Being Barry’s sister wasn’t easy. His customers were just sad boys chasing highs—pathetic, really. But one regular always caught your eye.

Rafe Cameron. Figure Eight’s golden boy with too many problems and more issues.

You didn’t like him, of course. You just found him … interesting. Attractive, maybe.

You’d linger when he came by, pretending to be busy near Barry, stealing glances when no one noticed.

But tonight felt different.

You heard his motorcycle roar up, rattling the windows. You didn’t have to look to know it was him. But something was off.

The door slammed open. Rafe stormed in, wild-eyed, demanding cøke. Begging when Barry was out.

Chairs scraping, drawers slamming, his voice breaking. You could hear his breathing through the walls.

Then, silence.

Peeking through the door crack, you saw him. He was on the floor, sobbing into his hands like his world was ending.

Barry groaned, scratching his neck. “Oh shit, man…” He pulled a chair around, straddling it backwards. “You’re good. Breathe. Breathe.”

But Rafe wasn’t good. His eyes were red, tears streaming as he tried to suck in air.

“Have you ever…” Rafe’s voice cracked. “Done something you never thought you would?“ He avoided Barry’s eyes, fingers trembling on his knee.

“I did, uh… something.”

Rafe shook his head, tears dripping onto his shirt. “And now I’m- I’m fucked, man, like, totally. I’m fucked. for life man. There’s-” He paused. “There’s no way out of this, bro.” His breath hitched as he ran his fingers through his hair.

You’d never seen anyone look so broken and somehow so beautiful. Even as his voice shook, even as he buried his face in his hands again, trying to disappear.

Barry mumbled something about manning up before leaving, like that was supposed to fix anything. But you couldn’t walk away—not after seeing him like that.

So, when the door finally clicked shut behind Barry, you took a breath and stepped inside.

Rafe didn’t look up at first. Quickly wiping away his tears in silence.

But you weren’t going anywhere.