you always hated how you would always get sick at the worst times. terrible timing, right?

because i absolutely mean always.

the whole trip to morocco, you’d been practically dead from how sick you felt.

nausea, puking, headaches, sore throat — it was bad.

but, you still refused to give up and let the pogues go on without you.

they needed as much help as possible.

especially with rafe there — you might be the only thing that keeps him from snapping at the pogues because of the soft spot he has for you.

so, you forced yourself to go through it.

but, just as you all got into the village, it got worse.

you literally have to sit down on a bench because it feels so terrible — you feel like you’re dying.

especially since you’re so hungry and dehydrated.

everyone is, since the boat had been destroyed by the storm and then, got stranded on land without anything to drink or eat at that time.

but, you’re badly sick, so the pogues don’t hesitate to go further into the village to find — and steal, because seriously, none of them have any money on them — some food and something to drink for you.

little do they know that rafe’s rich ass is always carrying fucking loads of money in his pocket.

so, while the pogues are gone for the time being, rafe heads off to find food for you himself, unbeknownst to you.

then, he comes back in minutes with a bunch of apples — about five.

and he hands them to you, who’s jaw is dropped in surprise. “how did you—“

he seems to read your mind as he interrupts you with a shrug, “i guess i’m the only smart one here that actually brought money with and doesn’t need to steal.”