Loving Rafe Cameron was a beautiful kind of ruin. A slow-burning fire that started with secret touches and stolen glances, with whispered names in the dark. You knew it would end in flames, but you kept running toward him anyway, hands outstretched, desperate to hold on to something that was never yours to keep.

And now, reality has finally caught up with you.

You were a Pogue. He was a kook. You came from different worlds.

You stand on the dock, the cold wind slicing through your skin, your breath coming in unsteady gasps as you look at him. The boy who has given you everything in secret but can never give you the world.

Rafe’s jaw is clenched, his hands curled into fists like he can fight the inevitable. Like he can stop the weight of who he is, of who you are, from crushing you both.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, voice rough, desperate. “We can figure it out—”

You let out a broken laugh, but there’s no humor in it, just exhaustion, just heartbreak. “Figure out what, Rafe? How to pretend? How to keep sneaking around until someone catches us and we pay for it?”

His blue eyes darken, and you know he’s already burning. Just like you.

You take a step forward, reaching up to touch his face, memorizing the way his skin feels beneath your fingers, the way he leans into your touch like he’s starving for it.

“I love you,” you whisper, and for a second, he closes his eyes like the words hurt. Like they’re a blade pressed against his ribs.

Rafe lets out a sharp breath, his hands gripping your waist like a lifeline, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t slip through his fingers. “Then stay.”

Your throat tightens. “I can’t.”

Silence. Heavy. Cracking at the seams.

His forehead presses against yours, and for a moment, you just exist there, suspended in time, pretending this isn’t the end. Pretending love is enough to rewrite the rules.

Maybe in another universe, it would have been.

Maybe in another universe, he could’ve been yours.

But in this one?

You step back.

And shatter the both of you.