Leaving for Navy basic training at 18 felt like an escape, especially from Rafe. He’d always been there, sneering, pushing your buttons, and the rivalry felt endless.

But as you trained and then deployed to Afghanistan, you changed, grew stronger, sharper, and even cut your long hair to shoulder-length.

When you returned home at 21, you ran into Rafe at a welcome-back event. He looked different too.

His hair was buzzed, his build more muscular, and his usual smirk was softened by something else. He paused when he saw you, eyes lingering on your toned frame and shorter hair.

“Wow,” he said, his grin slower this time. “Basic training did you good.”

You rolled your eyes, ready to brush him off, but his gaze held steady, almost admiring. “What?” you challenged.

He shrugged, smirking. “Just… you look good. Better than before. Guess the muscles and shoulder-length hair suit you.”

You scoffed, feeling a hint of warmth rise. “Guess you’re not as obnoxious as you used to be.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he shot back with a grin, though his voice held a quiet respect.

For the first time, the space between you two felt different, like maybe there was more than just rivalry there after all.