Rafe strides into view, the silhouette of his figure taller than most, his movements smooth, deliberate. There’s something in his posture tonight that feels... different. A little off, maybe. His usual cocky swagger is subdued, replaced by a weird kind of energy you can’t quite read, like he’s caught between two versions of himself. But it’s nothing new - you’ve been dealing with him long enough to know that the only constant with Rafe is that he’s unpredictable.

You lean back against the cold brick wall, casually flicking a lighter in your hand, the small flame dancing before you let it go out. It’s almost a ritual by now - the same meeting place, the same transaction. You hand him the package, he gives you the cash. And you part ways. It’s simple. Clean. Efficient. Until tonight, maybe.

"Got it?" he asks, his voice low, but tonight it’s tinged with something else.

You hand over the bag without a word, but Rafe doesn’t immediately take it. Instead, he stands there for a moment, studying you, like he's trying to decide something. Finally, he pulls out the cash, but his eyes flick to the bag, then back to you.

"You ever wonder what this is all for?" he asks, voice rough. "What’s the point of all of this?"

You don’t answer right away. You’re used to his games, but tonight it feels different, like he’s not just talking about the drugs.

"Maybe we both need something stronger tonight," he says, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "You wanna get high with me?"