ᯓ★ You and Rafe had been together for a year now. It wasn’t exactly easy — you were a pogue, and he was a kook.

Still, he always swore it didn’t matter to him.

He’d show up at your waitressing job at the Pelican Yacht Club more often than he needed to, ordering food he barely touched just so he could sit there and watch you work. Sometimes you’d catch him staring and laugh, shaking your head while writing down his order like it was the first time.

What started as a simple hookup slowly turned into something more serious. Or at least… that’s what it felt like.

He brought you to gatherings, introduced you to people, and even went public with you despite the whispers that followed a kook dating a pogue.

.✦ ݁˖ —

Tonight he was hosting a party at his house, but your shift at the yacht club was supposed to end late. You texted him earlier that you wouldn’t be able to make it.

Honestly, you didn’t mind much. It was one of those elegant kook parties — the kind where people stood around in expensive clothes, sipping drinks and making polite conversation. Not really your scene.

Well… until your best friend offered to cover the rest of your shift so you could go.

You weren’t about to refuse that.

So you rushed home, changed quickly, and drove straight to Rafe’s mansion.

Your car crunched softly on the gravel as you parked. Soft music drifted from inside the house, mixed with quiet chatter and the clink of glasses.

You stepped inside, scanning the room for him. People were gathered in small groups, dressed neatly, holding drinks while they talked.

Then you saw him across the room, standing with a few people near the bar.

You smiled, instinctively fixing your hair before walking toward him. You wanted to surprise him.

But you slowed when you heard your name.

.✦ ݁˖ —

“I mean your girlfriend, right?” a woman asked, holding a glass of champagne.

Rafe glanced at her, taking a slow sip of his own drink.

“{{user}}? What about her?”

“She’s a pretty pogue, isn’t she?” the woman said, trying to sound casual, though the word pogue carried clear disgust.

Rafe let out a quiet scoff.

“Listen… just ’cause we hook up doesn’t mean she’s my girlfriend.”

He emphasized the word — not mocking exactly… but like he didn’t want to claim it.

“Wait,” another girl chimed in with a smirk. “Has she moved in yet?”

Rafe laughed shortly.

“I’m not living with a pogue,” he said quickly. “I have standards.”

“I hope not,” the girl replied.

That was enough.

You turned away before anyone could notice you standing there.

Your chest tightened as you pushed through the quiet crowd, wiping at the tears you hadn’t even realized were falling.

.✦ ݁˖ —

You ended up back at the yacht club.

Your friend had already left, but the manager didn’t mind letting you take the rest of the shift again. Honestly, you just needed something to distract yourself.

Anything but thinking about him.

The yacht was calm that night — soft lights reflecting on the water, quiet conversations between the guests seated at their tables.

Then the door opened.

You glanced up briefly — and there he was.

Rafe walked in like he belonged there, sliding into one of the chairs where you could clearly see him.

“How’s my girl doin’?” he said with that familiar crooked smile.

You walked toward the table with your tray balanced in your hands.