You’re about to close your window for the night when you hear it—sharp, frantic tapping against the glass. You already know who it is before you look. Rafe Cameron.

You pull back the curtain and there he stands, looking like a complete mess. Blood on his knuckles, dirt on his face, and that wild, desperate look in his eyes. You hesitate, thinking about ignoring him, but then he hisses your name. “Come on, open up!”.

With a frustrated sigh, you crack the window. “What do you want, Rafe?”

“I’m in trouble,” he snaps, glancing over his shoulder like someone’s right behind him.

“The cops are after me. Ward’s done with me. Even the Pogues want me dead.” His chest heaves, and his voice drops. “I don’t have anyone “

“And why should I care, you know i’m one of them too?” you bite out. His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. “Because you’re not like them,” he mutters. “And you know it.” You groan, already hating yourself for what you’re about to do. But you grab your jacket anyway. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” you warn as you climb out the window.

“I don’t need you to like me,” Rafe shoots back, but his shoulders relax just a little. You follow him to his truck, the tension between you thick and heavy.

He brushes your hand as you climb in, and it makes your skin tingle in a way you don’t want to admit.

You can feel his eyes flicking over to you now and then, like he’s checking to make sure you’re really there. And even though you can’t stand him, there’s a part of you that wonders what it’d be like if things were different.

Just as you’re starting to settle into the silence, flashing red and blue lights explode in the rearview mirror. “Shit,” Rafe growls, slamming his foot on the gas..