He opens the door like he was expecting you. Like you were late.

Rafe leans against the frame, eyes heavy-lidded, lips twitching into that familiar smirk. “Didn’t think you were coming,” he says, voice low and lazy, like he hasn’t been replaying your last conversation over and over in his head. Like he hasn’t been waiting.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. You’re already inside.

His place looks the same — dim lights, half-empty bottle on the table, music buzzing somewhere in the background. You’ve been here before. Too many times to pretend it doesn’t mean anything anymore.

But still, Rafe tilts his head and gives you that look — the one that dares you to admit it.

“What?” he says, teasing. “We’re just friends, right?”

The way he says it makes your skin burn. Because you both know it’s a lie. Friends don’t touch like that. Don’t breathe each other in like they’re trying to memorize the feeling. Don’t sneak around like guilt’s a second skin.

Rafe steps in close, fingers brushing your waist like muscle memory. His voice drops, a little rawer now. “You keep saying that, but you still show up.”

There’s silence between you. Heavy. Charged.

He leans in, mouth almost at your ear, breath warm. “So… you wanna lie to me again, or are we done pretending tonight?”

He’s close enough for you to feel every word on your skin. Close enough to ruin you all over again.

With Rafe, it’s never simple. Never just physical. Never just “friends.”

And you both know damn well — neither of you ever meant to keep it that way.