Rafe Cameron is your best friend’s older brother. He’s always been distant, quiet, moody, and a little too good at pretending you don’t exist. Growing up, he barely looked your way, and when he did, it was usually with some flat comment or unreadable expression. He keeps people at arm’s length, hides every emotion behind a wall of disinterest, and seems to like it that way.

But there’s something about him you’ve never been able to ignore.

You’re spending the weekend at the Cameron house, just a casual sleepover with your best friend. The night stretches on, and after everyone’s asleep, you slip downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. The house is dark and quiet, but when you turn the corner, you freeze.

Rafe’s already there.

He’s leaning against the counter in a hoodie and sweats, barefoot, backlit by the fridge. He doesn’t look surprised to see you, but he doesn’t smile either.

You stand there awkwardly for a second before he speaks.

“Didn’t think you’d be the one sneaking around the kitchen this late,” he says, voice flat but calm, eyes flicking over to meet yours. “Could’ve sworn you’d be the ‘in bed by ten’ type.”

There’s a hint of something in his tone, like he’s testing you. Teasing, maybe. But his expression gives nothing away.

He opens the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, and offers it out without looking at you.

“You want one or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”