My Official Cause Of Death Is Going To Be Drew Starkeys Arms And Hands Bc Theres NO WAY

My official cause of death is going to be drew starkeys arms and hands bc there’s NO WAY

you deserve all of them and more !!!! your writing is *chefs kisses* and im thanking my lucky stars that i came across your page🥺🥺🥺 so lucky to call you my mutual ily and so excited to see what you write next my talented bestie 🥰

thank you so much everyone for 1k followers!! i'm so grateful to have so much support on this little blog i felt i had to put together after seeing ethan's reveal scene LMAO. thank you for the likes, comments, reblogs and asks, they're all so appreciated!

i am thinking about putting together a cute little event moment for it (the only thing i can think of is a dark blurb weekend... girl is that not every damn day with you 🙄) but if i do, it won't be for like two weeks

my inbox is always open for whatever ideas or thoughts you have. or if you have shit you need to talk about these guys because god knows im doing that alone and unprompted 😭

again, thank you so much, i'm so grateful for all the love!

queen of angst how do you make me feel every single emotion on the spectrum with one fic,the last scene totally did not make me clutch my heart how dare you write such a good piece of work while im supposed to be sleeping (i love you for it tho)

ri you will never fail to amaze me😩

i’m dyinggggg to know more about the sgiah jealous angsty bonfire at sixteen!!!! 😩

changed some things bc I rewrote this bonfire scene into Do I Wanna Know, hope u enjoy anyway 🫶

I Almost Do

And I wish I could run to you / And I hope you know that every time I don't / I almost do

Rafe’s pretty sure, a kaleidoscope of drunken clamour in his ears and a slowness to his limbs, that he’s too drunk to care about anything at this stage.

He’s had just enough alcohol for his vision to blur around the edges, ceiling lights like stalactites, the heavy bass making them vibrate. The living room is a body heat furnace. On the deck, an out-drinking competition disguised as a game of beer pong ensues. A deep, velvet sky oversees the carnage, full moon astray and bright stars shrouded.

Your skin glows anyway.

Rafe hears you before he sees you, the way he always does, the way he’s been doomed to since the sound of your laugh first struck his poor, nine-year-old heart.

You’re arm in arm with Sarah at the kitchen door, bright eyes full of mirth and lips pursed as you shush someone behind you. Usually, Rafe’d be able to exercise a little more self control when you’re this close, this touchable, but he’s more than a little drunk and feeling disinhibited as a result.

Besides, your skin is glowing. He’s had so much alcohol tonight that he almost forgets to be mad at you for it.

Almost.

“Oi!” He calls out roughly, too eagerly, making his way toward you. “Last I checked, neither of you made it on the invite list.”

Sarah’s pleased expression falters, her brown eyes narrowing. “Last I checked,” she counters, folding her arms across her chest. “You aren’t the only person who lives here.”

“Yeah.” Rafe’s gaze moves to your face without meaning to, falling over your pretty eyes, the shine of peach-scented gloss on your lips. The few seconds he’s stood in front of the pair of you, avoiding eye-contact that he’s knows will turn into a staring match, has been strain enough on his self-control. “The only person who matters, though.”

You scoff wryly, raising your eyebrows at him. “You fucking wish, big foot.”

Behind you, someone sniggers. They’re a careful, few feet away and cloaked by darkness, their muffled display of amusement a poor indicator of their identity.

All Rafe knows is, the sound is deeper than it should be. Suddenly, he no longer feels too drunk to care about anything.

He takes a step closer, the number of inches between being able to ignore his cedar-wood cologne and being forced to breathe in the citrus notes hidden within it.

And it makes you furious, how easily he looks over your forehead, how his assessing, blue eyes gain a laser-vision sort of steeliness. He’s so much taller when he’s standing up straight. His dirty blonde hair is longer than it usually is, sun-bleached and floppy where it falls over his forehead. Not to mention, you’re making eye-contact with too much muscle, feeling entirely too much body heat on your already warm skin. Thinking about how angry this makes you—how angry he makes you—whilst having a heart attack about the implications of such close proximity.

Of doing something stupid, like pulling him even closer than he already is.

So maybe you’re a little drunker than you should be, too.

Your mind whirs until everything’s blurry and out-of-focus, and you have to actively remind yourself that the boy in front of you isn’t someone you’re allowed to be in love with.

“And you’re definitely not allowed any plus 1’s, by the way,” Rafe adds firmly, narrowing his eyes at the darkness ahead of him.

It takes a second for his gaze to adjust to the dim light, another before a muscle in his jaw tenses.

He reaches out to catch hold of the doorknob, rough knuckles blanching from his iron grip. “Especially,” he continues, “fucking pogues.”

“Whatever, Rafe,” Sarah responds dryly, rolling her eyes at him. She turns and sends John B and JJ a reassuring smile, ducking past her older brother to permit them entry.

“Sarah.” Rafe clicks his tongue impatiently. “I’m serious.”

“They’re my guests,” she argues, grabbing a hold of your wrist. “Our guests.”

That gets his attention. His eyes shoots to your features with enough force to warrant whiplash, a cold, accusatory something brewing within their depths. So deeply blue that you’re a second from drowning, and that same, terrifying emotion that had your head spinning when he’d first walked over here.

You swallow.

“Yeah,” you affirm, narrowing your eyes at him for good measure. “Run along.”

“I’m sorry,” Rafe replies, furrowing his brow in mock confusion. “I missed the part where I let you call the shots.”

You roll your eyes—big mistake, because the alcohol in your veins and Rafe in your ribcage is already making your head hurt—and turn away from him, looking over at John B and JJ instead.

“C’mon in, guys,” you encourage, eyes dropping to Rafe’s grip on the half-closed, back door. Without thinking, you reach out and place your hand over his, attempting to pry his fingers free.

It’s surprisingly easy to do so. There’s a split second where your hands are suspended in mid-air, your sweaty palm pressing into the bulging veins on his arm. It’s large where yours is small, hot where yours almost burns, the sort of rough that makes you think stupid, irrational things — building-things-with-his-bare-hands hands, the kind of hands that could take care of a family.

Your cheeks warm. You pull away in a hurry.

Rafe coughs. He hopes to God you didn’t feel the way his poor pulse lurched when you touched him. He retrieves his hand too and runs his callused fingers through his hair, trying not to think about how chaste yours are in comparison.

Trying. Failing. He fights the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach for your hand and hold it for real. There’s something about the soft on rough juxtaposition that makes his stomach do an infuriating little somersault.

“Only,” Rafe warns, eyeing John B and JJ warily, “if you guys stay away from the living room and deck.”

“Like we’d want to hang out with you and your friends,” you bite back.

“Careful,” Rafe chides mockingly, raising his eyebrows. “The only reason you even have a job is because of them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You argue, folding your arms across your chest.

“You really think the Club needs cart girls, train wreck?” He asks, scoffing exasperatedly. “You’re only there because rich people like looking at pretty things.”

You blink. “Pretty things?”

Rafe balks, his poor heart lurching in a panic. He’s this close to back-tracking when the alcohol he’s consumed pipes up, convincing him that it’s fruitless — you have to know that you’re attractive.

How couldn’t you? There has to be some part of you that looks that pretty on purpose.

You know, because you like antagonising him. He says, “C’mon,” and then scoffs exasperatedly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can’t actually think the amount you get tipped is a coincidence.”

“I’m an expert drink maker,” you argue weakly.

“You’re a flirt,” Rafe counters.

“Being nice,” you correct, frowning up at him, “isn’t flirting.”

“Then what is, princess?” Rafe throws back, rolling his eyes. “Being a bitch?”

A pause. You think it dawns on him the same time it does you.

You swallow nervously. “Of course no—” you rush out, in unison with Rafe as he adds, “That’s not what I—”

“Fucking hell,” Sarah interrupts, looking between you and Rafe tiredly. “Can you two give it a fucking rest?”

You clamp your mouth shut abashedly, an equally chagrined Rafe ducking his head and turning away from you. His signet ring gleams as the kitchen light folds over it.

“Whatever,” he mutters, running his fingers through his hair. “Just… don’t let me see you in the living room, or on the deck, alright?”

His gaze flits to you as he says it, a fleeting farewell, though he regrets it upon realising that he no longer has your attention.

Someone else does. A dirty-blonde someone else donning a frayed tee and old, backwards cap; he hasn’t seen JJ since the Midsummer’s mishap, hasn’t seen your fond smile since he’d taken you from him that night.

He feels his jaw clench again, his fist too when his eyes drop, when he finds your fingers intertwining JJ’s and guiding him through the back-door.

The same, soft fingers he was agonising over a few minutes ago.

Rafe Cameron hates feeling pathetic. He hates it almost as much as he hates you, hates this thick, cloying anchor of helplessness in his gut.

“Relax, big-foot,” you say dismissively, letting your hand drop as you brush past him. “We’re going upstairs.”

Upstairs? With JJ fucking Maybank?

The anchor begins to sink. Suddenly, keeping you away from the party he’s throwing feels less important, not important in the slightest; he needs you an arms length away in order to keep an eye on you.

And, you know, any guy that you end up kissing.

“No way,” he says, tugging JJ back by the collar.

“Dude,” JJ frowns, shaking him off, “don’t do that shit.”

Your expression hardens as you register the rough display, bright eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring. “Rafe,” you warn. “Don’t be a dick. I’m serious.”

A pause. There’s a split-second where Rafe wonders how it’d feel to be in JJ shoes, right now.

“Look,” he sighs out after a beat, shaking his head. “If you think I’m just going to let you guys have a little, four-person party upstairs —”

“We’re just hanging out, Rafe, Jesus,” you interrupt exasperatedly, throwing your hands in the air. “We can’t exactly do that down here, can we?”

“You’re going to mess the place up,” he argues lamely. “And dad’s gonna make me clean it up.”

“So… what?” You ask, scowling indignantly. “You want us to fucking leave?”

“Just… whatever, you can chill in the living room, alright?” He answers in an even tone, maintaining a feigned sense of disinterest. “As long as you don’t fucking interact with anyone.”

“Right.” You make a face. “Because we totally love hanging around a bunch of trust fund babies.”

Rafe looks over your features slowly, agonisingly slowly, as though he’s trying to memorise every faint crease and soft ridge. It makes your skin burn.

“Don’t be a train-wreck, train-wreck,” he murmurs.

You try for fire, but the blue in his eyes leaves only embers. “Don’t tell me what to do, Rafe Cameron.”

—

It’s difficult to focus on JJ’s hands on your waist when Rafe’s quiet glare is burning a hole in the middle of your cheek.

He’s looking over the forehead of a pretty, blonde Kook who’s clinging to his shoulders; swaying a few feet away, he’s a dart with jagged edges, you the out-of-reach bulls-eye on a small dartboard.

It’s clear that neither of you are particularly interested in the person you’re dancing with. The night has progressed as a series of stolen glances and longing stares, a maddening, close-but-not-too-close distance that seems to grow every time you catch a furious glimpse of him and her together.

Not that you’d ever admit it. Your eyes drop to Rafe’s sturdy palms squeezing the flesh of her hips, and you find yourself pulling JJ closer on instinct.

“Kiss me,” you say suddenly, tearing your gaze away from Rafe.

JJ’s eyes widen, his loose grip on your waist tightening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a quick smile, sounding more distracted than you want to. “Kiss me.”

And he does, of course he does, soft and a little tentative as he presses his lips to yours. No fire. It’s a barely-there pressure that’s feels unsure of itself, less ardent and more tender as whispers of it wash over you. No fire. JJ kisses you slowly, gently, and you find yourself wishing for something quicker, rougher.

Something with more fire.

Your eyes snap open as if out of a trance, finding Rafe’s just as he leans in and kisses the blonde girl. Almost alacritous with the way he presses his lips on hers — harder, longer, and the tension in the air suddenly feels too heavy.

You pull away from JJ in a hurry.

“Sorry,” you mumble, avoiding eye contact as you remove his hands from your waist. “Need some air.”

You think, as you tear through the crowd, away from him, that Rafe’s probably too busy with the blonde girl to notice your absence.

If only you’d stayed put, waited another split-second. You would have seen Rafe pull away right after you did, discard the bemused girl and disappear into the opposite direction.

SQUEALING SCREAMING THIS IS A DREAM COME TRUE THIS IS SO SO GOOD

#iloveyou

Euro Trip

(the lurkymurker legacy, part 3/5)

a/n: the third installation of the Euro Trip repost coincides with some of my favourite parts from the OG, enjoy 🫶

wc: 11.5K

Letting out a laboured sigh, Rafe loosened his grip on your waist, doing up the remainder of his shirt buttons as you stepped away.

“You know I’d do anything for you.” He murmured, his gaze trained on your figure. “We can keep it down low if you want.”

“Thank you.”

You paused, absently tucking and untucking the stray curls framing your face. “Seriously.”

“Oi, we’re going to be–”

“We’re coming Top.” You interrupted, perhaps more scaldingly than you had intended. “Relax.”

Topper winced, frozen in place as he registered your hardened tone. Rocking back on his heels nervously, he smoothed out the non-existent creases on his dress shirt before jamming his hands into his front pockets.

“Hey.” He breathed, watching you stride through the bedroom door. “Sorry. You look really great.”

You faltered, softening momentarily. “Thanks, Top.”

He offered you a meek, half-smile, gesturing you forward before catching Rafe’s eye. “Nice shirt, Rafe.”

“You too, buddy.” Rafe responded, giving his shoulder an awkward pat before following suit. “Let’s go?”

You nodded, offering an outstretched palm, almost subconsciously, before quickly drawing it back to your side. “Uh. Right.”

Topper frowned at the jerky motion, eyes narrowing slightly as they darted between your figures. “And you’re sure that you two didn’t…”

He trailed off, quirking an eyebrow. “…uh, you’re sure?”

“Of course we are.” You scoffed, casting Rafe a side-ways glance before clearing your throat. “Anyway. We’re going to be late.”

Readjusting the straps of your dress, you nodded them forward, wedged between their broad figures as you entered the long hallway.

“So where did you say we were going again?” Rafe questioned, his hand hovering teasingly low on your back. “Is it far?”

“Not far. We can walk.”

You paused, waving a strappy sandal clad foot in the air. “Didn’t wear heels.”

“Good.” Topper laughed, though it appeared almost forced, as he glanced down at you. “Now as long as you don’t get drunk–”

“I won’t–”

“–drunk, we won’t have to carry you back home.”

He bowed his head ever so slightly, breath tickling your neck, eliciting a shudder. “Although I wouldn’t mind doing so, you know.”

You felt your eyes widen at the remark, darting toward Rafe, as though on queue. “Uh. I won’t get drunk.”

Rafe hand was resting entirely on the small of your back now, brow furrowed slightly as he registered the exchange. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Inside joke.” Topper responded, gesticulating vaguely before continuing. “You wouldn’t get it. Don’t worry about it.”

He cocked his head to one side, punching the ground floor button before throwing an arm around your shoulder. “Didn’t think I’d see this dress make it out of that changing room, if I’m honest.”

“God, I know.” You laughed, making a face as you imitated your mother’s shriek. “’Y/n! Absolutely not!’ You guys didn’t even back me up.”

“I was a little distracted.” Topper coughed, removing his hand to trace the curve of your waist with his forefinger. “Look at you.”

“Topper.” You admonished, weakly swatting his hand away. “Stop it. You’re making me blush.”

“What?” Topper shrugged, raising his arms in surrender. “It’s true. Though I’m sure Rafe’s already told you that.”

“I have.”

“He has.”

“But you’re teasing.” You added quickly, your eyes fixed on the elevator doors, then the straps of your sandals, the faint glow of the floor numbers, anywhere but Topper’s features. “You didn’t even like me back then–”

“Who said?” Topper challenged, his knuckles grazing your own, purposefully slow. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

Rafe frowned at the admission, recalling Topper’s insistence of the exact opposite a mere month ago. “But you said–”

“I haven’t said anything to you.” Topper interrupted, tugging at his shirt collar nervously. “So, whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

You knitted your brow slightly, casting Topper a wary, sideways glance. “Why are you getting so defensive?”

“I’m not!” Topper contended, pausing momentarily before letting out a harsh breath. “Okay. I am. He just doesn’t know anything about us, so I get frustrated when–”

“There is no ‘us’.” You interrupted, manicured fingers raised in air quotes. “What are you talking about?”

Topper grimaced, breaking eye contact to thread his fingers through his hair. “You know what I mean.”

“Not really.”

“Drop it.” Rafe announced, feeling your body tense against his side. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

__

“You’re sure?” Topper hissed, gripping at Rafe’s forearm as you strode ahead. “Nothing happened?”

“Bro.” Rafe frowned, pulling away easily. “Relax.”

He kept his eyes trained on your figure, the way your hips swayed, the gentle breeze teasing curls out of your claw clip. “She’ll hear you.”

Unsatisfied by his response, Topper let out a desolate huff, jogging slowly to catch you up and throw a protective arm around your shoulder. “Nearly there?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, pointing toward the well-lit restaurant before glancing back at Rafe’s figure. “Rafael. Rule #1.”

“Y/n.” He mocked, registering the way your eyes lingered on his broad shoulders. “Rule #1.”

Your eyes widened at the remark, fist raised half-heartedly as he drew nearer. “Shut up.”

Rafe shook his head, tongue pressed against his cheek, smirking knowingly. “Can’t help it.”

Turning slightly, you cocked your head to one side, Topper’s arm sliding off your shoulder as you stepped toward Rafe. “Can’t help what? Being a nuisance? Or breaking Rule #1?”

“Wait a minute.” Rafe mused, his eyes darting downward, holding his breath at your proximity. “Breaking Rule #1 isn’t being a nuisance? And here I thought–”

“It is.” You swallowed, feeling your cheeks flush. “But you knew that.”

“In that case…”

Rafe paused, slipping a forefinger under your dress strap to give it a firm tug. “Both. Obviously.”

“It’s 7pm.” Topper announced warningly, still standing two steps away, rapping a finger against his watch. “C’mon, Y/n, you hate when we’re late to things.”

You nodded your head slowly, stepping backward in an attempt to regain your composure. When you spoke again, your voice was perhaps weaker than you had intended, goosebumps raising the skin of your collarbone where Rafe’s signet ring clad finger had been. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Beckoning Rafe forward, only to be guided forward, instead (“Ladies first!” “The feminist in me–” “Don’t worry. Nothing chivalrous. Just feel like staring at your –” “Rafael.”), you found your way to the front counter, greeted by a bored looking waitress busy scrolling through Instagram stories on her phone.

“Uh, hi.” You started, offering her a gentle smile before continuing. “Reservation for three? Under Y/n?”

She spoke without glancing up, replacing the phone on the counter to search through a tattered book in front of her. “There you are.”

Giving your name a purposeful tick, she readjusted the tie of her faded apron, half-way tightening her loose ponytail when she did finally meet your eye. Her gaze moved from you, to Topper, to Rafe, straightening slightly when she gave the latter a once-over. “Oh! Hi! I’m Anna.”

She was speaking only to Rafe, of course, though it was you who answered for the group, gaze hardened, sidling closer to his figure. “Hi, Anna. I’m Y/n, this is Rafe and Topper.”

“Right.” Anna nodded, her eyes lingering on where your hand hovered against his. “This way.”

She traversed the large restaurant, giving an equally bored looking waitress a pointed nod as she passed through the outside area. Gesturing you toward a candle-lit table overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, she placed three menus on the table, allowing you to seat yourselves before giving Rafe’s shoulder a gentle tap.

“If you need anything else.” She offered, smiling shyly. “Just let me know!”

“We will!” Topper called, quirking an eyebrow at Rafe’s awkward expression. “Thanks Anna!”

She reddened slightly, smoothing out the creases on her apron before disappearing into the restaurant. When you did finally hazard a glance at Rafe, you couldn’t help the way your stomach turned, his eyes trained on her figure, lips parted slightly, a Rule #1-esque gaze that made you want the ground to open under you and promptly swallow you whole.

She was definitely Rafe’s type, you found yourself thinking, brow furrowed slightly as you recalled her beautiful complexion. She had the kind of slender figure Rafe enjoyed dangling off his arm; a charming accessory, one you so hated, one the high-school version of Rafe Cameron couldn’t seem to live without. They were always stumbling against tables and furniture, his backwards cap on their head, a teasing smile on their features, flush against his torso as he aimed the ping pong ball–

“Y/n.” Rafe called, attempting to bring you out of your reverie. “Did you want to share the Carpaccio?”

“Oh.” You swallowed, shaking your head slightly. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”

Rafe frowned, cocking his head to one side. “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere.” You responded, tone rather meek despite your feigned defiance. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah.” Topper smirked, nodding pointedly toward the interior of the restaurant. “Don’t worry about anything, Anna’ll definitely take care of it–”

“Shut up Topper.” You scoffed, stealing a glance at Rafe before continuing. “She was just being nice.”

Topper gave you a questioning look, pausing only momentarily before bumping his fist against Rafe’s. “Dude, she’s totally hot.”

“Eh.” Rafe offered, eyes on you, ardently so. “She’s alright.”

You felt yourself flush under Rafe’s intense gaze, chewing at your bottom lip nervously as you spoke. “She was really beautiful, to be fair.”

“Didn’t register.” Rafe shrugged, reaching forward to grab a menu. “Too busy staring at someone else.”

Topper faltered, drawing his eyebrows together as he glanced between you and Rafe’s figures. Eyes widening at the admission, you pressed a hand against Topper’s chest, shaking your head slightly as he mouth opened to speak.

“Rafael.” You coughed, eyes widening warningly as they caught Rafe’s. “Rule #1.”

You tightened your grip on Topper’s dress shirt, the action an attempt to wordlessly remind Rafe of the promise he had made, not an hour prior. Rafe cocked his head to one side, searching your expression bemusedly before registering your hand on Topper.

“Oh shit.” He nodded, adjusting in his seat. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Topper questioned, his expression incredulous. “Since when do you say sorry when you’re–”

“Let’s just order.” You interrupted, the growing tension almost palatable against the gentle breeze. “Yeah, let’s get Carpaccio to share.”

“And a salad?” Rafe offered, squinting slightly as he read through the “Contorni” portion of the menu. “To share?”

You and Topper nodded, thumbing through the rest of the options before reaching the drinks, displayed on the last few pages. “And drinks.”

“No bottle.” You added warningly, quirking an eyebrow at Rafe’s frown, daring him to protest. “A glass each.”

“Boring.” Topper lilted, though he silently agreed to the terms, after their nightmare of a night in Florence. “Sav?”

“Sav.” You affirmed, glancing up in time to see Anna reappear with a small notebook clutched in one hand. “I can order.”

Plastering on a sweet smile, you followed her figure as it traversed the crowd, huffing slightly as it reached your table and sidled into Rafe’s side. “We’re ready to order, thank you!”

Anna faltered, forcibly peeling her eyes from Rafe’s features. “What can I get started for you?”

“So, um, can we start with the carpachacio–”

“It’s carpaccio.” Anna corrected, rolling her eyes discreetly before glancing down at Rafe. “Maybe you should order, Rafael.”

“Italian name, no?” She continued confidently, missing the way your jaw tightened at her use of his full name. “Do you speak any Italian, Rafael?”

“Just Rafe is fine.” He smiled, casting you a helpless look before opening the menu in front of him. “Uh, to start, just carpaccio, this salad here – sorry, if I pronounce it, I’ll butcher it – and three glasses of your best sauvignon blanc.”

Anna let out a tinkling laugh at Rafe’s attempt at a joke, punching her pen against his shoulder playfully as she spoke. “Ah, it is pronounced spinachi freschi, Rafe.”

“You friend is funny.” She added, glancing toward Toppers figure before raising an eyebrow at yours. “Or boyfriend?”

“No, no.” Topper assured her, shaking his head bemusedly. “These two hate each other.”

“Not hate.” You blurted out, perhaps more eagerly than you intended. “Uh, I mean, strongly dislike. Sure.”

“Oh, not me.” Rafe chimed, his eyes twinkling mischeviously. “I’ve been trying to get her to go out with me since we were fourteen.”

You faltered, lips parting slightly at the admission. “Fourteen?”

“Mm-hm.” Rafe shrugged, offering you a lopsided grin. “Mr. William’s math class.”

You paused, chewing at your bottom lip thoughtfully. “What about it?”

“That detention! For being late. You were standing at the very front of the class, arguing with Mr. Williams about how ‘Time is a construct’ and ‘Don’t blame me. Blame the patriarchal society that forces me to wake up an hour before my male peers to put on makeup and straighten my hair and look presentable’ and I remember thinking, yeah. None of us deserve to be in her presence. At all.”

“Still true.” Rafe added solemnly, giving you a cheeky wink before turning. “Anyway. I think that’s all, thank you Anna.”

Anna’s pen was frozen against her notebook, brow knitted slightly as she registered the exchange. Awkwardly, she wrote down a few words, clearing her throat before stepping backward. “Sure. Coming right up!”

“That’s not true, is it?” You questioned, hoping Rafe didn’t notice the hopeful lilt in your tone. “I mean, it can’t be, you were such a fuckboy all of sophomore year, and then junior year, and then god, Izzie’s party in senior year–”

“None of them really mattered to me.”

He winced slightly, hating how blasé he sounded. “I mean, shit, that’s not what I meant, they’re all great girls–”

“Right.” You interrupted, quirking an eyebrow at his harried expression. “Of course they are.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you bowed your head, busying yourself with the frayed edge of your menu in lieu of meeting Rafe’s eye. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Reminder?”

“That you’re still a douchebag.” You muttered inaudibly, your back stiff, emotions high. “I forget sometimes, why I disliked you so much in high-school.”

“Huh?” Topper frowned, eyes darting toward Rafe’s figure momentarily. “We didn’t catch that.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, grabbing your phone from the table before standing. “Nothing. Just need to use the bathroom. Be right back.”

Rafe pressed his palms against the table, already half-way standing, ready to follow. “You good?”

“Fine.” You nodded curtly, eyes fixed on the bright screen on your lock screen as you whirled around. “Don’t worry about it.”

Not entirely convinced, Rafe made to stand completely, halting only when met with Topper’s strong arm on his shoulder. “Sit. She’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?” Rafe questioned, raking his fingers through his hair. “What was that about?”

“That fucking locker room comment, obviously.” Topper scoffed, surveying Rafe’s expression with interest. “Why’re you so antsy? We already know she’s not the biggest fan of you.”

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to remain nonchalant. “Yeah, of course.”

“Wonder why she was being so quiet before, though.” Topper mused, gesturing toward the darkened street below them. “She didn’t even walk down with us, she was always two steps ahead.”

Rafe shrugged, fiddling with the signet ring on his finger. “Yeah. Tough nut to crack.”

“I guess. For you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. I mean.” Topper paused, gesticulating vaguely. “I’ve known her forever, and she’s liked me forever–”

“Well maybe not anymore.” Rafe gritted, a dangerous flush rising up his cheeks. “What is your problem, Top? You like throwing that in my face?”

“Woah.” Topper derided, raising his arms half-heartedly. “Relax. I thought this was well established, I was the one wing-manning you–”

“And then you stopped, because you caught feelings.”

Rafe let out a harsh breath, jaw tightening almost immediately after. “You said you wouldn’t. Before we came, you said, you could never. Why did you lie to her when she asked?”

“Lie to her?”

“You said that, ‘maybe you liked her before’.” Rafe recited, air quoting the phrase scathingly, almost bitter. “And you let her believe it.”

“Dude, what does it matter?” Topper responded, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Why are you getting like this?”

“You don’t care about her.”

“And you do?” Topper scoffed, letting out a mirthless laugh. “Don’t act like she isn’t just a little challenge for you, someone you’ll never have–”

“What the fuck?”

Rafe could feel the anger rising in his chest, flashing through his pupils and leaving them dangerously flared. “What, because she’s yours?”

Topper cocked his head to one side, offering a half-shrug in response. “Well, she’s certainly not yours, is she?”

Rafe wasn’t sure why it was that statement in particular that caused him to snap; hell, Topper had perfected the art of getting on his nerves, spent the better half of the last two weeks pushing every single one of his buttons. With palms pressed against the table so firmly it creaked, Rafe leaned in, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he spoke.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snarled, vehemence lacing every word. “So, shut up.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Topper quirked an eyebrow, ignoring the way Rafe’s fists tightened at the taunt. “I think I know her better than you do. And you should give it up.”

“Give it up?”

“Yeah. It’s clear she wants nothing to do with–”

“Really? Didn’t seem like that when she came onto me an hour ago.”

Rafe felt his jaw slacken, eyes wide as he slapped a hand over his mouth. Stuttering, barely audible, he began to shake his head, watching the admission wash over Topper’s features and settle into the steady frown lines etching his forehead and chin.

The building anger was gone as quickly as it had come, egged on Topper’s words and disappearing, as though satisfied, following Rafe’s contemptuous blunder.

“Shit, I–”

“Came onto you, huh?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, a desperate attempt to fight back the tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. “Some speech you gave me before, Rafe.”

“You’re different.” You continued, your fingers raised in air quotes. “Always been you. I would never hurt you. But here you are, showing off to Topper like I’m some fucking prize you finally got your hands on.”

Rafe froze, the venom in your tone suspending him, barely able to turn around to meet your eye. “Y/n, it wasn’t like that–”

“Don’t.” You interrupted, eyes squeezed shut, barely able to speak. “It clearly meant nothing.”

“Y/n.” Topper swallowed slightly, registering the quaver in your voice. “Is what he said true?”

You felt a tear roll down your pink cheeks, your words laboured, almost forced through your teeth. “Yeah. But it was obviously a big fucking mistake.”

Rafe stood, grimacing as you stepped backward, as though on instinct. “Let me explain.”

“Y/n!” Rafe called, his tongue pressed against his cheek as he gave you a once-over. “Game?”

You stumbled to a halt, quirking an eyebrow warningly as you turned toward him. “You have a partner already.”

“Oh, her?” Rafe responded, shaking his head slightly. “She doesn’t want to play.”

“Yeah, she clearly wants to do something else.” You quipped, rolling your eyes as the girl wrapped her arms around his neck. “Bye, Cameron.”

“Next time!” Rafe called teasingly, pressing his hands, almost absently, against the girl’s waist. “Hey! You didn’t even wish me happy birthday.”

The girl frowned, leaning backward as he survey Rafe’s expression. “S’ya like her?”

Peeling his eyes away from your figure, Rafe frowned slightly, guiding a hand around the girl’s waist and dragging her toward the kitchen. “Amber, you’re drunk. Let’s get you a glass of water.”

“But I wanna kiss.” She pouted, leaning in and pressing a kiss on the edge of Rafe’s lips. “C’mere.”

“You’re drunk.” Rafe repeated, pushing her against the counter to grab a glass from the bottom drawer. “Here.”

“You like her.” Amber garbled knowingly, accepting the water without a second thought. “D’finitely.”

She wouldn’t remember this in the morning, of course, having thrown back far too many shots of alcohol in her haste to covet Rafe Cameron. He would, though. He would remember her claim, how true it was, even back then.

“Explain what, exactly?” You retorted, incredulous. “That you’re exactly who I thought you were? That you’re the same fucking douchebag who’s managed to make his way through our senior class, somehow unscathed? God Rafe, I really fucking thought you liked me. I really fucking did.”

“Y/n.” Rafe started, his voice so gentle he was speaking through his breath. “I do like you. I really do.”

“Duuuuuuddddeeee.” Rafe slurred, eyes bright as he pressed the bottle of whiskey against Noah’s torso. “Look at her. M’gonna go speak to her.”

“No, you’re not buddy.” Noah responded, stopping him easily as he lunged for your figure in the distance. “We’re going home. C’mon.”

Rafe shook his head jerkily, squinting as he watched you sway in the distance. “No. Its prom. M’gonna go ask her out.”

“Prom’s over, buddy. We’re at the afterparty, and you’re wasted. Come on –”

“Y/n!” He called, frowning slightly as Noah covered his mouth with his hand. “G’out with me. I’ll do anything.”

His voice was muffled against Noah’s palm, earning only a fleeting glare from you before you disappeared onto the deck.

“Dude.” Rafe frowned, pushing against Noah determinedly. “Gerroff.”

He managed to escape the boy’s grasp, stumbling slightly as he followed you toward the large swing set outside. “Y/n!”

“Rafael.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “What do you want?”

Turning around, you gave him a fleeting once-over, his dress shirt half undone, tie loosened, gelled hair ruffled. “Uh, you good?”

“I am now.” Rafe smiled, nodding his head dopily. “Y/n. I need to ask you s’thing.”

“If it’s what I think it is–”

“G’out with me.”

“No.”

Rafe pouted, taking your hand in his, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Why not?”

You hesitated, deciding against lying, knowing Rafe was unlikely to remember this exchange through his inevitable hangover. “I’m going to get hurt.”

“No, no, no!” Rafe shook his head vigorously, eyes widened, appearing comical against the backdrop of the party. “Never. Swear.”

“No.” You hissed, vision blurring as your whirled around. “You don’t. You like that I finally fucking ‘came on to you’. Good for you, Rafe Cameron. Fooled every girl in our class, and now you’ve managed to fool me, too. Impressive feat. Well, fucking, done.”

Hot tears were flowing freely as you strode through the restaurant, creating rifts in your carefully daubed makeup and leaving your skin uncomfortably taut. It was only when you spotted Anna’s figure in the corner that you clumsily swiped at your mascara-stricken cheeks, offering her a weak smile before stepping through the exit door.

The cool breeze outside should’ve been a welcome relief, drying the tears against your cheeks and calming the red splotches overtaking your skin.

Instead, it made you think about Rafe Cameron, and how willing he always was, to offer you his far-too-large football jersey when it got cold. How his arms wrapped around your shoulders, almost instinctively, whenever a particular harsh wind interrupted the calm, summer air. The smell of his cologne, the teasing “Not that I’m complaining about how much skin you’re showing, but maybe you should dress warmer next time, Y/l/n”, the way your breath hitched as his fingers danced along your bare skin. The way he smiled when you laughed, the way he fiddled with his signet ring when you were angry, the way he gave you that look, that goddamn brilliant blue-eyed, longing look that made you wish you had never written down Rule #1 nor attempted to enforce it in its entirety.

“Wait, wait.”

You stumbled to a halt, hating yourself for wishing –albeit, fleetingly–to have heard a different voice. “Topper, I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“You shouldn’t walk back alone, though.” Topper responded gently, sidling in beside you with his hands still jammed into his front pockets. “C’mon. I told Rafe to wait back, a bit.”

“Why’d you do that?” You questioned, stepping away slightly as he made to thumb at your cheek. “Stop. I’m fine.”

He frowned, placing a hand on either shoulder to whirl you around. “You’re not fine.”

Hesitating slight, he slid his hand down your forearm, resting them on your waist before wrapping you in his arms. “C’mere, you dumbass.”

You didn’t realise that you had been holding your breath until you were flush against him, guiding your arms around his torso before exhaling harshly. It was as though you had forgotten how comforting your best friend’s touch could be, until this very moment, allowing yourself to bury yourself in his chest as you sobbed.

“Shhh.” Topper murmured, feeling your body shake, and pulling you impossibly closer. “Shit, Y/n, what happened?”

You willed yourself to calm down, forcing in a few painful, gasps before raising your chin slightly. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not.” Topper comforted, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Rafe is just –”

“Exactly who I thought he was.” You finished, squeezing your eyes shut frustratedly. “I’m an idiot.”

“Fuck, Top, I mean…”

You paused, pressing your hands against your cheeks. “…I didn’t even fucking realise, you know? That I felt something for him. And you were being so confusing and weird, and I didn’t know what I was feeling and–”

“I’m sorry I’ve been confusing and weird.” Topper laboured, thumbing at the mascara streaking your cheeks. “This whole situation has been confusing and weird.”

“It has.” You laughed, wincing slightly at the way your skin tightened, still raw from tearing up. “I’ve been an idiot.”

“I thought this whole time, he’d actually changed. For me. I mean, how fucking stupid is that?”

“It’s not stupid.”

You ignored Topper’s sentiment, already rebuilding the walls Rafe had so exhaustively broken down. “But clearly he’s incapable of change. He’s Rafe fucking Cameron.”

And as Rafe drew nearer your figures, a single rose hidden behind his back, he was able to ascertain only the last sentence of your exchange, the words ringing in his ears, painstakingly slow. ‘He’s Rafe fucking Cameron’. ‘You’re… you.’ He was blaringly inadequate, and now, you knew it too.

He let the rose fall from his hand, a single thorn piercing his palm as he fell. Stepping toward you, he winced slightly as you turned, your raw cheeks a piercing reminder of his words, how much they had hurt. “Let me explain.”

“No.” You responded simply, arms folding against your chest defiantly. “I don’t need an explanation.”

“But.”

Rafe hesitated, threading a shaky hand through his hair. “But maybe you’re wrong about me, maybe–”

“Maybe what? I’m different to the other girls?”

You let out a bitter laugh, already halfway turning around. “Already used that line on me, remember?”

Hesitating momentarily, you blew out your cheeks, your voice almost defeated when you spoke again. “You promised, Rafe. That you wouldn’t say anything. That you couldn’t hurt me. And then I find you…”

You trailed off, breathing slow. “Showing off, about what, me giving in? Coming onto you? That hurt. You hurt me.”

“It wasn’t like that, Y/n, I–”

“Don’t bother.” You interrupted, filled with a renewed sense of defiance. “Because, I mean, what else could it be like, really, when it comes to you?”

Rafe swallowed, feeling his gaze harden slightly. “That’s unfair. I’ve always been honest with you about how I feel.”

“How you feel?” You taunted, scoffing mirthlessly. “What, those stupid comments you make constantly?”

“I get that you’re upset, but if you’ll just let me explain–”

“Why should I?”

“Fuck, Y/n.” Rafe laboured, feeling himself begin to snap. “You think it didn’t hurt when you wanted to keep this a secret? As if I haven’t been openly pining for you since we were fucking fourteen?”

“You were fucking showing off–”

“And you’re ashamed that you have feelings for me.”

You faltered, feeling your lower lip begin to tremble. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“You know what?” Rafe gritted, turning you roughly. “I don’t think you ever did. I think you just wanted an excuse.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling a new set of tears threatening to blur your vision. “If that’s what you think, then let’s stop talking about it.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

Rafe loosened his grip on your shoulder, bringing his free hand up to smooth out his hardened features. Gesturing you forward, he gave you and Topper space to stride ahead, hands shoved keenly in his pockets, as though afraid what they might do. There they remained, tightened in fists as he trailed behind you, the whitened knuckles a backdrop for his inevitable self-destruction.

Having spent so long building up a wall, a self-assured façade that fooled even him, he was almost surprised at how quickly he was beginning to crumble; forced to face that that was all it was, an illusion.

Because in this moment, he wasn’t the confident, obnoxiously handsome Rafe Cameron that plagued your every thought. He was just Rafe Cameron, disappointment to his father, constantly falling short, never able to garner anyone’s attention and therefore doomed to remain a failure. He was just Rafe Cameron. And though just Rafe Cameron had supposed he wasn’t good enough for you, the nail you hammered into his coffin still stung; he had deluded himself, you see, into thinking he could be yours. He couldn’t be. He was just Rafe Cameron. And you were, well, anything but ‘just’.

__

Kelce was five minutes away from the Island Club when you called, having just completed a particularly grueling week at his summer internship. Your words, spoken through shuddered breaths, were enough to compel him to pull over and park his car between the rhododendron shrubs that decorated the Figure Eight in the summer.

“Y/n, hold on.” He answered, balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder in order to turn off the ignition. “I’m just driving.”

You grimaced at the poor quality; barely able to make out his words through the brokenness of it’s crackle. It acted as a painful reminder of your distance; how very implacable this mess was, and how far away it seemed, from a feasible solution.

;;

“Okay, hey, I’m here.”

“Kelce.” You quavered, catching your features in the bathroom mirror, registering the way they blanched. “Kelce, I think I fucked up. I really fucked up. It’s all fucked up.”

“Hey…”

Kelce paused, his brow furrowing. “Slow down. What happened?”

Laboriously, you recounted the night’s events to your best friend, pausing only to swallow the lump in your throat, to sharply exhale, to blink back unshed tears, to slowly, clumsily, collapse into yourself.

You were lucky, really, that Kelce could read between the broken lines; he could fill in the background details, could place Topper’s strange behaviour and Rafe’s steady advances. When you were finally done, there filled a weighty, almost comforting, silence in the air; one that blanketed you, absorbed all you had divulged and left you emotionally exhausted.

On the other end of the phone, there was a faint crackle, several, heaved breaths, and then finally, a sigh. Solidarity.

“Y/n…” Kelce started, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “I should come. I can come. I can find a flight.”

“No way, Kelce.” You responded, though you felt your features soften, touched by the sentiment. “I already have enough people on my case. Don’t wanna add your dad to the list.”

“You should ditch them, then.” Kelce offered, threading his fingers through his hair. “You haven’t caught a fucking break, apparently.”

“I haven’t.” You affirmed, pausing momentarily before continuing. “Part of that is my fault though, obviously. I mean fuck, making Topper jealous with Rafe? And then, kissing Rafe? And then…”

You trailed off languidly, as though the consequences of your actions were just now hitting you, painfully, and all at once. “Well, and then…”

“Falling for Cameron?”

You winced. “Falling for fucking Cameron. What the fuck is wrong with me Kelce? Why do I always manage to go for guys who don’t reciprocate feelings? I mean, the way he was talking about me –”

“Dude.” Kelce frowned, speaking carefully, purposefully slow. “Cameron does reciprocate feelings. The boy is in love with you. Embarrassingly in love. The way he gets when he talks about you? Look…”

“So, uh.” Rafe paused, pulling at the bill of his backwards cap. “She’s coming tomorrow, then? To the game?”

Topper bit back a laugh, sharing a knowing look with Kelce before responding. “Might be. Why?”

“Good.” Rafe shrugged, still attempting to feign nonchalance. “No, nothing. I was just wondering, since you guys are close –”

“Dude.” Topper interrupted, shaking his head bemusedly. “You know she hates you, right?”

Rafe lifted an eyebrow, offering the shorter boy a cheeky, lopsided grin. “For now.”

“Forever.” Kelce corrected, giving Rafe’s shoulder a fond pat. “In your fucking dreams, buddy.”

“That too.”

Kelce hesitated, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve known him since freshman year, and–”

“Who’s side are you on?” You accused, feeling a familiar flush creep up your cheeks. “I mean, did you hear what he fucking said? I feel like an idiot, Kelce.”

“And Topper…” Kelce pressed on, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, don’t worry about him. I’m going to talk to him. I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing but he clearly needs someone to just fucking–”

Kelce put down the phone, the sound of his fists swiping the air barely audible over the traffic. “– you know?”

You let out a weak laugh at the sentiment, wiping at your cheeks as you spoke. “I mean, I can totally do the honours.”

“Let me speak to him, yeah?” Kelce responded, relieved to hear the smile in your voice. “Don’t worry about him. I think he’s just… well he’s fucking Topper.”

“But, uh…”

He hesitated, contemplating whether now was the right time to ask. “I mean, uh, you and Topper…?”

Though you knew the question was inevitable – Kelce was frustratingly perceptive, even more so, when it came to you – you couldn’t help the way you cringed, placing the phone on the comforter beside you to bury your head in your hands.

“I don’t know.” You muffled, fingers pressed against your heated cheeks. “I’ve liked him forever, haven’t I?”

“Have you?” Kelce challenged, quirking his eyebrow knowingly. “You say you have, but have you really?”

You faltered, raising your chin ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Y/n…” He sighed, his eyes darting across his dashboard, as though it’d help him find the right words to say. “Being in love with your best friend is kinda easy, isn’t it?”

“I’m not in love with you, though.” You joked, though your frown was audible, laced into your feeble tone. “What do you mean, easy? You know how many times he made me cry at parties, kissing some other girl–”

“Cry like this, though?”

Topper offered you a mock salute and a wink, nodded pointedly at Amber’s figure before jogging to catch her up.

“You suck!” You called lamely, wrapping your arms around your chest in an attempt to stave off the biting, February air. “Making me walk alone.”

“Dude.” Kelce admonished, separating from his football team to match your stride. “I’m right here.”

“Right.” You muttered, feeling the tips of your ears redden. “I just meant…”

“I know what you meant.” Kelce dismissed, surveying your expression carefully. “Don’t you get tired of it?”

You offered a meek shrug, feeling self-conscious under his gaze. “It’s always been like this.”

“Do you ever feel…”

Kelce trailed off, his eyes darting between you and Topper, contemplating. “You know what. Nevermind.”

You were halfway opening your mouth in retort, ready to force Kelce’s words out of his throat, when Rafe’s broad figure sidled into your other side, wrapping his letterman jacket around your shoulders.

“Here.” He breathed, his hair teasingly ruffled, how you secretly preferred it. “You were shivering.”

“I wasn’t.” You scowled, attempting to shrug it off your shoulders to no avail. “I don’t need this.”

“Keep it.” Rafe insisted, his tongue pressed against his cheek as he gave you a once-over. “Looks better on you than it does me.”

“Rafael.” You warned, quirking an eyebrow at his figure. “Don’t start with your little comments.”

“One more?” He reasoned, bowing his head slightly, enough for his breath to tickle the sweet spot on your neck. “Did you see me make that last play?”

“Might’ve done.” You muttered, cheeks tinged pink. “What about it?”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “Without me?”

“Mm-hm.” Rafe nodded, the field lights speckling his blue eyes. “You’re my lucky charm, you know. You should come to games more often.”

Satisfied by your wide-eyed silence, he jogged forward, throwing an arm around Noah’s shoulder as he caught up with the rest of the group.

“Rafael. Your jacket!” You called, though you felt yourself wrapping it closer around you, breathing in the faint smell of sweat and cologne. “I’m going to leave it on the fucking grass if you don’t take it right now–”

“Give it back to me at the party!” Rafe responded, waving an arm in the air. “Or don’t. Keep it. Sleep in it. Wear it without anything else underneath –”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.”

You had spent the rest of the night coming up with different ways to convey this phrase, complaining about the gall of Rafe Cameron while Kelce was forced to keep his mouth shut. Ironically, the activity proved a useful distraction from the indiscretions of Topper and his newest blonde obsession, Amber Hartley; your feelings for him had been overpowered, replaced, albeit momentarily, by a different kind of passion.

“I mean, look.” Kelce pressed on, using your silence to his advantage. “It’s always going to be the same old story with Top. You’re not afraid to let your guard down with him. So why is it up so high when it comes to Rafe? You’re usually super chill, and then Rafe walks into the room, and–”

“Because he sucks.” You argued, jutting out your bottom lip, ignoring the way it trembled. “Because I hate him, and his little comments, and–”

“But they shouldn’t bother you this much if you didn’t care about him.”

“Not necessarily true.”

“Y/n.” Kelce sighed, lowering his voice slightly, adopting a gentler tone. “I just think your feelings are a little more complicated than you’re letting yourself believe –”

“Not anymore, I –”

“ – but, it isn’t all fucked up, and you haven’t fucked anything up. All I’m saying is, I’ve watched Rafe pine for you since before I knew him. He isn’t going to let up this easily, despite what’s just happened.”

“He isn’t going to let up?” You repeated, incredulous. “Despite what’s just happened? Wait a minute, you think I’ve done something wrong?”

Kelce paused, frown lines etched into his forehead. “Y/n, come on. It’s not like you were the only one hurting in that argument.”

“But I was hurting more.” You insisted, though you felt your heartbeat quicken as panic settled into your chest. “I was.”

“I know.” Kelce agreed, chewing at his bottom lip nervously. “I think he is too, though, that’s all.”

“Fuck.”

You let out a harsh breath, pulling your knees into your chest. “What do I do, Kelce?”

“Here’s what you do.” Kelce responded, absently tapping his fingers against his car window. “You do nothing. You take care of your fucking self.”

“I’ll speak to Top.” He continued, frowning slightly at the fingerprints he left on the tinted glass. “And Rafe will speak to you. You’re going to Santorini tomorrow, right?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Just, enjoy Santorini, okay? Call me whenever. You should’ve called me sooner. I’m right here, you know.”

You nodded slowly, speaking through a small smile. “I didn’t want to annoy you.”

“Are you kidding?” Kelce laughed, the sound impossibly comforting in the present moment. “This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me this break.”

“No offense.” He added, hearing your scoff. “This internship is fucking boring. And your Instagram stories aren’t helping.”

“Two more weeks!” You sang, peeling yourself off your comforter to steal a glance at the wall clock opposing you. “Anyway, dude, I should probably go so I can get some sleep before tomorrow.”

“Fuck off. You didn’t even ask how I was.”

“Shit.” You winced, phone held close as you dragged your feet toward the bathroom. “Sorry Kelce, how’ve you been?”

“I’m teasing, you idiot.” He chuckled, balancing his phone against the steering wheel as he turned on the ignition. “Don’t worry, I’m heading to the Island Club now, anyway.”

“Shit. Okay.”

“Hey Kelce?” You added, squeezing out the last of your toothpaste. “You’re alright, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, dumbass. Okay, now leave me alone, I’m trying to enjoy my Friday night.”

__

“Dude. What the fuck?” Kelce hissed, scrambling to grab his wallet and keys from the passenger’s seat. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Hello to you, too.” Topper yawned, propping himself up on his elbows. “I’m good, Kelce, thank you for asking. How are you?”

Kelce ignored him. “Stop being an asshole. She’s our best friend.”

“Fuck, Kelce.” Topper laboured, smoothing a calloused hand over his features. “You don’t think I fucking know that?”

“She called me crying, you fuckwit.”

Topper faltered, jolting upright. “She did?”

“Of course she fucking did. She can’t talk to you, can she?”

“You don’t understand.” Topper reasoned, raking his fingers through his hair. “Rafe is being… and she…”

“What I don’t get, though.” Kelce pressed on, leaning against the side of his car and squinting toward the looming Island Club. “Is that you told Rafe you’d wing man him. What the fuck happened to that?”

“I think I like her.” Topper responded, though his tone was unconvincing, even to himself. “Did she tell you they fake flirted? In front of me?”

“You don’t. And even if you think you do, you need to get over it.”

Topper forced a scoff, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “You don’t know shit.”

“I know you. And I know her.” Kelce countered, his tone determined, a stark contrast to Topper’s. “You’ve just gotten used to her being about you all the time.”

“But I love her–”

“So do I! But you’re not in love with her.”

Kelce paused, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “Look. You can’t sit here and tell me you think about her like Rafe does.”

“What?” Topper frowned, fisting at his duvet until his knuckles whitened. “What the fuck does he have to do with anything?”

“Dude, holy fuck.”

Kelce rolled his eyes, feeling himself getting frustrated. “Just… don’t be a dick. She’s clearly hurting right now, so don’t add your fucking baggage onto this situation, okay?”

“How are you taking Cameron’s side, right now?” Topper huffed, collapsing back onto the bed with his head in his hands. “You weren’t even on board with him coming on the trip. You know that Y/n doesn’t –”

“Except she does, obviously.”

Topper blinked several times. “No. It’s me and her. It’s always been me and her.”

“No.” Kelce chastised, pressing his fingers against his temple before continuing. “It’s always been just her. You didn’t like her before. And I don’t even think you like her now.”

“But–”

“Bro.” Kelce interrupted, locking his car behind his shoulder. “Look, I’m late, so let me just get to my fucking point.”

“Just… fucking, be her friend, okay? She needs one. And you haven’t been one for a while, apparently.”

Topper squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, maintaining a nonexistent sense of defiance. “You don’t know shit about my feelings.”

“Clearly you don’t either.”

Kelce sighed, halfway pressing the red, “End Call” button as he strode through the Club entrance. “Look, I gotta go, just, stop being an idiot. And take care of yourself.”

Topper was letting out a weak “Fuck you too, bro.” when he heard the steady beep of the disconnect tone; the sound piercing the airless silence and accentuating Kelce’s words. Slowly, he pushed himself back toward his pillow, propping his head against his palm to stare at the tall ceiling above him. He would lay there till morning, wide awake, combing through his blonde locks until they lay limp, matching his languid figure.

__

Rafe Cameron was self-destructing.

With his back pressed against the headboard, still wearing dress shirt you had picked out for him, he removed his phone from his front pocket and unlocked it with a punctuating click. The bright screen illuminated his hardened features; loosely captured his despondence as he selected the message thread he shared with you.

Slowly, painfully, he typed out a broken message, his thumb hovering dangerously close to the “Send” button as he gave it a once-over. “Hey, I’m sorry, can we talk?”. He shook his head awkwardly, scrunching up his features before holding down the backspace. “Hey, I know I’ve fucked up, will you give me a chance to explain? We should talk.” Again, the steady click of the backspace. “Hey, I know I don’t deserve you. That was an extremely stupid thing for me to say, and I really want to explain. I never wanted to make you cry, Y/n, ever. Can we talk?” This time, he punched his finger against the button purposefully, removing letters, then words, then spaces, until he was left with only a single sentence. “Hey, I know I don’t deserve you.”

Rafe stared at the screen for several minutes, reading and rereading the seven words until they appeared foreign under his gaze. Swallowing slightly, he exited out of the messages app, replacing it with Instagram and typing in your handle.

He was torturing himself, really, looking through your old photos, knowing they would only affirm what he already knew. You were nothing short of the personification of sunshine to him, brilliant, bright-eyed, wearing a crinkly smile and a beautiful wardrobe as you posed alongside a handful of your closest friends. Rafe had to squeeze his eyes shut and furrow his brow to picture himself inserted into the frame; he wasn’t sure he’d ever belong there, in your world, especially not now, especially not after tonight.

Sliding down the headboard, he clicked his phone off, placing it onto the bedside table before pushing his head into his pillow. He didn’t bother to change out of his clothing, nor get up to turn off the ceiling light. He stared up at it until he saw stars in his eyes, and then, he stared at it some more.

__

Having barely slept the night before, the ten hour flight to Santorini should have been a welcome relief; an opportunity to avoid the present situation in lieu of getting some much needed shut-eye.

However, as you dragged your feet across the foyer, Rafe and Topper’s tired figures already leaning against the front counter, you felt your yawn catch in your throat, shoulders tensing slightly as you gave the former a fleeting once over. Though the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, Rafe Cameron was wearing Ray Bans, lazily staring down at his phone with his tousled locks flopping over his forehead. His shirt was carelessly unbuttoned, loosely matching a pair of shorts, with a thin, silver chain peeking out from under the collar. Perhaps you had expected him to appear more disheveled; to match your hopelessness, portray it through the way he dressed. Rafe Cameron looked perfectly normal. And it infuriated you to no end.

“Shall we?” You beckoned, avoiding his gaze as you drew nearer. “I didn’t call a taxi, but–”

“I did it.” Topper dismissed, frowning slightly as he surveyed you. “Hey, how are you?”

He hesitated, arms raised awkwardly before wrapping them around you. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” You muffled, grateful for his concern. “How’re you?”

“You’re sure?” Topper muttered, ignoring the question. “Because…”

He paused, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. “Kelce told me you called him.”

“Topper.” You warned, clearing your throat awkwardly. “We can talk about that later.”

Slowly, you stepped backward, turning slightly to address Rafe’s figure. “Rafael.”

“Y/n.” He responded, not bothering to look up. “How’s it going?”

“Okay.” You laboured, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. “You?”

Rafe offered a half-shrug, sliding his phone into his back pocket before meeting your eye. “Could be better.”

“Right.”

“We should go?”

“Right.”

And though you nodded slowly, reaching down to grab your bag, you swore that his voice had dulled; its usual lilt was indistinct, and it made you tense all over.

__

Despite your heart-rending night in Florence, you were determined to follow Kelce’s advice and make the very most of the Greek Isles. Having spent most of the flight stifled by an awkward silence, stepping into the golden sun was a welcome relief; a breath of fresh air, an opportunity to separate.

“I think I’m going to go to the beach for a bit.” You announced, opening the door to your room as Rafe and Topper fiddled with their keys. “It’s still nice out.”

“I’ll come.” Topper offered, flashing you a sheepish smile. “We can talk?”

You chewed at your bottom lip, eyes darting toward Rafe’s unmoving figure. “Yeah, sure. Rafe, you want to come?”

Rafe swallowed, shaking his head slightly. “Didn’t get much sleep before, might just stay here.”

“Okay.” You nodded, hating how disappointed you felt, how much you wanted him to come, despite it all. “We’ll see you for dinner then.”

Lugging your bag onto your bed, you slid into a new bikini, throwing a summer dress over it before grabbing your tote from the side pocket.

“Top.” You acknowledged, finding him leaning against the wall as you closed the door. “What do you want to talk about?”

Topper straightened, jamming his hands into his front pockets as he stepped toward you. “Everything.”

“Everything?” You repeated, quirking an eyebrow, daring him to continue. “What do you mean?”

“Firstly.” He started, beckoning you toward the elevator. “How are you? After everything?”

You frowned, jerking your head toward Rafe’s closed room door, as though hoping he was standing there, waiting. “I’m fine now.”

“Seriously?” Topper pressed, unconvinced. “Because you were in a pretty bad state over Cameron, and I just…”

He hesitated, threading his fingers through his hair. “I know I’ve been a shitty friend. So, if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You softened, doe-eyed as you gazed up at him. “Hey, thanks Top.”

“Of course.” Topper affirmed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “And listen, I’ve been a dickhead about… you know…”

He trailed off, gesticulating awkwardly. “Everything else. How I feel.”

“And how do you feel?” You questioned, swallowing slightly. “About me?”

“I mean, I thought I liked you.” Topper doubted, eyebrow knitted as he met your eye. “But then–”

“Kelce?” You finished, letting out a weak laugh. “Me too.”

Topper offered you a half smile, pulling you closer to lean his head atop yours. “Yeah. Kelce. He was a real dick about it, by the way.”

“Good.” You chided, aiming a playful punch at his chest. “You’ve been a fucking asshole these past two weeks, you know that? The shit I’ve done to get you, and now–”

“You want someone else?”

You faltered, shaking your head half-heartedly. “It’s complicated.”

“Are you guys going to talk about it?”

“I don’t think he cares enough to do that.” You grimaced, screwing up your face momentarily. “Whatever. It’s whatever.”

Topper frowned, leaning backward to survey your features. “He does care, you know.”

He paused, shaking his head reflectively. “And I’ve been a real dick to him about just how much.”

“Maybe he did.” You sighed, stepping into the foyer with Topper close behind. “But he doesn’t anymore. And neither do I.”

“You don’t mean that.” Topper reproved, catching your wrist in his hand. “You have feelings for him, Y/n.”

“I did. And then I got hurt. And now I don’t.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling your lower lip begin to tremble. “Can we drop it now and go back to being best friends? Santorini was our most anticipated destination, Top.”

And as he registered the way your eyes glistened, almost threateningly, under the light fixtures on the ceiling, it took everything in him not to wrap his arms back around you, resigned to beckoning you forward, his tone forcibly light. “Okay, okay. C’mon.”

__

The next few days in Santorini occurred without fault, spent basking in the sun, wading through the Aegean Sea, and exploring the local markets stalls that lined every cobbled street. Gradually, you and Topper fell back into each other’s stride; linking arms and sharing ice cream cones and taking more than enough selfies to make up for lost time. And though you and Rafe did labour through small-talk ridden conversations, it lacked his teasing lilt, your indignance that opposed it; replaced instead by a heavy tension that left you feeling exhausted after every breath.

“Top can you do my –”

You faltered, registering Rafe’s unmoving figure settled on the towel beside you. “Sorry, Rafe, uh, can you do my back, by chance? Not sure where Topper’s gone.”

Rafe nodded, fishing for the bottle of sunscreen in your bag. “Here, let me, uh…”

Trailing off, he awkwardly moved your hair to one side, his signet ring eliciting a shudder as it pressed against the skin of your neck. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You dismissed, waving a manicured hand in the air. “Thanks.”

“No biggie.”

He held his breath (unknowingly, you were holding yours too), gentle as he massaged the sunscreen into your back. When he was finally finished, his fingers lingered against the strap of your bikini, swallowing slightly at how flimsy it felt, held under the pad of his thumb. “All done.”

“Thanks.” You responded, crinkling your nose slightly as you gazed up at him. “Jesus, did you do your fucking back? You’re going to burn, Rafael.”

Rafe smiled at your use of his full name; an endearing, almost automatic remark that you probably hadn’t thought twice about.

“I haven’t. Can you do me?”

And rather than settling back into your stride, you were settling into an entirely new one; one that you knew wouldn’t last, not until you addressed your last night in Florence, that was.

You squinted slightly at the small mirror by the stall, holding the necklace against the nape of your neck. “What d’you think?”

“Buy it.” Rafe responded without missing a beat, wincing slightly when he realised you weren’t talking to him. “Top probably thinks so, too.”

“Yeah.” Topper affirmed, lifting an eyebrow at Rafe’s expression. “You good?”

“Here.” Rafe offered, ignoring Topper’s sentiment. “I can buy it for you.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching the necklace from his grasp. “Shut up. You’re not doing that.”

Rafe cocked his head to one side, already passing the stall owner a wad of cash. “Why not?”

“Here.” You groaned, shoving it into his chest. “Give it to someone else. I don’t want it.”

“There is no one else.”

Rafe swallowed, shaking his head slightly. “Uh, I mean… doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”

What was two more weeks of awkwardness to avoid a difficult conversation? You had convinced yourself you could live like this. Topper was determined to convince you of the exact opposite.

“No.” Topper hissed, dragging you through the foyer. “Today, we’re all having dinner together.”

“But I wanna sit at the beach.” You mumbled, though you had taken extra care doing your makeup, that day, spent several more minutes than required teasing through your curls. “I don’t want to.”

Topper exhaled sharply, fixing you with a pointed glare. “You’ve sat on the beach for the past two days. You guys have to fucking talk about this.”

He plastered on a smile as he neared Rafe’s figure, the taller boy handsome as ever, his unbuttoned shirt showing off his tan. “Rafe!”

“Hey.” Rafe smiled, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Where are we going?”

“Oh yeah, let me sort an Uber for that.” Topper answered, pushing you forward as he headed for the entrance. “You guys wait here, I’ll be right back.”

“Topper.” You warned, flushing under Rafe’s gaze. “You can do that right here.”

Topper offered a simple shrug in response, mouthing a few imperceptible words with his phone pressed against his cheek. He gave you a thumbs up before turning, an arm raised in farewell as he disappeared into the late afternoon soon.

Rafe hesitated, surveying your expression carefully before letting out an awkward laugh. “He won’t be long.”

“He did this on purpose, you know.” You sighed, raising your fingers in air quotes. “To ‘talk it out’, or whatever.”

“Oh.” Rafe nodded, chewing at his bottom lip thoughtfully. “And you don’t want to?”

You swallowed, eyes widening slightly. “No, no! It’s not that, uh… I don’t know.”

“Right.”

Rafe paused, furrowing his brow. “Listen, about what I said, I’m really sorry. Topper was riling me up and… anyway, that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” You mumbled, stepping forward instinctively. “I’m sorry, too. I, uh, said some shitty things that I didn’t mean.”

“I deserved it.” Rafe dismissed, though he offered you a sheepish grin, all the same. “Don’t worry about it. All is forgiven.”

“Good.” You exhaled, clutching at your chest. “Can we go back to you making little comments and me getting mad? That was fun.”

“You had fun?” Rafe teased, brushing his fingers against yours, teasingly slow. “Need to up my game, then.”

And so, the situation had been resolved. Hadn’t it?

__

“Hey, we should go to this.”

You groaned, swatting at the flier Topper held against your book. “Go away. I’m reading.”

“You’re rereading.” Topper corrected, snatching your book away before you could protest. “Can we like, party? I’m fucking bored.”

Rafe stirred beside him, untucking the hand resting under his head to shield his eyes from the sun. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Topper shrugged, wearing a shit-eating grin. “But this really hot Greek chic gave me this flier and told me we should go. So we’re going.”

“Fuck sake, Topper.” You laughed, propping yourself up on your elbows. “How do you know she’s not just, like, a club promoter or something?”

“She probably is.” Topper responded, giving the poster a thoughtful once over. “I still want to party, though.”

“Fine, we’ll go. Now shut up. I’m trying to enjoy this.”

Eventually, Topper’s restlessness got the better of you, and you were forced to peel your body from your beach towel and drag your feet back toward the hotel. After a reasonably long cold shower (with minimal wincing, despite your patchy sunburn), you slid into a loose summer dress and sandals, giving your reflection a fleeting once-over before heading for the hallway.

“Partyyyy.” Topper whistled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. “Please look more excited. It’s extremely difficult being the fun one.”

You scoffed, sharing a knowing look with Rafe before pulling away from Topper’s grasp. “Everyone knows I’m the fun one.”

“No.” Rafe and Topper said in unison, biting back a laugh at your prompt scowl. “You’re not.”

“It’s okay, though.” Rafe muttered lowly, closing the distance between you as you stepped into the elevator. “You can be the hot one.”

You scoffed, flustered. “Shut up, Rafael.”

You’re the hot one, you wanted to add, your eyes lingering on the silver chain peeking out of his striped shirt. You’re most definitely the hot one.

Topper punched a finger against the ground floor button, rubbing his hands together as he spoke. “Should we get some food?”

“I’m not hungry.” You shrugged, your eyes flitting toward Rafe. “You?”

“Can get something small at the club, I guess.” Rafe responded, pulling at the bill of his hat. “No biggie.”

“Good.” Topper responded, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I want to get extremely fucked up.”

“Topper.” You warned, pressing your hand against his chest. “Okay, maybe we should get some food.”

“What?” Topper quipped, raising his eyebrows at your features. “You’re the only one allowed to get embarrassingly drunk?”

You swallowed, feeling yourself flush. “That was mean. Take it back you dick.”

“Nah.” Topper shrugged, laughing as he dodged a punch. “Relax, not the first time.”

“Shut up.” You muttered, feeling Rafe’s eyes bore into your back. “Anyway.”

You cleared your throat, striding through the elevator doors with Rafe and Topper close behind. “Is it walking distance?”

“Think so. Here, Google Maps says it’s five minutes away.”

“Perfect.” You responded, wedging yourself between their figures, linking arms expectantly. “Well, c’mon.”

“So, did you get this girl’s number, Top?” Rafe questioned, casting him a wayward glance as you stepped onto the cobbled street. “Can she get us free drinks or something?”

Topper lifted his shoulders awkwardly, beckoning you toward a throng of people before offering a demure response. “Dunno. Doesn’t matter. Drinks on me.”

“I got it.” Rafe gritted, placing a punishing grip on Topper’s shoulder. “Listen, can I talk to you a second?”

He paused, features softening as he gazed down at you. “Do you mind, sweetheart?”

“Not your sweetheart, Rafael.” You muttered, though you separated from their figures, striding two steps ahead. “Yeah, yeah, go on.”

Rafe pressed an arm against Topper’s shoulder, forcing him to a halt. “Look. Thanks for forcing us together yesterday, but I still haven’t received a fucking apology from you. And this whole club thing better not become–”

“It won’t.” Topper swallowed, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. For real.”

“Huh.” Rafe faltered, nodding slowly. “Didn’t think it’d be that easy.”

Topper flashed him a sheepish, half-smile, guiding him forward as he spoke. “No hard feelings. I was being an idiot. I’ve sorted it out with Y/n, now, and we’re on the same page. So, there’s no use me acting like I didn’t fuck up. I did.”

“Oh.”

Rafe winced, dragging his feet along the loose gravel. “You guys are on the same page?”

“Relax.” Topper responded, lifting an eyebrow knowingly. “I mean we just figured out that we’re best friends, before anything else. Not, uh, not on the same page like that.”

“Right.” Rafe nodded, swiveling his cap so it sat backward on his head. “I wish we were on the same page.”

“Aren’t you?” Topper frowned, gesticulating vaguely. “You guys talked last night. Didn’t you?”

“Oh. That. Yeah, I guess.”

Not entirely convinced, Topper faltered, halfway opening his mouth when he registered you walked backward toward their figures.

“Okay. I’ve given you enough space. Hurry up.” You sang, beckoning them forward. “Hurry up.”

You stopped against Rafe’s broad torso, eyes widening as he steadied your hips.

“You should watch where you’re going, Y/n.”

“Shut up.” You shot back, leaning backward, as though on instinct. “As if you care.”

“You’re right.” Rafe murmured, guiding you through a throng of people as you neared the busy club. “Don’t mind you being this close.”

You swallowed, pressing your hands against his where they rest on your bare skin. “Rafe.”

“Y/n.” He teased, though he drew them back to his side, joining the queue were Topper stood. “C’mon.”

__

Rafe Cameron was drunk.

Shortly after entering the bar, and acquiring Greek style beverages, the three of you had settled into a corner of the outdoor area, enjoying the balmy, summer breeze that wrapped around your sunburnt figures.

Feeling particularly left out of the inside jokes you and Topper had shared, Rafe had managed to down twice as many drinks as either of you, using the act of purchasing more as an excuse to escape the scene than anything else. He had been used to the distance before, having spent much of his adolescence receiving little to no attention from you. But after two weeks of playing the will-they, won’t-they game, the distance was no longer endearing. It was painful. And it was hurting Rafe Cameron.

And as he leant against a counter, gulping down the last of his rum-based beverage, he came to terms with why he was drinking; the answer clear as day, as he looked around for your figure. He had assumed that the alcohol would have helped loosen his tongue, revive the flirtatious exchanges he had spent the better half of the Euro Trip perfecting. But when he spotted you in the distance, swaying against Topper’s figure, the intoxicated version of him was anything but loosened up. His jaw was set, his shoulder’s tensed, and his eyes were dangerously narrowed; he was frustrated, and he was teetering over the edge of doing something about it.

Nothing had been resolved, you see, in the Parent Trap-esque exchange Topper had so stealthily organised. Rafe Cameron required a resolve. And he required one, now.

“Shot?” Rafe asked, catching the eye of the nearest barkeep by punching a fist against the drinks counter. “Two, actually.”

“Who’s the other one for?” A girl teased, sidling in beside him with a quirked brow. “Not me, I hope.”

Rafe laughed awkwardly, jerking a finger toward the floor before responding. “Both are to help me with her.”

The girl paused, surveying Rafe’s expression carefully. “Her?”

“I’m in a situation.” Rafe explained, picking up a shot and downing it with a wince. “Really like this girl. But it’s never going to happen.”

Frowning slightly, the girl peered over his shoulder, eyes darting between dancing figures in an attempt to place you. “Why isn’t it going to happen?”

“She’s perfect.” Rafe responded easily, downing the other before swiveling in his seat. “I’m not.”

“You’re not so bad.” The girl offered, patting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Came over here because I thought you were the exact opposite, actually.”

She hesitated, cocking her head to one side. “But I see you’re preoccupied.”

“Mm-hm.” Rafe nodded, making to step away from the counter. “Bye!”

“Wait!” The girl called, her grip on his shoulder tightening. “Hold on. You’re not going to speak to her when you’re this drunk, are you?”

“Why not?” Rafe scowled, shrugging her hand off him. “Need to fix this.”

“Dude, not going to end well.”

Rafe ignored her. She was a stranger, what did she know?

Striding through the crowd purposefully (and pushing against a fair few people, in the process), Rafe managed to find you and Topper, propped against a small brown table with identical drinks in hand.

“Where’d you go?” You called, giving him a once over as he drew nearer. “We couldn’t find you when we came inside!”

“Y/n.” He slurred, taking his hand in hers. “Can we talk?”

Topper frowned, his gaze fixed on Rafe’s harried features. “Rafe, how much did you have to drink?”

“Shhhh, Top.” Rafe hushed, using his free hand to press a finger against Topper’s lips. “I’m speaking. Y/n?”

“Rafael.” You warned, squinting slightly as you scrutinised him. “You good?”

“Are you?” Rafe pressed, thumbing at the soft skin of your palm, gentle despite his clumsiness. “After Florence?”

You exhaled, pressing your palms against his chest. “Rafe, we’re not talking about that here.”

“Why?” Rafe complained, pulling you impossibly closer. “I need to tell you something.”

“Rafe.” Topper hissed, roughly pulling him away. “C’mon, bro, you’re drunk.”

Rafe frowned, staying rooted to the spot. “No.”

“Y/n.” He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut in order to concentrate. “Y/n, I know I don’t deserve you.”

“But I want to deserve you.” He continued, eyes snapping open, as though pleading. “Because I’m sorry about what I said. Didn’t mean it. Topper made me.”

You faltered, brow furrowing slightly. “Topper made you?”

“Taunting me!” Rafe nodded, pointing an accusatory finger at Topper’s figure. “Saying you couldn’t ever like me. Is that true?”

“Rafe…”

You trailed off, gazing up at him helplessly. “Can we please talk about this when you’re sober?”

Rafe ignored you. “One more thing.”

He crinkled his nose, a languid attempt to gather his thoughts. “It’s always going to be you, you know? It’s all I think about. When you act like you don’t care, like you don’t want me, it hurts. Like what I said. In Florence.”

You swallowed several times, feeling your lower lip begin to tremble. “Rafe, I’m sorry about –”

“Shhhh.” Rafe interrupted, stumbling slightly. “Let me finish. Don’t care. Forgive you. Can’t stay mad at you because it ends up hurting me. You’re a part of me, you know?”

“Rafe –”

“Y/n.” He warned, his eyes impossibly bright. “Doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the same. I really like you. You don’t have to like me too. Because I like me, when I’m with you. I can do both. Do anything, for you.”

He stepped backward purposefully, giving Topper’s back a firm pat before pivoting on his heel. “Going back, now. I feel sick.”

how do you serve cunt covered in blood? idk ask him

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asking all the right questions‼️

@proactivetypaperson