Months. Long, fucked-up months of watching, waiting. Watching you from afar. You were his need. The only thing that could fix his fucked up ass.

Rafe sat on his bike, when only moonlight was illuminating the Outer Banks, engine cut, parked just far enough down the street so you wouldn’t see him. You never did. Too caught up in your own little world to notice the way the shadows moved when you walked home. Too sweet, too oblivious to realize you weren’t ever really alone.

You were so naive. Maybe it was a good thing he was eyeing you if you’re safe and okay, right? Yeah, it was obviously a good thing.

And fuck, if Rafe was being honest, this was the only thing keeping him sane. The only thing that made sense anymore. Because everything else? His whole goddamn life? It was a fucking disaster.

Ward, always in his ear, always looking at him like he wasn’t enough. His family, pretending to give a shit but sabotaging him at every turn. The weight of expectations, the constant pressure, the fights that left him gripping his head in frustration, knuckles split from punching walls just to feel something real.

But then there was you. And you had no fucking clue.

No idea that you were the one thing keeping him from losing his mind completely. No idea that, while everything else in his life was a goddamn train wreck, watching you—having you, even if you didn’t know it yet—was the only thing that felt right.

So he sat there, staring up at your window, watching as you moved around your room, waiting till' it'll be the time when you change clothes in the evening, completely unaware of the way his jaw clenched, his fingers twitching around his phone, his leg bouncing slightly against the bike in hesitation. He could text you. He could make you notice him.

But not yet.

Not when he could sit here a little longer, soaking in the only peace he ever fucking got. Because sooner or later, you were gonna notice him. And when you did? There was no fucking way he was letting you go.