The car ride is far from quiet, Kelce’s voice cutting through the music.

“Yo, your house to work out today?” he asks, leaning forward from the backseat as Rafe grips the steering wheel, his jaw tightening.

Rafe doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, locking eyes with you briefly—loaded, like most of your interactions now: a mix of history, frustration, and something unspoken.

Your relationship with the Camerons is complicated. It always has been. Growing up in the chaos of your own home—a drunk father, a mother who was more absent than present—their house became your refuge. It wasn’t just your second home; it felt like your only real home. Ward and Rose took you in like one of their own, and Sarah was more like a sister than a best friend. And Rafe?

Well, Rafe was always different.

There was the teasing, of course. Endless bickering and sharp remarks that started as kids and somehow never stopped. But there were also moments when he surprised you—moments when he made you feel like he actually cared. Like the time in middle school when you came to their house sobbing because everyone in your class had their first kiss except you. Rafe listened, for once, and without warning, leaned in and kissed you.

“There,” he said after pulling back, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Now you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

You still remember that kiss—how it felt, how it lingered, how it shifted everything. But now, years later, things are different. The bickering isn’t playful anymore—it’s sharp, toxic, filled with biting words and bruised egos.

“Hey, {{user}}, you coming over today?” Rafe’s voice pulls you back to the present.

You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. His tone is casual.

“Maybe,” you reply, crossing your arms as you turn to look out the window.

Rafe scoffs, his lips twitching into a smirk. He’s silent for a beat before glancing at Kelce in the rearview mirror. “Then your house, Kelce,” he says, the words dripping with pettiness.