The party was loud, but out here—on the back deck, where the waves drowned out most of the noise—it felt quieter.

It felt different.

Rafe leaned against the railing beside you, close enough that you could feel his warmth, close enough that if you shifted even an inch, your arms would brush.

But neither of you moved.

Because you couldn’t.

Because if you did—if you so much as turned your head—everything unsaid between you would be laid bare.

And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to live in the in-between.

To pretend that he wasn’t your older brother’s best friend.

That he didn’t have to keep his distance. That he didn’t secretly yearn for you. That his stomach hadn’t twisted tonight when he saw you laughing at something some random asshole had said, even though you weren’t his to be jealous over.

That you hadn’t looked back at him.

Like you knew.

Like you felt it, too.

The wind curled around you, and instinctively, Rafe reached out, grabbing the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie, the one he had wordlessly draped over your shoulders earlier when he saw you shiver.

He tugged at the fabric gently, his fingers brushing yours.

“You warm enough?” His voice was low, barely more than a murmur.

Your throat tightened. “Yeah.”

He nodded once but didn’t step back.

Just stood there, watching you, his grip still light on your wrist—like he wanted to hold on but knew he shouldn’t.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away, to focus on the dark horizon instead of the way he was looking at you. “Topper’s gonna come looking for me soon.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, his fingers flexing before finally—finally—he let go.

“I know.”

And there it was. The thing neither of you ever said.

The reminder that you weren’t supposed to be here, standing this close, breathing the same air, pretending you didn’t belong in this moment.

That whatever this was—whatever it had been, whatever it almost was—would always be something left unfinished.

Something just shy of real.