve got it. Go.”

She shoots you a quick wink before disappearing into the night with Topper waiting down the street, headlights off. And just like that, you’re alone in Sarah’s room, the air still humming with her perfume and rebellion.

You glance at the clock. Midnight. You’re not sure why you always say yes to this—but you do. Maybe it’s because you’re the reliable one. The one who covers. The soft-spoken best friend who lives next door, always the shadow behind Sarah’s chaos.

You pull the blankets tighter around your shoulders and let your eyes flutter shut.

The door creaks open ten minutes later.

You don’t move, thinking maybe it’s just Rose doing a quick check. But then the footsteps come—slow, uneven. Familiar.

“Sarah?”

Your eyes fly open.

That voice. You know it. Rafe.

“Where is he…” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. “Where does he go when no one’s looking…”

You shift slightly. “Rafe?”

He freezes at the sound of your voice.

“…Angel?” he says, softer now. Confused. Surprised.

You sit up slowly in Sarah’s bed, the blanket pooling around your waist. The room is dark except for the small glow of the hallway light leaking in behind him. His face is shadowed, but you can still see the tension in it, the way his jaw clenches like he’s holding something back.

“Why do you call me that?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’ve called me that forever. Since we were little. But you never told me why.”

There’s a pause. Then he runs a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath like the question unearths something he wasn’t ready to touch.

“You really don’t know?”

You shake your head.

He leans back slightly, one hand bracing himself against Sarah’s desk. His voice lowers, softer than you’ve heard it in a long time. “It’s because you were the only person who ever made me feel… safe.”

You blink.

“Back then—when Dad was on my ass about everything, when I felt like I couldn’t do anything right—Sarah would just ignore it. Pretend it wasn’t happening. But you… you didn’t pretend.”

“I didn’t know what to say,” you admit quietly.

“You didn’t have to,” he says. “You just let me sit there. On your porch. In silence. You always knew when to talk and when not to. You didn’t treat me like I was broken. You just… saw me.”

Your throat tightens.

“I used to look at you and think—God, she’s not even part of this messed up family, but she sees it more clearly than any of us do. And somehow, no matter how bad I felt, you always made me feel like I wasn’t completely lost.”

You don’t know what to say.

He looks at you, really looks at you now, like he’s seeing you all over again for the first time. His voice softens even more, like the nickname is wrapped in something fragile. “You were my angel. Still are.”

The room falls quiet.

“I never knew,” you whisper.

“I didn’t want you to,” he admits. “I didn’t want to mess it up. You were always the good one.”

You scoot over a little on the bed, a silent offer for him to sit. He hesitates, then does—close, but careful, like he doesn’t want to scare you off.

“I didn’t come in here for this,” he says. “I was looking for Sarah. I—I thought maybe she’d know where Dad is. He’s hiding something again, I can feel it. Everything’s spiraling, and I don’t know who I can talk to anymore.”

“You can talk to me,” you say.

He turns to you slowly, his face raw and tired and vulnerable in a way that no one else ever gets to see.