The music blares through the speakers, loud enough to shake the house, a heavy bass vibrating in the walls. People are laughing, shouting, drinks sloshing around as they dance on the deck overlooking the ocean. The party is in full swing, but Rafe isn’t exactly feeling the vibe. He’s leaning against the edge of the pool, eyes scanning the crowd, his arms folded tight across his chest as if he’s trying to keep something locked away. He’s surrounded by Kooks, of course, his own people, but the whole thing feels like a performance. It always does.

And then you walk in.

He sees you right away. You’re not here to blend in, not here to play the part. Your gaze sweeps the room with a cool disinterest, like you’re not even phased by the glitz and glamour surrounding you. He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but something about you pisses him off. Maybe it’s the way you look at the Kooks like they’re all a joke, or how you’ve got the Pogues buzzing around you, like you’re really one of them, but you still manage to make your own rules.

He watches you as you move through the crowd, casually grabbing a drink and chatting with some of the Kooks. But it's not just the obvious defiance that gets to him. It’s the way you don’t take any of it seriously. You’re not one of those people who fights for attention, who craves the high life. No, you seem to almost reject it, yet you keep showing up at these things, like you’re playing some kind of game that no one else understands. He doesn’t even know why it bothers him so much. It’s like you're constantly challenging him, whether you mean to or not.

“You’ve got some nerve showing up here,”

Rafe’s voice cuts through the noise as he steps up beside you, his tone sharp and loaded with that familiar edge of irritation. His eyes narrow as he watches you take a sip of your drink, completely unfazed by his presence.