⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ rafe cameron gives me the chills ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

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【 SEASON EPISODE 1 PART 1 】

Dear Sarah Cameron,

I don't even know where to begin. I've never written anything like this before, but here I am, trying to find the right words to tell you how you make me feel. It's impossible not to notice you-how could anyone not? You walk into a room and it feels like everything else fades away. There's this glow about you, like the world shifts just to catch a glimpse of you.

Your smile, the way your eyes light up when you're laughing-it's beautiful, Sarah. Honestly, everything about you is. The way your hair catches the sunlight, how you carry yourself with so much confidence. You always seem like you have everything together, and I guess that's part of why I find you so... intoxicating. You have this effortless grace about you that I can't stop thinking about.

But it's not just that you're pretty, which you are. I know you probably hear that all the time, but you really are so much more than just a pretty face. I've watched how you treat people, even when others aren't paying attention. You're kind and strong and have this quiet fire inside you. I admire that about you more than you could ever know.

I don't know if you'll ever see this, or if you'll ever feel the same way about me. You probably won't, and maybe that's okay. Maybe I'll always be just someone watching you from a distance. But I couldn't keep these feelings inside anymore. You deserve to know that someone out there sees you for everything you are, and thinks you're incredible.

Yours,
Your secret admirer,
CLR

Clara slipped the letter into the mailbox, her fingers trembling as she hastily shut the metal flap. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in a golden glow, but all Clara could feel was a growing sense of unease. She grabbed her bike, ready to pedal away and get back to the Cut. She had promised her brother John B she'd be quick, but there was a knot of dread settling in her stomach, making her movements clumsy.

Just as she pushed off, her heart stopped-Rafe Cameron. His motorcycle rumbled from the corner of the street, and there he was, sitting tall on it, his eyes locked on her. Panic surged through her veins, and a small squeal escaped her lips as she pushed her legs harder, pedaling faster.

"Hey, Clare Bear!" Rafe's voice rang out, sharp and taunting.

Her breath caught in her throat. She stopped, knowing there was no way out now. Clara turned slowly, her pulse quickening as she saw him get off his bike, swaggering towards her. His steps were lazy, but the predatory gleam in his eyes told her everything she needed to know-Rafe was high, and he had his sights set on her.

Clara's mind raced. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped her handlebars, trying to calm the fear bubbling inside her. "What's a pretty girl like you, a pogue, doing on this side of the island?" Rafe's voice was smooth, but there was a menacing edge to it that made Clara want to crawl out of her skin.

Her voice wavered, but she tried to keep it steady. "Nothing, Rafe. I had to drop off some mail for someone, okay?"

She turned her bike, her foot finding the pedal, ready to bolt. But before she could move an inch, she felt his hand close around her arm, rough and unforgiving. Clara flinched hard, her body jerking in fear as his grip tightened. Her chest tightened in panic. "Rafe, please let me go," she whispered, her voice small and trembling.

Rafe looked down at her, his eyes glassy and cold, as if he were deciding whether to let her go or not. His fingers dug into her arm, sending a jolt of pain through her. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally let go. But the look in his eyes-dark and filled with something dangerous-lingered in the air between them.

"Word of advice," Rafe said, his voice dropping low, full of sinister intent. "Ditch that brother of yours, and maybe-just maybe-you can be a Kook." His lips curled into a twisted smirk as he stepped closer, invading her space, his breath warm and nauseating against her face.

Clara's stomach churned. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs as she stared at him, confusion and disgust swirling in her mind. "What does that even mean?" she managed to ask, her voice barely audible, as the realization of what he was implying hit her like a slap to the face.

Rafe's eyes sparkled with amusement as he winked at her. It was a slow, mocking gesture, one that made her skin crawl even more. He turned and walked away, running a hand through his hair as if nothing had just happened, leaving Clara frozen in place, bile rising in her throat.

Gross. Did Rafe Cameron, who's like 19, just flirt with me and suggest he has a thing for me? The thought alone made Clara's skin crawl. She couldn't believe it. She shuddered, shaking off the horrid feeling creeping up her spine.

Without wasting another second, Clara hopped on her bike, her legs burning as she pedaled furiously down the road, away from him and the suffocating tension. She pushed herself harder, trying to get as far from that encounter as possible. The wind whipped past her face, but it did nothing to cool the heated flush of anxiety coursing through her.

She needed to get to John B. She needed to clear her head before the meeting with the DCFS worker. But as she sped away from Rafe, all she could think about was his disgusting smirk and the way his grip had felt on her arm. The thought of seeing him again made her stomach twist painfully, and she knew one thing for sure-this was far from over.

Clara sat beside John B in the small, stuffy room, arms crossed, staring at the DCFS worker in front of them. Her patience was wearing thin. It had been nine months since their dad went missing, and they'd been fending for themselves ever since. The woman across the table, pulling her glasses off and looking at them seriously, didn't seem to care.

"John, Claire, it's come to our attention that you are both unemancipated minors living on your own," the woman said, her voice matter-of-fact. Clara and John B exchanged a quick, knowing glance.

"Oh, are we, John B?" Clara muttered sarcastically under her breath, throwing her brother a smirk. John B scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

"Exactly. No, no..." John B shook his head, clearly unimpressed. The social worker's expression hardened as she took in their defiance.

"Look, I need honesty to help you both. That's what we all want, right?" The social worker gave them a pointed look, as if she was waiting for them to slip up.

Clara shrugged, leaning forward with mock interest. "Yeah," she mumbled, though her tone was drenched in disinterest. John B barely looked at her, his face a mask of indifference.

"We're being honest," John B said flatly, and Clara nodded along, echoing his sentiment with a smirk. They had gotten good at this, presenting a united front. No one was going to tear them apart.

The social worker glanced between the two of them before pressing further. "Okay, then. When is the last time either of you spoke to your uncle?"

Clara blew a raspberry, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall, then over to John B. "What would you say, John B?" she asked, voice light, like they were talking about the weather.

John B gave an exaggerated look at his wrist as if he were wearing a watch. "Yeah, like... 34 minutes ago?"

The social worker frowned, not buying it. "When's the last time either of you actually saw him?"

Clara and John B shared another quick look, a silent agreement passing between them. Clara trailed off with a sly grin. "Two hours and...?"

"43 minutes ago," John B finished, nodding with mock sincerity.

The lies rolled off their tongues easily, but the social worker wasn't convinced. Her face hardened, clearly fed up with their antics. "John, Claire, we're going to come out there tomorrow to talk to your uncle. If he's not there, we're going to move forward with foster care."

Clara's heart dropped. Her eyes widened in alarm as the weight of the situation crashed over her. Foster care. The two words she feared the most.

"I want to assure you both," the social worker continued, her voice now annoyingly calm, "we're going to find you a safe and loving home. And we will try to keep you two together or at least near each other."

Clara slumped down in her chair, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. The memories of foster care before Big John and John B took her in came flooding back, all the fear, all the uncertainty. She hated it. She wasn't going back. She couldn't.

As soon as they walked out of the room and into the fresh air, Clara turned to John B, panic bubbling up. "John B, we have to find a way out of this. I hated foster care. I can't do it again, not after everything."

John B looked down at her, his face a mix of determination and worry. "Don't worry, Clara. I'll find a way. I won't let them take us apart."

Clara sighed in relief, trusting John B, but her mind was still racing. She needed to tell him something else, something that had been gnawing at her ever since it happened.

"Also..." she started, hesitating slightly, "I had a weird interaction with Rafe Cameron today."

John B's eyebrows shot up. "Rafe Cameron? What the hell did he want?"

Clara's skin crawled just thinking about it. "He...he was high or something, but he was being super creepy. He grabbed my arm and told me to ditch you and join the Kooks or whatever. He said something weird, like...like he had a thing for me."

John B's jaw clenched, his expression darkening. "That guy's a freak. If he ever tries anything with you, I will personally kill him."

Clara chuckled softly, knowing John B wasn't entirely joking, but his protectiveness gave her a sense of comfort. "Thanks, but... I don't think it'll get to that. Just... he gives me the chills."

As they walked, Clara kicked at a stray pebble on the ground, then groaned suddenly, remembering something else that had been bothering her. "Oh, and by the way, that social worker kept calling me Claire. Like, I told her multiple times, my name's Clara, not Claire. It's literally just Clara."

John B smirked, shaking his head. "People never listen, do they?"

"Nope," Clara muttered, trying to shake off the frustration, but the looming threat of foster care hung over her like a storm cloud.

They needed a plan. Fast.

It had been a few days since the storm hit, and Clara was finally waking up to the aftermath. She rubbed her eyes, groggy, and stepped out of bed, immediately hearing the howling of wind outside. The storm had passed, but the damage was evident. Branches, leaves, and debris were scattered across the yard of the Chateau, remnants of the hurricane that had battered the island. The upside? The whole foster care meeting had been postponed indefinitely, thanks to the chaos. Clara couldn't help but be grateful for that tiny silver lining.

She walked outside, still in her pajama shorts and an oversized T-shirt, her bare feet brushing against the cool ground. The air was thick with humidity, the aftermath of the storm making everything feel damp and heavy. The treehouse-her sanctuary-stood a little crooked now, a result of the fierce winds that had shaken it.

Clara stared up at it, a little unsure. The treehouse had been her escape since she was a kid. Every time life got a little too chaotic, she'd climb up there, sit with her thoughts, and write. Today was no different. She was feeling restless, so she decided to take her chances.

She climbed the ladder, feeling the wood creak beneath her weight, swaying slightly with every step. Her heart skipped a beat, and she almost reconsidered, but the sight of her old typewriter up there spurred her on. When she reached the top, she grabbed it and started climbing back down.

Just as she was halfway down the ladder, her foot slipped on a damp rung, and her body jolted, losing balance. For a second, she felt herself falling.

Then, a pair of arms caught her just in time.

"Whoa, careful there!" JJ's familiar voice came from below. He grinned up at her, his blue eyes wide with amusement as he steadied her. "You almost ate it, Clare Bear."

Clara's heart was racing as she looked down at him, clutching the typewriter close to her chest. "Thanks, JJ," she muttered, climbing down the rest of the way, her knees shaking slightly from the close call.

JJ gave her a sideways look as she dusted herself off. "You're welcome. What's with the typewriter, though? You planning to write again?" He shot her a charming grin, hands on his hips. "Come on, Clare Bear! Join us on the adventure. We're heading down to the river today. It's perfect out, no reason to stay cooped up."

Clara smiled at him, but she shook her head. "I've got to pass, JJ."

JJ groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. "Come on! You're no fun. You never come anymore."

Clara just laughed, shaking her head again. "I mean it, JJ. I've got... stuff to do."

"Ugh. Fine. Be boring," he teased, but his eyes were playful. "I'll catch you later."

With that, JJ jogged off toward the rest of the group, leaving Clara standing outside the treehouse, typewriter in hand.

She wandered back into the Chateau, the warmth of the place welcoming her as she made her way to the kitchen table. She pulled out her typewriter and set it down, fingers already itching to start. The clacking of the keys filled the space around her as she let her thoughts flow into the machine. She wasn't working on just any story-no, this was something far more personal. Love letters, to be exact. Love letters she could never send.

To Sarah Cameron.

As Clara continued typing, the house was still, save for the rhythmic clatter of her words being put on paper. She got so caught up in her writing, in expressing feelings she could never truly share out loud, that she didn't notice John B walking past.

"Whatcha writing, Clara?" John B asked casually, glancing over her shoulder as he sipped from a glass of water.

Clara squealed in surprise, slamming her hands down over the typewriter to cover what she had just written. "John B, go away! It's my diary!"

John B smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Your diary? Really? Since when do you keep a-"

"Go away!" Clara practically shrieked, her face flushing red. She quickly scooped up her papers and ran toward her room, clutching them to her chest as if her life depended on it.

She slammed the door shut behind her, locking it for good measure, and let out a sigh of relief. She could hear John B's laughter on the other side, and she buried her face in her hands, mortified.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," she muttered to herself, glancing down at the half-finished letter. The words she had typed felt raw and honest, but it wasn't something she could ever let anyone read. Least of all John B.

She leaned back against the door, her heart still racing, and sighed. Maybe one day she'd figure out what to do with all these unsent love letters. But for now, they'd stay her little secret.

ASH SPEAKS!

SOSO EXCITED FOR THIS FIC!!! next chapter clara will be involved more and she'll go to the party and admire sarah ofc

also rafe is a creep

i hope this fic doesnt flop! and please please dont be a ghost reader!! please interact, comment and vote!!!