You and Rafe Cameron had always existed in that strange, unspoken balance—like two halves of a story no one else quite understood. Back when you were younger, it didn’t matter that you were quieter, a little offbeat, always lost in your own thoughts while he was loud, reckless, magnetic. He used to look for you in every room, like you were the only constant in a world he didn’t trust.

Then everything shifted.

It started small—late nights that didn’t include you, messages left on read, excuses that didn’t quite land. Topper, Kelce, the parties, the girls. You watched it happen from the outside, like seeing someone slowly replace you without ever saying it out loud. And you let yourself get angry. Not loud, explosive anger—but the kind that settles deep and changes you.

So you changed back.

Not for him. That’s what you told yourself.

But suddenly people noticed you. Really noticed you. Conversations that used to pass you by now stopped when you walked in. Eyes followed you. And Rafe—Rafe noticed that too.

He came back like nothing had happened at first. A smirk, a casual “hey,” like the months between you had been nothing. That’s when you snapped.

“You don’t get to do that,” you told him one night, voice sharp, cutting through the noise of the party. “You don’t get to disappear and then just walk back in like I’ve been waiting.”

His jaw tightened, that familiar flicker of anger in his eyes. “I didn’t disappear.”

“You replaced me.”

That one hit. You saw it. But instead of apologizing, he just laughed it off, dragged you into the group anyway, like proximity could fix everything.

And somehow… you stayed.

The nights got louder after that. Messier. Music too loud, drinks too strong, people too close. You didn’t follow them into everything—they blurred their edges with things you refused to touch—but you stayed just close enough to belong.

And Topper… Topper was easy.

Too easy.

It started with looks, then jokes, then something quieter, more private. It wasn’t love, not even close. Just stolen moments, hands brushing too long, disappearing upstairs while the rest of the house pulsed with music. No labels. No expectations. Just something to fill the space.

Rafe didn’t know.

At least, you thought he didn’t.

Until tonight.

The air felt heavier, like something waiting to break. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing at something Topper said, closer than usual. His hand rested at your waist—too familiar, too natural.

And Rafe was watching.

You felt it before you saw it.

When you turned, he was already looking at you. Not casually. Not like before. His gaze lingered too long, sharp, searching, like he was trying to piece something together he didn’t want to understand.

Topper leaned in, murmuring something against your ear, and you laughed again—but it felt different now. Forced. A performance.

Rafe pushed off the wall across the room, moving toward you.

Slow. Intentional.

“Since when?” he asked, voice low, barely cutting through the music.

You frowned slightly. “Since when what?”

His eyes flicked to Topper’s hand, still on you. Then back to your face. “Don’t play dumb.”

Topper straightened a little beside you, tension snapping into place. “Man, it’s not—”

“Not talking to you,” Rafe cut in, not even looking at him.

The silence between the three of you stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

You crossed your arms, lifting your chin just enough. “Why do you care?”

That did it.

A bitter laugh left him, but there was nothing amused about it. “I don’t.”

“Good,” you shot back. “Then stop acting like you do.”

For a second, something cracked through his expression—something raw, almost unguarded. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by that familiar edge.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stepping closer anyway.