The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting golden hues across the tops of the dunes. The waves lapped rhythmically at the shore, steady and soft, as if the ocean itself had paused to admire the view. You sat cross-legged on the sand, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, the warmth of the day fading into a cooler breeze.

Rafe Cameron was beside you, unusually quiet.

Neither of you spoke for a while. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was the kind that settled in when there was nothing that needed to be said. Just the hum of the wind, the calls of distant gulls, and the soft crackle of the bonfire you’d left further up the beach.

“Crazy how the sky can do this every night,” Rafe said finally, his voice low and calm. “And it never gets old.”

You turned your head slightly, watching him as he stared at the horizon. There was no tension in his face, no sharpness in his tone—just the kind of peace that didn’t often find him.

“Yeah,” you replied. “It’s like the world decides to slow down for a minute.”

Rafe nodded, pushing his hand through his hair as the orange light caught the edge of his profile. “Maybe it’s just the only time we actually stop long enough to notice.”

The sky shifted again, deepening into burnt amber, then violet. You both leaned back, resting on your elbows in the sand, letting the quiet stretch between you like a comfortable blanket.

“I used to come out here by myself sometimes,” Rafe said after a while. “Before things got... complicated. It was just easier to think out here.”

You didn’t ask him to explain. You didn’t need to.

Instead, you said, “We should do this more.”

He glanced at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said simply. “We should.”

And then it was just the two of you again, watching as the last of the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky darkening slowly, gracefully, like the end of a song you didn’t want to stop playing.

No words. No rush.

Just the calm, and the company.

The chill crept in slowly, the warmth of the sun fading completely as twilight settled over the beach. You pulled your hoodie tighter, but a shiver still passed through you.

Rafe noticed.

Without saying anything, he shifted closer, brushing his shoulder lightly against yours. He didn’t make a big deal out of it—just that quiet kind of gesture he rarely got right, but this time, he did.

“You cold?” he asked, his voice soft.

“A little,” you admitted, exhaling a cloud of breath into the cooling air.

He hesitated just for a moment before lifting his arm in that uncertain way, giving you space to lean in if you wanted to. And you did—slowly, carefully, resting your head against his shoulder. His hoodie was warm, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Rafe relaxed a little, too. Like he’d been holding tension somewhere under the surface and was finally letting it go.

For a while, you sat like that. Not wrapped up in some movie-scene romance, just two people sharing quiet in the open air, leaning into the moment. The kind of closeness that didn’t ask for more. The kind that was rare.

The fire up the beach crackled louder as the wind picked up. Rafe’s hand, without thinking, brushed against yours in the sand. He didn’t grab it—just let it rest there, close enough to notice, far enough not to push. You didn’t move away.