Las Vegas, 2:03 AM.

The neon lights paint everything in a haze of red and gold, the hum of the Strip vibrating beneath your feet. Crowds blur around you—laughing, shouting, drunk in every sense of the word. You’ve never seen anything like it. And honestly, you don’t think you would’ve come here if it weren’t for Rafe Cameron.

He’s walking backward in front of you, a cigarette hanging from his lips, arms out like he’s conducting the entire city.

“This is what freedom looks like,” he grins, voice low and reckless. “You and me, in Vegas. No Ward, no expectations, no rules.”

You hug your hoodie tighter around you. “You didn’t even tell me where we were going until we landed.”

He shrugs, spinning once beneath the flashing lights. “Best kind of surprise.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. Only Rafe could drag you out of your comfort zone and make it feel like an adventure instead of a mistake.

He slows down suddenly and steps beside you. His mood shifts like it always does—quickly, sharply. “You trust me, right?”

You glance over at him. His face is half-lit by a flickering sign, eyes stormy but searching. It’s a weird question, but not for Rafe.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Of course.”

He nods once, like he needed the reassurance more than he’ll admit. “Then let’s make tonight unforgettable.”

⸻

An hour later, you’re both barefoot in a hotel hallway, laughing hysterically because Rafe lost the room key and tried convincing the concierge he was actually a prince from the Bahamas. He’s still holding a souvenir dice necklace he won for you in the arcade.

“You are so getting banned from this place,” you giggle, sliding down the hallway wall to sit on the carpet.

Rafe drops beside you, hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, and he’s never looked more at ease.

For a second, the chaos fades.

He looks at you with a kind of fondness he rarely shows—something deeper, quieter. His voice softens. “You’re the only one who makes me feel normal.”

You blink, caught off guard. “You’re not normal, Rafe.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah, but with you… it doesn’t feel like a bad thing.”

You look away before your heart gives you away. He always says things like that—too honest, too vulnerable—then brushes them off the next morning like they meant nothing. But you know better.

“I’m glad I’m here,” you whisper. “Even if you’re insane.”

He leans his head against yours, and the hallway falls silent.

Just the two of you. In Vegas. Best friends. Maybe something more. Maybe always something more.

But for now… it’s just this. And that’s enough.