Rafe never did relationship. The word "boyfriend" never sat right on his tongue—until you. You were everything he wasn't. Type A to his chaotic neutral. Valedictorian to his detention record but somehow, against all odds, you both fit in right together.

"Remind me again how I landed the smartest girl on the Banks?" he'd whisper, fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine as you studied, perched on his lap because he refused to let you sit elsewhere.

"My devastating lack of judgment," you'd quip, but your smile would betray you.

The others whispered it wouldn't last. Rafe Cameron, tamed by a bookworm? Impossible. Yet here he was, waiting outside your classes with your favourite coffee.

That's why he noticed immediately when you emerged from class with red-rimmed eyes, clutching a paper with a score that would've been his personal best but was clearly your nightmare. "It's fine," you said, voice tight. It wasn't fine. He knew what failure meant in your world—the crushing weight of expectations you put on yourself.

"Come on," he said, grabbing your hand.

"Rafe, I need to study. I have to fix this—"

"Yeah, yeah. You need to ‘fix it.’ Heard it before." He flashed that half-smirk of his. "Get in the damn car."

You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it. There was no point. He had that tone. The tone that meant he was right. Two hours later, you stood on the deck of his family's beach house, the setting sun painting everything gold.

"I cleared it with your mom," he admitted, looking almost sheepish. "Three days, no books."

"I can't just—"

“You can, babe. Are you kidding me?” he grinned, tugging you close. “You’re the smartest person I know. Like, scary-smart. You could tank the next ten tests and still be smarter than me at full brain capacity.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips as you leaned into him, letting the ocean breeze carry away the weight of expectations. Maybe he was right. Maybe perfection was overrated.