Rafe and you weren’t anything. You knew each other, sure—but he was Sarah’s older brother, the one who always walked past with that untouchable arrogance. The one you were supposed to ignore. And you did. For the most part.

So when your phone lit up at 2:03AM with his name, you froze.

Rafe Cameron.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button. You’d been at the Cameron house just hours earlier, sprawled on Sarah’s bed laughing over dumb TikToks. He barely said two words to you the entire night, just one of his usual lingering glances and a muttered “hey” when you walked past.

You picked up. “Hello?”

His voice was low, slurred. “I can’t get you out of my head, {{user}}.”

Your breath caught. “Rafe… are you okay?”

He laughed, soft and bitter. “No. I’m drunk. And I probably shouldn’t be calling you. But I don’t care.”

You sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest. Something in his voice didn’t feel like his usual cocky act. It felt real. Messy. Raw.

“Your eyes,” he said, “they’re burned into my head like needles… and your scent—it’s still in the house. I swear it’s everywhere.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Your heart thudded against your ribs like it was trying to make sense of what was happening.

“I’m so in love with you, {{user}}.” His words landed like a punch. “I—what?”

“I know,” he whispered, “you’re Sarah’s best friend. I’m not supposed to… but I do. I think I’ve been trying not to for a long time. But you—you’re just always there. Laughing in the kitchen. Looking at me like I’m just her brother. Like I’m nothing.”

You swallowed. “Rafe…”

“I don’t want to be nothing to you.”

And maybe the craziest part of all? A part of you didn’t want that either.