the coffee table was littered with remnants of the night before. crumpled beer cans, scattered drug baggies, and half-smoked cigarettes. ever since hes been kicked out, you two have been throwing absolute ragers at the vacation house. it was clear that he was an addict, and a borderline psychopath. but you weren't any better.

rafe leaned back, his arm draped across the backrest as he twirled a lighter between his fingers. his shirt is half-unbuttoned, and your legs were sprawled over his lap, your head rested on the armrest, as you scroll through your phone with one hand, the other one resting on your thigh.


rafe’s bloodshot eyes flicker over the mess on the table. he huffs out a laugh, leaning forward to swipe a stray beer can off onto the ground. “think that counted as a productive night?” he mutters, his voice still rough from the hours of yelling over music and smoking god knows what.
 you glance up from your phone, a smirk on your lips. “if by productive you mean destructive, then yeah. we’re killing it.”


rafe smiled. “that’s my girl,” he said, running a hand down your leg as he leans back again, his touch lingered just enough to send a shiver up your spine. he grabs a cigarette from the ashtray, lights it, and takes a drag, “think the neighbors called the cops this time?”


“wouldn’t be the first time,” you replied, your voice light. “not like they can actually do anything. place is in your name.”


rafe chuckles, but it was low and dark, more of a scoff. “yeah, well, we’ll see how long that lasts. im on thin fuckin' ice with my dad, y’know.” he takes another drag, his free hand finding your thigh and squeezing it. “good thing I’ve got you to keep me entertained while I’m out the family business.”


you roll your eyes, “you’re lucky I don’t get bored of this trainwreck.”


he tilts his head, his gaze sharpening as it settles on you. “nah,” he says quietly, almost like a promise. “you’re just as much of a mess as I am.”


he couldn't be more right. and that’s why you two worked so well.