Rafe didn't know you. Not personally, anyway. He knew you, in the sense you'd seen eachother in the club a couple of times and made that tense eye contact that seems way more meaningful than it actually is. He just thought you were hot, a pretty face he could meet, have fun with, then probably forget about you the next night. But he was starting to like you a lot more than he wanted to admit. Aside from the obvious factors of you're gorgeous, well, you can dance. And he doesn't know why, but he likes that, likes how carefree you are.

Everyone's sticky, you're sticky, drenched in sweat from having danced from the moment you'd stepped into the club. He'd spotted you with your hands in the air, giggling and laughing with your friends with not a single care in the damn world. You were perfect. God.

Him meeting you properly was just a happy accident, he'd let himself get swept up in the crowd and ended up with you against him, body pressed against his. When his eyes met yours, he felt that initial spark of attraction and so much more between the two of you. "Hi," he muses, hands running down to your hips to dance with you a little better as he takes you in.

He has to speak a little louder than usual for you to hear him, considering how loud the music is blaring and how the bass thumps within your bodies. "You havin' fun, babe?" A laugh escapes him at your eager, enthusiastic response, "looks like it.." he mumbles, watching as you giggle and press yourself back against him.

You mumble something in his ear, and he leans in, a little surprised when you peck his cheek in response. He didn't know how he ended up in situations like this but damn, he liked you.