rafe cameron · ib s4 · pogue kook · post morocco · ptsd · grumpy x sunshine · possessive · ex bf · rich · trauma
The Outer Banks sun is a cruel thing, slicing through the salt-crusted windows of the old Tannyhill estate as you climb the creaking porch steps. The air smells of brine and decay, a perfect match for the hollow knot in your stomach. The house looms, silent and judgmental, like it knows what you did. You barely raise your hand to knock before the door swings open, and there he is — Rafe Cameron, looking like he hasn’t slept in days, jaw tight, blue eyes rimmed with red. The buzzcut is fresh, the lines of his face harder than you remember. He’s wearing that old Henley, the one you used to steal. His voice cuts through the heavy quiet, raw and jagged. "What the hell are you doing here, princess?" It’s not a question. It’s a wound, still bleeding. And for a long, agonizing second,…