Chapter Text
You weren’t born into riches. Not the white-picket-fence lifestyle, not legacy money, not anything close to what they call a ‘Kook’. And you definitely didn’t see yourself as a true Cameron. Maybe by law. Maybe by name. But in every other sense, you were a stranger to Figure Eight.
That thought never really left your mind. Not even after the adoption papers were signed, not after your last name changed, and not when you moved into a house most people could only dream of. The whitewashed walls, the wraparound porches, the expensive glass windows. None of it convinced you this place was some version of paradise.
Ward had called it a “second chance.” Rose, ever more polished and composed, treated it like a move toward stability for you and for the family. You didn’t expect much. But when life throws you a lifeline, you take it. Who wouldn’t?
The Camerons had everything. Money, power, structure. Ward had already built his empire. Your step-siblings? Their futures were practically pre-written with trust funds, private school resumes, and vacation homes. Anything they wanted could be theirs with the snap of a finger.
And you? You had a suitcase and a deeply ingrained habit of not trusting anyone— especially Kooks, if you were honest with yourself.
From the outside, it looked like you hit the jackpot. People told you, more than once, how lucky you were. How you got the chance to rewrite your story, to elevate yourself. The golden ticket. A success story. But being surrounded by people who lived in their own bubble of wealth and privilege wasn’t exactly the dream people made it out to be, it had its certain darkness to it.
You were born a Pogue. No amount of cash, comfort, or status could change that. Not really.
There were no price tags that could erase the feeling of being a stranger in a house they kept calling a home.
Ward and Rose tried in their own, detached ways. They were busy, distracted by business and appearances, but they made an effort. Sarah and Wheezie were better, warmer, easier to talk to, more curious than critical.
But Rafe?
Rafe was something else entirely.
He was the epitome and exact example of a Kook Prince. All charm and cruelty. Legacy and arrogance. He embodied everything about Figure Eight that made your skin crawl.
You weren’t born a Kook. Not like Rafe. And he made sure you never forgot it.
Not just with words, though he had plenty of those. But with the way he looked at you like you were trespassing their home. The way he kept you on one side of an imaginary line only he could see. The way he never let you forget you didn’t really belong with them.
Not here. And especially not with him.
You weren’t sure when it shifted. When indifference became disdain. When silence became something heavier. But looking back, things were almost easier when you first moved in. At least then Rafe barely acknowledged your presence in the household. And it wasn’t passive-aggressive indifference. It was something sharper. Deliberate. Calculated. Like you were an insignificant piece of porcelain brought home from a vacation. Something decorative. Fragile. Forgettable.
But then there were the days when he’d stare too long. Not in curiosity but like he was trying to figure out what kind of threat you were. Like you could either be dangerous or pathetic, and he hadn’t made up his mind yet.
Honestly, you preferred it when he didn’t speak at all.
Because when he did, he made damn sure the words stuck.
“Foster brat,” he scoffs with a smug look by the end, “They should’ve picked a stray dog instead. At least it knows how to do tricks.”
That was Rafe. Cruel just to see if you’d flinch.
But the thing is, you didn’t easily do so. You were used to people trying to put you down before they even knew you. You came from a system built on survival, not etiquette. And survival meant knowing how to bite back.
So you did.
Sometimes it came out in a sharp comment about his financial habits. How he wasted money on appearances and coke, and still thought he was better than everyone else. Other times it was petty, about stealing his last drink in the fridge just to watch him unravel over something small and stupid. Anything to remind him that you weren’t going to bow to whatever invisible hierarchy he thought he ruled.
Over time, the tension between you evolved. The slammed doors got louder. The looks lingered longer. It stopped feeling like a typical step-sibling rivalry.
It felt personal. Unspoken. Coiled and waiting.
But to balance it out, Sarah was different.
From the start, she actually tried. She didn’t look at you like you were a charity case. She didn’t treat you like a burden nor a favor her parents had done for someone else. With her, you felt like a person and not a project. She started inviting you to hang out with her friends, and for once, it felt like someone wanted you around because of you not out of guilt or image control.
Her kindness initially caught you off guard. Almost made you suspicious.
You kept your distance at first. You weren’t interested in afternoon teas and pretending to enjoy gourmet finger food in over-decorated living rooms. The Kook parties were exhausting. All of it filled with curated smiles and subtle jabs, especially the way they spoke about Pogues like they were insects crawling too close to their property lines.
You hated how you started to see yourself through their eyes.
But when Sarah started spending time with John B and his circle, everything shifted.
At first, you went with her just to escape the house. But quickly, you found yourself wanting to go with no pressure, no judgment, just laughter around bonfires, boat rides at dusk, music that made sense, and jokes that didn’t come with a price.
Sarah asked you to keep it quiet. Ward wouldn’t approve. Rafe definitely wouldn’t. But you didn’t mind the secrecy. Some things were better when they didn’t have Kook eyes all over them.
And with the Pogues, you didn’t have to shrink yourself to fit.
You didn’t have to explain your past or apologize for it. They didn’t care if your last name was Cameron— well initially they did and it took a few conversations before the others had warmed up. But they didn’t care that you’d never fully fit into the country club mold. They just just let you be.
Somewhere in that mix, something softened in Sarah too.
Kiara had your back. Pope respected your intelligence. JJ made you laugh harder than anyone had in a long time. And John B? He understood without needing the details.
Even Sarah started to understand you better. Better in ways she probably never would’ve if you both stayed locked in the bubble of Figure Eight.
Their bond saved you. They made you feel seen. But it only made the divide between you and the Kooks grow deeper, especially with your own stepsibling, Rafe.
It felt easy to walk away from a world that acted so pretentious. You never wanted to be part of such an ecosystem in the first place. Their parties were plastic. The people were bored. The money was loud and empty. Even when you were dressed up, smiling, and technically welcome, it never felt like acceptance.
You were polished enough to attend, but not enough to belong or fit with them.
The girls smiled at you like you were cute, then turned around and made a face when they thought you weren’t looking. The boys stared too long. Asked where you were "really from" like they couldn’t wrap their heads around someone like you existing in their world.
You weren’t a peer nor a person.
You were an exotic pet. Something to observe, to talk about in whispers. They loved the idea of you. The novelty of you. As if adopting you gave them a moral high ground. As if they could say, ‘See? We’re inclusive. We’re good people.’
But they didn’t want to be your friend. They wanted to feel like your savior.
You didn’t need saving, not anything, and not from them. And you especially didn’t need Rafe looking at you like you were the dirt his family tracked in. Even though half the time he couldn’t seem to stop staring.
There were days, but definitely the rarest ones where you told yourself it might be different. That maybe if you just showed up, dressed right, smiled enough, it would stop feeling like you didn’t belong.
You would spend too long choosing what to wear. You’d avoid asking Sarah for help, trying to prove that you could blend in without being coached. But Kook parties weren’t made for people like you. But the moment you stepped into one of Rafe’s parties, it clung to you like smoke.
Sometimes you tried to show up to one of the parties. Maybe just with the hope to prove yourself wrong. But you couldn’t deny the instant feeling of eyes at you and you always got to prove yourself right. Not only when you presented yourself, but the stares dragged along and followed you as if attending such an event was a crime. Conversations became shallow when you would pass by them.
And so you only get to station yourself by the wall. You leaned against it while sipping whatever drink you could take, pretending that you didn’t care whatever impression you had set on these people. You pretended not to care and wished that you were invisible— normal— instead.
But always does Rafe see you.
You could fade into the background for the entire night, practically invisible to everyone else. But not to him.
He would watch you from across the room, even with girls draped all over him and his friends roaring with laughter. With the music too loud and the coke already numbing half his thoughts, Rafe always saw you.
And he never said anything.
He just stares. Expression unreadable, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth twitching like he was holding back something cruel. Like he pitied you. Or maybe like he expected you to crack.
The worst part? He never helped. Not that you needed him to. But he stood there and watched, as if your discomfort entertained him.
You stopped trying to fit in after a while. But sometimes you still showed up to the parties, hoping the night might go differently. Hoping you might feel different.
You never did.
You’d wake up the next morning feeling like a ghost. Makeup smudged all over your face, head aching, the silence louder than the bass the night before ever was. Nothing stuck except the stares. The way the Kooks looked at you like you’d wandered into the wrong house. Like you’d never belong.
After a night of pretending, it was those quiet mornings that hurt the most. And somehow, he was always there for them.
He always looked the same. Bored. Buzzed. Half-glowing under the low hallway light. Hair tousled. Shirtless, sometimes. Always smug.
But when his eyes met yours, the energy shifted. It sometimes becomes sharp, unspoken, and almost too still.
And then there were days, rare ones, when the tension between you simmered just beneath the surface. When the air felt too thick. When the sunlight was too warm. When you passed each other in a hallway and the world seemed to go quiet.
You’d brush past his shoulder, and it would feel like static. Charged. Wrong.
He’d lean in. Not enough to touch, but enough to get under your skin and drop a comment that clung to your ribs for the rest of the day.
“Shouldn’t you be with your real friends down on the Cut?”
You never knew if his intentions or his words had meant to hurt you, or if he just wanted to see what would happen or how you would react if he did.
But eventually you stopped trying to understand. Stopped looking for meaning in every glance, every smirk, every insult that echoed down the hall long after he’d gone.
You decided you weren’t going to flinch anymore. You didn’t want to keep giving him the satisfaction of watching you shrink— or honestly have any reaction to him as it seemed like anything from you could set him off.
So instead, you started pushing back. Not with words as that was a battle you'd never win, but in other ways. Quiet ones. Petty ones. Intentional ones. You walked a little slower through the rooms to let him know that you weren’t shying your presence away. You left your things on shared counters. You started borrowing things, not because you essentially needed it, but because it made you feel like you belonged and were welcomed to the property of the family.
Maybe that was the subtle point you wanted to relay. You weren’t moving out of his way anymore. You weren’t stepping around whatever thing he had brewing between the two of you. You didn’t care if it was about power, or pride, or something darker.
You just wanted him to know one thing: you were here. And you weren’t going anywhere.
Whatever line he thought he drew between you, you stopped pretending it existed.
And that, more than anything, started to get to him.
☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★゜・。。・゜゜☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜
The smell of brewed coffee lingered around the house, drawing you in until your feet had reached the source of it. You stood in the kitchen, staring into space. It looked too clean. You hated how empty the house always was. It felt like going to an art museum where you were not allowed to touch any of its exhibits. Everything seemed to come at a price, and so every move you had to make should be thought of.
Your bare feet were flat against the cold floors while your eyes stared blankly at the coffee machine that was slowly dripping, inch by inch until it got to fill up your mug. You didn’t expect that a cup could entirely and magically fix your day, but it was a start to look forward for something at least. Glancing outside, the sun was just starting to rise and further cut through the ocean line.
Getting enough sleep has always been hard. You weren’t one to have a routine that you followed religiously.
And as the coffee machine makes one final sound before completely stopping to drip, you heard a buzzing noise subsequent to it. Your phone had buzzed against the marble island.
With one hand, you held the mug of coffee and brought it steadily towards your lips. And with the other hand, you reached for the phone to unlock and see what notification you got at this early in the morning.
It was a text from Sarah.
Sarah: Heard that dad’s staying in today. Rafe too. Can’t leave with u. Meet me at the dock around 30?
Your face scrunched, confused if Sarah was already gone already this early— you were still recovering from waking up and your brain hadn’t fully adjusted yet. And yet you typed a quick reply to her without hesitating or even realizing what you really were going to do.
But it’s Sarah. So you kind of started trusting her enough.
As if right on cue with the questions starting to form in your thoughts, Sarah had walked past through the side door. She was wearing her usual soft knitted cardigan over a crop top and high waisted shorts, already looking like she was ready to leave anytime soon now.
“Good morning,” she smiles, “you’re up early, huh.” She grabs a snack from a bowl placed on the counter and unwraps it to take a bite.
“Barely slept.”
Sarah then leans against the marbled countertop while continuing to chew on a protein bar. Her voice slightly lowers down as she whispers, “So… we can’t leave together today. I heard dad’s staying in and Rafe is probably already lurking around somewhere.”
You roll your eyes at the sound of his name, “Of course he would be.”
“So you’ll have to sneak out at the back. And like… actually sneak.” She adds in a softer tone, “You can make it out without them noticing or becoming suspicious if you leave before nine.”
“Mhmm.” You take another sip at your coffee, trying to process all of the instructions and words she was telling.
“John B’s already out to go there. JJ confirmed too. I told them to wait.” Sarah made it seem like a mission you had to do this morning. It sort of was, if only your other family members were not as crazy and acted normal then both of you shouldn’t have to worry about this situation.
Nonetheless since the Pogues had felt like a place where you could only be true to yourself, you didn’t have to be persuaded or forced to agree. All the trouble you had to go through in order to feel the ironic warmth in their chaotic dynamics was always worth it. But getting to them was the difficult part acknowledging that you lived in a house that wanted to control your image and keep you polished and trapped.
You nodded once as she was finally finished with her morning snack. “Fine. I’ll find a way out of it.”
Sarah smiles at you and then leans in with arms ready to embrace you. She excitedly whispers to your ear, “That’s my girl.”
The warmth of the air and moment still hung as you took it in and appreciated how genuine Sarah was with you. And like a stinging breeze in the air that passed by, you felt an unwanted presence and heard footsteps becoming louder towards the kitchen.
Both you girls stood still, eyes breaking the look at each other and advancing to your sides at the threshold. There he stood.
His figure was there and leaning against the frame of the doorway. He had one hand stuck in a pocket, seeming like he was fiddling something. He seemed to have just woken up, still dressed in gray sweats and dirty blond hair in a mess.
Rafe didn’t try to hide his surmise, making sure to let the both of you feel that he was staring tensely. As if he didn’t know how to even act casually in his own home. His eyes scanned the kitchen but eventually landed on where both of you stood. You and Sarah.
But you felt his stare more intensely at you.
“Wow,” he says with a voice still scratchy with sleep, “How come I wasn’t invited to the family breakfast?”
Both of you knew better than to express any reaction or say any reply to him. None of you answered his snarky comment as it was always better to act like you didn’t hear anything your older step sibling was saying— nor was it worth responding to.
And so you turned your back to him while reaching for the rest of the coffee that was remaining. While you poured it into your mug, you couldn’t help but feel his stare still at you. The weight of it.
He wasn’t saying anything, just taking one quick look around the kitchen to grab a fruit on the countertop and walked off like he didn’t just try to rattle the two of you so early in the morning. As his presence disappears, you hear yourself and Sarah exhale at the same time.
“Such an asshole,” she mutters with a look still glued to the entry of the kitchen.
You shake your head, looking at what was remaining in your mug before finally finishing it all in. Your heart was beating a little too fast and you couldn’t tell if it was because of the caffeine or for another reason.
Time does fly by fast because as you prepared yourself after having breakfast, you eventually looked at the clock the displayed the time. 08:50. You knew it was time to make your move.
The hallways of the house was quiet. Ward’s office door was shut, either still being asleep or on a business call. Wheezie was still asleep. And Rafe’s room was dead silent, making you a bit suspicious.
Nonetheless you tiptoed through the back of the house with a small shoulder bag slung to one side of your body. The door was in sight as you were almost there.
But as the wind had hit past the glass, making you shiver that raced up to your arms, you realized that it might not hurt to bring a sweater. You didn’t know how long you’ll be out and it might get colder at night
You glanced around the area knowing it would be much of a hassle to take more steps back to return to your room. Making more movement or noises was too risky and you didn’t want to answer any more questions.
Your eyes flicked around the room before catching on the chair by the hallway. There was a gray zip-up jacket that hung over the back, looking carelessly tossed with the sleeves all bunched and creased like someone hadn’t even thought twice to leave and forget it there. It looked familiar—too familiar. Like something you might’ve left in your closet and forgotten.
This was probably the one you were looking for. Same color. Same shape— kind of. Same washed-out shade of gray and soft-sleeved fabric. Yeah, close enough.
You grabbed it without thinking anymore. Your mission was to sneak out and that was what your mind had been set. And so you shoved the piece of apparel deep into your bag, zipped it halfway, and dashed out the door without looking back.
The sun had eventually crept up over land and was now casting its light amongst the neighborhood. You cut across the backyards and driveways from Figure Eight as you let your shoes be dragged along the pavement with soft urgency. Once you got somewhat of a distance far enough from home, you finally got to breathe a bit normally without having to worry if someone might notice you and snitch it to your family.
The familiar breeze of the salt of the sea welcomes you as you become closer to the meeting spot. After some time, the marina came into your view from meters away and you couldn’t help but smile seeing the old wooden planks.
There your friends were.
JJ was already being himself as he boldly balanced on the edge of a dock like it was some sort of challenge not to straight into the water. Pope sat with a notebook on his thigh, scribbling something onto it which was probably his homework. Kiara was just talking and laughing with the circle. And Sarah was already there too, seated in between John B’s legs with her head casually relaxed on the side of his face.
All of them paused for a moment, heads turning into the direction where you were coming from as the sound of your footsteps approached them.
“There she is!” JJ points both his index fingers, arms raised as if announcing it like a game show host presenting their winner. Your stepsister had smiled and waved you over, “You made it.”
“Yeah, obviously,” You said with a smug expression.
“Took you some time. We thought you got caught or something.” Pope says without breaking his attention away from his worn-out notebook.
“Nah,” you say as you set your bag down beside you, “Just did it in time. Everyone was still asleep. But Rafe was definitely lurking though.”
JJ gagged at the name of him, “When does that dude not?”
And Sarah didn’t even try to hide her slightly disgusted face before John B had tossed you a can of beer from their cooler. “You good?”
“Never been better,” you lied. “I just needed to get away from that place.”
You didn’t have to say anything more and no one had to push for details. They didn’t need to hear an entire dialogue before they could understand or read the room. It was something you actually appreciated from them. They actually knew how to read between the lines and knowing when to say something or not.
Your skin settled against the texture of the wooden dock while letting the salted air drown you throughout the whole afternoon. JJ’s ideas didn’t end as he continued to theorize over haunted houses in The Cut— to which Pope could only argue was some weird lights and shadows.
However eventually, somewhere in between the jokes and laughter, the mood had shifted. “Okay, okay,” John B leaned forward as he called everyone's attention, “So we’ve been hearing that crazy rumor again, right?”
JJ had his eyebrows raised, “About the wreck?”
“About the Royal Merchant, dude,” Pope shook his head at his friend while setting his notebook aside. “You know… That someone was trying to pull or steal parts of it illegally. Bribing divers and all. I don’t know— Sarah heard it from someone working at the docks.”
You furrowed your brows, “What? Wait— Seriously?”
Sarah nodded. “Something about salvaging gold that never made it on the reports. Like another haul.”
Obviously, JJ couldn’t help but grin at the sound of a new adventure. “A secret stash? Are we really going to do this again?”
“So.. what?” You said, “Will we be going for gold? Or whatever the hell you guys are talking about?”
John B grinned, “We are thinking about it.” He emphasized the tone of thinking knowing that it was simpler said than done.
Sarah added, “I’m not saying we should do it immediately tonight. Though it wouldn’t hurt to consider or check out the area sooner or later. Quiet recon if I must say.”
“I’m down,” you say almost immediately. And JJ clinked the can of beer in his hand against the side of yours like it was a binding contract. “Hell yeah. That’s the spirit.”
Again, time slipped swiftly in between the joy. The laughs, plans, and soft hums of music playing from Sarah’s phone had all of you forgetting what time it was until you realized that the sun had eventually set.
The beers still hadn’t run out from the cooler. You weren’t sure if it was only JJ who brought the shit ton of beer. You were just happy to be far away from Figure Eight and the people that came with it.
The golden streaks of sunlight disappeared and were replaced by the dark blue and starred sky. Along with it was also a breeze that crawled its way to your skin.
You could feel the air becoming cooler and sharper as it brushed past your arms, sending pricks all over as you tried to adjust to the change in temperature. You couldn’t help but shiver, arms trying to rub against the skin to create some sort of heat from the friction that didn’t do much to be honest.
Ultimately, your eyes squinted to try and see where your bag was. You remembered you brought a jacket.
Your hands grasp onto the soft fabric, shaking it loose after being crumpled into a ball from earlier. It definitely had more creases now after being stuffed carelessly into the bottom of your bag. But it still was the same and you didn’t care as long as it serves it purpose.
And so you slip your arms through the sleeves one at a time. Then you tugged it over your head and shoulders.
As it clings to your body, you couldn't help but wonder how it hung with a little more weight than how you could remember. The fabric was just as soft, but now realizing the garterized end of the sleeves extended longer than it did before.
Your expression wavered somewhere between confusion and disappointment. But then, as another cool breeze of air drifted past by, you caught a whiff of the jacket. Essentially it had you frozen.
It didn’t smell like your usual detergent that was more toned down and softer. Nor did it smell like any of your perfumes.
It definitely smelled like cologne. Expensive. Musk. Sharp.
Familiar.
And even beneath all of that, you could smell something more. Like the hems of the fabric burned out and bitter. It surely had hit you without a warning.
Cocaine. It was a man’s cologne and cocaine.
So it hit you like a bus. This wasn’t your jacket.
This jacket was Rafe’s.
You froze. You didn’t look down. You didn’t need to further inspect to confirm anything more or less.
You’d felt this fabric before. Brushed past it in the hallway. Smelled it in passing. It smelled like something dangerous and too familiar. As if tension held in fabric and stitched in silence.
“Everything okay?” Sarah asked gently, her voice breaking through the quiet hum of waves.
You looked up too fast. “Yeah. The air is just really cold.”
There wasn’t any other choice than to pull the jacket tighter around yourself or else you would freeze yourself to death. But now as you did, you were under the impression that the fabric felt like it could burn into your skin any moment. Just like that, the mood easily shifted and the evening wasn’t so chill anymore.
The cool air grew heavier at night with the salty air and smoke entangled. A low hum of background music you could barely discern the lyrics of played from a phone.
Meanwhile you stayed quiet and distracted. A little too quiet that could easily be noticed by others if they stared at you long enough.
You couldn’t relax over a damn sweater. Not when its scent was continuously clinging onto your body like it was going to stick and sink into your skin. The weight of it had nothing to do with the fabric and everything to do with how you caught the edge of Rafe’s cologne that made your stomach tie in knots.
It really was unmistakably his.
It made you stare a little too long out at the calm water, beer in your hand, while trying to tag along with the occasional laugh. You weren’t too sure if it was because of the beer that had your head buzzing around like static.
You weren’t shivering anymore, but you didn’t take the jacket off either. You didn’t want to see if anyone might recognize or comment about anything on it. Especially not from Sarah. She knew her own brother well and you didn’t want to be thrown any looks once she noticed it.
You stayed still with thoughts spiraling to nowhere. And the night blurred around its edges
By the time the second batch of beers had gone empty, the dock became way too quiet. Kiara started gathering around the empty cans and grouping them all into the cooler. Pope yawned as he told that he had to go home before his dad had to text again.
Meanwhile John B looked at Sarah, murmuring something that was only for them. Sarah stood up with a soft groan, stretching her arms out wide and brushed the palms of her hands on the sides of her shorts. “We should head out too.”
You nodded, barely processing again.
She looks at you longer than necessary, “You still good?”
“Yeah,” you yawned, “Just tired.”
Your stepsister gives you a soft smile before asking, “You want to head back together or…?”
You turn your head around and looked at the dirt path leading from the dock. The view curved out past the boat sheds and into a neighborhood. If you walked back side by side together with her, it might be suspicious. Rafe might be awake. Ward might ask questions. “No, I think it’s better if you go ahead of me,” you say, “Less suspicious that way.”
Sarah didn’t argue with your idea, further even nodded like she had been expecting you would answer that way. “Alright, I’ll leave the gate open for you.”
“Thanks.” You smiled faintly. She reaches for your shoulder to give a gentle squeeze before slipping away with John B into the trail.
Their figures eventually disappeared within the path and you felt yourself deflate slightly. It was so quiet and dark.
“Want me to walk with you?” The voice came from your back. JJ was still lingering at the edge of the dock with his hands in his pockets and a smile that seemed like he could see right through you.
You blinked, “What?”
“I’ll walk with you. At least halfway to the road,” he offered with a shrug in his voice to show it wasn’t a big deal for him to go out his way at this time. “Not tryna get you grounded for sneakin’ out by yourself, Ma’am.”
Again, you smile faintly, “Thanks. But I’ll be fine.”
“You allergic to good company?” He teases.
It made you smile gratefully but you didn’t want to let him suck it all up. “You’re scared of being left alone with raccoons, aren’t you?”
“Hey, those bastards are territorial,” he jokes, “One of ‘em stared me down last week. Little shit had murder in its eyes.”
You laugh at him. “Fine, but I won’t be saving your ass if they start to attack.”
He hums in agreement, reaching to step beside you as both of you head off the dock. The gravel made a crunching sound under your feet each step you took as it echoed around the open space. JJ didn’t ask questions nor did you talk too much— assuming both of you had been exhausted from today already. Both of you just walked close enough to have your arms brushing past each other at times.
Windows rustled through the trees and you could hear static from the leaves. You adjusted the jacket together around your frame as the breeze slid up your legs.
Then for a second JJ’s nose had wrinkled subtly. It made him sniff one again. Then another one. “...Huh,” he muttered under his breath.
You gave a side eye, “What?”
“Didn’t think you were someone into cologne.” He sniffed again butthis time a bit more exaggerated. “Fancy stuff too. Smells like–” he pauses and makes an unimpressed face, “Smells like something trying way too hard.”
Your footsteps faltered. “Hmm?”
JJ gave a curious look, “I mean, it’s kind of intense. Thought it would really be something like you at first, but—” he leans in almost near the crook of your neck as if trying to prove a point. “Nah, that’s definitely a guy’s scent. Didn’t seem to come from your body wash aisle.”
You forced out an awkwardly soft laugh, “Maybe it rubbed off from someone. Or a seat cushion or… whatever.”
JJ raised a brow and probably read through you but didn’t say anything else after. Didn’t tease you either anymore. He just stuffed his hands into his pockets and continued to walk with you.
You looked away, the pulse at your neck probably ticking a little too loud now.
Crisp linen, musk, something weirdly expensive and bitter underneath. This was always the scent that clung to a room that he would spend a bit more time in. The kind that made you feel like someone had just walked over your grave.
Rafe’s scent was all over you.
The silence ironically felt so loud. And now your mind was clouded with your step brother all over again.
You didn’t mean to take his jacket. Didn’t mean for anyone to notice or be suspicious either.
And now you just couldn’t un-notice it either.
At length, both of you finally got to the edge of the main road which was a sign to part ways. JJ gave you a lazy two-finger salute with his signature lopsided grin before vanishing within the trees.
Eventually after a few more walks, you arrived at the house. And as Sarah had promised, you were able to slip through the back gate that she left open. There weren’t any lights from the windows nor any sounds or talking coming from the inside.
The house looked asleep. Which was good.
And so you gently pushed the back door open little by little, making sure to be careful not so as to make any noises or let it creak a little too loud. The hallway was dim except for a very faint, flickering spill of light coming from a small source in the kitchen.
You froze after sensing that there was definitely some movement coming from the area. It was subtle just as you. A shadow. For a second you thought that it might have been Rose getting a glass of wine or Wheezie looking for a midnight snack.
But when you further stepped in, the jacket half-zipped with shoulders tense. Your eyes finally landed on him.
Rafe was standing by the marble counter. He hadn’t seen you yet as his back was turned. You could see that he had a glass in one hand filled with something clear with ice. His other free hand was then carrying his figure as it rested on the surface. His pose as if he was waiting or anticipating something in the dark— probably even been there for some time.
He didn’t have to turn around as there wasn’t even an ounce of astonishment in his mood.
“Thought you might try the back gate,” he said lazily while pushing the rim of the glass up to his lips to take a sip, “My sister has never been really subtle when she leaves things conveniently unlocked.”
You didn’t say anything. You just felt a lump in your throat and felt that your heart was racing again. You didn’t know why your body was always reacting like this when it came to interactions with Rafe.
He turned now. Slowly, smoothly, and deliberately. His gaze dropped the moment he saw you. And then he saw what you were wearing.
It instantly made him smirk. Knowing.
“Well,” he said with a tone thick with mockery, “Would you look at that.”
You shifted uncontrollably under the weight of it. The soft fabric was somewhat replaced with static that felt like pins and needles. “Today was cold.”
“Uh-huh.” He took another sip but with his gaze not breaking away from you. “Of all the jackets in this house, you accidentally had to pick that one up.”
You held your ground. “It looked like mine.”
Rafe chuckled, already sure of what to say. “Doesn’t smell like yours.”
The tension grew further as you knew that he made his point. He knew that you knew that too. You clutched the front of the jacket by its zipper, suddenly hyper-aware of how his cologne still clung to the fabric. It even further became intense as he stood a few feet away from you.
“You know what’s funny,” he says, stepping closer, “That you walked around in that jacket. All day. With those bottom-feeding friends of yours like it was nothing.”
“I didn’t—” you started but he immediately cut you off with a scoff.
“Bet they loved seeing it. Bet they thought you were making some kind of statement. Wearing a Cameron jacket like you were branded. Smelled like one too…”
He adds, “Or maybe it was some twisted kink thing.” With a tilt to his head to the side. “Playing house with Pogues like you weren’t just a stray we dragged in and cleaned up.”
“That’s not what it was,” you said quietly.
Rafe raised a teasing brow as if accepting a challenge. “No?”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “You think I wore it on purpose?”
“I think,” he said, voice low now, “you didn’t not want to be seen in it.”
He continues on “I think.. I think you knew what you were doing.”
Your eyes narrowed. “And what exactly was I doing?”
He took another step, closing the already-suffocating distance. “Sending a message.”
You snorted, trying to cover the way your breath hitched. “To who?”
“Me,” Rafe said plainly. “Who else?”
“I didn’t even know it was yours,” you whispered.
“But now you do.” His hand braced against the wall beside you. He wasn’t touching it but somehow close to say you could feel his warmth. “And you’re still wearing it.”
Silence laced the space between you. And then he leaned in. Just a little more with eyes locked to yours purposely. His voice dropped to something almost venomously soft. “Feels kind of pathetic, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Wearing something that doesn’t belong to you. Pretending like it fits.”
You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You think that’s what I’m doing? Pretending?”
“I think you don’t know where the hell you belong,” Rafe said. “You put on the jacket, hang out with your little Pogue boyfriends, and walk back into this house like you’re still one of us.”
He tilted his head, his breath ghosting against your cheek now. “But you’re not.”
“You keep talking like you hate the idea of me but you never shut up about it.” You snapped back.
That shut him up just for a millisecond. Made his jaw tense with a hand on the wall curled into a fist seeming like he was trying to hold himself back from doing or saying something even worse. But it eventually relaxed again.
You knew you hit something. Whether it was pride, guilt, or a nerve still raw from whatever ghosts haunted him, you weren’t sure. But it landed. His laugh came slower this time. Darker. "Careful."
"Or what?" you said with a voice tight but trying to make it less obvious. "You'll make another shitty comment and then go sulk in the pool house again?"
“You ever wonder why it was there?” he asked, voice suddenly quiet. “Out in the open like that?”
You frowned. “What?”
“That jacket. Couch. Right by the hallway. Practically laid out for you.”
“Are you saying you left it there?” you asked slowly.
He didn’t confirm. But the look in his eye was smug and almost cruel was enough to hint at something.
“You’re delusional,” you said, unsure if the tone you let out was disgusted or confused.
He smiled. "And you’re the one still wearing it."