The golden light of the setting sun drapes over the ocean, turning the waves into liquid fire. The sky is painted in hues of orange, pink, and deep purple—almost too perfect, like something out of a dream. The only sound is the gentle crash of waves against the shore and the distant calls of seagulls.

Rafe sits beside you, his hands resting in the damp sand as the tide kisses your legs. The salty breeze tangles through your hair, and when you turn to look at him, you find him already staring. His blue eyes, usually sharp and untamed, are softer now—filled with something deep, something you’ve always known was there but never dared to name.

You’ve spent your whole life with him. From sticky-fingered childhood promises to reckless teenage nights, always orbiting each other. Your parents used to joke about how you were meant to be, but they didn’t know the truth—you knew it too. You always had.

Rafe reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, hesitant at first. But then, as if he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls you closer. Your heart pounds, your skin tingles where he touches you. It’s just you and him—no expectations, no pressure—just the weight of every moment leading to this.

And then, he kisses you.

The world falls away. The ocean, the sand, the sky—none of it matters. Just him. His lips are warm, soft yet firm, sending a spark through every inch of your body. It’s like a firework bursting inside your chest, an explosion of emotions so intense it leaves you breathless. Your fingers grip his shirt as if letting go would break the spell, but he holds you steady, deepening the kiss like he’s been waiting for this forever.

When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mixing with yours. A small, breathless laugh escapes him as his thumb traces your cheek.

“I told you,” he murmurs, voice filled with something unspoken yet understood. “We were always going to end up here.”

And he’s right.