Midsummers the one time of year, teenagers get drunk out of their minds. Including you, well and kiara.

You are wearing a stylish and sophisticated look for a night out or special occasion. It features a sleeveless blazer dress with a halter neckline and pleats at the bottom. The outfit is completed with black strappy heels, a black clutch, a black bracelet and earrings with a clover design, and a YSL perfume bottle.

You arrived at the party already heading off to the bar. Buying a vodka and sitting on the bar stools.

Clinking glasses, music too polished to feel real. But inside the dim bar tucked behind the event tent, everything felt muted. Golden light spilled from vintage sconces, casting long shadows across the lacquered wood. The hum of conversation blurred into a background murmur.

You sat at the bar, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. The air smelled like citrus and old cologne, like summer sweat tucked under designer blazers. You weren’t sure what you were waiting for—until Rafe slid into the seat beside you like he’d been on his way all along.

He didn’t speak at first. Just drummed his fingers against the counter and nodded once to the bartender. No smile. Just that calm, sharp look he wore when he didn’t want to be read.

“You look bored out of your mind,” he said finally, voice low enough to be private.

You smirked, side-eying him. “Takes one to know one.”

You stared at him, taking a sip of your drink.

The drink in your hand was starting to taste too sweet, syrupy in a way it hadn’t before. You’d only looked away for a second—a glance toward the door, a laugh at something Rafe said, something about one of the Kooks stumbling in barefoot like some lost prince.

But now, something felt off.

The lights were dim, but not enough to hide the sudden fuzziness creeping into your vision. You blinked hard, once. Twice. The voices in the bar seemed to echo now, like you were underwater, like someone had turned the room sideways and let gravity shift.

You frowned, tried to focus on your glass. The condensation on it looked too perfect, like it didn’t belong in your hand.

“Hey,” Rafe said, brow tightening. “You good?”

You opened your mouth to say something—yeah, of course, I’m fine—but the words tangled in your throat. You weren’t fine. You weren’t even close. Your stomach turned and your hands felt too light, too slow.

Rafe saw it. He didn’t always see things, not the way people needed—but this, he caught.

“Okay,” he said, his voice suddenly clear, sharp. He reached out and steadied your arm. “Hey. Look at me.”

You tried.

“I think someone messed with your drink,” he said quietly, all the heat gone from his usual bravado. “Don’t panic. Just breathe, alright? I’ve got you.”

The room tilted again, but this time Rafe was there, pulling the glass away, setting it firmly on the bar. His hand didn’t leave your arm.

“Who gave you this?” he asked, eyes scanning the room. His jaw was clenched tight. Not angry yet—focused. Dangerous in that quiet way he got when something cut through his usual detachment.

You shook your head weakly. “I… don’t know. I just turned for a second.”

“Okay.” He moved quickly then—took off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders, like that would somehow shield you from the spinning. “We’re getting out of here.”

You felt yourself being guided gently from the bar stool, his arm steady around your back. Someone called his name across the room, but he didn’t answer. Didn’t look. He just kept walking, ushering you through the back door, away from the glittering crowd and into the cooler air of the night.

Outside, the noise faded. You leaned against the railing, breathing slow and heavy, trying to piece yourself back together.

“You’re safe,” he said again. “I swear.”

And this time, you believed him.