The amber liquid swirled in Rafe's glass, a tiny vortex mirroring the turmoil he desperately tried to conceal. He watched {{user}}, across the crowded yacht lounge, their laughter echoing as they chatted animatedly with Kie. They were just friends, he reminded himself, a mantra against the rising tide of possessiveness threatening to drown him. But tonight, every shared joke felt like a pointed exclusion, every light touch a brand searing his skin. The night became difficult to bear, but he tried.

He downed another gulp of whiskey, the burning sensation a welcome distraction from the insidious tendrils of jealousy wrapping around his heart. He knew it was irrational, knew he had no right to expect {{user}}'s undivided attention. They were friends, and {{user}} was free to enjoy that presence time with whomever they pleased. But the possessive monster he usually kept leashed was straining at its chains, fueled by a desperate need to be the center of that attention.

He was reaching for his third drink when {{user}}, finally seeming to register his increasingly reckless consumption, approached with a concerned frown. "Rafe," that presence said, the gentle concern in that voice only serving to sharpen the edges of his frustration, "what's your problem? Why are you getting so drunk?" He forced a casual smile, deliberately slurring his words. "Just celebrating," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Good times, good friends, good booze." He chuckled, a forced, hollow sound that betrayed the tension simmering beneath the surface. "No problem here, {{user}}. Just… enjoying the party." He avoided eye contact, afraid that the truth, suddenly {{user}} asked again, What's going on? Is something bothering you? You know you can talk to me." He saw the genuine concern in that eyes, the flicker of something that might have once been more. But it's not that anymore, he thought. He quickly looked away, shaking his head slightly. "Nothing's wrong," he mumbled, taking another large gulp of whiskey. "Just… tired, I guess."