Rafe Cameron Imagines

I'll Trace Your Constellations🤍

A/N: Yes, this is based on the song a voice. My absolute favourite song. I've been listing to it a lot today and thought of doing this imagine and maybe also writing a story about it as well. Hope you guys enjoy!!

The news came on a Tuesday.

The kind of Tuesday where nothing felt special until it suddenly did, and not in a good way. You were in his truck, bare feet on the dashboard, one of your playlists humming softly through the speakers. Rafe hadn't said much all day, just drummed his fingers on the steering wheel like he was waiting for something to break.

And then he said it.

"My dad wants me to go to Charlotte for the summer."

You blinked. "What?"

He glanced at you, jaw tight. "To see his side of the family. I haven't been there in, like, four years. He says it's 'long overdue.'"

You sat up straighter. "You're going to Charlotte?"

"For the whole summer." He didn't look at you. "Two and a half months."

Silence.

You tried to swallow the sting in your throat. "And you're going?"

"I mean... yeah," he muttered. "It's not really a choice."

There it was. The ache. The familiar sinking in your chest.

"Okay," you whispered, even though it wasn't.

—

The weeks leading up to his trip felt like a countdown you didn't want to acknowledge. Every moment together was sharp-edged and too sweet, like you were already grieving something that hadn't left yet.

Rafe didn't talk about it much. But you could feel it.

The way his hands lingered longer on your waist.

The way he pulled you closer at night, even in the heat.

The way he looked at you like he was memorizing something.

One night, lying on the hood of his truck, staring up at the stars, you finally broke the silence.

"Do you even want to go?"

He was quiet for a long time. "No."

"Then why are you?"

He sighed. "Because it's what he wants. And I'm tired of fighting him over everything."

You turned your head to look at him. "But what do you want?"

His throat bobbed. "I want to stay."

You nodded slowly. "Then stay."

"I can't," he said softly. "You know I can't."

Your chest burned. "So what happens now?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I've never been good at long distance. Or goodbyes. Or... you know, not fucking everything up."

You turned back to the sky, blinking hard. "I don't want this to be the part where we fall apart."

"It's not," he said immediately, shifting so he was leaning over you. "It's not, okay? Don't do that."

"I'm just scared," you said honestly. "You're going to be gone for months, Rafe. What if things change?"

He cupped your face. "Things are always gonna change. But not this. Not how I feel about you. Not what you are to me."

You didn't answer. Just pressed your forehead to his and let the stars blur behind your lashes.

—

The night before he left, you didn't sleep.

You stayed up in his room, your leg tangled over his, his thumb brushing over your wrist like he was tracing a map. Like he was trying to etch you into memory.

"What if you meet someone in Charlotte?" you asked, your voice so quiet it barely existed.

He pulled back, brows furrowed. "What?"

"You'll be around a bunch of new people. New girls. Ones who don't come with all the shit I do."

"Don't do that," he said, sitting up. "Don't reduce yourself like that."

"I'm just being realistic," you whispered.

He grabbed your hand, eyes locked with yours. "You're it for me."

You blinked.

"I know I'm not perfect. I know I say the wrong things and get in my head too much and overthink everything. But when it comes to you? I don't hesitate. Not ever. I don't want anyone else. I want you."

Your voice cracked. "Then why do I feel like I'm already losing you?"

"Because it hurts," he said, "and it's scary. But love doesn't stop just because of distance. You don't stop being mine because I'm not physically next to you."

"And you don't stop being mine, either," you said, fists clutching his hoodie.

He leaned in slowly, pressing a kiss to the center of your chest. "Then we're okay."

You nodded, even if your heart didn't feel okay at all.

—

The morning came too fast.

You sat on the hood of his truck one last time, arms around his waist as he stood in front of you. His bag was by the door. His dad had honked twice already.

"I don't want to say goodbye," you mumbled against his shirt.

"Then don't," he said. "Just say 'see you later.'"

You nodded into him, breath uneven.

His hand slid under your chin, tilting your face to his. "Look at me."

You did.

"I'll call you every night," he said. "Every time I look up at the stars, I'll think of you."

You let out a wet laugh. "You don't even believe in astrology."

"I don't have to," he said, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone. "But I believe in you."

Your hands tightened around him. "I don't want you to forget me."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"I don't make promises I can't keep."

He leaned in, kissed you like he was breathing you in. And when he pulled back, he touched your wrist again—the same way he always did when he was grounding himself.

"You know all those freckles on your skin?" he asked, voice soft.

You nodded.

"They remind me of stars," he said. "Every one of them."

You smiled weakly. "They're just freckles."

"No," he said. "They're constellations. And when I miss you—when I feel too far away—I'll trace them in my head. Every last one."

And just before he turned to leave, he said it again—

"I'll trace your constellations."