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lizziesangel · 1 month ago

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RAFE CAMERON ⟢ the language of roses

x FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: your entire life rafe had been giving you roses in different colours, but you never knew what he really wanted to say

WORD COUNT: 3956

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: english is NOT my first language, soft!rafe cameron, oblivious!reader

rafe cameron was the kind of kid who never sat still. always running, climbing, jumping off something too high just to prove he could. but there was one thing he always slowed down for: you.

you didn’t know why, back then. it wasn’t like you’d done anything special. you were just the girl who lived two houses down, the one who tagged along on all his adventures because you were good at keeping up. you’d follow him through the woods behind the cameron house, across the sandy dunes near the water, and even onto the roof of the clubhouse his dad had built in their backyard.

but every so often, he’d stop, like he’d remembered something important, and he’d disappear for a minute or two.

the first time it happened, you were seven. you’d been playing hide-and-seek in the cameron yard, and you’d been crouched behind the garden shed for what felt like forever, waiting for him to find you. when he finally did, he was grinning, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead. in his hand was a single yellow rose.

“what’s that for?” you’d asked, wrinkling your nose.

“it’s for you,” he said, holding it out like it was no big deal.

“why?”

he’d shrugged. “just ‘cause. you’re my best friend.”

that became his thing.

when you scraped your knee climbing a tree, rafe handed you a yellow rose from his mom’s garden and said, “it’ll make you feel better.”

when you had to spend a week at your grandparents’ house and came back sulking about missing the beach, there he was with another yellow rose.

“what does it mean?” you’d asked one day, sitting cross-legged on his bed as he sorted through his pokémon cards.

“what?” he asked, not looking up.

“the roses. why do you always give me yellow ones?”

he paused, his hands stilling. “it’s just… you know. the prettiest one i could find.”

“oh.”

he’d gone back to his cards, but you’d stared at the flower on the bedside table, something about it making your chest feel funny.

by the time you were ten, the roses felt like part of your routine. if you had a bad day at school, rafe would show up with one tucked behind his ear, waiting for you at your front door.

“here,” he’d say, handing it over with a grin. “it’s magic. makes everything better.”

“that’s not how magic works,” you’d reply, but you always accepted it anyway.

it wasn’t just the big moments, either. sometimes he gave you roses just because. like when you’d meet him at the playground on a sunny afternoon, or when he’d knock on your window late at night to tell you about a new fort he wanted to build in the woods.

“another one?” you’d tease, twirling the stem between your fingers.

“yep.”

“what’s it for this time?”

“i dunno. just wanted to give it to you.”

you never questioned it. rafe was rafe. the roses were just part of the deal.

but one day, when you were twelve, something changed.

he’d been quiet all afternoon, which wasn’t like him. usually, rafe was the loudest person in the room, always cracking jokes or talking a mile a minute. but that day, as you sat side by side on the dock near his house, he barely said a word.

“what’s up with you?” you asked, nudging him with your elbow.

“nothing,” he muttered, staring at the water.

“you’re lying.”

he looked at you then, his blue eyes serious in a way that made your stomach flip. after a long moment, he reached into his bag and pulled out another yellow rose.

“here,” he said quietly.

you took it, studying his face. “rafe, what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” he said again, but this time, he gave you a small smile. “i just wanted you to have it. that’s all.”

you didn’t push him. instead, you leaned your head against his shoulder, the rose resting in your lap.

“thanks,” you whispered.

“anytime,” he replied.

by the time you were twelve, the yellow roses were a part of you. a part of him. they showed up in places they didn’t belong—pressed between notebook pages, tucked into old shoeboxes, even wilting in jars on your windowsill. you didn’t really know why you kept them, but you couldn’t throw them away. they were yours.

but then, something changed, again.

it happened on a random summer afternoon. the sun was blazing, and you were sprawled out in the cameron backyard, sipping lemonade while rafe fixed the broken tire swing.

“you’re gonna break your neck,” you called out, watching him balance precariously on the wooden frame.

he rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. rafe never did listen to you when it came to stuff like this.

when he finally hopped down, covered in dirt and grass, he didn’t head straight for the lemonade like you expected. instead, he disappeared into the house without a word.

“what are you doing?” you shouted after him, but he didn’t answer.

a few minutes later, he came back, holding something behind his back.

“close your eyes,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.

“why?”

“just do it!”

you sighed but obeyed, covering your face with your hands. “this better not be another bug.”

“it’s not,” he promised, laughing. “okay, open.”

when you did, he was standing there with a single white rose.

“what’s this for?” you asked, staring at the delicate petals.

he shrugged, looking almost shy. “just thought you’d like it.”

“but… why white?”

“i dunno,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

you didn’t know what to say, so you just smiled and took it from him, your fingers brushing against his for half a second. you didn’t notice the way his cheeks turned pink, or the way he stared at you a little too long before turning back to the swing.

that was the first white rose.

after that, the yellow roses didn’t come often anymore. instead, you’d find white ones—on your doorstep, in your locker, or handed over with a casual, “here, this is for you.”

you never asked why.

by the time you were fourteen, white roses were the new normal. rafe had grown taller, his voice deeper, his confidence sharper. but when he gave you roses, he was still the same boy you’d known forever.

“for me?” you asked one day, twirling the stem of yet another white rose.

“who else?” he replied, grinning.

then came your sixteenth birthday. you didn’t expect anything big—just a day at the beach with rafe, like always. but when he showed up at your door, he wasn’t empty-handed.

“what’s this?” you asked, staring at the bouquet of pink roses in his hands.

he shrugged, but his usual confidence was missing. “birthday gift,” he said, thrusting them toward you.

you took them, your heart racing. “they’re… really pretty.”

“yeah, well. so are you.”

the words hung in the air, heavier than they should’ve been. you stared at him, your cheeks burning, and for the first time, you didn’t know what to say.

by the time you were seventeen, things had changed. it wasn’t just the way you and rafe had grown up—it was the way he’d changed.

you could see it the moment he introduced her—lily, the new girl with the perfect hair and the perfect laugh and the perfect smile. she was everything you weren’t, and you hated how easily rafe seemed to fall for her.

but that wasn’t the worst part.

the worst part was that the roses stopped.

it was a sudden thing. at first, there were other flowers—a bouquet of daisies here, a random tulip there—but never roses. not the yellow ones you’d grown used to, not the white ones or the pink ones that had become a quiet declaration between the two of you. just... no flowers.

at first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. it didn’t. rafe had a girlfriend now.

he didn’t owe you roses anymore.

but you missed them. you missed the thoughtfulness, the friendship, the feeling that, no matter what, you still had a place in his life.

and then the your biggest fear came true—he stopped being your friend altogether.

lily didn’t like how close you and rafe had been. she didn’t want him hanging out with his girl best friend anymore. so rafe, being rafe, did what he always did when he felt cornered: he let go.

you didn’t get it at first. he’d stopped answering your texts, stopped showing up at the usual spots. at school, he’d walk by you without even looking up. you’d sit at lunch, watching him and lily from the other side of the cafeteria, and it made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t explain.

there were no more texts to plan beach trips or late-night talks. no more spontaneous hangouts. nothing.

you tried reaching out once, twice, even three times, but it was always the same—short answers, distant replies, the kind that made it clear he didn’t want to try anymore.

it was too painful. so you stopped trying.

instead, you focused on other things—other people.

it wasn’t like you didn’t have friends, but the friends you had before had always been people who had fallen into your life by default. you had never needed to work for them. they were always there, easy to hold on to. but now, as you walked down the hallway of your high school with a new group of girls—girls who wanted to be your friends, who made an effort to include you, to laugh with you, to spend time with you—you realized something important.

you were learning to let go too.

the girls were different. they were fun and supportive in ways you hadn’t realized you were missing. no one ever told you to back off from their boyfriends. no one ever gave you that uncomfortable look when you were laughing too loudly with one of the guys in the group.

it was easier, in a way. no complications. no unspoken feelings. just fun, carefree friendships.

but you couldn’t help but feel that gnawing ache in your chest whenever you saw rafe and lily together. it was like a quiet reminder that everything between you and him was over.

and then, one day, you saw it.

lily posted a story on instagram—a picture of a vase of flowers. they were bright and pretty, but there was something painfully obvious about them. they weren’t roses.

never roses.

they were daisies. lilies. tulips.

anything but roses.

you looked over at your new group of friends—laughing at something ridiculous, pulling you into their conversation—and for the first time in a long while, you realized something important: you were okay.

no, you weren’t fine. you missed rafe. you missed your best friend. but you weren’t going to stay in the past.

there was a part of you that hoped rafe would realize what he’d lost, that maybe, one day, he’d come back and apologize. but for now, you had other things to focus on.

and maybe that was enough for now.

but still, you didn’t expect to see rafe cameron waiting for you after school.

the day had been uneventful—just the usual classes, the usual laughs with your friends, the usual reminder in the back of your mind that rafe wasn’t part of your world anymore.

but there he was. leaning against the wall near the parking lot, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his hair a mess like he’d been running his fingers through it all day.

your first instinct was to ignore him. he hadn’t spoken to you in months. months. he’d chosen lily, chosen her rules, chosen to let go of everything you’d shared.

but something about the way he looked—lost, broken, sad—stopped you.

you stepped closer, hesitant. “rafe?”

his head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. for a second, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“hey,” he said finally, his voice hoarse.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your tone sharper than you meant it to be.

he flinched, but he didn’t back down. “i... i needed to see you.”

“why?”

“because—” he broke off, running a hand through his hair. “because i screwed up. and because i didn’t know where else to go.”

you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way your chest tightened. “what about lily?”

he laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “she’s gone. we broke up.”

“oh.”

you didn’t know what else to say. part of you wanted to walk away, to tell him it wasn’t your problem anymore. but the other part—the bigger part, the one that still cared—couldn’t do it.

“come on,” you said, jerking your head toward your car.

he blinked, surprised. “really?”

“yeah,” you muttered. “let’s go.”

the drive back to your house was quiet, the air between you heavy with things unsaid. when you got home, you led him to your room, just like you always used to.

he sat on the edge of your bed, looking around like he couldn’t believe he was there again. “you changed it,” he said, his voice soft.

“yeah,” you replied, sitting cross-legged on the other side. “it’s been a while.”

he nodded, staring down at his hands. “i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

“for everything. for shutting you out. for choosing her. for being an idiot.”

you didn’t say anything, letting the silence stretch between you.

“i missed you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

you looked at him then, really looked at him, and you saw it—the boy you’d grown up with, the one who used to make you laugh until your stomach hurt, the one who always brought you roses.

“i missed you too,” you admitted.

his head snapped up, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you said, smiling faintly. “but you’re still an idiot.”

he laughed, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed.

you talked for hours, just like you used to. about everything and nothing, about the way life had shifted and the things you’d both been through. it was easy, familiar, like slipping back into an old rhythm.

when he finally stood to leave, you followed him to the door, your heart heavier than you wanted to admit.

“thanks for... for letting me in,” he said, his hand lingering on the doorknob.

“you’re always welcome,” you said softly.

he nodded, gave you one last look, and then he was gone.

when you turned back toward your room, something caught your eye—a splash of color on your bed.

frowning, you walked closer, and your breath caught in your throat.

a single purple rose rested on your pillow.

you picked it up, your fingers trembling as you held it to your chest.

you sank onto the bed, staring at the flower, your mind spinning.

he hadn’t said it, but he didn’t need to. the rose said everything he couldn’t.

and for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you and rafe weren’t finished after all.

by the time you were eighteen, you and rafe had found your way back to each other.

it hadn’t been easy, not at first. there were awkward silences, half-finished sentences, and moments where you both stumbled over how to act around each other. but slowly, the cracks healed. the space between you shrank. and before you knew it, you were best friends again, just like you’d been before everything fell apart.

except now, things were different in a way you couldn’t quite put your finger on. it wasn't different as in your roses changed from yellow to white, it was just... different.

rafe spent more time with you and your friends than he did with his own. he’d show up at your place unannounced, invite himself to girls’ nights, and make himself at home in your little world. your friends loved him—who wouldn’t? he was funny, charming, and could win over just about anyone with a crooked smile and a well-timed joke.

and then there were the roses.

at first, it had felt like slipping back into an old routine. rafe had always given you flowers—yellow for friendship, white for something deeper, pink for gratitude and love. so when he started showing up with four roses every time he saw you, you didn’t think much of it.

a pink rose, soft and sweet. a white rose, pure and delicate. a yellow rose, bright and cheerful. and a dark pink rose, richer, deeper, full of meaning you didn’t quite understand.

“what’s this for?” you’d ask every time, your voice teasing.

“do i need a reason?” he’d reply, smirking as he handed them over.

you’d roll your eyes, tuck them into a vase, and move on.

it wasn’t until one friday night, when rafe wasn’t there, that your friends brought it up.

you were sprawled out on your living room floor with your two best friends, abby and jen, eating popcorn and flipping through magazines. the absence of rafe’s usual presence was noticeable, but you didn’t mention it.

“so,” abby said, sitting up and tossing a kernel into her mouth. “are you and rafe, like... a thing?”

you blinked, startled. “what?”

jen raised an eyebrow. “you and rafe. are you dating?”

you laughed, the sound a little too loud. “no. what? no way. we’re just friends.”

“just friends?” abby repeated, her tone skeptical.

“yes,” you said firmly. “we’ve been best friends since we were kids. that’s all it is.”

jen exchanged a look with abby, then turned back to you. “okay, but... the roses?”

“what about them?”

“he gives you flowers every time he sees you!” abby said, throwing her hands up.

“so? he’s always done that.”

“always?” jen asked, her eyes wide.

“yeah,” you said with a shrug. “since we were six.”

both girls gaped at you like you’d just confessed to a crime.

“you’re telling me,” abby said slowly, “that rafe cameron has been giving you flowers for twelve years, and you’ve never thought it was weird?”

“it’s not weird,” you said defensively. “it’s just... a thing we do. it doesn’t mean anything.”

“it definitely means something,” jen said, crossing her arms. “guys don’t give roses to their best friends for over a decade unless they’re in love with them.”

“he’s not in love with me,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“babe,” abby said, leaning forward. “dark pink roses? those mean, like, admiration and gratitude, but also... y’know. romance.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words stuck in your throat.

“and white roses? purity. pink? love. yellow? friendship. he’s literally giving you every part of him in flower form,” jen added.

you stared at them, your mind racing.

“he’s... he’s just being rafe,” you said weakly.

“exactly,” abby said. “and rafe is in love with you.”

their words echoed in your head long after the conversation ended, and when you went to bed that night, your eyes drifted to the vase on your desk.

four roses. pink, white, yellow, dark pink.

you’d never questioned them before. but now, for the first time, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was more to them than you’d ever let yourself believe.

your nineteenth birthday was minutes away, and you were already in bed.

well, technically you were sitting on your bed, legs crossed, scrolling through your phone while waiting for the clock to hit midnight. your hair was twisted into perfect curls, your nose strip was firmly in place, and your face was freshly moisturized—your skincare routine impeccable as always.

you weren’t expecting anything. your friends had already promised to make a big deal out of it tomorrow, and you figured the actual moment of your birthday would pass quietly, just you and your phone and a sleepy smile.

but then you heard the faint scrape of your window.

at first, you froze. was someone trying to break in?

“relax,” came a familiar voice, low and teasing. “it’s just me.”

“rafe?”

you slid off your bed, rushing to the window to find him perched on the ledge, one hand gripping the frame, the other holding something behind his back.

“what are you doing?” you hissed, trying to keep your voice down. “it’s midnight!”

“exactly,” he said, flashing that boyish grin that always got him out of trouble. “happy birthday.”

you blinked, completely thrown off. “you climbed up here for that?”

he shrugged, effortlessly pulling himself through the window and into your room. “you’re worth it.”

“you’re insane.”

“and you’ve got... something on your nose,” he said, his gaze locking onto the strip.

your cheeks flushed. you’d completely forgotten about your skincare situation.

“oh my god, i look ridiculous,” you muttered, turning away from him.

“no, you look... like you,” he said, his voice softer now.

you glanced back at him, narrowing your eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i like you better like this,” he said simply. “no makeup, no filters, just... you.”

before you could respond, he brought his hand forward, revealing the bouquet he’d been holding.

“here,” he said, holding it out to you.

you stared at it, your heart doing a strange little flip. the roses were beautiful—soft pastel purple, deep dark purple, a single vivid red, and of course, the familiar yellow.

“rafe,” you whispered, taking them from him. “you didn’t have to—”

“yeah, i did,” he cut you off. “you deserve them.”

“rafe...” you started, but the words wouldn’t come.

he shrugged like it was no big deal, but the way he looked at you told you otherwise. “happy birthday,” he said again, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.

you stared at him, your heart thudding in your chest. the weight of the flowers in your hands, the warmth in his gaze, the fact that he’d climbed through your window just to be the first to see you on your birthday—it was all too much and somehow just enough.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice unsteady.

he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as you clutched the bouquet.

“you’re everything to me, you know that?” he said, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

your heart stopped for a moment, then started again, faster, louder.

“rafe...”

he shook his head, his hands moving to gently frame your face. “you don’t have to say anything. just... can I��?”

he didn’t finish the sentence, but you understood.

“yes,” you breathed, barely able to get the word out.

he leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, but you didn’t. when his lips brushed yours, it was soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

but then you kissed him back, and something inside both of you broke free.

the roses slipped from your hands onto the bed, forgotten as you melted into him, your arms winding around his neck, his fingers tangling gently in your curls.

when you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing heavily, the world outside your room completely forgotten.

“happy birthday,” he whispered again, his smile so full of affection it made your chest ache.

“best one yet,” you replied, your own smile matching his.

and as he stayed by your side, your head resting on his shoulder, the roses scattered around you, you couldn’t imagine a better way to start a new year of your life.

and for years, you kept them all—pressed between the pages of your favorite books, tucked into jars on your windowsill, little pieces of rafe that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

because to him, you were.

#lizzieswrites𝜗𝜚 #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n

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