you’ve always been his polar opposite; quiet, soft spoken, the type to avoid conflict like it’s your full time job. you have no idea how you’ve stayed friends this long, but somehow it works.
he’s like your own personal chaos generator, pulling you into adventures you’d never go to on your own. like tonight, when he shows up at your door unannounced, grinning like he’s up to no good (per usual).
“let’s go,” he says, leaning casually against your doorframe.
you blink at him clutching the blanket you were very much planning to stay under all night. “go where?”
“to watch the meteor shower,” he replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
you hesitate, glancing down at your pajama pants. “rafe, it’s late and cold”
he rolls his eyes but steps inside, completely ignoring the fact that you haven’t technically invited him in. “it’s not that cold,” he argues, grabbing a hoodie off the back of your couch and tossing it at you. “come on, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
you mumble something about not regretting staying warm, but he’s already dragging you out the door.
you end up at some quiet spot by the water, the two of you sitting in the bed of his truck. he’s talking a mile a minute, pointing out random constellations and telling you random stories. one specifically about how his dad once tried to convince him shooting stars were alien spaceships.
you just nod and smile, your hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, which is way too big for you. it smells like him, cologne and bonfires and you’re trying really hard not to think about it too much.
at some point, he notices how quiet you’ve gotten. “you okay?” he asks, turning to look at you.
you nod quickly, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. “yeah, just tired.”
he doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t press either. instead, he reaches over and tugs the hood up over your head. “there,” he says softly, his voice quieter than usual. “that should fix one problem.”
you laugh. “you’re so dumb.”
“yeah, but you love it,” he teases, bumping his shoulder against yours.
you don’t say anything, but your heart’s doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does when he’s being sweet. and when a shooting star finally streaks across the sky, you can’t help but glance over at him instead of the sky, thinking that maybe you don’t need to make a wish after all.
