♫ 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬—𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐫

You and Rafe had been inseparable since you were seven, best friends in the way that meant everything. He was the boy who pulled you into his arms when his father’s rage got too much, who buried his face into your shoulder like you were the only safe place he had. And you let yourself believe it meant something. That maybe, one day, he’d need you the way you needed him.

Then Sofia happened. And for the first time, you saw what it looked like when Rafe Cameron actually loved someone. He wasn’t just with her—he was obsessed. He let her paint his nails just to hear her laugh, memorized the way she took her coffee like it was scripture. His whole world bent to fit her inside it. Sofia loves this song. Sofia would love this place. Sofia, Sofia, Sofia. And every time he said her name, it chipped away at you—this slow, merciless reminder that Rafe Cameron could love someone the way you wished he loved you.

When she left somehow, you became the consolation prize.

The room is still warm with it—your breaths barely steady, your bodies tangled in a silence that always feels too loud. The sheets are half-kicked to the floor, his hand resting just below your ribs like he’s still tethered to something real. His skin is damp, his jaw grazed with stubble that marked up your neck like a secret. You can still feel him on you, around you, inside you. But none of it feels like enough. And for a second, you let yourself pretend. That he’s here because he wants to be, not because he can’t have her.

Then it happens—the shift. His jaw clenches, his hands pull back, and suddenly, he’s not looking at you at all.

"Fuck, we shouldn’t have done this again."

The words land like a slap. They shouldn’t hurt, not when you’ve heard them before, but God, they do.

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. It’s gentle and familiar, like when he's about to leave. "We’re still good, right?" His voice is quiet, almost pleading. "We’re still friends yeah?"

Friends. That’s what you are to him, even now.

You force a smile, stomach twisting so hard you think you might be sick. "Yeah," you whisper. "We're cool duhh."

And when he sighs in relief, you realize—you were always the place he ran to, but never the place he stayed.