Rafe knew exactly how the two of you became friends and still he couldn't fucking believe it. You're so.. shy, and inexperienced and he thinks sometimes you're borderline pathetic in a cute way. And he's.. him. A dealer, people are scared shitless if he even says a single word to them. People think he's just taking advantage of you, considering the differences between the two of you, but he wouldn't consider your relationship like that.

And your relationship. That's a whole other thing. Rafe's anything but platonic towards you. He always has a hand on your body, like your hip or your lower back. And he always says these things that you're certain are just friend things but literally everyone else knows aren't. At parties, when you're in your pretty little outfits, his eyes linger where a friend's wouldn't. But he always convinces you with an, "S'okay, we're friends, right?" And you don't think much of it.

You're oddly quiet beside him as he's dealing out at some pool party—he literally couldn't care less about the party, his only focuses being making some quick cash amd you. And you're never this quiet, his blue eyes fluttering over you for a moment. "Y'starin', babe," okay, he was too, but like. It wasn't you. You were usually talking his ear off about some shit that excited you. He glances down to find whatever it was you were looking at, thinking it may have been him, but this time it wasn't.

The way your gaze lingered on the product he was trying to deal out made his brows raise and a soft smirk settle on his lips. "What's goin' on in your pretty head, huh?" His tone is coaxing, encouraging.

As much as he wants to keep you away and shelter you from drugs, alcohol, the likes, the thought of you high as fuck does make his heart race.