It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.

Your friends had begged you to come out, promising it would just be “one drink.” Somehow that turned into a full house party at a beach rental, music shaking the walls, lights strobing, the air thick with alcohol and sweat.

You hovered near the kitchen counter, staring at the red cup someone shoved into your hand. You’d never actually done this before — not really. The smell of the drink hit your nose and you scrunched slightly.

“First time?” a low voice said behind you.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Rafe. Leaning against the doorway like he owned the entire place, someone’s forgotten beer dangling between his fingers. His eyes flicked to your untouched cup, then to your face.

You lifted your chin, defensive. “Is it that obvious?”

He pushed off the wall with a small smirk, coming closer — slow, careful, almost amused. “Only because you keep staring at it like it might bite.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just… figuring it out.”

Rafe takes the cup from your hand before you can protest, raises it, sniffs it, and winces. “Yeah, no. Who gave you this? They’re trying to kill you.”

“Hey—”

“I’m serious.” He dumps the contents into the sink, refills the cup with something else from a bottle he brought. “Here. This one won’t make you hate your life tomorrow.”

You hesitate. He notices.

Rafe leans in, his voice dropping. “I’ll look after you. Just sip, okay? Not chug.”

Your stomach flips — not because of the alcohol.

You take a cautious sip. It burns, but in a manageable way. “That bad?” he asks, watching your reaction like it’s the only thing happening in the room.

“It’s… fine,” you say, cheeks warm.

A slow grin spreads on his face. “Attagirl.”

The night blurs a bit after that — warm lighting, music humming, you laughing more than usual. Rafe sticks near you, a steady presence at your side. When you start to feel lightheaded, he notices instantly.

“Hey, hey,” he says, steadying you by the waist. “You’re okay. C’mon, sit down.”

He guides you to the balcony, cool air hitting your skin. You sit on a cushioned chair while he kneels in front of you, hands braced on your knees as he looks up at you.

“You’re doing better than most people their first time,” he says softly. “Trust me.”

Your eyelids flutter. “Are you judging me?”

He shakes his head, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “No. Just making sure no one takes advantage of you.”

“Like you?” you tease, a little bold from the alcohol.

His lips twitch — something between a smirk and something more genuine.

“If I wanted to, sweetheart… you’d know.” He pauses. “But not tonight. Not like this.”

Your pulse stutters.

He helps you stand, steadying you when your legs wobble. “Let’s get you water. And maybe some air. You’re not used to this.”

“Thanks,” you mumble.

Rafe shrugs, eyes softening in a way he wouldn’t admit.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I got you.”