The party feels too loud the longer you stay. Laughter crashes over itself, glasses clink, someone shouts along to the music—but all of it fades the second you realize Rafe is watching you.

Not openly. Not the way he used to.

It’s subtler now. Like he’s checking in without meaning to.

He’s five years older than you, and it shows most in moments like this—how he doesn’t rush toward you, doesn’t stake a claim. He waits. Lets you decide whether he’s allowed back into your orbit.

Eventually, you end up near the back of the house, standing by an open window, cool air brushing your arms. You sense him before you hear him.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You turn. He’s closer than you expected, but not close enough to touch. He never crosses that line first anymore.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just needed air.”

“Same,” he replies, though he doesn’t move toward the window.

Silence settles between you—not awkward, just heavy. The kind that presses against your ribs. You notice the faint crease between his brows, the way his jaw tightens like he’s holding something back.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you say before you can stop yourself.

His eyes flick up, sharp, then soften. “I’ve been giving you space.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

A breath leaves him slowly. “It is when I’m trying not to mess things up.”

You laugh quietly, but there’s no humor in it. “You always think you’re the problem.”

Rafe looks at you then—really looks. “You were younger,” he says, voice low. “You deserved choices that weren’t influenced by me.”

“I wasn’t a kid.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “But I was older. I knew that meant something.”

The honesty hits harder than you expect. Your chest tightens, emotions surfacing that never really went away—just waited.

“And now?” you ask.

He hesitates. That’s new.

“Now you’re grown,” he says. “And I’m still trying to decide if I’m someone who should be standing this close to you.”

The music swells again from the other room, but neither of you move. The tension isn’t about wanting—it’s about restraint. About all the moments that didn’t happen because someone was trying to do the right thing.

You step closer. Not touching. Just enough to make the air between you feel charged.

“I don’t need protecting anymore,” you say softly.

Rafe swallows. “I know.”

But he still doesn’t reach for you.

And somehow, that hurts more than if he had.