You and Rafe Cameron were just friends. At least, that’s what he always said. That’s what he told his friends, what he reminded himself when your hand brushed his, when your laugh was the loudest in the room, when your lips lingered too close to his skin.

But friends didn’t stay up till 3 AM whispering secrets. Friends didn’t get jealous. Friends didn’t pull you closer in a crowded room like they were afraid to lose you.

And friends sure as hell didn’t make you feel like this.

It all came to a head one night, after another one of his mixed signals. He had pulled you into his orbit again, fingers brushing against yours, eyes dark and burning. But the second you leaned in—just enough to cross that invisible line—he pulled away.

“What the hell are we, Rafe?” you snapped, heart pounding. “Tell me we weren’t just friends… this doesn’t make much sense.”

He exhaled, rubbing his face. “We are just friends,” he said, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

You scoffed. “Friends don’t do this, Rafe. They don’t look at each other like this, touch each other like this, make each other feel like this.”

Silence.

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t fight it. But he didn’t change it either.

Because in his mind, this was safe. No labels, no risks, no heartbreak. Just you, right there, within reach—but never his.

And that was the problem.

You were done pretending, done being close enough to taste something real but never actually having it.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, turning away.

Rafe didn’t stop you.

Because in his head, you were just friends.

But in his heart? That was a whole different story.