tis the damn season

"And its fine to fake it til you make it"

Rafe's perspective

The party was loud. Too loud. But I didn't mind it at first. It was the kind of chaos you expect when the Pogues throw something together—music blasting, people talking over each other, cups spilling, and that damn guitar always being strummed. A mix of carefree people, some of them trying way too hard, others acting like they didn't have a care in the world.

I wasn't really here for the party itself. Not at all, actually. I didn't even care about the music or the people. What I cared about was Jules.

I tried to tell myself I was here because I needed to escape the silence that had been hanging between us ever since that night. That night where everything almost seemed like it was going to fall back into place, but then, like always, it slipped through my fingers. I couldn't stop thinking about it—the way she kissed me, how close we were, and how easy it was to slip back into that familiar rhythm with her.

But she'd pulled away right after. Like she always did.

I wasn't sure why I'd come tonight. Maybe to try again. To fix something that might never be fixable.

It's funny how fast things fall apart. You think you've got everything under control, that you know where things are headed, and then you blink, and it's all gone. We were supposed to be a team. Jules and me. But somewhere along the way, I fucked it up. And now I was standing here, pretending I didn't feel like a complete idiot, watching her with the Pogues. She was laughing, joking around, her voice louder than usual, and it stung.

I wasn't ready to see her like this. She was acting like nothing had happened. Like she wasn't still haunted by everything we'd been through. And yeah, maybe I was guilty of that too, trying to pretend I was fine. But I wasn't fine. And I could see it in her eyes—the distance, the wariness. She was trying so hard to act normal. And maybe that's what pissed me off the most.

I stood off to the side, a little away from the chaos, nursing my drink. John B. came over, his usual grin plastered on his face. "Hey, man. You good?" He slapped me on the back like we were old pals, but I could tell he was trying to read me. Everyone could.

"Yeah," I muttered, trying to keep the tone casual, but it came out sharper than I wanted. "Just... here."

"You don't look like you're here. You look like you're somewhere else," he said, raising an eyebrow.

I shrugged, shifting on my feet. "I'm just watching the show," I said, giving a half-hearted nod toward the crowd. My eyes flicked back to Jules for just a moment. She was laughing with Kiara now, her head thrown back, her voice lilting, carefree. It made something twist painfully in my chest.

I didn't want to be here anymore. I didn't want to watch her be someone else's. I didn't want to see how easy it was for her to move on from me, when it felt like I couldn't let go. It felt like I was drowning, and she didn't even know it.

But then, she noticed me. Just for a split second. Her eyes met mine across the crowd, and in that brief moment, the rest of the world stopped. Her smile faltered just slightly, and I knew that look. She was thinking about everything between us—everything that we'd been through. I saw the hesitation in her, the way she stood frozen for just a heartbeat longer than normal, like she was deciding whether to acknowledge me or look away.

I was standing by myself, looking at her with eyes full of yearning. My jaw was tight, my eyes dark with something she couldn't quite place—I could tell. I wasn't angry. I couldn't even yell at her. I just... watched her

She stumbled toward me, her body swaying under the weight of the alcohol. "What are you looking at?" She asked, her voice harsh,

I didn't flinch. Didn't move. I just stood there, watching her with that same intensity. "You've had enough, Jules," I said, my voice low but firm, my eyes scanning hers like I was trying to figure out what she was thinking.