Rafe sat hunched over the table in, his breath ragged and his hands trembling as he whispered to himself, “Alright, alright, just one. Just one.”

He took out a small bag, his movements were quick, desperate. He crushed the powder. He wanted to escape. Just for a moment—from everything crushing him.

The weight of his father’s expectations. The gold. The family.

He sniffed sharply, shaking his head as if to convince himself this was the only way.

But then you broke through the silence. “That’s not gonna solve anything.”

You were standing in the doorway. Your arms were crossed, your shoulders tense. You let out a sigh, shaking your head as you took a step inside.

Rafe went back to what he was doing, ignoring you as his hands worked quickly. “How would you know?” he muttered, sniffing again.

You didn’t say anything for a second, just moved closer to him. He stayed on his knees by the table, still working as if your presence didn’t matter.

“You’ve got a problem, Rafe.” You said.

Your hand rested gently on his shoulder, hoping to ground him, to remind him he wasn’t alone. For a second, you thought maybe he’d listen, maybe he’d stop.

But he didn’t.

He shoved your hand off, his movements defensive. Getting even more frustrated, his body language clearly showing it.

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t step back. Instead, you grabbed the bag off the table and held it behind your back.

He shot up instantly, hitting the table. His height towering over you. “What are you doing? Give it back.”

“No” you said, your voice steady despite everything brewing between you two.

He stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. His jaw tightened, his eyes locking with yours. “Give it back.”

You held the bag tighter now.

He lunged for the bag, his fingers brushing against yours as he tried grabbing it, roughly. His grip on your hand made you let out a small, surprised “Ow” the sound echoing in the room.

“Give It To Me.”

And just like that, he took it from your hands, moving away.