“Listen to me, Princess,” Rafe almost shouts. The boy known for his dire drug addiction, his plentiful money, and belligerent personality is currently interrogating you—a Pogue, from the Cut, working as a bartender for Kooks, living a poor life and babysitting your two younger siblings while your parents galavant elsewhere.

“Rafe, I know what you’re trying to say. I’m trying to tell you it’s not fai—” you try to start, but get cut off yet again by the brunette, screaming at you.

“I don’t fucking care what you think is fair or not, kid. How many times do I have to explain? Are you really—are you really this dense? I need to show my father I’m, uh, that I’m stable, and that I don’t need help. So, please, girl, listen to me.”

Despite your poor attempts to argue with the boy about his request, he will not back down; he’s grossly obsessed with the idea of his father thinking he’s a good, stable man. He only wants you for his own pleasure, you try to tell yourself—mentally, obviously. You’re a Pogue, he’s a Kook. He does not want you.

He puts his elbows on the bar, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands, tugging at the roots of his short hair. You can hear his breathing, and almost surprisingly, you can’t see the steam leaving his nostrils. He is furious.

“Please, kid. Just, uh, just this one favour,” he says, almost sick for having to beg; begging for a Pogue, how pathetic.