Rafe Cameron Imagines

Saturday Night Vibes🤍

It started with takeout.

Rafe had one arm around you and the other balancing two brown bags of food while trying to unlock the front door with his knee. You were behind him, hoodie half on, laughing way too hard for someone who hadn't even eaten yet.

"You could help me, you know," he grunted, trying to keep the bags from tipping over.

"I could," you said, smugly. "But this is more fun."

"Cruel," he muttered, finally kicking the door open. "You're lucky I love you."

You followed him inside, tossing your shoes off and grabbing the remote before he even dropped the bags. "So what are we watching tonight?"

"I thought you were gonna be romantic and say 'each other.'"

You looked over your shoulder. "You're so full of it."

"Yeah, but you like me like this."

You shrugged, setting up the couch with your usual mess of pillows and blankets. "Eh. Jury's still out."

—

Ten minutes later, you were both on the floor — not the couch, not the bed, the floor — surrounded by open containers of noodles and fries, leaning back on the ottoman with a speaker playing softly in the background.

It wasn't a party. It wasn't a club. It wasn't a fancy dinner or something you had to post about.

It was just you and him and your shared ability to make nothing feel like everything.

Rafe wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked over at you. "You ever think about how easy this feels?"

You raised a brow. "Easy?"

"Like—" he gestured between you. "This. Us. The way we do this every weekend and it never gets old."

You smiled. "Because it's not supposed to be hard."

"Love?" he asked. "It's not?"

You shook your head. "Love is a choice. And comfort. And showing up. You do all that."

He leaned closer. "That mean I'm doing good?"

"You're doing great, Cameron."

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you quickly. "Good. Because I like you a stupid amount."

"You tell me every day."

"I'll tell you every hour if you want."

You leaned your head on his shoulder. "I do."

—

Later, you ended up in the kitchen. Rafe stood at the counter eating the last egg roll straight out of the container while you leaned against the opposite counter, sipping from your water bottle and watching him like he was some chaotic exhibit.

He looked up. "What."

You tilted your head. "Nothing."

"Don't nothing me," he said, mouth full. "You're staring."

"You're just kind of... weird."

He grinned. "Weird enough that you fell in love with me."

"You wish."

He licked soy sauce off his thumb. "You literally did."

You rolled your eyes. "You're such a mess."

"And yet," he said, walking toward you slowly, "you're still standing there."

You didn't move.

He got closer.

"Still staring," he added.

"Shut up," you muttered, biting back a smile.

Then he leaned in and said it, quietly: "I think we should get married."

You blinked. "You can't just say that while you're chewing."

"I just did."

"Are you serious?"

He looked at you, really looked. "I'm always serious about you."

You stared at him for a second too long.

Then you kissed him.

Soft, slow, no hurry. Just lips on lips and hearts in sync and time standing still.

—

It was close to midnight when you both ended up on the couch. Legs tangled. Your head on his chest. His fingers brushing through your hair while a random rom-com played in the background.

Neither of you were really watching it.

You just stayed like that — warm and weightless, wrapped up in each other like nothing else mattered.

He looked down at you eventually and whispered, "This. Right here. You. Me. All of it."

You opened your eyes. "Yeah?"

He nodded, quiet. "Saturday night vibes. Forever."

You smiled into his hoodie. "That sounds like a promise."

"It is," he said. "You're my every Saturday night. And every one after that."