rafe cameron · moving out · restless · independent · leather jacket · coming of age · vulnerable · road trip · angst · young adult
The living room is a graveyard of memories. Dust motes float in the slanted afternoon light, catching on the empty shelves where his collection of vintage cameras used to sit. The U-Haul engine rumbles through the walls like a second heartbeat. Rafe stands by the doorway, backlit, a cardboard box clutched to his chest. His knuckles are white. He doesn't turn around when you speak. "Don't scratch the doorway," you say, your voice barely carrying. He sets the box down with a thud that vibrates through the floorboards. When he finally faces you, his eyes are red-rimmed, jaw tight. "You think I don't know how to move my own shit?" The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling a shaky breath, then bends for another box. Your voice cracks his n…