You didn’t know when it started.

When Rafe became something more than just another rich, older, reckless Kook.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself, like he owned every damn room he walked into. Or maybe it was because no matter how much he pissed you off, you couldn’t stay away.

And maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t either. But he wouldn’t admit that. No, Rafe fought it every step of the way.

He keeps rejecting you because you’re “too young,” but who cares? You’re not giving up. He keeps denying he likes you, but you know the truth. At least, you think you do.

“You’re annoying.” he muttered, barely glancing at you as he leaned against his truck, arms crossed like he was so unbothered.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for something — reach for you.

“You don’t mean that,” you said, stepping closer.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah? What makes you so sure?”

You tilted your head, looking up at him carefully. “Because if I was really annoying, you wouldn’t keep showing up.”

That got his attention. His icy blue eyes flicked to you, sharp and warning, like you were too close to the truth. “You’re too young.”

You rolled your eyes. “A couple years isn’t that deep, Rafe.”

“It is.” he argued. “You don’t get it.”

You huffed, stepping even closer, until you were nearly toe to toe. “Then make me get it. Explain it to me.”

He stayed silent.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” you pressed, voice softer now. “Tell me, and I swear I’ll stop.”

His throat bobbed. His lips parted, like he was about to say it — like he was about to end this for good.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he exhaled sharply, looking away. “You’re impossible.”

A small smirk played on your lips. “And you’re a liar.”

For the first time, Rafe actually looked at you. Like really looked at you. His walls cracked.

Maybe you were too young. But you weren’t giving up.