The bass is still thumping from inside the club, the neon lights casting a red glow over the pavement as Rafe leans against his car, cigarette burning between his fingers. His shirt is half-unbuttoned, collar stretched like someone had their hands on him—maybe they did. He doesn’t look at you at first, just tilts his head back, exhaling smoke into the night air.

“You finally gonna yell at me or just stand there?” His voice is rough, lazy, like he’s half-bored of this already. But his grip tightens around the cigarette, jaw ticking.

You cross your arms. “You didn’t even wait a day.”

That gets his attention. His eyes flick to yours, blue and sharp under the streetlights. He smirks, but it’s the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What, did you think I was gonna sit at home and cry about it?” He steps closer, the scent of liquor and expensive cologne rolling off him. “You left, remember?”

Your stomach twists, but you don’t let it show. “I didn’t leave so you could self-destruct.”

Rafe scoffs, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his shoe. “Oh, so now you care?” He tilts his head, smirk growing wider. “You left ‘cause you thought I was bad for you. But let’s be real—you just didn’t wanna admit that you liked it.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

He leans in, close enough that you can smell the whiskey on his breath, his lips just barely grazing your ear.

“You miss me,” he murmurs, voice dripping with arrogance. “And it’s killing you.”

You inhale sharply, stepping back before he can pull you in again.

He just watches, running his tongue over his teeth, his smirk never wavering. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”