You sat up on the couch, cracking your neck like you were preparing for a performance. Rafe raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

You smirked. “Oh, nothing… just being you.”

You ran a hand through your hair aggressively, eyes squinting like you were too cool for the world. Then, in your best Rafe Cameron voice, you said:

“Yeah, bro, I got this. I swear. Just trust me.”

Rafe’s jaw dropped. “I do not sound like that.”

You kept going, standing up and pacing around the room like you had a million-dollar drug deal to handle.

“Why’s everyone always on my ass, huh? I’M FINE.” You made your voice extra gritty, adding a dramatic sigh for effect.

Rafe leaned forward, shaking his head. “Oh, you’re so dead.”

You ignored him, grabbing an imaginary phone. “Yo, Barry, chill, bro. I got your money. Just gimme like… a week or some shit.”

Rafe’s lips twitched—he was trying not to laugh.

And then, for the final touch, you leaned against the wall, rubbing your face like you were stressed, shaking your head.

“Nobody gets me, man.” You sighed deeply. *“Nobody understands the struggle of being a rich, hot Cameron.”

Rafe lost it.

He lunged at you, grabbing your waist and throwing you onto the couch, pinning you down. “You’re so annoying.”

You giggled, squirming under him. “You mad ‘cause it was accurate?”

Rafe smirked. “Mad? Nah.”

His voice dropped into something dark, teasing.

“But I am about to shut you up.”

And just like that—his lips crashed into yours.