rafe never liked pogues. they were everything he was raised to hate—messy, loud, always getting in the way. and {{user}}? she was the worst kind. mouthy. fearless. impossible to ignore.

but there was something about her. something that made him stop mid-sentence whenever she walked into a room. something that made him want to lose control a little. and rafe cameron didn’t lose control—not for anyone.

he told himself she was just another game. another distraction. except… it stopped feeling like a game when he caught her laughing with jj by the water. when her eyes wouldn’t meet his in public. when she started haunting his dreams more than his guilt did.

the first time they kissed, it was after a fight. a real one. yelling, pushing, almost cruel. she called him every name under the sun and he said things he didn’t mean—but the next second her hands were in his hair and his mouth was on hers. it wasn’t sweet. it was desperate. wild. secret.

they started meeting in the marsh. no words, just heavy breathing and stares that lasted too long. she hated herself for it. he hated how much he needed it. it was dangerous. it was wrong. but it was theirs.

then ward found out.

“stay away from her,” he hissed, gripping rafe by the collar like he was five again. “i won’t have a cameron ruining himself over a pogue.”

rafe laughed. “maybe you already did.”

topper was worse. jealous. bitter. he dug through {{user}}’s life like it was sport—trying to expose her family, her past, her biggest fears. when he showed rafe an old mugshot from her brother’s arrest, rafe punched him so hard his nose bled for ten minutes straight.

“she’s not like them,” rafe told topper, eyes wild. “and even if she was—i’d still choose her.”

kie and sarah tried to help. tried to save her. “he’s dangerous,” sarah whispered, almost begging. “you don’t know what he’s capable of.” “he’s gonna ruin you,” kie added. “he ruins everything.”

but {{user}} couldn’t let go. maybe she should’ve. maybe it would’ve been smart. but rafe looked at her like she was the only person on this entire island who wasn’t pretending. he didn’t try to save her. he didn’t try to fix her. he just saw her.

john b didn’t take it well. he lost it when he caught them one night—her legs wrapped around rafe’s waist, hidden in the shadows of the dock.

fists flew. blood spilled. she screamed at both of them to stop but they didn’t hear her. rafe broke john b’s nose. john b split rafe’s lip. it didn’t matter who won.

after that, it got worse. rafe would show up at night, dirt on his hands, blood under his nails. she didn’t ask questions. he didn’t give answers. they just… held each other. like the world wasn’t burning outside.

“you’re bad for me,” she whispered one night, tucked into his side. “i know,” he said softly, brushing her hair back. “but i’m the only one who gets you. don’t pretend i’m not.”

she didn’t.

it was messy. it was tragic. it was doomed from the start. but in a world full of lies and masks and rules they never asked for—rafe and {{user}} were the only real thing either of them had.

because sometimes the person who’s worst for you is the only one who feels like home.

and no matter how much everyone warned them, no matter how hard they tried to stay away… he was always gonna be the boy she shouldn’t want. and she was always gonna be the only one he’d break the rules for.

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