Euro trip blurb: late night talking

Masterlist can be found here!

Synopsis:If you’re feeling down, Rafe just wants to make you happier, baby.

a/n:the votes are in. Pre euro trip football blurb !

“C’mon. Swap with me.”

Noah tore his eyes away from the seating chart, surveying his best friend’s features with something akin to mild amusement. “Not sure that’s how it works, bud.”

“Want a bet?” Rafe challenged roguishly, cocking his head to one side, “go on, White. It’s just fucking calc.”

“Hey,” Noah shrugged, raising his arms in surrender, “it’s not like it’s up to me. Mrs Bright’s the one that put you beside Kelce.”

“And the one that put you beside Y/n,” Rafe pressed, eyes widening pointedly, “you’re not seriously going to —”

He was forced to falter as Noah’s palm made contact with his shoulder, grip punishing in an attempt to bring a halt to the conversation. A curt shake of his head, and Noah sent Rafe a meaningful glance, having registered you and Kelce walk into the classroom before he had.

Ironic, really, that he had clocked it first — Rafe was sure that your skin was magnetic; that his senses tended to note your presence before his conscious mind did. Relaxed features, and hair twisted back into a claw clip; something sweet in the air, and Rafe felt his eyes close a moment, taking his time to breathe this in. His figure was straightening just as you sidled in beside him, a crease in your forehead that had his thumb itching to smooth it out.

“Why,” you fixed Rafe with a pointed glare, as though he wasn’t halfway to dropping down on one knee and asking you to please (please) marry him, “are you guys congregating?”

“No reason,” Rafe shrugged easily, eyes alight with mischief. He dipped his head until his lips were at your earlobe, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin beneath it.

“On a completely unrelated note,” he added in a low murmur, and your peripheries blurred then, lashes dangerously close to fluttering shut, “do you have a pen? I need to make a few changes to this seating arrangement.”

The teasing lilt to his tone was enough to bring you out of your reverie, a huff escaping your lips as you separated from his figure.

“Ofcourse you do,” you scoffed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, “Rafael, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to sit beside Amber in your other classes —”

“Amber?” Rafe echoed bemusedly, allowing you space to step forward and pore over the chart. He took a pause before resting his hands on the table either side of you, broad chest warm and welcoming on your back, “what’s she got to do with anything?”

He bowed his head again, flirting with the idea of taking it a step further. “Pretty sure Amber isn’t the girl I’m going to marry, one day.”

You huffed another exasperated sigh, turning toward him with your arms folded across your chest. “And who is?”

A long pause, one that appeared to warp space-time a little. Rafe Cameron held the moon and the stars in his eyes, and you swallowed slightly, breath hitching as his gaze darted down to your lips.

“I think you know the answer to that question,” he said softly, and you wouldn’t have guessed that Kelce and Noah were still standing there — that you were still standing there, knees like jelly and conviction more than a little meek.

You shook your head in lieu of a response, peeling your eyes away from his features to concentrate on the seating chart. Spotting your name first, you sent Noah a polite smile, eyes flitting back toward the plan in order to find Topper and Kelce’s seats, too. Unbeknownst to you, Rafe was using the momentary pause to pull Kelce to one side, firm grip on his shirt collar as he lowered his voice to a desperate hiss.

“Smith,” he ordered, raising his eyebrows pointedly, “swap with Y/n.”

“Rafael,” you frowned, speaking up before Kelce could, “he’s not going to swap with you.”

Your eyes were still trained on the seating chart, bottom lip chewed raw as they settled on Topper’s name. Amber’s right beside him, and you were almost certain he was going to be pleased with the arrangement. The revelation settled heavy in your stomach, and the defeated exhale on your lips was enough to bring Rafe’s brows together.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned, abandoning his hold on Kelce to step back into your side.

“Don’t worry about it,” you muttered, turning on your heel just as he made to catch your wrist. There was a slump in your shoulders that hadn’t been there before; poorly hidden disappointment that appeared to intensify as Topper walked in.

“There you guys are!” He greeted easily, pulling you into his side, “how are we looking?”

“Hey,” you smiled weakly, a pained expression on your features, “good, I think. I mean — you’ll definitely be happy with the arrangement.”

“No he won’t,” Rafe said on instinct, absently tugging on the bill of his backwards cap, “Amber’s swapping with Kelce. Right, Smith?”

“I —” Kelce faltered a moment, sending Rafe a bewildered glance before realisation dawned on his features, “— uh, I guess?”

Topper surveyed Kelce’s features bemusedly, raising an eyebrow before looking toward the seating chart. “Aight. So we’re sitting together, then?”

Your gaze hadn’t yet left Rafe’s, and something within in softened then — an overwhelming sense of appreciation within it. “Mm-hm. And I’m with Noah.”

“Or,” Rafe added, the corners of his mouth twitching mischievously, “Kelce swaps with Amber, who then swaps with you —”

“Rafael,” you interrupted, the smile on your lips betraying your feigned indignation, “that is most definitely not happening.”

“Had to try,” he shrugged, sending you a wink that had you holding your breath, “but hey, no biggie. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of opportunities to sit beside you in all of my other classes —”

“Unbelievable,” you interrupted, shaking your head irately, “you’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“And you’re beautiful,” he responded effortlessly, falling into your step as you headed toward your seat, “and sweet, and trying to fucking kill me with this dress, and way too hot to sit beside White, and —”

“Like I said,” you repeated, seemingly unconvinced, unperturbed, and — well, and trying to ignore the fact that your heart felt the very opposite of those two words, “un-fucking-believable.”

—

You didn’t know Noah White without Rafe Cameron.

They were a package deal — always had been; the same, cocky personality emanating from two, equally handsome individuals. Perhaps that was why you had already written him off when given the opportunity to get to know him — same genre of trouble, same reputation you were looking to avoid, and same, tooth-aching sweet talk that made you feel like a prize.

Except, that he wasn’t. (And perhaps this was because Rafe Cameron wasn’t too; not in the brash sense, anyway, and especially not with you.)

Senior calc was quickly becoming one of your favourite periods, and you had Mrs Bright’s seating chart to thank for this perplexing new revelation. Because Noah White was actually pretty cool, once you gave him a chance — he was insanely good at maths, always had some gum in his backpack, and somehow knew about your broken headphones and brought you a spare pair, second week back.

He was also extremely perceptive — frustratingly so, and perhaps that was why a single glance in your direction brought a furrow to his brow. His gaze shifted past your figure, meeting Rafe’s a moment, before he was leaning right in, peering at the webpage you had open on your laptop.

“You good?” He whispered, speaking through the corner of his mouth in an attempt to remain discreet.

“Huh?” You questioned bemusedly, only just registering his presence, “oh — uh, yeah, no. I’m algood.”

Noah raised his eyebrows at your distracted expression, clearly unconvinced. “College admissions trouble?”

“Kind of,” you sighed, looking back toward the UNC webpage with a small frown on your lips, “just tossing up between a few options.”

“Ah,” Noah responded, sending you an apologetic smile, “well hey, if you ever wanna talk to someone about UNC, my older sister Em’s graduating from there this year.”

You perked up then, interesting piquing. “Is she?”

“Mm-hm,” Noah nodded, “she did a business degree, so I’m not sure how much help she’d be with —” he took a small pause, scanning the screen again in search of your chosen major, “— uh, Art History, but she could probably provide some perspective on the University as a whole.”

“Really?” You questioned, letting out a sigh of relief, “you sure she wouldn’t mind?”

“Nah, not at all,” Noah assured, bumping your shoulder affectionately, “she loves playing big sister. She’s home next week, too — she’ll be at the game if you wanted to speak to her about it in person.”

You nodded slowly, feeling your shoulders begin to relax. “That would be so amazing, seriously. Thank you Noah!”

“Hey,” Noah shrugged, grinning wide, “no biggie. Anything for the future sister-in-law.”

He raised his voice just enough for Rafe to hear the last few words, eyes alight with mischief as he registered your embarrassed groan.

“Unbelievable,” you huffed, feeling a familiar flush creeping up your cheeks, “un-fucking-believable, just like him.”

“White!” Rafe called, furrowing his brow in mock indignation, “stop harrassing my girl.”

“Rafael,” you frowned, fixing him with a pointed glare, “not your girl.”

“Sweetheart —”

“Not your sweetheart either, Cameron.”

—

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Rafe raised his head bemusedly, halfway through tying up his shoes when Noah’s words registered. “Huh? For what?”

“Dude,” Noah took a purposeful pause, lifting his eyebrows pointedly, “for being the best wingman in history, obviously.”

Rafe surveyed Noah’s features with mild interest, cocking his head to one side. “Go on.”

“Did you know Y/n’s considering UNC?” Noah responded, sending Rafe a meaningful glance, “because she is.”

“Fuck off,” Rafe breathed, feeling something strange and syrupy sweet settle in his veins. The prospect of separating for college in the future had been a source of significant chagrin all summer; he wasn’t sure he was capable of surviving without the promise of your presence — warmth and everything good in this world, soft skin and softer disposition. And though the thought of living without you wasn’t something he wanted to entertain, Rafe knew he wouldn’t dream of standing between you and the college of your dreams. Whether that be UNC, or somewhere else entirely, he would accept your decision — would live life alongside it. Alongside, but not truly within it; he couldn’t, not unless the moon and the stars willed it.

“I know,” Noah nodded, scanning Rafe’s features a moment before continuing, “she’s unsure, though, so I told her she should speak to Em.”

“Your sister Em?” Rafe questioned, cracking a roguish grin, “aw, my two favourite girls getting alon—”

“Is Rose coming tonight, Cameron?” Noah retorted, letting out a dramatic sigh, “reckon she’ll help me warm u—”

“Fuck off,” Rafe gagged, making a face, “you know I was just playing. Why do you always have to take it too far?”

“Because your step-mom is milf central,” Noah shrugged easily, deftly dodging Rafe’s punch, “can’t blame me, bro.”

“Anyway,” Rafe huffed, clearing his throat pointedly before continuing, “has Y/n spoken to her?”

“Nah, told her to find Em at the game,” Noah responded, straightening just as the rest of the team entered the locker room, “which means —”

“Kelce,” Kelce interrupted, raising his voice an octave in a mocking attempt to adopt your reproachful lilt, “please do not tell Rafael that I’m going to be attending the game tonight, because last time I came he was fucking insufferable and — blah blah blah, what’ll it take for you to leave her alone tonight, Cameron?”

“You know I can’t help it, Smith,” Rafe grinned, endeared by the mere thought of his name escaping your lips — as if that was fucking possible, “there’s just —”

“—something about her,” Kelce finished, lowering his voice, this time — gruffer and deeper, caveman-like.

“Exactly,” Rafe nodded, unperturbed by Kelce’s attempt to goad him, “can’t promise shit.”

“I don’t get you, Cameron,” Topper said then, half-amused, half-exasperated by Rafe’s inability to give up, “a million girls in this world —”

“— and none quite like her, you know?” Rafe interrupted, knowing exactly where Topper was going with this, “you don’t get me, Thornton, because you don’t get true love.”

Topper raised an eyebrow at that, sharing a bewildered look with the rest of the team before shaking his head. “Right.”

The rest of the team, barring two, extremely perceptive individuals. And it wasn’t a coincidence that Kelce and Noah looked to each other then — stupid, convoluted love, and it felt as though they were the only two that understood it, sometimes.

A distance away, the spectator stands were filling at an alarming pace. Privately, you never understood the novelty of watching sweaty guys tackle each other on dewy grass (it almost frustratedyou — although, that was another story entirely), but you had promised your best friends your unconditional support, and your unconditional support is what they would receive. The fact that Noah’s older sister would also be here was an encouraging plus; you were hoping to be introduced right after the game was finished, receive some clarity on a decision that was slowly gnawing your insides raw.

You managed to find a few girls from your class just as the first whistle was blown, preparing yourself for an hour or so of menial small talk and polite cheering. Scanning the field on occasion, you would manage to make encouraging eye-contact with Topper whenever he looked toward you — a small flutter, a twinkle in your eye, and something safe and familiar would settle in your stomach. It wouldn’t somersault, nor thrum right out of your chest, wouldn’t be jelly in your knees like Rafe’s brilliant blue gaze. Because though you managed to avoid looking toward his figure, the something strange in your veins made you feel as though his eyes remained on you. Not enough to be distracted, sure, but just enough for his movements to falter with yours.

You would furrow your brow (attempting to understand a game you had long since given up on), and Rafe would feel an overwhelming urge to smooth the creases right out. You would whisper something slight in Yasmin’s ear, and his eyes would flit to your soft lips then, agonise over how badly he wanted to kiss them. You would smile at something silly, cheer when the team scored, and on occasion, you would hug your waist tighter — shiver a little as the cool, night air wrapped around your figure.

“Oi!” Rafe called suddenly, eyes lingering on your figure as he raised his hands in a T, “ref — I need to call a time-out.”

The referee surveyed his features, bewildered, taking a small pause before reluctantly blowing his whistle. “You have a minute, captain.”

“Sweet,” Rafe sent him a thumbs-up, jogging back toward the sidelines where his drink bottle and jumper lay slumped on the bench. The rest of the team stood frozen on the field, sending each other equally perplexed looks before Noah cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Cameron!” He called, making for his figure when he didn’t receive an answer, “the fuck are you doing?”

Rafe grabbed his faded, football jersey before turning toward his best-friend, meeting his bewildered gaze with a relaxed expression, unperturbed by the interruption. “Getting my jumper.”

“You — what?” Noah frowned, perplexed, “you called a time-out because you were cold?”

“No, you fucking idiot,” Rafe snorted, shaking his head as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I called a time-out because Y/n was shivering.”

He turned around before Noah had a chance to protest, expertly traversing the stands until he reached your figure within it. Eyes wide and a grimace on your features, it was clear that you were more than a little embarrassed by Rafe’s decision.

“Rafael,” you hissed, and he was standing so fucking close, cologne and sweat and wonderful warmth clouding every one of your senses, “what are you doing?”

Rafe furrowed his brow a little at the question — your teeth were still chattering, eyes narrowed and something sweet on your skin; wasn’t it painfully clear why he was here?

“As much as I’d like to sit here,” he grinned, leaning in close until you could feel the heat radiating off his figure, “and warm you up myself, I have a football game to finish, sweetheart, so I thought I’d give you my jersey instead.”

“I’m not cold,” you muttered stubbornly, refusing to make eye-contact.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at the claim, placing the football jersey in your lap anyway. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you bit back, folding your arms across your chest, “and I would appreciate it if you didn’t call time-outs on my account, Rafael.”

“Not on your account,” Rafe shrugged easily, eyes twinkling a little, “mostly on mine. Pretty selfish, but I reckon my lucky charm wearing number fourteen would guarantee a win, don’t you?”

“Luckycharm?” You scoffed, fixing him with a pointed glare, “I’ve been to two games, maximum —”

“Not true,” Rafe winked, clutching his chest and pretending to swoon, “you’ve been on my mind during all of them.”

“Jesus, Cameron,” came a sweet voice behind you, speaking before you had a chance to, “Noah really wasn’t kidding, huh?”

You furrowed your brow at the sentiment, turning toward the source to find a gorgeous brunette already staring at you. She had the same eyes as Noah, gentle smile that relaxed your shoulders, and her gaze lingered a moment, mischief returning as she looked back toward Rafe’s figure.

“Don’t be jealous, Em,” Rafe grinned, straightening just as a warning whistle rang through the air, “you know you’ll always be my first love.”

“Alright, buddy,” Emma scoffed, shaking her head bemusedly, “now, for the love of God, please go back to playing football.”

“Yes ma’am,” Rafe nodded sagely, sending her a mock salute before jogging back down to the field.

The exchange had thrown you far more than you were willing to admit, and you found yourself staring down at the jersey on your lap — large and warm and him, with intent enough to drown out the second whistle. It was only when Emma tapped you on the shoulder that you were brought out of your reverie, turning back toward her with a weak expression on your features.

“Hey,” she greeted with a smile, pointing to the empty seat beside you, “mind if I —”

“No, yeah, of course,” you nodded eagerly, and another gust of wind then, one you refused to acknowledge in light of Rafe’s stupid fucking jersey in your lap.

She climbed into the seat from the one directly above it, surveying you a moment before responding. “You’re Y/n, right?”

“Right,” you affirmed, angling your body toward her, “and you’re Noah’s sister?”

“Em,” she corrected amicably, sending you another kind smile, “he told me about how you’re struggling a bit with college apps.”

You let out a defeated sigh, absently chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Just a little unsure about where I’d fit best.”

Emma nodded in understanding, mouth half-open in response with she registered the way you were shivering.

“You know,” she said, raising an eyebrow knowingly, “you’re allowed to put on Rafe’s jersey if you want.”

“I don’t,” you scowled, resisting the urge to make a face, “not Rafael’s.”

Emma surveyed you with mild amusement, taking a pause to look toward the field. She caught Rafe’s gaze just as the team scored, his eyes widening pointedly as he mouthed an isn’t she fucking perfect?

She laughed then, a little endeared by his earnest expression, responding a teasing she’s way out of your league, bud before turning back toward you.

“Fair enough,” she nodded sagely, “he’s a bit of a pest, that one.”

You smiled then, crinkling your nose playfully. “Pretty sure he gets a kick out of harassing me.”

“Ah,” Emma said, eyes twinkling a little, “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“No,trust me,” you assured, sending her a meaningful glance, “you should see the way he is when we’re in class. He’s —”

“If it’s anything like,” she gestured toward the jersey on your lap, huffing a laugh, “that,then I’m sure harassing you is the last thing he wants to do.”

“You can’t know that,” you frowned, refusing to relent.

“You know,” she said then, pointing toward his figure in the distance, “I’m pretty sure he’s going to get a kink in his neck from how often he’s looked in this direction so far.”

“But seriously, Y/n,” she continued, smiling knowingly, “I’ve know Rafe for a long, long time. And not once have I seen him act like this over a girl.”

You swallowed slightly, a heat in your cheeks as you shifted your gaze toward the field. There Rafe was, combing calloused fingers through sweaty hair, ruggedly handsome as ever as he sent you a cheeky grin. I hope she helps you with your decision, he mouthed then, brilliant blue gaze never wavering, I hate seeing you stressed out.

You crinkled your nose at him, features bright enough to make him swoon. He was halfway to calling another time-out, halfway to pretending to get down on one knee — halfway to actually getting down on one knee when you tore your eyes away from him, a smile on your lips that hadn’t been there before.

“Um, right,” you responded awkwardly, eager to change the subject. It did funny things to your chest, made your skin feel warm and your mind grow hazy. “Anyway, I, um, I’d love to hear a little bit more about your experience at UNC.”

“Yeah, of course,” Emma nodded, all-business now, “do you have any specific questions before I go on my spiel?”

“Well,” you faltered a moment, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, “I was hoping to do an Art History degree —”

“Oh, one of my sorority sisters did Art History!” Emma exclaimed, smiling wide, “she really really loved it, one of the best programmes in the country I hear.”

“Yeah?” You responded eagerly, leaning right in, “I — I really want to go, but my dad’s a UPenn alum, and he kinda wants me to follow in his footsteps. I just… I don’t know, I guess I wanted to know whether UNC’s worth fighting for.”

Emma was patient and kind in a way you weren’t used you; you hadn’t grown up with an older sibling, the only sage advice you ever received from a parental figure that thought they knew better. You ended up voicing concerns that didn’t just pertain to UNC, but to college as a whole — she was gentle, she was understanding, and you found yourself leaning into her presence in a way you didn’t think possible. She provided you with a fresh perspective on college; on how different life was when you escaped the Figure Eight, and the impossible expectations that came with it. You were so engrossed in the conversation that you were still chatting when the football game came to an end, traversing the stands side by the side to join the crowd congregating on the field.

It was only when Noah’s sweaty figure approached you that you were finally forced to halt, sending him a grateful smile as Emma pulled him into a hug.

“You played like shit,” she teased, ruffling his hair a little, “waste of my fucking time, if you ask me.”

“Fuck off, Em,” Noah scowled, enough height on him to tower over her figure, “you peaked in high-school. I know you secretly love finding excuses to come back here.”

He turned toward you then, raising his eyebrows at your jersey-clad figure. “No longer shivering then, Y/n?”

You grimaced sheepishly, hugging your arms around your waist on instinct. “Hey — its not like I asked him to call a time-out.”

“Worth it,” came a soft voice in your ear, broad chest against your back, warmth and musk and alluring charming prompting you to lean back inadvertently, “besides, it looks way better on you than it does me, sweetheart.”

You turned your head then, frown faltering as you registered how close his face was to yours. The phantom of his lips on your earlobe, and his hand came to rest on your hip then, steadying your figure just as you felt your knees buckle at his proximity.

“Here,” you swallowed, tugging at the frayed hem on instinct, “you can have it back —”

“No way,” he breathed, lips parting slightly, “you need to keep it on for a few more hours, at the very least.”

You could feel your lashes fluttering at the words, and you almost didn’t notice Emma and Noah discreetly rejoin the crowd. They had disappeared from sight before you had a chance to protest — it was just you and Rafe now, and your peripheral vision blurred at the thought.

“Why?” you said weakly, his fingers like fire on your skin.

“Because,” Rafe inched impossibly closer, eyes flitting down to your lips, “that way, when you give it back to me, it’ll smell like you.”

You pressed your palms against his torso half-heartedly, feeling something syrupy erupt in the middle of your chest. “Rafael.”

“Y/n,” he teased, a small smile on his lips, “did speaking to Em make you feel better?”

You nodded a response, creating some distance between your figure and his. “Mm-hm.”

“Good.”

“Good?” You echoed bemusedly, raising an eyebrow at the sentiment, “why do you care?”

“Because,” Rafe shrugged simply, brushing his thumb against the contour of your cheek a moment, “you seemed a little down in math the other day. And I just wanted to see you happy again, you know?”

—

tags:@milkiane@destourtereaux@euphoriapillz@thesimpletype@starkeybae@tempo-rary-fix@girlsneedloovee@skiesvibesss@lilacsandwhiskey@estrellarimar@fallinmaris@atlabeth@mackenzielovee@novxturient@drewstarkey@marveloussensations@heyaitsklaudia@peachyxrosie@itssoweirdyoureher@jordynsharum@gillybear17@emotionalbruv@truewdw1@writingsbehaviour@r0und3bitch@itsalexwin@notdisneychannel@lovedetlost@wrathspoet@browneyedboys