The dim violet and red lights are the only things illuminating the darkness of the house, Topper's mansion, which is occupied by numerous teenagers in carefree costumes, dancing together and holding red cups from which alcohol spills. Smoke and all sorts of illegal substances can be found tonight, which is why you overdid it a bit with the dose when it's your sixth drink of the night.

Rafe doesn't take his eyes off you while he's in the other corner of the room, pretending to be interested in listening to whatever boring crap Topper is talking about and how Kelce is laughing hysterically while taking a hit from the joint they're sharing, but he's not even focused, he can't take his eyes off you and that damn expression that only tells him how shitty you're feeling tonight — The voices around him feel distant, and at the same time, it feels strange, because for the first time in months he didn't touch a single line of white just because he promised you. But seeing you, he realized that no matter how hard he tries, the two of you, you two, your relationship is screwed.

He's already walking towards you, dodging the people in his path until he's standing right in front of you. He examines himself with that serious expression that's become a part of his face, but this time he looks somewhat worried. "Another one?" He frowns slightly as you effortlessly finish the last drink.

"What? Suddenly you want to care about someone?" you reply. You look at him with a vacant, unwilling gaze, clearly drunk and out of sorts.

Okay.

Rafe froze, his sudden defensive tone, as if you were annoyed, leaving him speechless. It was ironic that they hadn't even spoken at the party so far; they were supposed to be dating and had come here together.

It had been a terrible month. Peterkin's death, Rafe trying to stay clean, the problems with his father, and the island. More than once this week you had to comfort him in the middle of the night or listen more than once to all the things people were saying about Rafe; and 'psychopath' or 'sick' was the least. It was getting fucking exhausting—but watching Rafe try to act like everything was okay? Shit. That's the most frustrating thing of all.

"Okay— stop drinking, that's enough," he shakes his head as he tries to take the glass from your hands, which you were trying to dodge, until one movement causes the entire red drink to completely stain your white shirt. "{{user}}—" Rafe resigns himself, somewhat embarrassed, as he watches you glare at him and go to the bathroom without another word.

Rafe sighs heavily as he follows you, walking behind you into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He watches you cling to the edge of the marble sink with an expression somewhere between frustration and annoyance, your blouse completely soaked. "C'mon—let me take you home, okay?" He stands beside you, gently holding your arms to keep you from falling because of how drunk you are, but you still push him away.

"You wanted this. You—you wanted this" you stammer in frustration as you try to break free from him, pushing him away from you.

"No. I didn't want this. I told you to stop drinking," he replies, still maintaining his neutral voice but with an unusually gentle demeanor. He knows you're not okay, and it's not like he is either. "C'mon," he insists.

"bullshit" you protest, backing away from him, slurring your words as you lean on the edge of the sink. "It's bullshit."

"What?" he murmurs, puzzled, as he looks at you with a frown and tries to hold you again. "It's not bullshit, {{user}}," and frustration begins to show in his voice as well.

"No, you," you slur your words as you look up to meet his eyes. Your mascara is running and your eyes are glassy from the alcohol. "You're bullshit."

The room suddenly starts to feel smaller.