The Halloween party was already in full swing, but Drew had been running late. You had no idea what he planned to wear—he’d been tight-lipped all week. You mingled with friends, sipping your drink, when the front door creaked open.

There he was.

Your breath caught as Drew stepped inside, the chaos of the party pausing for you, as though the world had hit mute. He was dressed as Rafe Cameron—his Rafe Cameron. The iconic blue polo shirt stretched over his frame, tucked neatly into khakis, but he’d spiced it up with a few accessories: a leather holster slung across his chest, fake blood smeared along his jawline and collar, and his hair slightly tousled, just enough to scream chaos.

“Like what you see?” he asked, striding toward you, that trademark Rafe smirk plastered across his face. His voice had dipped into the character’s deeper, raspier tone, and your stomach flipped.

“Drew,” you began, but he cut you off, tilting his head. “Rafe,” he corrected, his tongue poking out to run along his lower lip.

He got closer, his cologne mixing with the faint scent of the fake blood. You couldn’t stop your eyes from trailing over him, the costume clinging in all the right ways, the holster highlighting his broad shoulders.

“You’re staring,” he teased, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Do I scare you?” His hand brushed your waist, playful yet lingering.

You swallowed hard, trying to play it cool, but his intensity was overwhelming. “You look…different.”

“Good different or bad different?” He stepped even closer, his body radiating heat as his fingers grazed your hip.

“Good,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smirked, his hand moving to cradle your jaw as he leaned down. “Happy Halloween, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

And just like that, Drew Starkey—dressed as Rafe Cameron—had made the entire party disappear.