Drew Starkey Imagines

Tan Lines And Trouble

The sky over the Outer Banks was that kind of obnoxiously perfect blue — cloudless, glowing, endless. The kind of summer day that almost dared you to be in a bad mood.

You were sprawled on an oversized beach towel, one leg kicked over the other, sunglasses slipping down your nose as the warm breeze danced across your sun-soaked skin. The sound of crashing waves mixed with the hum of laughter, the rustle of chip bags, and the pop of a cooler lid opening.

The Kooks and the Pogues had somehow — miraculously — agreed to share the stretch of beach for the day. It was chaotic, yes, but weirdly... kind of working.

JJ and Pope were setting up a game of spikeball near the dunes. John B and Sarah laid out as they ate the fruit bowl. Kiara was arguing about sunscreen ingredients with Topper, while your best friend was already on her third "just a sip" of a watermelon White Claw. You? You were caught somewhere between bliss and disaster.

Because, of course, Rafe Cameron was here.

And you weren't not together. But you also weren't exactly public. Or official. Or stable. It was complicated. Hot, fun, confusing. And today? It felt like a ticking time bomb.

⸻

The Good Part

The day had started off perfectly. Rafe had picked you up in the Jeep with the doors off, his arm resting on the wheel, your hair flying out behind you as you sped along the coast. He brought you a coffee — iced, almond milk, extra caramel — and even wore that beat-up grey shirt you loved because it made his tan skin pop.

You spent hours swimming, floating side by side in the ocean, laughing as waves smacked into your faces. He wrapped his arms around your waist, whispered dumb jokes in your ear, and spun you in the water until you begged him to stop.

It was like the world didn't exist beyond the sand.

⸻

The Turning Point

It all unraveled around mid-afternoon.

JJ made a sarcastic comment — something stupid, harmless, probably about Rafe's trust fund — and Rafe, as always, took it personally.

You tried to calm him down, placing a hand on his chest. "Babe, it's just a joke. Don't—"

But he was already halfway to JJ, jaw clenched.

"Say it again," he snapped. "No? Didn't think so."

JJ laughed. "Oh wow, we doing this again? It's like a summer tradition now."

"Rafe, stop," you said, grabbing his arm. "Seriously."

Pope and Kiara were already standing up, ready to intervene, and it suddenly felt like everyone was watching — like you were in it, no longer the neutral party.

"Jesus," you muttered, stepping away from Rafe, your cheeks flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the sun. "Why do you always have to escalate?"

"Why do you always take their side?" Rafe snapped back.

You blinked at him. Stung. Angry.

"They're not the ones causing a scene, Rafe. You are."

Silence. Heavy. Hot. Awkward.

Without another word, you turned and walked off down the beach, fists clenched, heart pounding. You didn't stop until the noise faded behind you, your toes sinking into damp sand, the only sound left the crashing waves and your own pulse.

⸻

The Quiet Part

You dropped onto the sand with a frustrated sigh, pulling your knees to your chest and staring out at the horizon. The sun had begun to dip lower, turning the sky soft shades of peach and lilac. Gulls drifted lazily above the surf. The tide lapped at the shore in a rhythm that almost made you forget the knot in your chest.

Almost.

You sat there for what felt like forever. Not crying. Just... quiet.

Then you heard footsteps behind you. Light. Hesitant. Familiar.

Rafe.

He sat down a few feet away, the space between you as thick as the humidity.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

You didn't answer right away. Just watched the sun dip lower, the light catching the tips of the waves.

"I just..." he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "I hate how they look at me. Like I'm just waiting to explode."

"Rafe," you said, voice flat, "You do explode."

He laughed under his breath. "Fair."

Silence.

"I know I messed it up. I didn't want to ruin the day. I just..." he trailed off, picking at a shell in the sand. "I don't know how to shut it off sometimes. The anger. The... whatever the hell is wrong with me."

You looked at him then. Really looked.

He wasn't angry anymore. He looked tired. Apologetic. Younger, even.

"I'm not mad because you yelled," you said. "I'm mad because you don't trust me. If you did, you'd know I'm not picking sides. I'm just trying to keep the peace."

His eyes softened. "I do trust you. I just... suck at showing it."

You let out a breath. The tide crept closer.

Then, finally, you scooted closer, brushing sand off your palms.

"I'm not asking you to change overnight," you said. "But I can't be the one constantly smoothing things over. You've gotta meet me halfway."

He nodded. "I will. I promise."

You leaned your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. The sun melted into the sea, leaving a golden shimmer behind.

⸻

The End of the Day

When you walked back to the group, the air was cooler, the vibe lighter. Someone had started a fire in a little pit made of driftwood and shells. Kiara tossed you a marshmallow and a wink. JJ gave Rafe a nod — still a bit tense, but willing.

You sat with your legs over his, sharing a beach blanket and a bag of chips.

Someone put on music — old rock and beachy classics — and the night settled around you like a soft hoodie. The kind that smelled like sunscreen, salt, and summer.

You left the beach with:
• Sand stuck in your flip-flops
• Salt in your hair
• A new tan line on your shoulder
• And your hand in Rafe's

You laughed with your friends all the way back to the car, tired and happy, like the kind of full only a summer day can give you.

Maybe not perfect.

But real.

And sometimes, that's even better.