Drew Starkey Imagines

The Realest Thing

You weren't sad.

That's what surprised you the most after breaking up with JJ.

No tears. No aching. Just a breath you didn't know you'd been holding — finally exhaled.

The conversation had been mutual, quiet. Almost too quiet. Like you were both trying to let go without making too much noise. You'd been good friends once, before the relationship blurred everything. Maybe you loved the idea of being with JJ more than the reality of it. You cared, of course. But caring started to feel like parenting — like dragging someone behind you instead of walking beside them.

You'd catch him looking at Kie sometimes. Really looking. And something in your gut would twist. Not in a jealous way. In a clarifying way.

It wasn't you. It was her.

And that truth didn't shatter you. It set you free.

Which is how you ended up at Rafe's house, that same evening, sitting on his back porch while the late sun painted the sky in copper and honey. He had two drinks in hand — one for you, one for him — and that soft, guarded look in his eyes like he knew something was coming.

You hadn't said much yet. Just sat there, listening to the breeze rustle through the trees, your knees tucked to your chest, heart finally still.

"I ended it with JJ," you said, quietly, breaking the silence like glass underfoot.

Rafe turned his head slowly to look at you. You caught the way his mouth twitched — the faintest flicker of something between surprise and relief. But when he spoke, his voice was careful, gentle.

"Are you okay?"

You looked down into your drink, swirled the melting ice. "Yeah. I think... I've been okay for a while, honestly. I just didn't want to admit it."

Rafe nodded once, his fingers tapping anxiously against the glass in his hand. You could see him choosing his words, trying not to smile too obviously. But he wasn't good at hiding things from you. Never had been.

"You seemed tired," he said after a beat. "Not just... relationship tired. Like, emotionally burned out tired."

You smiled softly, sad but grateful. "I was."

Silence again. But this one wasn't uncomfortable. It was just thick. Like something real was waiting on the other side.

Rafe leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning to the sky. He didn't speak for a long time.

Then he did.

"I used to think love was supposed to hurt," he said quietly. "Because that's what I grew up watching. Screaming. Leaving. Blame. People walking out without saying goodbye."

You looked at him, heart tugging in your chest. You knew how hard it was for him to talk about things like this. Vulnerability wasn't something Rafe Cameron handed out easily.

"But then I met you," he continued, still not looking at you. "And you... you made it feel like maybe love could be something else. Something softer. Steady."

He turned then, really turned, eyes finding yours. Blue and burning.

"You sat with me when I was at my lowest," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "You saw me when I couldn't even look at myself. You helped me stop using. You never judged me. You never asked me to be perfect — just to be honest. You're the only person who ever climbed down into that dark place and didn't try to pull me out. You just... sat there. With me. Until I could stand up on my own."

Your throat tightened, and your grip on the glass slipped just slightly.

"I paid attention, you know?" he said, now leaning forward, his voice gathering weight. "To everything. Your favorite candy — Sour Patch Watermelon. Your favorite flower — white lilacs. The way your nose scrunches up when you're really smiling, like, genuinely happy. You always put others first. Even when you're breaking."

You didn't speak. Couldn't.

And then he said it.

"I love you."

Just like that.

"I've loved you for a long time. And I didn't say anything because... you were with him. And I didn't want to be another problem for you. But now, you're here. And I need you to know—being with you would be the most real thing I've ever known."

Your heart felt like it was cracking open. Not in pain. In something brighter. Warmer. True.

You set your drink down slowly, hands slightly shaking. "That's the thing," you said, voice raw. "I've been chasing something that looked like love for so long, I forgot what it was supposed to feel like."

You stood up, walked the few steps toward him. He stood too, eyes wide, breath shallow.

"I don't want perfect," you whispered. "I want real. And Rafe... being with you? That's the realist thing I've ever felt."

His lips parted, stunned. Hope blooming across his face like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

"You mean that?" he asked, like a kid afraid of dreaming too big.

You nodded, your voice barely steady. "I mean it."

And he didn't wait.

He pulled you into him like you were gravity and he'd been floating too long — hands in your hair, his forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking.

"I've waited so long to hear you say that," he whispered.

You smiled through the sting in your eyes. "Then shut up and kiss me, Cameron."

He did.

And it wasn't rushed. Or desperate. It was slow. Full. Real.

And in that moment, you knew—this wasn't the start of something new.

It was the beginning of what had always been waiting.