rafe got you a nintendo switch in hopes of keeping you occupied — not that he doesn’t like to spend time with you, it’s just that he’s a very busy man, and you need a distraction when he’s off handling business.
your cozy game addiction started with an innocent folder on his phone, and now rafe’s paying for your annual nintendo online membership. you have all the basics — mario kart, stardew valley, pokemon, and your favorite, animal crossing.
obsessed is an understatement — your manicured hands are glued to your baby pink nintendo switch at all hours of the day, hard at work on your animal crossing island. your intense focus on decorating keeps you from hearing rafe return home, his eyes skimming over where you’re laying over the arm of tannyhill’s leather couch.
“you’re still playing that goddamn game?” he sighs, squinting at you in disbelief that you’re not coming to hang off of him like you usually do. instead, he swaggers over to where you’re sitting with his hands in his sweatpants pockets.
“yeah, rafe. i have a lot to do.” you respond matter of factly, not bothering to take your eyes off the little screen. “i have to catch all these fish before next month, pay back my home loan, and decorate the campsite. and that’s just today, if i can get through it all.” you shake your head at the stress, but you shrug as if it’s unavoidable, still laser focused on planting flowers in the game. “i want my island to be pretty and nice for my villagers. i mean — if i don’t take care of it who will?”
you finally pause, lowering the switch to cover your mouth suddenly. “ew.. i sound like you.” you peer up at him looming over you, your head practically hanging off the side of the couch.
“wh—what?” he rears back, visibly offended. “i do not sound like that, okay — first of all.” he gestures to himself, poking at his chest through his preppy collared shirt. “‘n i don’t talk to fuckin’ cats all day, alright? i got real business — real shit i gotta take care of.” he smacks his hand, trying to drive home the point for you. then, like the realization had just hit him, he presses his lips into a line, tapping his temple. “y’know what? at least now maybe you can understand the stress i’m under runnin’ all this shit.”
you raise your eyebrows at him, his frustrated tirade only proving you right. “you’re right, you sound totally different.”
“aight, i’m done with you. seriously.” he throws his hands up, his short fuse slowly fizzling out. “you gonna put that away and gimme a kiss or not?”
have you ever read a fanfic so good that you wanted to write a fanfic about that fanfic, but was too shy / too intimidated to ask for the author’s permission and too afraid that your writing wouldn’t be half as good as theirs and that it would be an insult to their work that was basically a literal masterpiece, so you just sat there fantasizing about their work and how beautiful it was and how you wished you could just eat it and how you wished canon could write your blorbos half as good as this writer did and how you just wanted to cry because you just loved that fic so much????
The slam of your bedroom door echoes through your house and the fall onto your bed is cushioned by the decorative throw pillows on top of it, drowning out your exasperation for the moment. A deep exhale fell past your lips as reality sunk in. The nags of your parents reached an all time high so far this summer, as they went on and on about how you were going to be stuck in the house with nothing to do.
Unfortunately, your explanation didn’t cut it. In the back of your mind, you were well aware that your friends would be busy doing their own things. You just chose not to believe it until it came true. John B and JJ became camp counselors for some group of kids over the summer, those poor kids. Pope decided to fill his free time with summer classes, and Kiara was tied up at The Wreck. And with John B going away, Sarah didn’t have a reason to stick around either, much to your displeasure. She’d decided to visit her cousins overseas. Not that you really blamed her, or any of your friends for that matter.
But it was slightly embarrassing to have nothing to say when it was your turn to reveal your plans for the next few months. Any other time, you’d always assumed your plans would be with any one of them.
And now, your problems were a whole lot bigger. Judging by your lack of plans, your parents went ahead and made some for you. And with the last person you would’ve wanted to spend your summer days— or any days at all— with, Rafe Cameron.
Both of your fathers had worked together in the past, and they still kept a friendship because of it. If that’s what you call two middle-aged businessmen drowning in drinks and making small talk at the occasional kook event.
To put it simply, Rafe had it out for you. Just the mention of his name made you shudder; your horrific childhood experiences with the boy forever carved in your memory.
His bratty behavior towards you began at about age 9 or 10. For instance, when you wouldn’t budge off of his favorite swing at the park. It would be impossible to forget how he popped one last bubble from his piece of bubblegum, faded pink and chewed thin, before wading it up and planting it right in your hair.
You lunged off the swing towards him immediately, screams of terror piercing the serene island air. He ran in circles, cackling mischievously as you chased him. All for Rafe to ‘take back’ his spot on the swing while he had you distracted.
As years went on, the memory became less and less vivid— except for that moment when he popped in another piece of gum, one bigger than all his teeth combined, before shouting: “Thanks for keeping’ it warm for me.”
And without an inkling of remorse, he began swinging gleefully while you ran to find your mother, hot tears cascading down your cheeks. The tear stains remained for another day or so. The sadness and frustration was simply too much for your nine year old self to handle. Not to mention the wad of gum that had to be cut out of your hair later that day. And it was all Rafe’s fault.
So it couldn’t be chalked up to anything less than betrayal, really. For your parents to coordinate summer golf lessons with your childhood nemesis. It was pure treachery. Especially after your strong argument of course, not failing to mention the dreaded gum incident. Only to be told off by your mother, as she assumed any child of Ward’s would mature into nothing short of an upstanding citizen. If she only knew.
Days later, you were throwing on a Ralph Lauren polo and a tennis skirt to match, hating every minute of it as you knew what was to come. You couldn’t deny how the material hugged your body just right; and a shred of your subconscious hoped that Rafe would notice too.
For no reason other than revenge, of course. How dare he terrorize you as a child and not be consumed with regret years later? His unforgivable acts couldn’t go unpunished.
Grabbing your keys and phone, you sped off in your car without so much as a goodbye to your mom before leaving. No amount of time could help you process what you were in for, and no amount of forethought would make this reunion any more bearable.
-
Scanning the cream colored walls of the Island Club, it didn’t take long to spot the tall Cameron leaning up against one of its pillars, scrolling on his phone with an expression of pure boredom. His foot tapped the floor occasionally, his eyes lifting every minute or so in search of you.
Just two taps on his shoulder was all it took to grab his attention. Rafe’s lips spread into a smirk just as quickly as he turned around to meet your irritated gaze. That stupid smirk, one you knew all too well.
“Long time no see, Y/n. Missed me?”
“Not a chance in hell. I’m here against my will.”
“Yeah, right. I bet you were just begging for a chance to see me again.” Rafe whines dramatically.
“Delusional as ever, huh, Rafe? I guess some things never change.”
“Childish as ever, huh, Y/n? Good to know we agree about something. And to think I had hope that you’d leave the hostility at home.”
“Didn’t you get suspended from the Academy for fighting? Twice?”
His expression shifts from smug to scowl.
“That was a long time ago. You ready to get started or what?”
You smile at him with faux innocence, glad to have landed a punch in this endless match between you two.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
—
The silence remained as thick as molasses, tension lingering that not even the sharpest of machetes could slash through.
Rafe steered the golf cart in silence, movements hasty and abrupt as an expression of his frustration. Your memory wasn’t as short as he’d expected; and now he was subjected to a summer of what he anticipated to be vengeful torture.
Lost in thought, he came to a stop at your destination. And by the looks of it, you were more than ready, willing and able to carry on without him as you began teeing up.
“Aren’t I supposed to be teaching you how? Isn’t that the whole reason why we’re here?”
With a sigh, your eyes darted to the clear blue sky, silently praying to a higher power to keep you sane. “I’ll ask for your help when I need it.”
You resume lining up your footing and the club with the ball, envisioning your swing before Rafe interrupts once again.
“Why bother showing up here if you’re gonna act like a bitch?”
“I was sent here against my will, remember?”
“So you say.”
“And I’m not a bitch. Not to those who don’t deserve it.”
“I couldn’t tell the difference.” Rafe scoffs. “And I never said you are a bitch, I said you’re acting like one.”
A cold chuckle makes its way out of your throat at his blatant contradiction. “You do not wanna go there with me, Cameron.”
After the mumble fell from your lips, you were set on taking a swing at the golf ball. Until Rafe opened his mouth once again, as if he was just waiting for you to swing, to piss you off even further. Provoking you at this point.
“Actually, let’s go there. I’d love to go there. Please enlighten me as to why you feel entitled to be so rude to me. Especially since I am the one doing you this little favor, aren’t I? Giving you a break from those losers on the Cut you love so much.”
“Isn’t it disrespectful to talk when I’m trying to hit a ball?” You query, quoting his very own words during an encounter with the notorious blond pogue. “Learn some etiquette, my friend.”
“Pathetic. So it’s Maybank? He’s been whispering in your ear? What, is he your boyfriend?”
“As if I haven’t experienced enough of your obnoxiousness firsthand. Trust me, I hate you plenty on my own. And he’s not my boyfriend, idiot.”
Rafe raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning at your defensiveness. “Though from what I hear you have some ‘losers’ of your own these days. Barry, isn’t it? Would be a shame if Uncle Ward found out.”
Rafe rolls his eyes at your disingenuous mention of his father. Sure, your fathers were somewhat close friends, but for some reason, it made his blood boil. “What’s it to you? Don’t tell me this is your attempt at blackmail.”
You shrug, grip still firm on the golf club. “Not necessarily. Have to admit it does feel good to get under your skin, though.”
“Touché.”
—
You moved through the golf course rather quickly, nearing its end. Both of your intentions were evident that you were eager to get home, and best of all, away from each other. Rafe slides into the driver's side of the cart, but doesn’t pull off immediately.
“You never actually answered my question, by the way. About why you’re being such a pain in the ass to me.”
You stop scrolling on your phone to look at him, trying to understand his purpose for bringing this up again. “You don’t happen to have some sort of short-term memory loss, right?”
“You said you hate me plenty on your own. But what fucking reason have I ever given you to?”
“Oh?”
“I told you to go there, didn’t I? I’m giving you a chance to let out your grievances. And that’s one more than I should, you know patience isn’t my strongsuit.”
“Can’t a girl just hate Rafe Cameron with no strings attached? I’m sure it’s not the first time.”
He looks over to you, blue eyes staring into yours. “You and I both know there’s always strings attached.”
“What can I say, Cameron? Guess it’s just par for the course. Or are you so desperate to know because you crave my validation?”
“What can I say, Y/l/n? I guess you wouldn’t be able to understand what it means to learn from your mistakes.”
“You’re full of it.”
“No more than you are, peach cake.”
“Just drive us back to the club already.”
“Not until you confess.” He protests, dangling the keys in your face before sliding them into his pocket. Rafe leans back, unintentionally manspreading as he does so, and drapes an arm over your shoulder. “We could be here all day.”
The exasperation was pretty much dripping off of you. His antics felt so familiar in the most intense way possible, and it made you want to scream. He was the same Rafe bullying you out of the playground a decade ago. The same Rafe you were now wondering had you misjudged. Or judged a little too harshly over some measly childhood rivalry.
“Primrose Park.”
“Excuse me?”
“Primrose Park.” You reiterate. “Don’t feign amnesia. I know you know.”
“How could I forget? I was the king of that place for years.”
“King? More like dictator.”
He shrugs. “I had a delicate ego back then.”
“As well as no patience or manners. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought you were raised by wolves.”
Rafe chuckles, amused by your memory of him as a child. “Blame it on Uncle Ward.”
“Sarah and Wheezie were always sweet as pie, so I don’t know if that’s fair.”
“Probably just caught me on a bad day, Y/n. I, too, am sweet as pie.” He defends, eyes twinkling as he smiles.
“Like hell you were! Do you recall wading up your gum and sticking it in my hair? Does that ring a bell?”
His eyebrows furrow as he recollects the memory.
“When we were kids at the park, you got all pissed that I wouldn’t give you a turn on the swings, so you spit your gum in my hair.”
He chuckles at first, but his laughs grow much louder as he ponders the memory.
“It’s really not that funny, Rafe. My mother had to cut that chunk of gum out of my hair.” You remind him. “You’re lucky I don’t shave your damn head right now!” You take a swat at his cap, knocking it to the ground as he’s struggling to get his laughter under control.
“And after all these years you never forgave me? It’s been decades, Y/n.”
“You never apologized.”
“Well I’m sorry, now. If that means anything.” He mumbles the last part, apologies being a foreign art to him. “But you should be thanking me, actually. You have no idea what you were in for had you stuck around.”
“What?”
“Henry Haberstroh. He was gonna give you another one of those stupid bouquets of weeds.”
“The dandelion bouquets?” Your mouth hangs open at the revelation, remembering the boy with an incessant crush on you. A crush so intense in fact that he wouldn’t stop giving you bouquets of dandelions he’d picked from the grass— not until you’d agreed to a playdate with him despite being painfully uninterested.
“The gum idea was more of a last resort but I thought you might wanna get out of there. I mean, dandelions? You’re allergic to bees.”
“And how do you know this exactly?”
“As King of Primrose Park I was privy to information. And was subtlety ever Henry’s thing? The kid was a blabbermouth. He never shut up about you.”
“Well I must say I’m impressed, Cameron. That’s quite a scheme you pulled off. Not that you’re forgiven or anything. But Henry was a creep.”
“Couldn’t take a hint to save his life, either. I don’t think I’ve seen you run away from someone so fast, not even from me.” Rafe teases, nudging your arm with his as you giggled.
“The bees!”
Rafe gives you a look of disbelief, knowing damn well it wasn’t the pollinated dandelions you were running from.
“Seriously, I’m really allergic! But you already knew that?”
“What kind of secret admirer doesn’t know his admiree’s allergens?”
His blue eyes lock with yours, smiles replacing the scowls on both of your faces from earlier. You raise an eyebrow at him in question.
“Shame on Henry.” Rafe critiques, realizing the implication of his words.
“Yeah. Shame on Henry. But I wouldn’t call us even quite yet, so sleep with one eye open just in case.”
The two of you share a genuine laugh for the first time all day, before Rafe begins driving towards the next hole.
“Remind me to lock my windows when I get home.”
—
You move towards your ball once again, but gaze at your target uneasily. Maybe you still had a thing or two to learn about the sport. Rafe leans up against the cart, arms crossed and biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt much thinner. The tension was almost gone in comparison to how you started the afternoon. Almost.
Now looking at Rafe, it felt different. How could you be angry anymore? Holding a vendetta against him took too much energy at this point when it was no longer warranted.
To your luck, you could excuse the fiery feeling rising to your cheeks as a result of the sweltering sun. No matter how hard you tried, your former memory of him melted away. You could no longer see Rafe as the pesky little boy he once was. Perhaps a symptom of heat stroke, you thought. Hopefully it would be temporary, you still had the whole summer with Rafe ahead of you.
“I almost forgot you’re supposed to be teaching me how to play this joke of a sport.” You gripe. “Will you show me?”
Rafe bites his bottom lip to avoid cracking a smile. That you had finally cracked, giving in to ask him for help. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Leaning off the cart, Rafe saunters over to you. “I need you to start on your form first. May I?” He offered, gesturing to set his arms over yours for some adjustment.
With a slow nod, you decide to taunt him further. He’s not gonna get away that easy. “You’re not chewing any gum are you?”
“No, Y/n.” He responds, and you can just hear the smirk in his tone. Hearing your name roll off his tongue makes your stomach flutter— now feeling his body against yours, the heat increasing tenfold.
“Hold the club firmly, and swing through the ball, not at the ball.” He guides your arms with his, mimicking how to prepare for a swing. As his head peers over your shoulder, you swear you hear his breath hitch at the faint aroma of your perfume. Rafe almost seems relaxed, doing the movements with you a few times over again before stepping back to let you try it.
You do just as he taught you, and Rafe repeats the instructions under his breath as he watches you take your swing.
From the woosh of the ball leaving the grass, your eyes follow as it lands in a close proximity to the cup. With a scream of victory, your hands collide with Rafe’s in a high five, before wrapping your arms around his neck, his hand instinctively falling to rest at your waist as he pulls you into a hug. “Atta girl!” He marvels.
“I did it!” You cheer, smile beaming off your face. Once the initial shock wears off, you realize whose arms you’re engulfed in, stepping back from the embrace abruptly. “Uhm- I’m sorry. I didn’t…” You begin, trying to explain yourself and your sudden outburst of physical affection.
“Don’t apologize.” Rafe assures, reaching his hand out for yours. You accept it with a shy smile. “You did great for your first big swing. Can’t say I’m surprised, though, you do have one hell of a teacher.”
“He’s not bad.” You confess. “Actually, better than I thought.”
Rafe quirks an eyebrow, his cerulean orbs gazing into your eyes, finding for once they held not one drop of bad blood while looking back at him. He steps forward, the space keeping you both apart dwindling. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell him I said that, it’ll go straight to his head.”
His eyes flicker from yours then to your glossed lips, which is the final straw before giving into your growing urge to kiss him. Rafe’s free hand clings to your cheek immediately as he deepens the kiss; as if a magnetic pull between you two had clicked.
Pulling away, the surprise on Rafe’s face is evident, but the confidence in his voice made it impossible to tell a difference. “I’m glad to see you came to your senses and forgave me.”
“Jumping to conclusions already? What makes you think you’re forgiven?”
Rafe shrugs, and that familiar look of pride returns to his expression. His thumb grazes across the apple of your cheek, and his hand gives a gentle squeeze to your waist. “Call it a wild hunch.”
