You and Rafe loved each other deeply. It felt like the kind of love that would last forever—messy, fierce, but real in a way that made you believe nothing could break it.

You still remember that night, every detail burned into you like a scar you couldn’t hide if you tried. It was late, the air was sharp with salt from the ocean breeze, and you were shivering. Without a word, Rafe pulled off his hoodie and pulled it over your shoulders, his fingers brushing your neck, sending warmth deeper than the fabric ever could. You laughed then, teasing him about how it smelled like cologne and cigarettes. He just smiled in that quiet way of his, the way only you ever got to see.

You never gave it back. You always meant to, but somehow it ended up draped over the footboard of your bed, where it stayed. Every night, you’d pull it closer, pressing your face into it before you fell asleep. His scent—warm, a little wild, a little broken—never really left it.

Now, everything’s different. You’re broken up. He told you he couldn’t be with you anymore, said you didn’t fit into the image his father wanted for him. It didn’t matter how hard you tried, or how much you loved him. In the end, it wasn’t enough.

So now you sit there, leaned back against the headboard, staring at the hoodie like it’s something you don’t quite recognize anymore. It used to mean everything. It used to be proof that, for a moment, you belonged to each other. Now it just looks like a mess—faded, wrinkled, out of place.

But even now, even after everything, part of you can’t bring yourself to throw it away. Because when you look at it, for just a second, you remember what it felt like to be his. And that hurts more than anything else ever could.