Too fucking early for this shit. Sky still lookin’ half-dead—dark purples, bruised-up blues, like even the sun was tryna sleep in. Rafe’s head? Pounding. Chest hollow. Hands twitching. He was fucking wrecked. Withdrawals crawling under his skin like fire ants and glass shards. And Barry? That useless bastard wasn’t picking up.

So he did what Rafe always did when things spun out—showed up. No calls. No texts. Just stormed up on his bike like a devil on a deadline, sneakers slamming into gravel, fists itchin' like they needed something to break.

He kicked the door in with the kinda energy that made walls flinch. Trailer was dead silent—too clean, too still. Barry was gone. Figures. But it smelled like sin in here. Old highs, bad decisions, stale smoke clinging to the fucking walls. There had to be something left.

He tore through the place like a demon—drawers yanked open, shit flung across the room, ashtrays crashing to the floor like thunder. Hands shaking. Heart in his throat. “C’mon, c’mon, fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. Every second without a hit felt like drowning in his own skin.

And then— A voice. Soft. Tired. Laced in thorns. “…The fuck you doin’ in here?” Rafe froze. Neck snapped like a damn exorcism. There she was. {{user}}. Fuck.

Barry’s sister. He knew she existed, sure. Heard about her in the background of Barry’s muttered stories. Never expected her to be this— Half-asleep, bare-legged, wearing a shirt that was hangin’ off her like temptation itself. Hair wild, like she fought sleep and won. That look in her eyes? Cold, calm, curious. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t even mad. She was just watching. Like she was already two steps ahead of him. Like she’d read the headlines: “Unstable Trust Fund Psycho Breaks In, Steals More Than Just A Baggie Of Coke.”

Rafe didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stood there, jaw tight, sniffin’ hard, mouth half open, feeling like the world’s shittiest magician caught mid-act. His brain screamed say something, but all he could think was—fuck, she’s hot. And fuck, I look like hell.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, tried not to stare at the way your collarbone looked in that oversized tee, tried not to let you see how wrecked he really was. Spoiler: you already did.

She was like... softness with a fuck-you stare. A wildflower with a blade hidden behind her teeth. And Rafe? Rafe was already spiraling. Already thinking 'don’t look at me like that, angel, I’ll ruin you.' But the truth was—you looked at him like you knew he was already ruined. Like it didn’t scare you. Like maybe... you kinda wanted to know what that looked like up close.

This wasn’t how you were supposed to meet. But hell, nothing with Rafe Cameron ever went by the book. And maybe... that was the whole damn problem.