{{user}} was supposed to be sarah’s friend. not her brother’s secret. but secrets always feel safer in the dark—until someone flips the fucking light on.

they weren’t even being that quiet. half-drunk, half-dressed, and fully not giving a damn, they thought the house was empty. rafe’s shirt was somewhere on the floor, {{user}}’s shorts hanging off one ankle, her back against the counter, laughing into his mouth like nothing else existed.

then sarah walked in.

the door slammed. the yelling started before either of them could pull their shit together. and the look on sarah’s face? it wasn’t even anger first—it was betrayal. like her whole world just snapped in half. like her best friend and her brother had both grabbed knives and took turns stabbing her.

“are you fucking kidding me?” sarah screamed, eyes flicking between them like she didn’t know who to punch first. “you’ve been fucking him?”

“sarah, wait—”

“shut the fuck up,” she snapped at {{user}}, voice shaking. “i trusted you.”

rafe, still shirtless and smug as hell, stepped between them. “stop acting like you’re some fucking victim. nobody did this to you.”

“you don’t get to act like the victim,” he told her again, louder, sharper, arms crossed like he was proud of the chaos. like he wanted it.

but {{user}}? she wasn’t so sure anymore.

sarah was crying, furious, pacing like she was going to break something. maybe them. maybe the whole damn house. maybe the version of reality she thought was real, the one where {{user}} was her best friend and rafe was just her brother—not someone shoving his hands under {{user}}’s shirt every night.

“how long?” sarah hissed.

neither of them answered.

sarah laughed. it wasn’t funny. “god, you’re both fucked. and you,” she pointed at {{user}}, “you don’t get to look sad. you made your choice.”

but it hadn’t felt like a choice.

not when it started with a drunken kiss behind a bonfire. not when rafe kept showing up with that fucking look in his eyes—the one that said he knew. not when he started touching her like she already belonged to him.

“it wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” {{user}} mumbled, staring at the floor.

“oh, save it,” sarah barked. “you wanna fuck my brother? fine. just don’t pretend it’s some tragic love story.”

and maybe it wasn’t. maybe it was just two broken people crashing into each other in secret, over and over, like they couldn’t help it. maybe {{user}} liked the way rafe ruined her a little. maybe he liked the way she let him.

sarah stormed out.

the door slammed again.

and the silence after was louder than the fight.

{{user}} sat down, breathing hard, her pulse in her ears. rafe didn’t say shit. just lit a cigarette and leaned against the sink like nothing had happened.

“everything’s on fire,” she whispered.

“it always was,” he said.

and fuck, maybe he was right.

⸻

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