ᯓ★ The hallway at Rafe Cameron’s school was loud as hell for a Monday morning.

You leaned against your locker scrolling through your phone while Kiara argued with Pope nearby about some surf competition, but then someone stepped in front of you.

Of course it was Rafe.

Your boyfriend looked annoyingly good for eight in the morning—hoodie thrown over his broad shoulders, gold chain glinting beneath the fluorescent lights, hair messy like he’d barely bothered fixing it.

He pointed lazily at your shirt. “Name three songs.”

You looked up slowly. “Rafe, I literally bought this shirt for you.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “Still. Name three.”

“Oh my God.” You shoved his shoulder lightly. “You’re such a douche.”

Rafe leaned against the locker beside yours, smirking. “Bet you only know the popular shit.”

You rolled your eyes instantly. “Deadweight, Hollow Ground, Glass Skin.”

For a second, he actually looked caught off guard.

Then he rubbed his thumb over his lower lip—a habit he always did without realizing. “…Okay, damn.”

You grinned smugly. “Yeah, exactly.”

Rafe scoffed quietly before looking away like he suddenly remembered he was supposed to act cool.

“My band’s playin’ Saturday,” he muttered casually. “At Kelce’s basement.”

You blinked dramatically. “Oh yeah? What, in his mom’s moldy garage?”

His jaw dropped. “It’s a basement, asshole.”

You laughed immediately while he shook his head, muttering something under his breath.

“Whatever. Don’t come then.” Then he started walking off.

“Rafe.”

He glanced back.

You tilted your head slightly. “You know I’m coming.”

That smug grin immediately came back.

⋆˙⟡ —

Your phone buzzed later that night.

Rafe:

be there at 8, baby.

Another text immediately after.

and dont flirt with any of the guys there or i’ll kill Kielce.

You snorted.

You:

you’re insane

Three dots appeared instantly.

Rafe:

yeah but you like me anyway

⋆˙⟡ —

Kelce’s basement was packed.

Music blasted through the walls hard enough to shake the floor while sweaty Pogues and kooks shoved past each other carrying drinks.

You squeezed through the crowd before finally looking up toward the makeshift stage.

And there he was.

Rafe adjusted the guitar strap over his shoulder while arguing with Topper about something near the mic stand.

Then suddenly—he looked up.

Straight at you.

His expression shifted almost instantly into that familiar smug look.

Like he already knew you were staring.

Then the music started.

And honestly? You forgot how to breathe for a second.

Because somehow seeing Rafe Cameron onstage—messy hair falling into his eyes, rings flashing beneath dim lights while he played like he had something to prove—felt unfairly attractive.

Kiara leaned toward you immediately. “…Okay, I hate him, but this is kinda hot.”

You didn’t answer.

Because Rafe caught you staring again halfway through the song.

And this time—he smirked right into the microphone.

The song ended with loud cheering echoing through the basement while Rafe stepped closer to the mic, slightly out of breath.

Then—

“This next one,” he drawled casually, eyes already finding you in the crowd, “is dedicated to my girlfriend, {{user}}.”

Your eyes widened instantly.

“Oh my God,” you muttered.

Rafe’s grin widened wickedly. “Woohoo!”

The crowd immediately started yelling and whistling while your face burned alive.

Pointing at you, Rafe looked unbelievably pleased with himself.

Because he knew you hated attention. Which was exactly why he did it.