You and Rafe had always been close. Same friend group, same effortless popularity, same way of pretending you didn’t care about anything, even when you did. It felt easy — until the day he looked at you a little too long, and everything stopped being easy.

“Hey, can I tell you something?” he’d asked, voice lower than usual. You’d nodded, trying to keep it casual, though your heart hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it.

“I like you,” he’d said. Just like that. No build-up. No teasing grin. Just honesty.

It changed everything. But in the best way.

It led to late-night drives just to talk, sharing secrets you’d never dared to speak out loud. It led to falling asleep in his bed, the sound of his breathing grounding you more than anything ever had. Breakfast with your family in the morning, where he’d lean back in his chair, eyes soft as he watched you laugh. Stolen kisses behind doors that never stayed shut long enough.

And somehow, it felt right. As if this was always where the two of you were headed.

One night, you were curled up against the headboard of his bed, completely lost in your book. Rafe lay beside you, pretending to scroll on his phone but really just watching you, studying every flicker of your eyes, every quiet breath.

Then, without warning, the words slipped out of him — like they’d been there all along, waiting.

“I love you.”

You froze, eyes lifting from the page to find his. “What?”

He laughed quietly, nervous but sure. “I said I love you.”

You stared at him, your heartbeat suddenly everywhere: in your throat, your fingertips, your chest. Then, slowly, you set the book aside and crawled closer until your forehead rested against his.

“I love you too,” you whispered, like it had always been true — because maybe it always had.

And in that small room, under the low glow of his bedside lamp, the world felt beautifully, terrifyingly small. Just the two of you.

And that was enough.