Season 2 Rafe Cameron In A Button Down Has Me On My Knees

season 2 rafe cameron in a button down has me on my knees

#i have a theory that its his dads shirt

#major daddy energy

#the fact that he would run his thumb over my lip and pull me closer and i would let him

#sprinkle sum knife kink

Euro Trip

(the lurkymurker legacy, part 1/4)

a/n: the day has come !!! hope that wave of nostalgia hits you the same way it did me (and even more so hopefully, minus all the profuse cringing at how different my writing used to be)

“I have bad news.”

You glanced up from your vintage magazine, propping yourself onto your elbows to better survey Kelce’s features. “How bad?”

Kelce paused, wincing pre-emptively before responding. “Bad.”

“Well, spit it out, Kelcey,” Topper inclined, eyes narrowing as he leaned back on his desk chair. “We need to focus.”

“So…” Kelce started, tugging at his shirt collar nervously. “My dad… his business —”

“Kelce,” you warned, jolting upright. “Don’t you dare say it —”

“— he wants me to intern over the summer,” he finished, deftly dodging the rolled up magazine you threw his way. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re saying no.”

“You know I can’t fucking say no, Y/n.” He sighed, collapsing onto the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. “He’s a fucking Figure Eight patriarch. You don’t just say no to him.”

You shared a knowing look with Topper, softening momentarily as you stole a glance as Kelce’s helpless figure. Slowly, you inched closer to him, reaching out a timid hand to give his back a gentle pat. “We know.”

“When do you have to start?” Topper questioned, making his way toward his bed. “Maybe we can cut the trip short, you can do both? Uh…”

“I wish,” Kelce muttered, raising his chin ever so slightly. “He wants me to start, like, the day after graduation.”

“But graduation is tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And...” you gesticulated helplessly, feeling your long awaited summer plans slipping through your fingers, “…and we’re meant to leave the day after graduation.”

“I know.”

You frowned, absently chewing on your bottom lip. “So, what? We’re cancelling?”

Kelce straightened, fixing you and Topper with a pointed glare. “No way. We’ve been planning this trip forever. You guys aren’t cancelling because of me.”

“But…” you started, jutting your bottom lip out obstinately, “…we can’t go without you. You’re our best friend.”

“Exactly,” Topper hastened, feeling the tips of his ears redden almost instinctively. “We’re not doing that.”

He paused, brow furrowing in concentration. “You haven’t sold the ticket, or anything, right?”

Kelce quirked an eyebrow, surveying Topper’s expression in interest. “No. Why?”

“Send it to me,” he said simply, stealing a glance at you before continuing. “I can, uh, sort it out for you.”

“Okay.” Kelce half-shrugged, pushing himself off the blue comforter. “Will do.”

You chewed on your bottom lip nervously, eyes darting between their broad figures. “Why doesn’t Kelce just sort it out?”

“It’ll get my dad some, uh, frequent flyer points,” Topper offered lamely, combing his fingers through his hair. “That’s all.”

And though you nodded reluctantly and decided to drop the subject, you weren’t quite able to shake the butterflies that settled in your stomach. You’d known Topper and Kelce your whole life, having spent most of your childhood traversing the Figure Eight alongside their motley crew. You were a legendary, Kook trio; impossible to separate, and almost never seen apart.

The almost came when you entered your high-school years, busying yourself with academics whilst the boys gained friends a different way. You didn’t approve of anyone they met on the football team, having experienced a particular jarring feud with one in particular — the frustrating and equally infamous Rafe Cameron.

“Y/l/n!” Rafe called teasingly, eyes raking over your figure as you strode past. “Go out with me.”

You stumbled to a halt, folding your arms across your chest before turning toward him. “Why are you speaking to me, Cameron? I thought we had an agreement.”

“Your bestie here doesn’t stop talking about you,” he replied easily, tugging Topper into view by his shirt collar. “He failed to mention how much hotter you’d gotten over the summer, though.”

Making a face, you fixed Topper with a pointed glare, nose in the air as you pushed past him. “It’s not happening, Cameron.”

“Suit yourself.”

Rafe Cameron was the definition of a high-school douchebag. When he wasn’t flitting between girls and dominating party-goers in games of beer pong, he was getting high in a corner of every room and stumbling around like he owned the Figure Eight. His smug awareness of his father’s power was perhaps his most infuriating, personality trait; he was Ward Cameron’s only son, heir to the Development Firm that controlled every part of Kildare Island. Despite his frustrating presence, you weren’t quite sure that you hated him; you would have to think about him, you see, to elicit such strong emotions. No. Rafe Cameron wasn’t on your radar, and you planned on keeping it that way for as long as humanely possible.

“So, what’s with Y/l/n, anyway?” Rafe frowned, taking a lazy swig of his beer. “Is she always that mean?”

Kelce stifled a laugh, quirking an eyebrow at the taller boy before responding, “Why do you care?”

“Because she’s not obsessed with him, obviously.” Topper laughed, speaking over Rafe’s weak splutter with a grin. “Not happening with her, buddy.”

Rafe ignored him. “You guys are her friends. Set me up.”

Topper’s eyes widened, sharing in Kelce’s bewildered expression before speaking letting out a simultaneous “No way in hell!”.

“Why?” Rafe scowled, eyeing your figure keenly from a distance. “What’s wrong with me?”

Topper swallowed, well aware of the power Rafe held on the island. “Nothing.”

“Exactly,” Rafe replied simply, squashing the can in his hand and aiming it at the nearest bin. “One date.”

You had, of course, promptly refused when they had asked, ignoring their pleading in lieu of having a normal sophomore year. There was a poetic irony in the way his interest was conveyed through the voice of Topper Thornton; you had been smitten with the latter, you see, for as long as you could remember.

Yeah, you loved Topper Thornton. You had loved him since he had rebuilt your poorly made sandcastle in the OBX summer kids programme of ’08 (because what eight year old isn’t absolutely smitten by quick solutions), and you would probably love him till he was old and grey and married to someone that wasn’t you. Sure, you loved Topper Thornton. That didn’t mean he had to love you, too.

Eventually, the exchange had faded into the distance, junior and senior year proving challenging enough without the extra baggage. You didn’t realise that Rafe hadn’t stopped thinking about you, amongst the mess, resigned to stolen glances and school projects forcing you into his proximity.

“Y/l/n!” He smirked, tongue pressed into his cheek as he looked over the project pairings. “We’re together.”

You groaned, burying your head in your hands as he settled in the seat beside you. “Of course we are.”

You inclined your head, brow furrowing at the sound of Topper’s chuckle. “Shut up, Topper.”

“All I’m saying is —” Topper shrugged, giving Rafe a sideways glance, “— manifestation definitely doesn’t work.”

Rafe frowned, readjusting his backwards cap as he turned toward you. “Manifestation?”

“Let’s just do the project,” you muttered, keenly ignoring his questioning tone. “Sooner we finish, the better.”

Rafe had thoroughly enjoyed it, of course, spending more time perfecting the project with you than he had on all his other assignments combined. When you had taken his hand at the end of your presentation, curtseying to the sound of your teacher’s claps, he was sure that his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

Yeah, Rafe Cameron loved you. He had loved you since you had argued your way out of a detention freshman year (because what fourteen year old isn’t in awe of a powerful woman?) and he would probably love you until you were old and grey and married to Topper Thornton. Sure, Rafe Cameron loved you. That didn’t mean that you had to love him, too.

Letting out a desolate sigh, you peeled your body off Topper’s comforter, reaching down to grab the old magazine before placing your hands on your hips. “Anyway, I better go. Dinner’s soon.”

Topper nodded slowly, sliding his phone out of his back pocket. “Yeah, fair enough.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Kelce said, giving you a mock salute as you walked backward to the bedroom door. “And sorry, again.”

Scrunching up your nose, you simply nodded, waving a hand in farewell before disappearing into a hallway. “Apology not accepted, Kelcey.”

Once Topper was sure you were out of sight, he hastened to unlock his phone, scrolling through his many contacts before settling on Rafe Cameron’s number.

“Bro.” Kelce frowned, glancing down at the bright screen. “What are you doing?”

“This is perfect,” Topper said, hitting him square in the chest. “He can use your ticket.”

Kelce let out an exasperated snort, a perplexed expression painted on his features. “Are you fucking good?”

“Come on, it’s perfect,” Topper pressed on, his brow knitted ever so slightly. “We force them together, and they’ll have to get along. Besides, I’m fucking sick of Y/n separating the group.”

“There is no group,” Kelce retorted, crossing his arms across his chest. “You just want to get in with Rafe and his little posse.”

“So?” Topper argued, finger hovering over the send button. “We’re all going to UNC next year. He can get us into a good frat, I bet.”

Kelce pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a defeated sigh. “You know what? Do what you want. I just want no part in it when Y/n murders you in her sleep.”

Slowly, he pushed himself off the blue comforter, arms raised in surrender as he backed out of the large room. “Bye dude, good luck.”

“It’ll be fine,” Topper lilted, trying his best to appear surer than he felt. “Trust me.”

Looking down at Rafe’s number, he let out a harsh breath, eyes squeezed shut as he punched his forefinger on the send icon.

Topper: what are u doing over break?

Rafe: whos asking

Topper paused, swallowing several times before typing out a reply.

Topper: y/n…

Rafe: im listening

Topper: me, kelce and her had a euro trip planned for the summer. kelce can’t go anymore, so we have a spare ticket

Rafe’s eyes widened as he stared down at the bright screen, bottom lip pressed between his teeth as he hastened to respond.

Rafe: no way y/n would agree to me coming

Topper: we can figure that out later

Topper paused, a guilty ache settling in the bottom of his stomach.

Topper: anyway, we’ll be together all the time. no way anyone can dislike someone that long, right?

Though the question appeared rhetorical, it was more a weak plea than a steady vote of confidence. Despite this, Rafe nodded slowly, allowing himself to believe the statement despite its numerous faults.

Rafe: when do we leave ?

Topper: right after grad. sending the info now, brother

__

“Come on,” you huffed, dragging Topper and Kelce toward the school photographer. “It’s graduation. We have to take a photo together.”

Topper nodded, taking a minute to ruffle his blonde locks before following you into the sunlight. He slotted into your left side, Kelce promptly taking the right to sandwich your shorter figure between them. Beaming, you beckoned the photographer closer, squinting into the OBX sunshine as the three of you posed.

“Now a silly one!” Kelce teased, giving you a sideways glance before poking out his tongue. “Right, Y/n?”

“Oh, shut up Kelce,” You retorted, biting back a laugh at his feigned indignation. “C’mon, where’s the party?”

Topper paused, sharing a nervous look with Kelce before responding. “Rafe’s…”

You made a face, grimacing at Rafe’s figure in the distance before turning toward them. “Let’s not go. Let’s do something, just us three.”

“The whole school will be there, Y/n,” Kelce chided, throwing a strong arm around your shoulder. “I doubt you’ll see him with that many people around.”

“He has a funny way of finding me no matter what,” you muttered, heels dragging against the dewy grass as he guided you to the carpark. “Whatever. I just won’t go.”

“Y/n,” Topper inclined, opening the passenger’s side door expectantly. “We’re not celebrating graduation without our best friend.”

“Oh, so I am still your best friend?” you challenged, jutting out your bottom lip obstinately. “Because you and Kelce having gotten alarmingly close with Cameron, as of late.”

Kelce swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he recalled the previous days exchange. “Not true.”

“Yeah, no way,” Topper added hastily, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “He’s just on the football team with us.”

You narrowed your eyes, giving their figures a wary once-over. “Why are you acting weird?”

Topper cleared his throat, promptly shoving you into the back seat of the car. “We’re not. Hurry up. We’re going to be late.”

“I hope we are late,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as they buckled themselves in. “You’re lucky, you know.”

Kelce frowned, cocking his head to one side. “Why?”

“I’d be putting up more of a fight if I wasn’t so excited about our trip.”

“Which...” you added, glowering at Kelce’s mildly amused features. “You aren’t even going on. So, you’re already pushing it.”

“Oh, Y/n,” Topper murmured quietly, the sound of the ignition drowning out the rest of his statement. “You cannot fathom the extent to which we are pushing it.”

__

Rafe watched you lamely squash the white claw in your palm, biting back a laugh at your concentrated features.

“Need another, Y/l/n?” He called easily, arms raised in surrender as you flashed him a scowl. “Just a question.”

“I have plenty,” you retorted, wincing at the dangerous slur to your tone. “Might not need any more, anyway.”

“It’s Dom…” he lilted, flashing the expensive bottle in your face. “You can’t say no to Dom.”

Knitting your brow, you nodded slowly, allowing him to guide you through the living room and into the kitchen. Topper and Kelce were already leaning against the long table, champagne glasses raised expectantly as they beckoned you over.

“What are we toasting?” You frowned, accepting a flute reluctantly. “What are we toasting, with him?”

It was no secret that intoxicated you had no filter; Topper and Kelce had spent numerous high school parties attempting to do damage control as you ran your mouth. They loved you for it, of course; it was a rarity to see you undo your impossibly tight ponytail and let down your hair. In this instance, however, the statement did little to quell the awkwardness in the air.

“Well, about that…” Topper started, his eyes darting between you and Rafe nervously. “Kelce isn’t coming on the trip, of course —”

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed airily, punching a manicured finger into Rafe’s shoulder. “What’s that got to do with Cameron?”

You paused, fixing Rafe with a pointed glare. “He’s your friend, not mine.”

Rafe quirked an eyebrow, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. “You know. You’re hot when you’re angry.”

Rolling your eyes so dramatically your head hurt, you turned toward Topper, champagne sloshing dangerously against the sides of the flute glass. “If this is a lame attempt to make us get along —”

“You get along,” Rafe interrupted, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips. “I get along with you perfectly fine.”

Topper cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, this isn’t the lame attempt, actually.”

He hesitated, attempting to protect his torso from the inevitable blows to come. “Rafe’s coming on the trip.”

“Excuse me?” you whispered, your voice dangerously low. “Why?”

“It was his idea,” Kelce hastened, acutely aware of your narrowed eyes. “Don’t look at me.”

“Topper,” you glowered, hating how handsome he looked in his tailored suit. “Why?”

Topper squeezed his eyes shut, fingers pressed against his temple as he responded. “Look. You’re both my friends.”

“Debatable,” you said in unison, eyes flitting toward the other momentarily. Rolling your eyes at Rafe’s smirk, you stepped toward your best friend, hardly audible as you spoke through gritted teeth. “And?”

“This is a good way for us to all get along,” he continued, nodding pointedly as Rafe’s figure behind you. “Rafe doesn’t have a problem with it, do you?”

“It’ll be fun.” Rafe shrugged, raising his champagne glass expectantly. “Toast?”

You forced a smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before pivoting on your heel. “Fine. Come.”

“But I’m still mad at you —” You punched an accusatory finger into Topper’s chest. “— and I am most definitely not toasting it.”

“Oh, and Cameron?” you continued warningly, pressing your body against his chest in an attempt to intimidate him. “If you pull anything on this trip —”

“Can’t concentrate when you’re this close to me, sweetheart,” Rafe murmured, acutely aware of his clear view of your cleavage. “You’re going to have to repeat that.”

You gaped at his lewd manner, folding your arms across your chest before stepping backward. “Will you ever change, Cameron?”

“Maybe for you,” Rafe responded easily, flashing you a wink before continuing. “Anyway. What were you saying?”

You huffed, nose in the air as you pushed past him. “Just, don’t be yourself when we’re away. And we’ll be okay.”

“For you, anything!” Rafe lilted, raising a hand in farewell as he disappeared through the door. “It’s going to be great.”

“Overkill,” Kelce muttered, taking a sip of his Dom Perignon. “You can’t be all or nothing with Y/n.”

“Yeah,” Topper agreed, gesturing between him and Kelce. “Take it from us.”

Kelce quirked an eyebrow at the sentiment, surveying Topper’s solemnity with amusement. “From you.”

Topper scoffed, avoiding eye contact as he downed his champagne in one go. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The fact that she’s in love with you, obviously,” Kelce said, wincing almost immediately as he registered Rafe’s frown. “It won’t go anywhere, though.”

“Yeah.” Topper nodded, offering a half shrug. “I’m not interested. She’s all yours.”

Rafe simply raised his eyebrows in response, taking a swift gulp of his champagne before looking back at the door. “She doesn’t even like me.”

“You have two months, buddy,” Topper said, snatching the expensive bottle from the countertop. “I’ll even be your wing man.”

“Deal,” Rafe agreed after a beat, letting out a harsh breath. “Even just to be friends.”

Kelce gave Rafe’s shoulder an affectionate pat, raising his flute in the air. “To friends.”

And as you stormed through the living room and settled on the old swing on the deck, you almost frowned at the range of emotions Rafe Cameron had elicited from the depths of your gut. You had once sworn he wasn’t on your radar, that he wasn’t important enough to think about, let alone loathe this fervently.

Perhaps as long as humanely possible was coming to its very end; Rafe Cameron was here, and he was here to stay.

__

“Ah, Paris,” Rafe hummed, squinting slightly as he stepped out of the airport. “The city of —”

“Nope,” you interrupted firmly, a manicured hand pressed against his chest. “Stop. You’re not ruining this moment for me.”

He caught your hand in his, signet ring cool against your knuckles. “— love.”

Frowning, you promptly snatched your hand away, ignoring the familiar flush that was threatening to creep up your cheeks, “or light.”

“Or light.” Topper nodded nervously, tugging at his shirt collar as he separated you and Rafe. “Anyway… let’s get a cab.”

Offering a simple huff in response, you strode toward the cabs parked in the distance, quick and purposeful with your nose in the air. “Well, c’mon.”

“Dude,” Topper hissed, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Overkill.”

“What?” Rafe half-shrugged, clutching his bag in one hand and yours in the other. “Girls love it.”

“Yeah, for a hook-up,” Topper quipped, keeping a keen distance from your figure. “Is that what she is to you, another girl on the list?”

“No!” Rafe exclaimed quickly, threading his fingers through his hair. “No. Of course not.”

“Then take it slow,” Topper replied firmly, breaking into a jog to catch you up. “Trust me.”

“Trust you with what?” You frowned, hands on your hips as you turned to face them. “The only person he should be trusting in a foreign country is me.”

You paused, eyes twinkling mischievously as you gave Topper a once-over. “You don’t even know the fucking itinerary, Thornton.”

And though the sentiment should’ve provided Rafe with a vote of confidence, he knew that it wasn’t for him; it absolutely couldn’t be, not with Topper around. The lilt in your tone, the teasing smile playing on your features, you had never looked at him like that; it was how he looked at you, never the other way around.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, awestruck as you gazed out at the view. “Isn’t it so beautiful?”

Rafe paused, lips parting slightly as he took you in. The early morning light was just beginning to illuminate your features, your eyes wide and your lips slightly softer than usual (as if that was fucking possible). So beautiful, he wanted to say, his eyes trained on you as he spoke. You, he would reiterate, not the view, of course; Rafe had been on far too many private jet rides to be impressed by the low horizon.

Instead, he resigned to clearing his throat, peeling his eyes away from your frame to squint toward the bright sunrise. “Yeah. Cool.”

“I demand more enthusiasm,” you half-teased, half-reproached, frowning slightly as you turned toward him. “Rafe. What’s that face?”

“What face?” Rafe shrugged, tugging at the crown of his baseball cap. “There’s no face.”

You cocked your head to the side, unconvinced by his response. “Rule #1. No making that face.”

“Rule #1, Cameron,” you warned, voice raised to bring him out his reverie. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Rafe nodded slowly, throwing his bag into the boot before sidling into the backseat. Craning his neck, he bit back a laugh at your concentrated features, determinedly hunched over a small tourist guide as you tried your hand at French. “Uh, bonjour monsieur? The address, um, I mean, l’adresse, is…”

You faltered, tongue held between your teeth. “Um, l’addresse is…”

Rafe shuffled toward the middle seat, leaning in as he addressed the driver. “Bonjour monsieur, je m'excuse pour le mauvais français de mon ami.”

He flashed the driver an apologetic smile, inclining his head ever so slightly before continuing. “Pouvez-vous nous déposer à l'hôtel Malte?”

“Oui!” The driver smiled, pushing the key into the ignition. “Merci, monsieur.”

Giving you a satisfied nod, Rafe sat back, matching your quirked brow as you turned toward him.

“French?” you accused, narrowing your eyes at his smirk. “Oh, don’t look so pleased, Rafael.”

“You’re welcome,” he lilted, grinning cheekily. “Maybe it should be you trusting me, sweetheart.”

Promptly reddening, you folded your arms across your chest, rolling your eyes before turning back to the front. “I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Yeah, not ye —”

Rafe hesitated, meeting Topper’s fixed glare with exasperation, “— what?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, hitting him square in the chest. “Seriously.”

Clearing his throat, Topper tapped your shoulder, raising his voice slightly in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “I always thought guys who spoke French were meant to be hot.”

You crinkled your nose, knowing where this was going. “Yeah, actual French guys —”

Turning, you punched a finger against the breast pocket of Rafe’s polo, “— not Mr. I’ve-had-a-private-tutor-since-I-was-six.”

“Oh?” Topper cocked his head, mouth twitching knowingly. “So… what? You’re going to hook up with a bunch of French dudes while we’re here?”

“Why?”

You faltered, tips of your ears warming. “What… are you, um, jealous?”

Topper spluttered, shaking his head at the question. “What? Why would I be jealous?”

“I was just kidding.” You coughed awkwardly, missing the way Rafe frowned. “Obviously.”

Rafe blinked several times, glancing between you and Topper before breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Obviously?”

“Obviously,” Topper affirmed, nodding lamely as he gazed out of the windows. “So, what’s the itinerary for today?”

“Oh — uh, right,” you started, unlocking your phone perhaps a little too enthusiastically, “well, I don’t have anything specific planned for today, because I knew we’d arrive late afternoon, so we could —“

“Nap?” Topper offered as the cab slowed to a stop. “Please?”

“Well...”

You chewed your bottom lip nervously, not wanting to waste any of your precious time stuck inside the hotel room. “I kind of want to explore, but —”

“Rafe can go with you!” Topper interrupted, placing a punishing grip on Rafe’s shoulder. “Right?”

Rafe brightened, stepping out of the car and grabbing his bag. “Right.”

“It’s fine,” you huffed, struggling against the weight of your own. “I can go on a walk by myself.”

“Yeah,” Rafe nodded solemnly, ignoring your protests as he took it from your hands. “I’ll just go on a walk too.”

“Alone, Rafael,” you warned, folding your arms across your chest. “Right?”

“If we’re walking 2 meters apart, that counts as alone, right?” Rafe teased, deftly dodging the punch you aimed at his shoulder. “Oh relax, I won’t come. I need a nap, anyway.”

“Fine.” You sighed defeatedly, heading toward the front desk with the boys close behind you. “We’ll all just nap, then.”

“Together?” Rafe baited, biting back a laugh at your prompt scowl. “Kidding, kidding.”

Once you had received your keys and deposited your luggage into the porter’s trolley (alongside a wealthy tip, courtesy of Rafe Cameron, of course), you headed for the glass elevators and up to your floor. Kelce’s pre-emptive decision to have separate rooms (“I for one, would like to hook up with hot Europeans chicks when we’re away”) was proving surprisingly beneficial in the present moment, Rafe’s pout contrasting your deadpan as you disappeared through adjacent doors.

With your room sandwiched between the two boys, you couldn’t help but feel stifled by the feather thin walls that separated you. “Rule #2. No being vocal, when you, you know.”

“Y/n!” Rafe exclaimed faux-scandalised, tone lilted teasingly. “It’s only day 1 and you’re already thinking about me having sex?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, pounding a fist against the wall. “Nap.”

“That’s my side, buddy.” Topper winced, already halfway collapsing onto the bed. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, putting on an alarm as you slid under the comforter. “Two hours, yeah?”

“Two hours,” they confirmed in unison, allowing their eyes to close.

__

“Hold on!”

You shoved your lip-gloss into the black handbag, hopping around the large room in an attempt to slide into your boots. Once you were sure you had everything, you twisted your hair into a claw clip, the summer heat making it near impossible to let out the frizzy locks.

“Okay,” you sighed out finally, greeted by Topper and Rafe’s figures as you closed your room door. “Here. Let’s go.”

Topper quirked an eyebrow at your dress, giving you a brief once-over before clearing his throat. “That’s new.”

Cheeks warming, you nodded, smoothing out your summer dress nervously. “Uh, yeah. Too much? Probably too much, right? Maybe I should change —”

“No,” Rafe interrupted, sending Topper a bewildered glance. “C’mon.”

Throwing a strong arm around your shoulder, he guided you down the hallway, turning briefly to mouth an exasperated “what was that?” before punching the down button on the elevator.

Topper offered a half-shrug in response, the tips of his ears reddening as he gazed at the teasingly low back of your dress. “So, uh, where are we going?”

“I’m sure we’ll find a place,” you answered, peeling Rafe’s arm off your shoulder. “I can walk without your guidance, Cameron.”

“Huh?” Rafe balked, suddenly too-aware of the fragrant scent of your perfume. “Oh. Right. I know.”

Ruffling his floppy hair, he watched the elevator doors open, gesturing you in before following suit. “Restaurant? Bar?”

“Both?” Topper added hopefully, grinning down at you before continuing. “You know, the drinking age is 18 here.”

“Not that 21’s stopped us before,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I didn’t wear a dress for nothing.”

“Aw.” Rafe pouted, eyes raking up and down your figure. “And here I thought it was for us.”

Narrowing your eyes, you gazed up at him, swallowing slightly at the height difference. “Rule #3. No douchebag comments.”

“No promises,” Rafe replied easily, arms raised in surrender as he registered your glare. “Kidding, sweetheart.”

“Rule #4,” you added with a frown, punching a finger into his chest. “No sweetheart.”

“Darling?”

“No.”

“Love?”

“Rafael,” you gritted out, arms crossed as you stepped out of the elevator. “I’m serious.”

As you strode through the foyer, you turned, walking backwards with narrowed eyes. “Rule #1, Cameron.”

Rafe faltered, nodding reluctantly as he fixed his gaze on the horizon. “Can’t help it, Y/l/n.”

“Well help it, buddy.”

Topper gazed between your figures bemusedly, falling into Rafe’s step as you walked through the double doors. “Rule #1?”

“Don’t even ask.” Rafe grinned, fiddling with his signet ring. “Something about a face.”

He paused, cocking his head to one side. “Which reminds me.”

Holding his arm against Topper’s chest, he forced him to halt, lowering his voice ever so slightly before continuing. “What was that, before?”

Topper furrowed his brow, seemingly perplexed as he met the taller boy’s eye. “What?”

“The dress comment?”

Rafe frowned, eyes darting between you and Topper. “You sure you don’t have a thing for her, bro?”

Letting out a nervous laugh, Topper gave Rafe’s back a pat, jogging slowly to catch up with you. “Trust me. I don’t.”

But as he swung his arm around your shoulder and slotted you into his side, Rafe couldn’t help but meet Topper’s affirmation with reluctance, despite the steadiness of his tone. Letting out a laboured sigh, he quickened his pace, resigned to reading between the few lines he had received from the perplexing exchange.

“How about Le Bistrot Flaubert?” Rafe offered, pointing into the distance as he took your other side. “Food is really good. Bars nearby.”

You knitted your brow, surveying Rafe with interest. “How do you know France so well?”

“My mom’s side is from here.” Rafe shrugged, jamming his hands into his pockets. “Used to come here a lot as a kid.”

“Not that much anymore, though,” he added, more to himself than anyone else. “Nice being back.”

You nodded, squinting at the large restaurant in the distance. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

__

By the time you had polished off your meals, the last sun rays were dipping over the horizon, leaving the sky a brilliant purple against the cool, night breeze. Smacking his lips appreciatively, Rafe raised a signet ring clad finger, the bright gold glinting in the light as he gestured for a waiter. “Cheque, please.”

“How do we split this?” You frowned, squinting at the foreign cheque bemusedly. “I can barely read it.”

“I got it,” Rafe replied easily, shoving his card into the folder and handing it back to the waiter. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Rafe,” Topper said, sharing in your reproachful expression. “We’ll pay you back.”

“You can get the drinks,” Rafe dismissed airily, grabbing his Patagonia before getting to his feet. “A lot of them.”

Furrowing your brow, you stood, shivering instinctively as you hugged your chest. “Fine. Drinks.”

Once Rafe had retrieved his card, he followed you and Topper onto the main street, the numerous lanterns and fairy lights doing a convincing job of replacing the sun’s illumination.

Grumbling slightly, you pulled Topper and Rafe into either side of you, using their broad figures to block the cool, night breeze. “Extremely unfair how much heat you guys are radiating right now.”

“Jacket?” Rafe offered enthusiastically, pressing his Patagonia against your chest. “I don’t need it.”

You rolled your eyes at his fervency, shaking your head ever so slightly. “And suddenly, I’m extremely hot again.”

Rafe paused, smirking knowingly before responding. “True.”

“Rule #3 Cameron,” you chastised, quickening your pace to pull away from them. “That was a douchebag comment.”

“You are though!” Topper added lamely, matching Rafe’s gait as they caught you up. “About being hot.”

You stumbled to a halt, eyes widening at the remark. “What?”

“Yeah.” Topper nodded easily, not quite realising the effect he had on you. “You look good.”

Satisfied to have diffused the tension, he threw his arm around your shoulder, guiding you toward a queue of scantily clad figures in the distance. “There’s a bar. Let’s go to a bar.”

Willing your heartbeat to slow, you nodded, absently reaching for Rafe’s hand to ensure he was close behind. “C’mon, Rafael.”

Topper quirked an eyebrow, flashing Rafe a knowing smile. “Yeah. C’mon, Rafael.”

Loosening his grip on your shoulder, he nodded pointedly at your entertwined fingers, discreetly raising his arms in surrender before making for the boozy bar.

Brow knitted at the loss of contact, you attempted to match Topper’s pace, unknowingly (endearingly) dragging Rafe flush against your side in the process.

“Shit. Sorry,” you muttered awkwardly, snatching your hand away from his. “Just didn’t want to lose you.”

Rafe laughed, clutching at his chest dramatically. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” you quipped, slotting behind Topper’s figure in the line. “Just being a decent human being.”

“No one is ever a decent human being to me,” Rafe responded, wincing slightly at how depressing the statement sounded. “Except for, you know, Sophie at after grad, in my bathroom —”

“And he’s back,” Topper joked, biting back a laugh at your scowl. “I mean, ‘god, Rafael, rule #3!’”

“Oh, shut up, Topper,” you deadpanned, feigning indignation. “Don’t act like you weren’t jealous Rafe got with the hottest girl in our year.”

“Untrue,” Rafe murmured, his voice almost inaudible against the bustle. “Not the hottest.”

You flushed, willing yourself to remain nonchalant. “That’s a convenient line.”

“Huh?” Rafe frowned, bowing his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“As if you haven’t used that line on every girl in our graduating class.”

“Haven’t had to,” Rafe shrugged, eyes widening slightly at the poor choice of words. “I mean, that’s not what I meant–”

You simply rolled your eyes at the admission, pressing a soft hand on his chest. “Used to it.”

Once at the front of the queue (surprisingly fake ID free), you managed to traverse the busy bar and settle against the drinks counter in the corner. With Parisian beverages clutched in either palm, you made your way back outside, managing to find a small table that overlooked the cobbled street.

Rafe raised his cognac based drink expectantly, watching you and Topper sidle into your seats before speaking. “Toast?”

You nodded appreciatively, biting back a smile before raising yours in turn. “What should we toast?”

“Friends?” Topper offered, missing the way your eyes flickered disappointedly. “To friends!”

“Friends,” Rafe echoed, his eyes trained on you, and yours on Topper. “Or more?”

Winking, he clinked his glass against yours, ignoring Topper’s outstretched arm to down it in one go. “I need another.”

Topper hurried to do the same, grabbing Rafe’s empty glass as he stood. “I can do it.”

He paused, meeting Rafe’s eye pointedly. “You guys stay. Right here. Together.”

You frowned, watching him disappear into the bar as you sipped your fruity drink. “Should I be downing my drink too?”

“Yes,” Rafe instructed faux-solemnly, eyes bright as he gazed down at you. “You’re already behind, Y/l/n.”

Craning your neck at the crowd, you nodded, wincing slightly as you downed the French Martini. “I’ll go find him. Get myself another drink.”

Right, Rafe thought, smile slipping as you stood, because being alone with Topper is infinitely better than being alone with me.

“I’ll come too,” Rafe said, hoping he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt. “We should stick together.”

Not quite listening, you waved a small hand in the air, heading toward the door with Rafe on your heels. “Yeah, sure.”

Pushing your way through the building crowd, you managed to find Topper leaning against the drinks counter, catching him just as a French girl was sidling into the seat beside him.

“Hey! Topper!” you called self-consciously, acutely aware of the way his eyes widened at her figure.

Reluctantly, he looked past her, meeting your eye with a frown. “I thought you guys were waiting outside.”

“Yeah.” You nodded tentatively, placing your drink on the counter. “I needed another too, though.”

The French girl glanced between your figure, surveying you with amusement. “Americans?”

Rafe smiled, taking her hand to place a chaste kiss on her knuckle. “Oui.”

“Of course, of course, so many this time of year,” she dismissed airily, winking as she turned to Topper. “When did you arrive?”

“Today,” Topper replied, handing Rafe his drink distractedly. “Just got here this morning!”

“Perfect!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands as she gestured the server over. “We’ll have to make your first night very special.”

Topper lowered her outstretched palm, sidling his seat closer to hers. “Allow me. What’s your drink of choice?”

“It’s definitely Moscow Mule,” Rafe flirted, guiding your figures to her other side. “I can tell.”

She quirked her eyebrow at him, glancing down at you momentarily. “Your boyfriend is smart.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you replied quickly, eyes flitting toward Topper momentarily. “Far from it, actually.”

“Oh.” She leaned in, suddenly interested. “What’s your name?”

“Rafe,” he answered, frowning slightly at Topper’s glare. “And this is my friend, Topper.”

Letting out a forced laugh, Rafe reached past her to pat him on his shoulder, mouthing “get her the drink!” before continuing. “He’s the one with the real intuition, aren’t you Top?”

As they busied themselves with the (frustratingly beautiful) mystery girl, it was as though the ache in your stomach was threatening to spill through your chest and into the empty glass in front of you. When had Topper Thornton ever paid you this much attention, you thought defeatedly, eyes searching for a free barkeep in an attempt to order another drink. It was as you were pointing at a tequila shot (if anyone needed it tonight, it was you), that Rafe turned, brow furrowing slightly at your sullen appearance.

“Deux, please,” Rafe added, sliding his card against the EFTPOS machine before you could fish your own out of your wallet. “I got it.”

You chewed at your bottom lip, folding your arms half-heartedly. “You said we could pay for drinks.”

“I said he could pay for drinks,” Rafe corrected, jerking a thumb in Topper’s direction. “Not you.”

“Why?” you argued, jutting your bottom lip out obstinately. “What, because women shouldn’t pay for things? I hope that’s not why, Cameron, the feminist in me —”

“Do you have to disagree with everything I do, Y/l/n?” Rafe interrupted, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. “Let me have this one.”

“Never.” You frowned, twinkling eyes betraying you. “I’m paying for the next.”

Rolling his eyes, Rafe ignored the sentiment, handing you the filled shot glass and clinking his against it. “Friends?”

“Friends?” you mocked, throwing it back keenly. “It’s day 1, Rafael. Not happening that easy.”

Leaning down to place the glass on the counter, you stole a glance at Topper’s hand where it rest against the girl’s waist. Blinking several times, you jerked your head toward the barkeep, gesticulating wildly in an attempt to get his attention. “Another!”

Topper quirked an eyebrow at your tone, shifting slightly so he was in clear view. “Shots already?”

“Yeah,” you responded without missing a beat, forcing a smile as you turned toward the girl. “You should join us! I’m Y/n, I didn’t introduce myself before.”

“Ah yes, the girlfriend,” the girl joked, reaching over Rafe’s chest to pull you in for a hug. “I’m Amelie.”

“Shots, Amelie?” you questioned, swallowing slightly as Topper’s hand tightened around her waist. “Topper?”

Topper gazed at Amelie expectantly, nodding only when he was sure she would be joining. “Yeah. Sure!”

Clinking clumsily, each of you threw back the shot in turn, grimaces painted on your faces as the bass got heavier in the distance.

“Oooh!” Amelie exclaimed, clapping her hands together appreciatively. “I love this song.”

She hopped off the small barstool, waggling her eyebrows suggestively as she took Topper’s hand in hers. “Dance with me, American boy.”

Wide-eyed, Topper promptly downed his drink, hastening to step off the counter and follow her toward the dance-floor.

Rafe shook his head bemusedly, offering Topper a weak thumbs up as he disappeared into the crowd. “God, that was cringe.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, letting out a harsh breath as you watched their figures sway impossibly closer. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Rafe faltered, softening as he surveyed your pained expression. “You really like him, huh?”

“If you’re going to be a dick about it —” you responded, screwing up your face momentarily. “— then I’m not in the mood, Cameron.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Rafe frowned, tucking a stray lock of hair back into your claw clip. “Not with you.”

You raised your chin ever so slightly, wide eyed and earnest as you spoke. “You’re his friend. Does he ever talk about me?”

“Y/n,” he sighed out, bowing his head to eye-level. “I mean, yeah… but —”

He paused, threading his fingers through his hair. “— but about you being, you know, his best friend. Not… I mean, I don’t know.”

“Right.” You swallowed, suddenly feeling extremely sober. “I get it.”

Rafe knitted his brow, jaw set as he watched Topper grind Amelie’s hips against his. He hated how this made you feel; he wanted so desperately fix it and he wanted to do so, now.

He was fairly certain he would do just about anything to see you happy; hell, he had spent most of senior prom ensuring the constancy of just that emotion. Because when you were smiling, he was sure the world (his world, at least) was smiling, and he would be damned if he allowed anything to stand between him and your frustratingly bright smile.

“Look,” he started determinedly, placing his hands on either side of your barstool. “Let me help. You’re really serious about him, Y/n?”

You chewed at your bottom lip nervously, peeling your eyes away from Topper and Amelie. “I think so.”

“Okay,” he said carefully, leaning back to better survey your features. “Well, you need to make him jealous.”

“What?” you huffed, folding your arms across your chest. “That won’t work, he doesn’t even like me, he won’t care —”

“It’ll work,” Rafe pressed on, a knowing lilt to his tone. “There’s no way he has zero feelings for you.”

“Firstly,” he leant further back, whistling lowly, “look at you.”

“Rule #3,” you mumbled half-heartedly, giving him a small smile. “But that’s the problem though. Topper doesn’t look at me.”

“Trust me, he does,” Rafe responded simply, raising an eyebrow as your eyes widened. “Secondly, you guys have been best friends forever. If there’s another guy stealing your attention, he’s bound to get a little annoyed.”

“I would know,” he finished solemnly, puffing out his chest. “He’s been stealing yours from me, forever.”

“God, Rafe.” You laughed, shaking your head bemusedly. “Are you always this open?”

Rafe paused; his voice surprisingly earnest. “Only with you.”

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you nodded, ignoring the statement in lieu of hearing his plan. “Okay.”

You looked around the room, squinting slightly at the drunk figures in the bar. “Make him jealous with who?”

“Me, of course.”

If you hadn’t downed your drink earlier, you were sure it would’ve spluttered out at Rafe’s admission. Incredulous, you turned to face him, slightly flushed as you spoke. “Excuse me?”

“C’mon, it’s perfect,” Rafe insisted, placing his hands on your shoulders. “We’ll be together all the time, so we can rub it in his face, all the time.”

“You’re a bad actor, though.” You frowned, recalling Rafe’s memorable performance in the senior school play. “It won’t work.”

“I won’t be acting,” Rafe responded with missing a beat, eyes widening slightly at the ease of his admission. “Uh, let me do this for you.”

You swallowed, eyes darting between Rafe and Topper. “This feels mean.”

“To Topper?”

“To you.”

“Huh?” Rafe puzzled, cocking his head to one side. “To me?”

Hesitating, you gazed up at him, gesturing between your figures languidly. “You, you know… but I…”

Trailing off, you simply shook your head, breaking eye contact to find Topper in the crowd. “No. That’s mean.”

“Y/n,” he said firmly, taking his hand in yours as he hopped off his barstool. “Let me do this for you.”

“Why?” You frowned, reluctantly obliging. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do.” Rafe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever there is between us, you hating me, I want to fix it. Be friends.”

“Friends?”

You quirked an eyebrow, fiddling with the signet ring on his finger. “Really?”

He nodded ardently, pulling you a little closer. “Really.”

“You know,” you responded, standing on tip-toes so he could hear you. “I don’t hate you, Rafe.”

You turned back toward the bar, ordering two more shots as he basked in the revelation. Finally, he broke the silence, accepting the liquor gratefully before downing it in one go. “I’d hate to see how you treat the guys you do hate, Y/n.”

Wincing as it burned your throat, you quirked an eyebrow, linking your arm in his before you could change your mind. “Careful, you’re getting closer to being one of them.”

Rafe laughed, pleasantly surprised by your close proximity. You shuddered at he lowered his head, his breath tickling the soft skin under your earlobe as he spoke. “So, is that a yes?”

Crinkling your nose, you slowly nodded, feeling braver (read: tipsier) as the alcohol washed over you. “You know what, fuck it.”

“Alright,” Rafe agreed, eyes twinkling mischievously. “One rule though.”

You cocked your head to one side, gesturing for him to continue. “Go on. Rule #5.”

“You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me.”

You let out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. “Noted.”

“You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me, either,” you added, punching a finger against his chest. “I mean it, Cameron.”

Rafe half shrugged, avoiding the sentiment in lieu of dragging you through the crowd. “C’mon. Let’s find Topper.”

“But.” You frowned, slotting into his side. “You didn’t say ‘noted’.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I’m not going to lie, sweetheart.”

And with wide-eyes and lips parted, you stumbled to a halt, swallowing several times before letting out a weak retort. “I’m not your sweetheart.”

__

In this moment, Rafe Cameron was thankful he hadn’t give you his word. Because as he gazed at your awestruck features, silhouetted so beautifully against the Eiffel Tower, abiding by Rule #5 seemed almost laughable. Scratch that; absolutely, unabashedly, laughable.

You twisted your hair into a claw clip, phone in one hand as you caught Topper’s eye. “Photo?”

Nodding (perhaps a little too eagerly), Topper made to shift closer to your figure, frowning slightly as he registered your bewildered expression. “What?”

“Of Rafe and I, Top,” you clarified with a laugh, handing him your phone before linking arms with the taller boy. “We have a million and one photos of us already.”

“Yeah, back home,” Topper grumbled, meeting Rafe’s quirked eyebrow with a huff. “Whatever. Where do you want me?”

You paused, squinting toward the sun before shifting impossibly closer to Rafe’s figure. “I think there’s fine.”

Gazing up at Rafe, you crinkled your nose, the camera clicking just as he let out an easy laugh. Topper rolled his eyes, too-aware of Rafe’s arm around your waist as he captured a few more. “There. That’s heaps.”

“Thanks, buddy.” You smiled serenely, taking the phone from his hands to look through the photos. “These are great.”

“It’s not working.” You frowned, tensing against Rafe’s torso as Amelie and Topper disappeared into the crowd. “He doesn’t even care.”

“Y/n,” Rafe lilted, thumbing at the bare skin of your waist. “It’s been 5 minutes.”

You whirled around defiantly, brow furrowing as you registered his amused expression. “And?”

Rafe paused, meeting Topper’s eye as he traversed the crowd. “And...”

He bowed his head, smirking slightly at the way your eyes widened at his proximity. “Heads up. Topper’s coming back.”

Swallowing, you allowed Rafe to turn you back around, a strong arm wrapped around your neck to pull you flush into his chest. “Hey Top! Where did Amelie go?”

Topper ignored the question, lifting an eyebrow at your entertwined figures before responding. “Guess you don’t need a wing man anymore, huh?”

You frowned slightly, raising your chin to meet Rafe’s eye. “Wing man?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe responded easily, pressing a chaste kiss on your temple before continuing. “Yeah, guess not. Where’s Amelie?”

“She had to go.” Topper pouted, overplaying his unhappiness as he glanced down at you. “Shall we go, too, then?”

“I want to stay,” you said, guiding Rafe’s hands to your waist. “We haven’t done any dancing!”

“You hate dancing.”

“When in Paris…”

You trailed off teasingly, tightening your grip on Rafe’s arm and dragging him through the crowd. “Well! C’mon!”

If this was meant to feel “mean”, Rafe Cameron wasn’t quite sure his heart could handle “nice”.

“So, what happened?” Topper coughed awkwardly, his eyes trained on your figure as it swayed in the distance. “When’s the other shoe going to drop?”

Rafe knitted his brow, gesticulating vaguely before responding. “I dunno. I took your advice. Uh, about chilling out.”

“That easy, huh?” Topper frowned, finding it difficult to believe. “Guess I didn’t expect it. From Y/n, I mean.”

“Why?” Rafe quirked an eyebrow, jaw tightening slightly. “Because she’s in love with you?”

Topper halted, bewilderment painted on his features. “No! Because she —”

“Hates me?”

Rafe paused, cocking his head to one side. “Why do you care, anyway? Now you don’t have to wing man.”

“Right.” Topper nodded, giving Rafe’s back a firm pat. “Just…”

He trailed off, forcing a laugh before continuing. “Don’t fuck with her, okay?”

“Why would I fuck with her?” Rafe frowned, jogging slowly to catch you up. “You know how I feel about her. Plus —”

Rafe coughed uncomfortably, feeling the rest of his sentence stick in his throat. If there was one thing he knew, it was that “plus, you’re the one fucking with her. Flitting from girl to girl in Paris when you know how she feels about you” was sure to start a fight.

“Who’s that?” You frowned, straightening slightly at the sound of a notification. “Amelie again?”

“I think it’s Chloe,” Topper shrugged, realisation dawning as he registered your features. “I mean, whatever, I probably won’t reply.”

You folded your arms across your chest, scrutinizing Topper’s unreadable expression. “Why not?”

“Yeah, Top,” Rafe added, absently combing through his hair. “She seemed really into you the other day.”

“It’s not working,” you repeated with a huff, stepping away from Rafe’s figure once Topper was out of sight. “He’s found another girl.”

Rafe frowned at the loss of contact, a signet ring clad finger coming up to raise your chin. “It’s working. It’s definitely working.”

Because if he knew Topper, he knew the new mystery girl was just another distraction; an eye for an eye, of sorts, to match your ongoing rouse.

“Doesn’t matter.” Topper cleared his throat, watching Rafe guide you to your feet before following suit. “We’re leaving Paris soon, anyway.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, fixing Topper with a pointed glare. “Whatever you say, man.”

Too busy swirling your near melted iced coffee in its cup, you missed the way Topper’s gaze lingered on Rafe’s arm, tight around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer.

When you did finally glance up, you were met with an uncharacteristically awkward silence, punctuated only by you clearing your throat as you grabbed your small tote bag from the ground.

“Well, c’mon,” you said expectantly, striding past their figures and toward the cobbled stone. “I want to make the Musée d'Orsay before the sun sets!”

Rafe brought his arm up to stop Topper, lowering his voice as the boy stumbled to a halt. “Bro. What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Topper retorted, letting out a laboured sigh. “Sorry. I don’t know.”

“It’s just weird,” he pressed on, eyes darting toward you momentarily. “She’s my best friend, you know? This’ll take some time getting used to.”

“Why?” Rafe quipped, bringing his arm back down. “This is what you said you wanted, right? Unless…”

He trailed off pointedly, raising an eyebrow at Topper’s splutter. “It isn’t?”

“It is!” Topper nodded, perhaps more vigorously than he intended. “It’s perfect. Everything worked out, uh, city of love, and all of that. Don’t worry. Drop it.”

“Drop what?” you questioned, turning slightly to better survey the two boys. “What were you talking about?”

Topper swallowed, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Nothing.”

“Us,” Rafe corrected, smiling easily as he slotted you into his side. “How happy Topper is. For us.”

“Right.” You nodded, chewing at your bottom lip apprehensively. “Thanks, Top.”

“Oh, you know how I love third-wheeling,” Topper responded weakly, hoping he didn’t sound as awkward as he felt. “Just hard to grasp, isn’t it?”

You swallowed. “What is?”

Topper gesticulated vaguely, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Remember when you refused to go out with him, junior year? And then senior year too? And then —”

“Well, we’re not going out,” you rushed out, wincing slightly at the eagerness of your tone. “Uh, I mean, not yet. Right Rafe?”

“We’re not?” Rafe teased, clutching at his chest dramatically. “Fuck. Can we make a stop at Cartier on the way? I need to return something.”

“Rafael.” You laughed, shaking your head bemusedly. “Rule #5.”

Topper furrowed his brow, glancing between your figures. “Rule #5? I think I missed that one.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Rafe replied easily, eyes twinkling as he gazed down at you. “Don’t worry.”

He paused, raising an eyebrow slightly before continuing. “It doesn’t count because I didn’t agree to it, remember?”

“So bold,” you lilted, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair. “Rule #6. No refusing rules.”

“Rule #7,” Topper muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned. “No flirting.”

“Huh?” You frowned, unable to hear him over the bustle. “Did you say something, Top?”

“Yeah. That we should head in.”

“Right.”

Rafe smirked knowingly, allowing you to pull away before echoing the sentiment. “Right.”

__

“Okay, he’s gone,” you whispered, swatting Rafe’s hand away discreetly. “How long do you think we’ll have to keep this up?”

“Forever?” Rafe mused, laughing softly at your prompt scowl. “Kidding. Not long.”

“Do you think, he’s, you know…” you trailed off, brow knitted ever so slightly, “…because, I mean, I don’t know if I’m imagining things, but —”

Rafe was opening his mouth in retort when you faltered, doleful as you spotted Topper with a girl on his arm. “Guys!”

He paused, lifting an eyebrow pointedly. “Uh, Fleur here spotted Rafe in the crowd. Found me by the pamphlet stand.”

Fleur nodded shyly, twirling a stray lock of hair around her finger. “That is your name, Rafe?”

“Yeah,” Rafe responded, winking easily. “Bonjour, Fleur.”

“Anyway.” Topper cleared his throat, reaching out to take your hand. “I think she wanted to chat with just you, buddy. C’mon Y/n.”

“Huh?”

You felt your forehead pucker, gazing between Topper and Rafe bemusedly. “Topper, I —”

“You just told me you guys weren’t going out,” he challenged, watching Fleur sidle closer to Rafe. “Right?”

“Right,” you affirmed, eyes widening as your fingers entertwined. “Uh, you good, Rafe?”

“Uh huh.”

“You sure?”

Rafe frowned, trying desperately to read you. “Y/n, I’ll be fine.”

And though you offered the boy a meek nod, allowing Topper to drag you to your favourite Monet, you couldn’t help but frown at the steady ache that was threatening to settle in your chest. You hadn’t realised how used to Rafe’s presence you had gotten, you see, having spent the better half of the last week strolling Parisian streets by his side.

But it had always been Topper, you wanted to remind yourself, stumbling through the crowd with the blonde boy at your side. It had always been Topper, and it would always be Topper… right?

Or was it possible, despite it all, that the pieces falling into place weren’t a part of the same puzzle you initially sought out?

__

Topper whooped obnoxiously as Rafe drew nearer, peering over his shoulder to catch Fleur disappearing into the crowd. “How’d it go?”

“Alright.” Rafe shrugged, a small napkin clutched against his chest. “She gave me her number.”

He paused, eyes flitting toward your figure. “Won’t be using it.”

“Why not?” Topper frowned, surveying his features bemusedly. “She was seriously hot.”

“Why didn’t you respond to Chloe?” Rafe challenged, cocking his head to one side. “She was seriously hot, too.”

Satisfied by Topper’s splutter, Rafe shifted his gaze, softening as he met your eye. “Ready to go?”

“Go?” you admonished, folding your arms across your chest. “You haven’t even looked at the art.”

“I have,” Rafe responded without missing a beat, giving you a pointed once-over as your cheeks heated. “There. Now I’ve done it twice. Let’s go.”

“Monet is actually her favourite,” Topper blurted out, acutely aware of your warming skin. “I should know, I didn’t hear the end of it when we were planning the trip.”

“You like him too!” you argued, smiling easily as you met Topper’s eye. “Don’t pin this on me.”

You turned, linking arms with Rafe before continuing. “Here, I’ll show you. I’ve bored Topper, enough.”

“At least give me Fleur’s number before you go!” Topper grumbled, letting out a laugh as Rafe threw it behind his shoulder. “Third wheeling sucks.”

“Yeah,” you muttered lowly, thinking back on all the girlfriends Topper had entertained in high school. “Tell me about it.”

Rafe bit back a smile, lowering his head to be heard over the bustle. “Maybe if you’d asked me to be your fake boyfriend in high school...”

“Fake boyfriend?” you lilted, punching a knowing finger into his chest. “Or real boyfriend?”

“The latter,” Rafe nodded solemnly, catching your hand against him, “but you knew that.”

“No, I didn’t.” You frowned, pulling away slightly. “I mean… high school you was such a douchebag, Rafe.”

You paused, gathering your thoughts. “Always someone new on your arm, walking around like you owned the place, of course I wasn’t going to take you seriously.”

“High school me?” Rafe repeated, ever earnest as he gazed down at you. “Wasn’t going to?”

“Not going to,” you corrected lamely, breaking eye contact to gaze heavenward. “Present tense.”

“You were using past tense.”

“No, I wasn’t,” you argued, crossing your arms defiantly. “I didn’t mean to, anyway.”

Rafe quirked an eyebrow in response, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Someone new on my arm? I didn’t realise you kept tabs on me, Y/n.”

“I didn’t,” you snapped, your flushed cheeks betraying you. “You were throwing it in everyone’s faces, bragging all the time —”

“Maybe I was trying to get someone’s attention.”

Your eyes widened at the revelation, the question slipping out of your mouth despite knowing the answer. “Who?”

Rafe shook his head bemusedly, taking your hand to pull you close. “Y/n...”

He paused, his lips inches away from your skin. “You know the answer is always going to be you.”

You inhaled sharply, eyes flitting downward as you stepped away. “Rafe —”

He pressed a signet ring clad finger against your lips, nodding pointedly at Topper’s figure reappearing at his side. “You were saying? About Monet?”

“Right.” You nodded, blinking several times. “C’mon.”

Taking his hand in yours, your willed your breathing to slow, missing the way Topper frowned as you failed to take his, too. You dragged him toward Water Lilies, eyes impossibly bright as you monologued its most pertinent, Impressionist characteristics.

Rafe wasn’t sure he had seen anything more beautiful.

“Rafael,” you warned, turning toward him with an eyebrow raised. “Rule #1.”

“Y/n,” he mocked, gazing pointedly at your figure. “I’m trying to enjoy the art.”

“Rule #3,” you retorted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “God, do you ever stop?”

“Not with you, sweetheart.”

Topper pressed a hand against your chest, raising his eyebrows warningly. “If I hear the word rule again —”

“Yeah, yeah,” youou huffed, taking his hand and then Rafe’s in turn. “Let’s go.”

“Hey,” Rafe smiled, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “It’s our last night in Paris! Amalfi Coast tomorrow, baby.”

“Baby?” you repeated, swallowing slightly at the way you blushed crimson. “Rule #8 —”

“NO!” Rafe and Topper shouted in unison, the latter covering your mouth with his hand. “No more fucking rules.”

__

After a short flight to Naples, and a considerably longer train ride to the Coast, you managed to arrive in Amalfi just in time to see the bright sun dip over the horizon. Having missed the wonders of the scenic route to several, well-timed, naps, you were eager to dive right into your itinerary, much to the disgruntlement of your travel companions.

“We have a week,” Rafe reasoned, squinting toward the pink sky. “Let’s chill tonight.”

“No,” you responded crossly, ignoring Topper’s pointed glare. “Chill when you’re dead.”

“Rich coming from you,” Topper quipped, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “Your snores kept the whole fucking train up.”

Your gawked, promptly reddening at the revelation. “No, they didn’t, I don’t snore, I’m —”

“You do,” Rafe interrupted, biting back a laugh at your flustered expression. “It’s cute, though.”

“What?” you challenged, bottom lip jutting out obstinately. “You guys were just watching me sleep, then?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You glanced between them bemusedly, shaking your head before gesturing them forward. “Oh, come on. Fine. We’ll be boring.”

“I’m sure we can find something to do,” Rafe teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “You know, inside, where there’s a bed —”

It was as you were opening your mouth in response that you registered Topper’s frown, pausing momentarily before changing tactic. “Cameron.”

You laughed perhaps a little too loudly, splaying your palms on his chest before responding. “Quit.”

“Yeah, Cameron,” Topper muttered, jaw clenched as he sidled past you. “Quit.”

Rafe let out a gentle oh, nodding curtly to signal that he understood.

“Why Topper?” he baited, slinking his arm around your waist and pulling you close. “We won’t break Rule #2, we swear.”

Topper faltered, eyes narrowed slightly as he jerked his head toward you. “You know what. Not really feeling tired anymore. Maybe we should go out.”

“Yeah?” you encouraged, pulling away from Rafe. “Good. Let’s do it.”

“Besides,” he continued, ignoring the sentiment. “It’s been an entire week, and I still haven’t hooked up with anyone on this trip.”

Rafe furrowed his brow, watching your expression carefully. “Y/n…”

You kept your eyes trained on Topper’s figure, blinking several times as he pivoted on his heel.

“We should stop,” you sighed out finally, feeling defeated as you gazed up at him. “It’s not working. It’s never going to work.”

“Y/n.” Rafe frowned, his tone gentle, earnest. “I think this is it working.”

You chewed at your bottom lip absently, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think…”

He trailed off, gesticulating vaguely. “He’s trying to make you jealous?”

“He wouldn’t,” you argued, turning slowly. “He wouldn’t play games like that, Topper is so mature, and smart, and —”

Rafe willed himself not to roll his eyes, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “He’s still a guy.”

“A guy who’s crushing on you,” he added, tracing circles on your bare skin. “That can make you do crazy things. I should know.”

You halted, raising your chin ever so slightly. “You should know?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, speaking more to himself than anyone else. “Like help you make your best friend jealous whilst being hopelessly in —”

“Rafe —”

“Right. Rule #5.”

__

Rafe was leaning against the large dresser in Topper’s hotel room, watching him sift through his clothes with interest. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing,” Topper responded, feeling the tips of his ears redden. “Uh, just this one t-shirt, I swear I packed it —”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, striding toward his figure before responding. “Who cares what you wear?”

He paused, realisation dawning as he registered Topper’s unease. “You mother fucker.”

“What?” Topper huffed, resigned to grabbing an old polo, instead. “What happened?”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Topper,” Rafe said, lowering his voice slightly before continuing. “You like her, don’t you?”

Topper swallowed. “Uh.”

“And you know that she’s in love with you —”

“But…”

Topper trailed off, arms raised exasperatedly, “…she’s with you, now.”

“You can’t seriously believe that?” Rafe laughed, fiddling with the signet ring on his forefinger. “She was trying to make you jealous. Clearly, it worked.”

“What?” Topper breathed out, eyes widening at the revelation. “No, I mean, well now that I know that —”

“No way,” Rafe interrupted, tone raised warningly. “You’re not backing out now.”

“It’s complicated,” Topper argued, sliding the polo onto his torso. “I can’t just… and now that I know that it was fake, I have some time to think —”

“It’s not complicated,” Rafe interrupted, threading his fingers through his hair. “Being in love with Y/n is the most uncomplicated thing in the world.”

Topper blinked several times. “Why do you want me to be with her, anyway? It’s you that has a thing for her.”

Rafe knitted his brow frustratedly; wasn’t the answer to Topper’s question painfully obvious?

“Have you seen the way she looks at you? You’re the one who makes her happy.”

He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Anyway. Now that it’s out, you may as well explore it. She deserves that much, at the very least.”

“But, I don’t even know how to —”

He was interrupted by a sharp rap on his door, your impatient voice reverberating through the thin walls. “Hurry up! I’m starving!”

Fixing Topper with one last, pointed glare, Rafe readjusted the backwards cap on his head, a sweet smile decorating his features as he strode toward the door. “It’s Top holding us up! Not me.”

He turned back as he opened it, mouthing a discreet “make your move before I make mine!” before shooing you into the hallway. “He’s just finishing up. He’ll be close behind.”

You nodded slowly, muscle memory linking your arm in his as you headed for the elevator. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Reverse Bechdel test,” Rafe responded easily, biting back a laugh at your bewilderment. “You, you idiot.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll see.”

You furrowed your brow, unsatisfied by his cryptic response. “I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one,” Topper called out, hoping you didn’t hear the way his voice quavered. “I hope.”

“I hope so, too,” you quipped, narrowing your eyes as he drew nearer. “For your sake, Thornton.”

Still slightly stung by Topper’s earlier remark, you felt yourself leaning into Rafe’s figure as you entered the elevator, the taller boy wrapping his arm around your shoulder, impossibly natural at your side.

He leaned down, hating the words he was about to say. “I don’t think we need to, uh —”

“What?” you whispered, eyes flitting toward Topper before continuing. “Oh! You mean…”

You paused, crinkling your nose slightly, “… you’re warm. That’s all.”

Rafe’s lips parted slightly, pleasantly surprised by the admission. “Right.”

You weren’t quite sure why you didn’t pull away; the heady scent of Rafe’s cologne almost comforting against the breeze. You remained like that, slotted under his broad shoulders, until you reached the bar, forced to shuffle away from his figure in lieu of joining the frustratingly long queue.

“We haven’t eaten.” You pouted, squinting around the town square languidly. “Shouldn’t we eat?”

Topper nodded slowly, spotting a small pizza stall in the distance. “Pizza?”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’ll go get us slices,” Rafe offered, stepping away from you reluctantly. “You guys save me a spot in the queue, yeah?”

Stealing a glance at Topper, he pivoted on his heel, stride purposeful as he disappeared into the crowd.

“He didn’t even ask us what kind we wanted.” You chuckled, shaking your head bemusedly before turning toward Topper. “Wonder why he’s acting so weird.”

“I think I know.” Topper cleared his throat awkwardly, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Why he’s acting weird, I mean.”

“Well, go on,” you pressed, hugging your shoulders against the cool air. “Could barely understand him by the elevator.”

Topper paused, swallowing several times before responding. “He told me. About uh…”

Trailing off, Topper gesticulated awkwardly, satisfied when he saw your eyes widen. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, a familiar flush creeping up your cheeks. “I don’t know why he — I’m going to kill him, he said that —”

“Y/n!” Topper laughed, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Relax. I…”

He paused, his eyes wide, earnest. “I mean, I’m glad he did. Because it worked.”

“It worked?”

Topper nodded, his eyes darting down to your tinged lips. “I, uh…”

He bowed his head ever so slightly, lips inches away from yours. “I know we’ve been best friends for ages, but…”

You felt your breath hitch, leaning backward instinctively. “Topper, I…”

What was wrong with you? You were fairly certain you had spent more years pining for Topper than you had doing anything else; if there was a single constant in your life, it was most definitely him. Topper Thornton. Your everything with absolutely nothing in between.

But as you stood there, the (presumable) love of your life impossibly close, the trouble you’d gone through to get him here felt significantly more laborious than necessary. How long would you have danced the line between friends and more than, had Rafe not offered to intervene? If it took Topper losing you to inevitably find you, was that love? Was it really?

“Is something wrong?” Topper frowned slightly, feeling you tense against him. “I’m sorry if I’m coming on too strong–”

“No, no.” You sighed, hesitating before wrapping your arms around his neck. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Probably just shock.”

“Shock?” Topper smirked, cocking his head knowingly. “Right, because I’m so dreamy —”

“Oh, shut up, Top.” You laughed, already feeling any uncertainty slip away. “As if you didn’t know, this whole time.”

Topper swallowed, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. “Uh, about that, I —”

“You didn’t know,” you interrupted, nodding slowly. “It’s fine, I never told you. You know now. That’s all that matters.”

“Uh…”

Topper removed his hand from your waist, combing his fingers through his hair. “Not quite, I —”

Fortunately for him (and rather unfortunately for you), Rafe reappeared in that moment, paper plates laden with large pizza slices clutched in either hand.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping backward as he registered your proximity. “Uh…”

“Rafe!” You exclaimed, pulling away from Topper almost immediately. “With pizza!”

Rafe knitted his brow, looking between your figures. “If you guys were in the middle of something —”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, taking Topper’s hand in yours. “I think, uh, we said everything.”

You paused, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you turned back toward him. “Right, Top?”

“Right,” he affirmed, pulling you into his side. “Thanks man, for…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rafe dismissed airily, handing you each a slice. “If you love someone let them go.”

“Rafe.” You frowned, loosening your grip slightly. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“You don’t mean it.”

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

__

Once you were inside the bar, it didn’t take long for Rafe to be a whisked away, a leggy blonde promising him “Bellini! Come!” before dragging him toward the drinks counter with a wink.

“Bellini’s, huh,” Topper mused, an arm raised in farewell as he disappeared into the crowd. “We should get some too.”

You nodded, chewing at your bottom lip as he guided you through the bar. “Think we’ll see him again?”

“I’m sure by now he’s got two more girls flocking his side.” Topper laughed, brow furrowing slightly as he registered your expression. “Uh, we can go find him, though? If you want?”

You shook your head vigorously, placing a hand on the drinks counter before responding. “No. Uh, we should enjoy this.”

“Us, you mean?” Topper lilted, slinking an arm around your waist. “Yeah. We should.”

“Us,” you repeated, looking up at him almost warily. “God. I’ve waited for this moment for so long.”

“Yeah?” he encouraged, tightening his grip on your waist. “I, uh, me too?”

You crinkled your nose, recoiling slightly at his tone. “You’re lying.”

Topper swallowed, gazing down at your helplessly. “I’m sorry. I’m… I’m new to this, and I’m sorry about that too, and I —”

“It’s fine, Top,” you interrupted, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“Here,” Topper offered, clinking his glass against yours. “I’m sure Rafe’s already got five drinks on us. Let’s catch up.”

You brushed off the Bellini, straightening abruptly to take his hand in yours. “Let’s go find him..”

“We should stick together,” you added, noticing his knitted brow. “What if he like, gets kidnapped? Or something?”

Topper let out a laugh, quirking his eyebrow slightly. “We are we talking about the same Rafe Cameron that’s 6’4 and benches 225?”

“Shut up,” you quipped, feeling your cheeks blush crimson. “You know what I mean.”

Topper frowned, stumbling to a halt. “No, I don’t.”

He paused, bottom lips pressed between his teeth. “Y/n…”

“No,” you interrupted, knowing where this was going. “No. It’s not about you, I mean, you’re perfect, this is perfect, I just worry. You know I worry.”

Topper felt himself relax, grinning sheepishly before responding. “I get it.”

Squeezing his hand appreciatively, you attempted to traverse the crowd, craning your neck in an attempt to find Rafe within it.

“There!” Topper exclaimed, punching a finger into the air. “I see him, hold on.”

He strode in front of you, his fingers dangerously close to slipping as he quickened his pace. “C’mon.”

It was as you were pushing through a particularly busy throng of people that you felt him pull away, wincing slightly as you registered the loss of contact. Resigned to shoving through the crowd yourself, you were near the clearing where Rafe sat when a particularly burly man bumped into you.

“Hey, watch your — oh.”

The man leant backward, his eyes raking over your figure shamelessly before continuing. “My bad.”

“No problem.” You nodded awkwardly, attempting to push past him to no avail. “Uh, I just need to head this way –”

“Why?” he leered, his fingers dancing against your waist. “Who are you here with? Stay a while.”

You grimaced at his flagrance, willing yourself not to roll your eyes. “I’m not interested, buddy.”

“Buddy?” he derided, his grip on your waist tightening. “I prefer baby, but —”

“Dude.” You frowned, attempting to shift his hand. “Get off.”

“Americans, so over-dramatic,” he sighed out? ignoring the sentiment in favor of pulling you closer. “C’mon, it’s just one dance, sweetheart.”

“I think she said no, brother.”

You exhaled, the familiar voice impossibly relieving against the heavy bass. “Rafe.”

Pressing your palms against the man’s chest, you attempted to push away from him, brow furrowing slightly as he caught your wrists.

“I didn’t actually hear the word, though,” the man challenged, pulling you into his side. “You didn’t actually say the word, did you, babe?”

Rafe felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. “I dare you to repeat that.”

The man forced a laugh, swallowing slightly at the sight of Rafe’s whitened knuckles. “Relax, bro. It’s a club.”

Rafe stepped toward him, a gentle hand reaching for yours. Accepting it gratefully, you pulled away from the man’s grasp, blanching slightly as you registered Rafe’s hardened expression.

“Rafe —”

He gazed down at you, softening momentarily. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod, eyes widening slightly. “Listen, Rafe, it’s fine –”

Giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, he straightened, eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the perpetrator. “Apologise to her.”

“What?” the man huffed, almost bored as he gave you another once-over. “I don’t even know her, I’m not –”

“I said,” Rafe gritted, his voice dangerously low, “apologise.”

“Rafe,” you warned, hearing the resonant crack of his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter, let’s just go –”

Closing his eyes momentarily, Rafe let out a laboured breath, willing himself to relax as you dragged him backwards. “Y/n…

He bowed his head, attempting to read your expression, “…you’re sure?”

“Yes.” You nodded, eyes darting between their figures nervously. “C’mon —”

“Yeah, go,” the man goaded, met with a renewed sense of defiance. “And take your uptight bitch with you–”

Rafe felt every muscle in his jaw tense, vision blurring red as he plundered toward the man. Placing a punishing grip on his shirt collar, he pulled him up to eye level, cries drowned out by the ringing in his ears as he threw his first punch.

He paused, shaking his hand against the stifling air before reaching up to throw another. He could barely feel the painful sting lining his knuckles, the signet ring on his forefinger dripping red as the man’s nose began to bleed. He didn’t care. He threw one more.

The man squirmed against his touch, clawing at Rafe’s face blindly in an attempt to escape his grasp. It was as he slashed Rafe’s forehead that he finally yielded, his gripping the man’s shoulders so tightly he was sure that it would leave a bruise.

“I said,” Rafe snarled, ignoring the blood crusting his eyebrow, “apologise.”

“Sorry,” the man muttered, wincing as he covered his nose. “Let me fucking go.”

“Rafe., you pleaded, eyes wide, scared. “Let’s go before the security escorts us out.”

Rafe willed his jaw to slacken, softening as he turned toward you. “Are you okay?”

“God, Rafe, are you?” you breathed out, taking his wrist and pulling him away. “C’mon.”

Topper was close behind you, mouth falling open as he registered the blood on Rafe’s knuckles. “What the fuck, Cameron?”

You fixed him with a pointed glare, shaking your head discreetly before guiding Rafe toward the exit. “Later.”

Rafe felt his forehead pucker, surveying your expression with interest. “Y/n, relax, I’m fine —”

“Rafael,” you swallowed, wincing as you gazed at his wounds, “you’re not fine. You’re bleeding.”

You paused, brushing your fingers against his bloodied knuckles. “Not to mention, you’re a fucking idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot.”

“Fuck,” you cursed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, that guy was so scary looking, and we’re in a foreign country, and —”

Rafe leaned backward, a teasing smirk on his features. “You know, you’re cute when you’re worried.”

“Rafael.”

“What?” He shrugged, flinching slightly as you squeezed his hand (“You deserve that, Cameron.”). “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” you repeated, incredulous. “Why the fuck did you put yourself in that situation? I was —”

Rafe furrowed his brow, thumbing at your cheek with his free hand. “He broke rule #3. No douchebag comments.”

You swallowed, leaning into the touch despite yourself. “Rafe —”

“Y/n,” he interrupted firmly, resting his arms on your shoulders. “Drop it.”

“Where was I?” Topper frowned, bringing the two of you out of your reverie. “Where was this guy? How did this happen?”

“It’s fine Top, I handled it,” Rafe apprised, quirking his eyebrow slightly. “Let’s just drop it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it, you’re not–”

“You’re not either.”

Hello please reblog this if you’re okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

a fictional man: *is kinda fucked up*

me: i want him so bad

I also can’t get enough of this fucking picture his pants drooping makes me wanna do things

the i just got berated by my dad smile happens to be my fav

parenthood day! featuring everyone's favorite smirk