Rafe Cameron

The house is louder than you expected, laughter spilling from the back patio, music thumping faintly from somewhere down the hall. You shouldn't have come —you knew he'd be here. But Sarah begged, and you told yourself it wouldn't matter. It's been months. Months since that final fight—words you can't take back, his anger pushing you away, your heart breaking as you left. You've both been ghosts to each other since. Walking past each other on docks, seeing glimpses from across the Cut, but never close enough to speak. Never brave enough to face what was left behind. But now, here you are. Same room. Same air. You catch sight of him from across the kitchen-leaning against the counter, beer in hand, his jaw tense like he's bracing himself. His eyes find you, and for a second, everything stands still.