It was one of those endless, golden days. You’d grown up with sand between your toes and the ocean in your ears. Sarah had been your best friend forever, and the Camerons? Complicated, chaotic—but still like family.

Rafe was always the wild one. Loud, reckless, a little too confident for his own good. But with you? He was different. Softer. You’d seen him grow up, seen every version of him—mud-covered as a kid, gangly and awkward at thirteen, and now, taller, sharper around the edges, but still with that same dumb grin when he looked at you.

He was 16, nearly 17 now, and you were 19. Too old for this to be anything. Too smart to even let it become a thought. But God, he made it hard sometimes.

The sun was warm, the breeze just strong enough to keep it from being unbearable. You were both on the beach—Sarah, a couple of others splashing in the waves, some laying on towels nearby. You sat, legs stretched out, and Rafe laid down, his head pillowed on your lap. It was something that had just… always happened. No one thought twice about it anymore.

Your fingers absentmindedly played with his hair, curling strands around them, letting the wind tangle them just to smooth them again. You could feel eyes on you from some of the others—JJ probably smirking, mouthing something to Sarah. You didn’t care. This was just… how it always was.

Rafe looked up at you, eyes locked on yours, so unblinking it made your heart stutter for a second. His stare was intense, the kind that felt like it peeled layers off you. You glanced down at him, trying not to laugh, trying not to blush—but you felt it creep in anyway.

“What?” you asked, chuckling softly, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, just like that. No hesitation. No grin.

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” he replied, dimples deepening with his smile.

You looked away, shaking your head—but the way your stomach flipped told you it wasn’t as simple as it used to be. Not anymore.

And maybe it never was.