A quiet, aching kind of certainty—like something inside you already knows.

That you and Rafe have done this before.

That you will do this again.

The two of you sit at the edge of the dock, the ocean stretching out into forever, the world hushed around you. The laughter and music from the Midsummers party are nothing more than a distant hum, muffled by the breeze, softened by the stillness that exists only here.

Only between you.

Rafe exhales slowly, like he’s trying to breathe in this moment and never let it go. His sleeves are rolled up, his suit jacket abandoned somewhere behind him. The moonlight turns him into something unreal, ethereal, endless.

And then, barely above a whisper—

“I hope I find you in every lifetime.”

Your fingers tremble. Your pulse stutters.

You turn to him, but he isn’t looking at you. His gaze is on the water, his expression unreadable. But his hand is there—palm open, waiting, knowing.

You take it without hesitation.

Lacing your fingers through his, holding him like a vow, like a prayer. Like a promise that no matter where the universe sends you, you will always, always find your way back.

His grip tightens, just slightly. Just enough.

“You will,” you whisper. “I know you will.”

Finally, finally, he looks at you. And when he does, it’s everything.

His eyes are heavy with something words will never be able to hold. Something deeper than love, something more ancient than time itself.

Like he’s remembering you.

Like he’s already lived a thousand lives searching for you.

And then—Rafe lifts your joined hands, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your skin. His lips are warm, tender, aching, like he’s trying to leave a piece of himself with you, here, now, forever.

No more words are spoken. There’s nothing left to say.

Because there is no universe, no version of time, no existence where the two of you do not belong to each other.

Where he does not love you.

Where you do not love him.