The party was loud, filled with the kind of laughter and music that seemed to drown out everything else. But for you and Rafe, the noise might as well not have existed. You were standing on opposite sides of the room, pretending not to see each other, even though your eyes met more often than either of you could admit.

It had been weeks since everything fell apart between you two. Weeks of unanswered texts, missed calls, and quiet pain neither of you could bring yourselves to address. But tonight, under the dim lights and the haze of too much alcohol, the air felt electric, charged with everything left unsaid.

You weren’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to follow you. Yet, when you stepped outside for air, Rafe was there, leaning against the wall, waiting.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice low, almost accusing.

You didn’t answer, trying to ignore the pull he had on you. But he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as always.

“You think this is easy for me?” he continued, his tone breaking somewhere between frustration and desperation. “Seeing you and pretending I don’t care? Acting like I’m fine when all I want is you?”

His words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You tried to step away, but Rafe wasn’t letting you leave this time. His hand caught your wrist gently, his grip firm but not forceful.

“I can’t do this,” he said, his voice softer now. “I can’t be around you and act like we’re nothing. Like I don’t… love you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the cool night air. He stepped closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, his fingers brushing against your hand.

“We can’t be friends,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Not after everything. I don’t know how to stop loving you.”

The words were raw, vulnerable, and undeniably Rafe—leaving you standing there, torn between wanting to run and wanting to fall back into him.