Rafe ~ you really think that low of me?

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POV: you got drugged at a party and Rafe comes to save you

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The pulsing bass of the party thumped through your body as the world tilted on its axis. Colors blurred, voices overlapped, and your limbs felt like they were moving underwater. You clutched at the wall for support, your head spinning uncontrollably. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Y/N?"

The familiar voice broke through the haze, rough and low, tinged with concern. You blinked, trying to focus as Rafe's face came into view, his piercing blue eyes searching yours.

"Rafe..." Your voice was slurred, barely audible. "What... what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his jaw tightening as he scanned you up and down. "What happened? Did you drink something?"

"I... I think... I think someone..." Your words trailed off as your knees buckled, and before you hit the ground, Rafe's strong arms were around you, holding you upright.

"Woah, hey, hey, I got you," he murmured, his voice softer now. "Hey, you okay?"

You shake your head weakily, "I don't feel good."

He sighs, "come on, we're getting out of here."

You tried to protest, but the words wouldn't form. All you could do was cling to his shirt, the fabric grounding you as the world spun around you.

"Why... why are you...?" You struggled to focus on his face, confusion knitting your brows. "You hate me."

"Don't be stupid," he muttered, his tone sharp but his grip gentle. "You think I'd leave you like this? Not a chance."

The party faded into the background as he guided you out of the house, shielding you from the prying eyes and chaos around you. The cool night air hit your face, helping to clear the fog just a little.

"You're... being way too nice," you mumbled, your head lolling against his chest. "What's the catch, Rafe? Huh? You going to throw me in the pool and let me drown or something?"

He let out a frustrated breath, helping you into the passenger seat of his car. "You really think that low of me?" he asked firmly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"You... You've given me no other choice."

He chuckles slightly, "Just sit tight. We're going home."

You laughed weakly, the sound barely a whisper. "Home? With you? That's... that's dangerous..."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly the safe type," he admitted, his lips quirking in a faint smirk as he buckled your seatbelt. "But tonight, you don't have a choice."

Your eyelids fluttered, your head leaning against the window as the car started moving. "Hey Rafe..." you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"Yeah?"

"Why do you care?"

He glanced at you, his jaw clenching before he looked back at the road. "Because someone has to," he said quietly.

The weight of his words settled over you as the darkness pulled you under, but even in your disoriented state, you felt a strange sense of safety. Whatever Rafe Cameron's flaws, tonight, he was your protector. And for now, that was enough.

The hum of the car engine was soothing, lulling you into a fragile peace as the weight of the night pressed down on you. Though your thoughts were muddled, one thing was clear—Rafe was taking care of you. He drove with one hand steady on the wheel, the other tapping restlessly on the console, his jaw set like he was ready to fight the world on your behalf.

You stirred, shifting in your seat, your head lolling to the side. "Rafe... where are we?" you asked, your voice hoarse and uncertain.

"My place," he said without hesitation, his eyes flicking to you briefly. "You're not going back there tonight. Whoever did this to you... they're lucky I didn't find them."

You tried to process his words, but the fog in your mind made it difficult. "Your place," you repeated softly, a faint laugh escaping your lips. "Dangerous."

He smirked, though his expression remained tense. "You already said that. Starting to think you like a little danger."

"Maybe," you murmured, your lips curving slightly as your eyes fluttered shut.

Moments later, you felt the car stop, and before you could gather your thoughts, Rafe was at your side, opening the door. "Come on," he said gently, slipping an arm under your legs and another around your back to lift you effortlessly.

"Rafe, I can walk," you protested weakly, though your body betrayed you, leaning into his warmth.

"Sure you can," he said dryly, carrying you up the steps to his house. The cool night air brushed your skin, but his presence kept you grounded, a shield against the vulnerability clawing at you.

Inside, the dim lighting of his home felt oddly comforting. He set you down carefully on the couch, crouching in front of you. His hands lingered on your knees for a moment before he pulled away, his gaze scanning your face with concern.

"You feeling any better?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender.

You nodded slightly, your hands clutching at the hem of your shirt. "A little," you admitted. "Still... floaty."

"I'll get you some water," he said, standing up.

As he walked away, your eyes followed him, and something about the way he moved—protective, determined—made your heart ache. When he returned, he handed you a glass, sitting beside you as you took a sip.

"You didn't have to do this," you said quietly, looking at him over the rim of the glass. "Saving me, bring me here... any of it."

He leaned back, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his gaze heavy on you. "Yeah, I did," he said simply. "I wasn't about to let anything happen to you."

Your breath caught, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the haze. "Why?"

He hesitated, his jaw tightening before he answered. "Because... you're important to me," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he took the glass from you.

"Yeah okay..." You mutter under your breath as you laid back on the couch but he caught it.

"I'm serious."

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words settling over you. "Rafe..."

"You don't have to say anything," he interrupted, his hand brushing against yours. "Just... let me make sure you're okay. I highly doubt you'll remember this conversation tomorrow anyways."

"You might be right about that."

Your fingers brushing against his in a silent thank you before feeling the sleepiness wash over you.

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