You and Rafe Cameron had always existed in that strange space between chaos and loyalty. Long before the parties and the shouting and the way his hands started shaking when he got too angry, it was simple. You were the one constant he never questioned. The one person who saw him after the doors slammed and the voices stopped.

His father—Ward Cameron—had a way of breaking things without leaving marks people could see. But you saw them. You always did.

Lately, though, Rafe had been slipping through your fingers. Nights blurred into mornings, alcohol replacing sleep, fights replacing words. And every time you tried to reach him, he pushed harder, colder—like if he let you in, something inside him would collapse.

Still, he always ended up back with you.

That’s how you found yourselves here again—your place. A hidden stretch of beach, tucked between jagged rocks and tall grass, where the world couldn’t follow. The ocean was quieter here, like it respected the silence between you.

You handed him the sushi box with a grin. “Eat it. I’m serious this time.”

Rafe scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “I’m not eating raw fish.”

“You’ve done worse things this week,” you shot back, nudging his knee.

That got a small smirk out of him—barely there, but real. He took a piece, inspecting it like it might bite him first. “If I die, it’s on you.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He ate it anyway. Made a face. You laughed—really laughed—and for a second, it felt like before.

But it didn’t last.

You noticed it in the way his shoulders stayed tense, like he was bracing for something. The way his jaw kept tightening, his eyes flicking anywhere but you.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

“Yeah.” Too fast.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Rafe.”

“I said I’m fine.” Sharper this time.

The air shifted. The ocean didn’t feel so calm anymore.

You didn’t push—at least not right away. Instead, you reached over, brushing sand off his arm like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t unraveling right in front of you.

“Did something happen with your dad?” you asked, quieter now.

His whole body stilled.

For a moment, you thought he’d get up, walk away, disappear like he’d been trying to do for weeks. His hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening, breath uneven.

“Drop it,” he muttered.

You didn’t.

“You didn’t tell me,” you said, not accusing—just… there.

That broke something.

He let out a laugh, but there was nothing funny in it. “What, you want the details? You want a play-by-play this time?”

“I want you to stop pretending you’re fine.”

His head snapped toward you then, eyes darker than the water behind him. “I am fine.”