angel - rafe cameron (outerbanks)

14 - take a picture

chapter 14
take a picture

the early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across angie's room. she lay beside rafe, watching his face in the soft light, feeling an odd mix of emotions she couldn't fully name. he looked peaceful in sleep, almost vulnerable, and she couldn't reconcile that with the chaos she'd pulled him out of the night before. it felt surreal to have him here, in her bed, after everything he'd done.

angie found it oddly comforting to watch him sleep, how at peace he looked and how unthreatening. for someone who always seemed so intense, so caught up in chaos, this side of him felt unfamiliar. it was strange, almost jarring, to see rafe stripped of his usual bad-boy bravado, his sharp edges dulled by slumber. she wasn't sure what to make of it, but for now, it was enough to sit in the quiet and let the tension of the night before fade away. the steady rise and fall of his chest was soothing in a way she didn't expect—a calm she hadn't felt in ages.

still, she had hardly slept, panicking about sarah finding out her brother had stayed in her bed. it wasn't just the betrayal she feared—it was the questions, the assumptions, the judgment that would follow. angie could already hear sarah's voice, sharp with disbelief, demanding to know why she hadn't said something, why she hadn't told her, why they could no longer be friends. the guilt gnawed at her, twisting her stomach into knots, even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong. she'd only tried to help rafe, to pull him out of whatever mess he'd gotten himself into but explaining that to sarah felt impossible. let alone explaining the kiss.

his comforting presence didn't erase the confusion or the worry, but it gave her a strange sense of calm she hadn't expected, as though he belonged there. and yet, she couldn't help but wish he'd never been there at all. it would have been easier if he'd never been ditched on barry's couch, easier if she hadn't seen him so wrecked, so lost. easier if she didn't have to navigate the confusing swirl of emotions he left in his wake. she wanted to believe she was doing the right thing, helping him, but a part of her resented him for dragging her into his mess. for making her feel things she didn't want to feel. and yet, as she watched the sunlight play across his face, she couldn't entirely bring herself to regret it either.

she slipped out of the bed, tiptoeing to her bathroom, splashing her face with cool water from the tap and looking at herself in the mirror. her reflection looked as tired as she felt, the dark circles under her eyes a testament to the sleepless night. she gripped the edge of the sink, taking a steadying breath. the room felt heavy, like it carried rafe's presence, the air tinged with the weight of everything unsaid. angie closed her eyes for a moment, letting the water drip from her face, before reaching for a towel. as she wiped her skin, she wondered if she'd made the right choice letting him stay, or if she'd just tied herself to something even more complicated.

behind her, he stirred, blinking his eyes open slowly, adjusting to the light. for a moment, he looked around, disoriented, his gaze finally landing on her. there was a brief flicker of something—maybe regret, maybe embarrassment—but he quickly tried to mask it, attempting to sit up without groaning.

"take a picture," he muttered, catching her staring.

"oh shut up," angie whispered softly, offering him a small, tentative smile. "are you okay?"

he winced, rubbing a hand over his face, looking as though his head was throbbing. "yeah, i'm fine," he muttered, his tone snappy.

angie nodded, watching him carefully, concern etched into her features. she hesitated, choosing her words, before finally asking, "what happened to you?"

rafe looked away, his jaw clenching slightly. "that's none of your business," he mumbled, his voice harsh. he was avoiding her gaze, focusing on a spot on the floor as though it could distract him from whatever he was feeling.