YOU BELONG WITH ME
SUMMARY: Rafe is a fool who does not realize what he has in front of his eyes.
NOTE: These are scenes that I wrote based on parts of the song You Belong With Me. Luv u Tay Tay <3.xoxo
You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset
She's going off about something that you said '
Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do
Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Babe, it was just a joke, okay? I didn’t mean it like—”
You caught her voice through the speaker, loud and sharp. Something about how he always “makes fun of her friends” and how he “needs to grow up.”
Rafe groaned. “It was a joke. I said your friend looks like she still writes ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ in her diary. That’s not even mean, that’s just facts.”
You clamped a hand over your mouth to stop the laugh that almost escaped.
He added, “She posted a TikTok about crystals and screamed when she saw a moth. I was being generous.”
Her voice grew even louder, and Rafe finally pulled the phone away and ended the call with a muttered, “Cool. Great. Bye.”
He stared at the phone in his hand like it might explode.
Then he turned to you, eyes still wide with disbelief.
“Please tell me you understood that was a joke.”
You tried. You really tried to hold it in. But the moment you met his face — the total ‘what the hell just happened’ panic in his expression — you cracked.
You burst out laughing, folding forward and shaking your head.
“Rafe, you did not say that about her friend—”
“She had a rock named Jasper in her purse.”
You fell back in the sand with a wheeze. “She named her crystal?”
“She said it ‘helps her find her aura’ and then tripped over a seagull. I couldn’t make this up.”
You were gasping from laughing so hard. Rafe, watching you, finally let out a laugh of his own — real and unfiltered — and flopped down beside you, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it either.
And you've got a smile that can light up this whole town I haven't seen it in a while
since she brought you down You say you're fine, I know you better than that Hey,
what you doing with a girl like that?
The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the blinds, casting soft lines across the room. It was quiet — the kind of quiet that settles in when two people are in the same space but living in two completely different headspaces. The only sound was the faint scratching of your pencil on paper and the occasional shuffle of pages as you tried to focus on your homework.
Tried.
You sat cross-legged at Rafe’s desk, your notebooks spread out in front of you, biting gently on the end of your eraser as you read over the math problem again.
“Hey,” you said, voice soft but expectant, “how’d you solve number seven again? The one with the—”
You stopped mid-sentence, glancing up.
He hadn’t responded.
Rafe was lying on his bed, one arm folded under his head, the other resting limply on his stomach. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, jaw tight, lips slightly parted — like he’d been holding his breath for the past ten minutes without even realizing.
You turned in your chair slowly. “Rafe?”
Nothing.
You tilted your head. “Earth to rich boy. Come in, rich boy.”
Still no reaction. You set your pencil down and stood up, moving toward the bed quietly, when you reached his side, you nudged his knee with yours. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
He blinked out of whatever haze he was in and finally looked at you. His voice was tired. “It’s nothing.”
You frowned. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s just… another fight.”
You didn’t have to ask who with.
You sat down beside him on the edge of the bed, resting your hands in your lap. “What was it this time?”
“She said I don’t make time for her,” he muttered. “That I’m emotionally unavailable. That I ‘don’t care enough to communicate like an adult.’” He did air quotes with a bitter twist to his mouth.
You stayed quiet for a beat. Let the words hang there.
Then, quietly: “Is any of that true?”
He looked at you sharply, like you’d accused him of something awful. “What? No. I mean—I try. I call, I check in, I show up, even when I don’t want to. Even when I’m tired. But she always finds a reason to be pissed.”
You nodded slowly, chewing the inside of your cheek.
“Rafe,” you said gently, “can I be honest?”
He let out a dry laugh. “Since when do you ask?”
“Shut up, I’m being serious.”
He glanced at you, finally — and in that glance, you saw it. The heaviness in his eyes. The weariness in the set of his shoulders. You’d seen that look more and more lately. It had become his default.
So you took a breath, and said what had been building for weeks.
“You’ve got this smile,” you said softly. “One of those rare ones. You know — that dumb, cocky grin you do when something actually makes you happy? Like really happy?”
He raised a brow, but didn’t interrupt.
“And I haven’t seen it in weeks,” you continued. “Maybe longer. Ever since you started dating her… it’s like it disappeared. You’re always tense, always distracted. Always dealing with some problem. I’m not saying it’s all her fault, but…” you trailed off, eyes dropping to your hands.
“…You’re not you when you’re with her.”
That silenced the room.
Rafe blinked slowly, looking back up at the ceiling like it held answers. “I didn’t think it showed.”
You gave a humorless smile. “I know you better than that.”
A few seconds passed.
And then, quietly, you added, “What are you doing with a girl like that?”
The question sat heavy in the air.
You didn’t say it to be cruel. You weren’t trying to manipulate or twist his emotions. It wasn’t jealousy — or at least, not just that. It was honesty. Raw, aching honesty from someone who saw him. Who wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you.
But Rafe didn’t answer.
Instead, he slowly sat up, elbows resting on his knees, rubbing his hands together like he was trying to make sense of something bigger than himself. You waited.
“I guess I thought… maybe she could fix me,” he muttered. “Make me better. Make me less—whatever the hell I’ve been.”
You softened. “Rafe, you don’t need someone to fix you.”
He looked up.
You smiled — not in pity, but something quieter. “You need someone who reminds you who you are. Someone who lets you laugh. Who brings you back to yourself.”
His gaze lingered on you.
And this time, he really looked.
Not just at your face, but at your presence. Your warmth. Your quiet patience. The way you always stayed, even when you didn’t have to. Even when he was at his worst.
And then, for the first time in what felt like forever… he smiled.
Just barely. Just a flicker.
But it was there.
And it lit up the whole damn room.
Oh, I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night I'm
the one who makes you laugh when you know you're 'bout to cry
The house was quiet. Too quiet, actually.
You lay on your bed, phone in hand, eyes lazily scrolling through posts you weren’t really reading. The windows were cracked open, letting in the warm, humid summer air and the distant hum of crickets.
And then, you heard it.
That familiar, low growl of a truck engine cutting through the silence. Not just any truck — his truck. Rafe’s black pickup had a sound you could pick out of a lineup in your sleep. You froze, heart stuttering slightly as you pushed yourself off the bed and rushed to the window.
The headlights cut through the darkness as the truck turned the corner into your street, slowing near your driveway.
Midnight. You looked at the clock. What the hell is he doing here at midnight?
Without thinking, you grabbed your hoodie from the chair, threw it over your pajama top, and slipped on a pair of slides. You didn’t even question it — it was instinct. Because if Rafe showed up at this hour, something was wrong.
By the time you made it out to the porch, the truck was rolling to a stop in front of your house. The engine idled for a second before shutting off. Silence again. You stepped down one step, squinting toward the driver’s side door.
And then he got out.
And you froze.
Rafe didn’t look like himself. His normally sure, cocky stride was replaced with something tight — something tense and unraveling. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it too many times. His shoulders hunched. His eyes were glassy, red-rimmed. He didn’t say a word.
“Rafe…?” you started, voice low, confused.
But he didn’t answer.
He just walked — fast, like something in him might break if he didn’t get to you quickly enough — and then suddenly, his arms were around your waist, strong and desperate, burying his face into the curve of your neck.
And you didn’t ask.
You didn’t say a single word.
You just hugged him back. Both arms around his neck. Holding him like he was falling apart. Because he was.
He didn’t want to let go.
You could feel it in the way his arms trembled just slightly, how tightly his hands gripped the back of your hoodie, like if he loosened them, the weight of whatever happened would crush him.
Minutes passed like that. Quiet, still. You rubbed slow, calming circles on his back until finally, you whispered, “Come inside, okay?”
The living room lights were dim, casting warm shadows across the walls as the two of you collapsed onto the couch. You sat close, legs touching, the sound of the air conditioner humming softly in the background.
Rafe leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He hadn’t said much since he got there, but now, the silence was heavier. Cracked.
He let out a shaky breath.
“I saw the texts,” he said, voice low and raw. “Between her and some guy she met at that bar last week. She said she was with her cousin that night.”
You didn’t interrupt.
“She told him she missed him,” he added. “Said being with me was ‘draining.’ That I’m… exhausting.”
You swallowed hard. Your chest ached at how small he sounded.
“I just—” He sat back suddenly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I knew something was off. I’ve known for weeks, but I kept telling myself I was overthinking it. And then… boom. There it is. She just proved it.”
He shook his head.
“You ever feel like you’re too much for everyone?” he asked. “Like no matter what you do, you’re the problem?”
You leaned your head on the back of the couch, looking at him sideways. “Rafe… no. You’re not too much. You’re just… too real for the wrong people.”
He gave a hollow chuckle, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
You watched him for a moment. Then, with a soft grin, you said, “Okay. But, like, silver lining? At least she’s free to go back to her crystal soulmate now.”
Rafe blinked. “What?”
“You know. Jasper. The emotionally supportive geode.”
He stared at you.
Then let out a real laugh. Loud. Guttural. The kind that made his shoulders shake and his eyes squeeze shut.
“Stop,” he wheezed, wiping his face. “God, why are you like this?”
You shrugged with a smirk. “I’m your best friend. I’m contractually obligated to be hilarious in moments of deep emotional trauma.”
He turned toward you, his eyes still glassy but clearer now. Lighter.
“You’re great,” he murmured, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
You tilted your head. “I know.”
That earned another laugh from him. This time softer. Warmer. He looked at you for a second longer than usual.
And even though his heart was breaking, there was comfort in the way he let himself lean toward you, just a little.
Like maybe he was starting to remember what it felt like to breathe around someone again.
Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you? Been here all
along, so why can't you see? You belong with me
The sun was soft and golden by the time you reached the café, spilling through the windows and making the glass cups behind the counter shimmer. It was one of your favorite spots in town — not too loud, not too crowded, with just enough personality in the mismatched chairs and chalkboard menu to feel like a little hideaway. You had texted Rafe an hour ago to meet you here. You’d even been kind and added: “don’t be a diva. show up on time.”
So of course he was late.
You were mid-sip of your iced latte, spinning the straw lazily between your fingers when the bell above the door rang — and Rafe appeared, slightly breathless, baseball cap low on his head and a wild apology already forming on his lips.
“I know, I know I’m late, I swear I didn’t mean to be, there was traffic on the bridge, and then I couldn’t find parking and this guy was being a total—”
“Rafe,” you interrupted, smiling as you stood from your seat. “It’s okay. Okay? I believe you.”
He stopped mid-sentence. Blinked.
Then exhaled hard and broke into a sheepish laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “God. Sorry. It’s just a habit at this point.”
You raised a brow, still amused. “A habit?”
“Yeah, well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I used to have to list off my excuses like a damn grocery receipt. Just to avoid a two-hour argument.”
You smiled, gently bumping his shoulder as he dropped into the seat across from you. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not your emotionally repressed girlfriend with a superiority complex.”
“That’s… weirdly specific,” he said, but he laughed again — light, real.
“Anyway,” you said, picking up your drink again, “just don’t do it again or I’ll have to cheat on you.”
Rafe blinked, ahen dramatically put a hand over his heart. “Wow.”
You grinned over your straw. “Hey, the warning was clear.”
“That was cold.” He held up his hands. “The wound is still fresh.”
“Then stop crying about it and order something,” you said, teasing. “It’s on me.”
He blinked again. “Seriously?”
You shrugged. “Yeah. You’ve been sad lately. Plus, I’m trying to gain moral superiority by paying for your caffeine addiction.”
“You’re a saint,” he said, already flagging down the barista with a grateful smirk. “I want one of those stupid caramel drinks. The ones that taste like sugar and regret.”
“Classy.”
He turned back to you with a smile, one that lingered a second too long, and said softly, “Thanks. For this.”
You just rolled your eyes with a smile, tapping his shoe gently with yours under the table. “Don’t thank me for being the one person who’s always been here.”
He tilted his head, playful but thoughtful. “You really have, huh?”
“I mean…” You looked down at your cup, swirling the ice. “I’ve been around. I’ve seen you at your best. And your worst. And your weird middle school bowl cut phase.”
“Okay, rude.” He laughed again, full-bellied and without restraint.
But then he quieted a little. Looked at you with this softness in his eyes — not like a friend about to tease you back, but like a boy finally starting to see something he’d missed all this time.
You offered him a half-smile, casual and easy, like your heart wasn’t actually pounding.
“Can’t you see it?” you asked, voice light but layered. “I’m the one who understands you.” you didn’t meant it like that, but Rafe took it like a face palm, because that was the most real truth he’s heard in a while.
Rafe stared at you for a long second. Something flickered behind his expression — something like realization. Or maybe recognition. Or maybe just the kind of stillness that comes when everything inside you suddenly shifts into place.
But before he could speak, the barista called his name, breaking the moment.
Rafe stood up slowly, almost reluctant. “Be right back.” because it wasn’t just about a coffee.
It wasn’t even about his ex.
It was about how, no matter how long you’d been by his side — through every high, every crash, every shattered version of himself — he still hadn’t seen what had always been right in front of him.
You.
But maybe now… he was starting to.
------
The storm had passed.
Not the weather — that had happened earlier in the afternoon. A short, wild burst of rain that came and went in thirty minutes, typical of the Outer Banks. But Rafe’s storm — the chaos, the anger, the confusion that had been brewing inside him for months — that had passed too. Quietly. Almost without him realizing.
You were both back at your house that night, sitting in the familiar glow of your living room, with your feet tucked under a shared blanket and a movie playing half-heartedly in the background. Neither of you were watching it.
You were leaned against the armrest, a bowl of popcorn in your lap, wearing one of Rafe’s old hoodies like you didn’t even realize it wasn’t yours. And maybe you didn’t. Maybe that was just what happened after years of being his person. You just absorbed into each other’s lives without asking for permission.
And Rafe… he couldn’t stop looking at you.
You caught him at one point, mid-bite of popcorn, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“What,” you said, around a mouthful. “Do I have butter on my face?”
“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. Then added, “You’re just… comfortable like this.”
You shrugged, unconcerned. “We’ve been friends for years. Comfort’s kind of the brand.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
His gaze drifted down to your legs stretched across his lap. To the way your fingers absentmindedly sorted through the popcorn, like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
He wasn’t thinking about her anymore. Not about the girl who broke his trust. Not about the long arguments or the missed calls or the slow eroding of who he was when he was with her.
He was thinking about you.
About the way you’d stood outside that night in the dark, hugging him without asking questions. About the way you joked with him until he laughed through the heartbreak. About your dumb jokes, and your quiet loyalty, and how you never expected anything from him except for him to just be himself.
He was thinking about the way your laugh cracked through his darkest moods. The way you never looked at him like he was broken. The way you knew him.
And suddenly, he couldn’t sit still.
He paused the movie.
You glanced up. “You okay?”
“I need to say something.”
You sat straighter, worried now. “Uh oh. You’re not dying, right? Because if you are, I’m not helping you fake your will again.”
“I’m serious.”
You set the bowl down. “Okay. Shoot.”
He stared at you, his jaw tightening for a second like he was still trying to work out the words.
And then, slowly, he said, “You’ve always been there.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You,” he repeated, voice quieter this time. “Every time I’ve crashed… you’ve been there. Every time I was at my worst. Every stupid mistake. Every fight. Every—everything. You’ve always been there.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
“And I didn’t get it,” he said, his tone sharpening slightly, like he was mad at himself. “I had you right in front of me this whole time, and I was too blind or stupid or stuck in my own head to see it.”
“Rafe—”
“I mean it,” he said, shifting closer. “You know me better than anyone. You get me. You see the parts no one else wants to deal with, and you never run. And I’ve been sitting here for years, thinking I had to be someone different to be loved, to be wanted, and the whole time you were just—there.”
You swallowed hard.
He kept going. His voice was low, trembling, but steady.
“I don’t want to laugh with anyone else but you. I don’t want to run to anyone else’s house at midnight. I don’t want to pretend anymore that you’re just my best friend. Because you’re not. You’re… you’re everything.”
You sat there, stunned, heart thudding in your chest.
“You’re the one,” he said. “You’ve always been the one.”
Silence fell between you.
Until you whispered, barely holding it together, “Took you long enough.”
And that broke him.
He laughed, a little breathless, eyes glassy. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah,” you nodded, voice thick. “But you’re my idiot.”
He leaned in, slowly, like he was testing the waters — and you met him halfway, lips soft, warm, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.
And when he pulled back, his smile was the one you hadn’t seen in forever.
The one that lit up the whole damn town.
Have you ever thought
just maybe
You belong with me?
You belong with me