you and rafe sneak away on his family’s yacht just before dusk. dock lights fade behind you, water shimmering in the final glow of sunset.

he fires up the engine. it hums beneath your legs. he steers you into open water.

you lean your head on his shoulder. his arm wraps around you. everything’s soft, electric, suspended in time. then, without warning, the sky cracks open — thunder rolls in the distance, low and hungry. a wave crashes over the bow, splashing both of you.

you gasp, gripping rafe’s shirt. he laughs this time — a thrilling, recklessly excited sound. “we hit the fun part,” he shouts over the rising wind.

he revs the engine, and the boat surges forward, slicing through waves as the storm moves in fast. wind whips your hair, salty spray coats your cheeks, and your heart races louder than the thunder.

he veers around a swell, regard full of reckless love. he glances at you — eyes bright, voice fierce “you ever just want to feel alive? right here, right now?”

you nod, breathless. he leans in, wind tearing at your clothes, and his voice drops “out there? maybe it’s chaos. but with you — it’s home. you’re my storm and my calm. live or die, i want this with you.” lightning cracks overhead. you press your forehead to his, grip tightening around his waist.

“then let’s chase every damn sunset and dance in every storm,” you whisper back. he smiles—wild, free, utterly in love—just as you both lean in for a kiss, the storm roaring around you like your own private soundtrack.