You and Rafe were best friends. Just friends. Nothing more. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourselves.

And yet, here you were—sprawled across his bed, body arching into him, gasping out his name like a prayer you couldn’t hold back. Your fingers clawed into his shoulders, dragging down his skin hard enough to leave burning red trails behind. You needed something to hold onto, and he was the only thing that felt real.

Every movement he made rattled the entire bed, the old headboard slamming into the wall over and over again, each loud bang a sharp reminder of how close, how raw, how reckless this was. His breathing was ragged, heavy in your ear, his forehead slick against your shoulder as low, desperate groans tumbled from his throat. His hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t bear to let you go, grounding himself against you.

This wasn’t new. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You two did this all the time—crossing lines, shoving feelings into closets and locking the doors. You both claimed it was just sex. A way to let off steam. A stupid arrangement between two people who didn’t know how to need anyone. No strings. No promises.No love.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, sliding down the tight muscles of his chest, the planes of his back. You felt every tremor in him when he leaned closer, his lips finding the shell of your ear. Soft. Barely there. And then he whispered it.

“I love you,” he breathed out, like a confession he couldn’t stop himself from making.

Everything slammed to a halt. Rafe froze, muscles locking up. He dropped his head, his breath stuttering, and then slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up on trembling arms to look down at you. His eyes—wild, wide—searched yours, panicked and stunned, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just let slip.

Your heart kicked hard in your chest, slamming against your ribs. You couldn’t even find words. Just stared at him, stunned.

“What—” you started, but he cut you off.

“I didn’t mean it,” he blurted, too quickly. Too stiff. “It just… came out. I’m sorry.”

But you knew he wasn’t sorry. You heard the truth in the way the words had slipped out.

He swallowed hard, rolling onto his back beside you, dragging a hand down his face. He let out a heavy, frustrated sigh—one that screamed,

’What an idiot I am.’

The tension wrapped around you both, thick and choking. The silence was deafening. It felt awkward in a way it never had before.

And that’s when a question hit you, sudden and hard—

’Did you feel the same?’