Drew Starkey Imagines

He Writes You Letters He'll Never Send

Rafe Cameron doesn't know how to say what he feels out loud.

He never has.

Anger? Easy. He throws a punch, raises his voice. That comes naturally.
Love? Affection? Vulnerability? That gets stuck in his throat and dies there.

But with you... it's different. You're different.

You're the only one who looks at him like he's not a monster. The only one who doesn't flinch when he walks into the room. Sometimes he thinks you see right through all the mess and blood and bad choices — and maybe, just maybe, there's something underneath worth saving.

But he can't tell you that.

So instead, he writes it down.

It starts as a joke. Just one letter. Scribbled in a half-ripped notebook page at 3AM, after you helped him bandage a busted knuckle and told him to "get his shit together."

"You said it like you actually cared. No one's ever said anything to me like that without disgust in their voice. You just... said it. Like I mattered."

He folds it up, puts it in a box. Then comes another. And another. After a while, the box is full of words he'll never say.

"I watch you sometimes when you're not looking. You smile with your whole face. It guts me."

"I don't know what this feeling is, but it scares the hell out of me."

"You make me want to be good. I don't know how, but I want to try."

Until one day, you find the box.

It's raining. The power's out. You're in Rafe's room looking for a lighter, and curiosity gets the best of you when you see the worn, taped-up box under his bed. You think it's drugs. You're expecting pills, or money, or a gun.

You don't expect dozens of folded pages with your name written in all of them.

You sit on the floor. One by one, you read them all — the anger, the longing, the grief, the hope. He didn't just feel something for you. He loved you. Quietly. Fiercely. From the shadows.

When Rafe finds you holding one of the letters, he freezes in the doorway like a man walking into his own execution.

"Don't," he says hoarsely. "Just—just forget it. Burn them, if you want. I didn't mean—"

But you don't let him finish.

Instead, you stand, eyes glassy, and ask, "Why didn't you tell me?"

And for once, he doesn't have to write the answer down.

You just look at each other for a long time.

No walls. No scripts. No masks.

Just silence, except for the storm outside and the slight sound of paper fluttering where one of the letters lies open on the floor between your feet.

Rafe swallows hard. "So now you know."

Your breath catches in your throat. "Yeah," you say. "Now I do."

He starts to pace — slow, nervous. "Look, I get it if this is... too much. If it changes how you see me. I didn't plan for you to find those. I wasn't trying to manipulate anything, I just—"

"Rafe."

He stops.

"Breathe."

His jaw clenches, but he listens. And you watch him as he closes his eyes and takes a shaky inhale like it might be the first full breath he's had in months.

When his eyes open again, they're softer. Still scared — but no longer hiding.

You move toward him, one step at a time, until there's barely an inch of space between you.

"I always knew there was something you weren't saying," you murmur. "I just didn't realize it was... this."

"I didn't trust myself with it," he says. "I thought if I told you, it would ruin everything. I don't know how to love someone without breaking them."

You reach out and press your palm to his chest, right over his heart.

"It didn't ruin anything," you say gently. "You didn't break me, Rafe. You saved me more than once, even if you don't realize it."

His eyes flicker with something unreadable — pain, guilt, hope.

"I still don't know how to do this," he whispers. "To be good for you."

"You don't have to be perfect," you reply. "Just... don't lie to me anymore. Don't hide from me. Let me in. That's all I want."

You watch as that sinks in. His eyes drop to your hand on his chest, then back up to your face. He doesn't say anything right away — just nods once, slow.

"I can do that," he murmurs. "I want to do that."

Then he leans down, and this time, when he kisses you, it's different.

It's not a question. It's a promise.

It's slow, deliberate, like he's memorizing you — like he's waited so long to be able to feel this and can't believe he's finally allowed.

Your fingers slide into his hair. His hands settle at your waist, unsure at first — almost hesitant, as if afraid he'll wake up and find this is just another dream he's not allowed to keep.

When you pull apart, his forehead rests against yours, and for the first time in what feels like forever, his entire body relaxes.

"Stay tonight?" he asks, barely above a whisper. "Just... be here. Please."

You don't even hesitate. "Yeah. I'm not going anywhere."

⸻

Later, you lie in his bed, tucked into his side, rain still tapping the window.

You glance across the room to the box of letters, still open — the evidence of his secret heart finally in the light.

And when Rafe notices your gaze lingering, he shifts beside you. "You can keep them," he says. "If you want."

You look up at him. "You sure?"

He nods. "They were always yours."

You press a kiss to his shoulder, and he wraps an arm tighter around you like he's afraid you'll disappear in your sleep.

But you won't.

You're here.
And he's here.
And for the first time in his life, Rafe Cameron is starting to believe maybe — just maybe — he doesn't have to suffer in silence anymore.

Not when someone finally chooses to stay.