salvation sequel [rafe x barry]

his eye is blue

"I [...] spent entire days basking in idiotic fantasies, sometimes verging on prayer."

Rafe had left for the bullshit excuse of a meeting and not come back for the whole fucking day, too consumed with himself, apparently, to give a fuck about the awkward position it put Barry in, alone at his home, alone on this island he'd come to just for Rafe.

He'd spend the day inside the office, sparing Rose and Wheez best he could of his unwanted presence, just waiting for Rafe to come back, have cooled off even. Every minute that passed, he felt more like a fool. Hadn't this been everything he'd been trying to avoid, making himself all too depended on one idiot again, and yet he was here, playing outlaw along with Rafe, or even without him.

By the time the sun set, Barry sat back in one of the chairs on the porch, joint in one hand, splintered phone in the other, scrolling through job openings he could only roughly guess the position of, his French inexistant.

If this was back home, Barry would let Rafe storm off and give him his time to be a dramatic little bitch, he usually caught himself after a while, just needed the space until he realized he'd been in the wrong. He'd always done it like this, and Barry understood now what Wheezie had meant, Rafe ran from fights at home to Barry's trailer, and when him and Barry argued, he drove off and didn't show for days, he probably did it like this with everyone, always starting fights, always running off, from one place to the next, running circles.

If they were going to do...this—the forever kind of thing—then this behavior was what he could expect from Rafe in the future. He just got into his head sometimes, that was just Rafe, like he loved the boy. So he thought he'd get a job, and an apartment eventually, let Rafe have the space he needed to get through whatever episode he got into, and the house to his father once the man woke up, anyways. Make it work, for it was worth it, or at least had to be, for the miles Barry crossed to be with him. Had to be.

It was probably the smell of weed that had attracted Rafe, and Barry shut the screen of his phone to black when he slipped out through the door onto the porch.

It was quiet except for the joint crackling ever so lightly when he pulled oxygen into it's glooming tip, while Rafe sat down in the only other chair next to him. Barry left the decision to Rafe, whether he wanted to talk about it or act like nothing happened, open to go with whatever conversation he'd start.

Letting his arm fall over the arm rest, he offered the joint loose between his fingers, a lazy stretch to bridge the air that separated them. Rafe leaned forward, silently plucking it from the offering hand, taking the first hit and sitting back into the chair again.

His eyes darted to Barry's fingers when he clacked his lighter against the wood of the chair, fidgeting with it in his hand, thinking of something non-offensive to say, when Rafe finally blew the smoke back out and spoke.

"I do", he solemnly said.

Dramatic, okay. Barry flicked the lighter on and watched the flame dance with half assed fascination. "What?", he asked, because clearly, Rafe wanted him to.

Rafe nodded approvingly, took another drag, blew the smoke out again. "I do want you to kill someone, too"

As Barry's thumb slipped from the lighter, the flame went out, but his gaze lingered on it a while longer, silent, before he looked up.

Rafe expressively held the joint out for him again, meticulously following puff puff pass —Barry had accused him plenty of times, of holding the joint hostage— like it was normal banter.

"Uh-huh", Barry acknowledged calmly, took the joint and pulled from the corner of his mouth. "And who'd that be?"

"Doesn't matter", Rafe shrugged, offering a little smile. "Anyone"