You and Rafe had figured it out, somehow.

The breakup months ago had been quiet—no shouting, no cheating, no betrayal. Just timing. Life. The usual excuses. But you stayed in each other’s lives. And weirdly, it worked. You talked about everything. Laughed like nothing had changed. Became real friends.

Everyone said it was mature. Healthy.

Maybe it was.

Tonight was just another night out. You’d met up downtown, grabbed tacos from a food truck, wandered into some loud bar with sticky floors and bad music. You danced, drank, and acted like best friends do. It was easy. It was normal.

Until you were walking back to the car. Just the two of you now. Streetlights flickering above as your steps slowed.

You don’t know why you said it. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the way he looked at you while you laughed at some dumb joke. Or the way he caught your wrist earlier when you almost tripped and didn’t let go for a second too long.

But suddenly, you stopped.

Rafe turned to you, brow raised. “You good?”

You swallowed. Your voice was soft.

“I’m still in love with you.”

His breath hitched, but you pushed forward.

“I know you don’t feel that way. I know you love me as a friend. But I think that I will always be in love with you. I don’t know how to just turn it off.”

Silence.

Then—

“I still love you. I never stopped.”

You blinked, caught between disbelief and something deeper.

“So you lied to me?” you asked, light, teasing, pretending this wasn’t breaking your chest wide open.

He smiled, barely.

“Yeah.”

“So you’re a liar?”

“Yeah, I’m a liar.”

And then he kissed you.

Right there on the sidewalk, under the orange haze of a streetlight, like the truth had finally become too loud to ignore. It was gentle, almost careful—like he didn’t want to scare you away. Like he knew exactly what this meant.

When you pulled back, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

You weren’t just friends. Maybe you never were.