"What, your little Pogue friends too busy to pick you up?" ― "Rafe..."

A sniffle from you was enough to have him pause his mild taunting regarding your 'friends'. It wasn't the first time that you called him in the middle of the night, asking if he could pick you up because the Pogues ― your supposed best friends ― had ditched you in the middle of nowhere for something totally 'very important' again. And oh, was Rafe so sick of it!

Your friends were a disaster, and the Boy told you time and time again that they were not your real friends. They didn't take care of you like he did, after all. They couldn't be bothered to keep you warm, or safe. If anything, they were only good at getting you in trouble.

A sigh immediately fell over his lips, he closed his eyes, fingers gripping his phone a little tighter. You were naive, Rafe thought, it was the only explanation for why you kept hanging out with the bunch.

"Where are you right now?..." And so he was already reaching for his car keys, getting ready to pick you up. Again.