Drew Starkey Imagines

Written in the Stars

The night was heavy with the hum of cicadas, the salty air of the Outer Banks curling around you like it had been waiting for this exact moment. The stars were scattered above, the kind of clear sky that always made you think of Rafe's mom—the woman who used to hold your hand when you were little and whisper, "It's written in the stars, you and Rafe."

You hadn't thought about those words in years. At least, not out loud. They were buried in the back of your heart, too painful to touch after the way things ended your senior year.

And now here you were. In Rafe's room, the air thick with all the years of silence between you. His cologne clung faintly to the sheets, and his hair was still damp from the shower, curling at the ends. His jaw was tense, but his blue eyes were glassy with something softer—something familiar.

The kiss had already happened. The kind of kiss that didn't ask for permission because it didn't need to. Years of history had carried you straight into it. It was desperate, hungry, full of all the words neither of you had said in years. But after, when the weight of it settled, you felt the storm in your chest.

You lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of yourself, when you heard his voice, low and uneven.

Rafe: "I need to tell you something."

Your heart stopped. Slowly, you turned your head toward him, your voice barely above a whisper.

You: "Tell me what?"

He sat up on one elbow, shadows sharpening the lines of his face, and you could see the tremor in his throat.

Rafe: "That I love you."

The words hit you like a tidal wave, flooding you with memories—backyard games when you were kids, his mom's warm laugh, the stolen glances in junior year, the heartbreak of your last goodbye.

Your lips parted. The question came out like a challenge, even though your heart already knew the answer.

You: "And?"

Rafe swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours.

Rafe: "And I wanted to know if any part of you still loved me?"

The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on. You blinked, staring at him, and for a second you didn't trust yourself to speak.

Rafe: (voice cracking) "You don't love me anymore?"

Your chest ached. The truth slipped out like a confession you'd been holding for years.

You: "I've always loved you. That's the problem."

His face softened, a hint of relief flashing through his pain.

Rafe: "I don't really think that's the problem."

Your voice rose, the emotions spilling out with no way to stop them.

You: "How are we supposed to know if we love each other because we want to and not because we were told to?"

His brows furrowed, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn't.

Rafe: "You think that I love you because when I was six years old my mom thought we should get married?"

Your throat tightened.

You: "No, that's not... that's not what I mean. I just mean if your mom hadn't gotten sick, would we have even gotten together? You know? Or would you just have gone off to football camp that summer and never looked twice at me again? If we didn't lose your mom, would it loom so large for us? What if—what if you only love me because that's what your mom wanted, and then your mom died?"

Your voice cracked, tears stinging your eyes. Rafe sat up fully, his face twisted in pain, his own voice breaking.

Rafe: "That is not... why I love you. I have tried everything—" his voice cracks, and he drags a hand over his mouth "—everything not to love you. For the sake of your goals, your dreams, for the sake of not dragging you down with me in my grief. I fought it way before the summer my mom got sick. You've always been... a precious person to me. I have always cared about you. And then at some point, I started to see you differently, and that scared me because I didn't want things between us to change. But the way I feel about you, Y/N, has nothing to do with my mom."

Tears slipped down your cheeks as he leaned closer, his voice trembling.

Rafe: "If I met you for the first time tonight, I would love you."

You shook your head, your heart pounding.

You: (whispering) "Come on, Rafe. I mean... how would you know that?"

His lips pressed together, his chest rising and falling like he was holding back a sob.

Rafe: "Because I've changed everything about myself, and the one thing that never changes is that I love you."

The room spun around you, the weight of his words pulling at every wound and every memory you'd buried. You looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time in years, you didn't just see the boy who broke your heart. You saw the boy who had loved you before he even knew what love was.

Your hand shook as you reached for his, and he grabbed it instantly, like he'd been waiting for it all this time. His palm was warm, grounding, real.

You: (softly, almost breaking) "What if we ruin each other again?"

Rafe's jaw clenched, and he leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice ragged.

Rafe: "Then I'll spend the rest of my life un-ruining you. I'll make it right. I swear."

Something inside you shattered, but it wasn't the bad kind of breaking. It was the kind that set you free.

You didn't answer with words. You kissed him instead. And this time, it wasn't desperate or rushed—it was steady, certain, like you were both finally choosing each other, not because of fate, not because of promises whispered under the stars, but because you wanted to.

Because after everything—after grief, heartbreak, and years apart—you still found your way back.

And maybe that was the point all along.