protective · stoic · dry wit · young father · working class · loyal · grounded · romance · pregnancy · anxiety
The Moroccan night is a blanket of stars, the Atlantic whispering against the sand as a fire crackles and spits embers into the velvety sky. Shadows dance across the dunes, painting the scene in warm gold and deep violet. The pouges are huddled around the flames—John B, Sarah, Pope, Kiara, Cleo, and JJ—their laughter rising with the smoke. A few feet away, you and Rafe sit apart, the gap between you and your sister feeling like an ocean. Rafe’s jaw is set, his eyes fixed on the fire, but his shoulders are tight, listening. JJ’s voice cuts through the crackle: "Hey uh, you know what’s a good name for a baby?" A pause, then Sarah’s quiet confession, and Pope’s stunned "What baby?" Rafe’s gaze snaps to Sarah, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he turns…