Outer Banks Imagines ~ JJ and Rafe

Rafe ~ drunk Rafe

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"Okay, come on, big guy," you mutter, sliding into problem-solving mode as you reach across Rafe to unbuckle his seatbelt. The click of the release barely registers over his lazy hum of a tune—something off-key and vaguely familiar. His legs are a deadweight, but you manage to tug them out of the car and plant his feet on the ground.

Rafe's head lolls toward you, his glassy eyes struggling to focus. A crooked grin spreads across his face as he slurs, "Hey, you're really pretty. Like...soo pretty. Do you have a boyfriend?"

You bite back a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "Yeah, I do."

His grin fades, replaced by an exaggerated pout. "Of course you do," he groans, throwing his head back dramatically against the seat. "Dammit. What a lucky guy he is."

"Yeah, well," you say, looping his arm over your shoulder and bracing yourself to help his unsteady body out of the car, "he has his moments."

As you guide him toward the house, Rafe stumbles but catches himself against you, his breath warm and tinged with whiskey. "How would your boyfriend feel about you touching me like this?" he teases, his voice low and conspiratorial.

You roll your eyes, suppressing a smile. "Rafe, baby," you say, your tone patient but amused, "you are my boyfriend."

He stops dead in his tracks, blinking at you in bewilderment. "I am?" His voice rises in disbelief, as if you've just told him he won the lottery.

"Yes, Rafe. You've been my boyfriend for two years."

His eyes widen, and a goofy smile takes over his face. "No way. You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"I hit the freaking jackpot!" he exclaims, nearly tipping over in his enthusiasm. You catch him, steadying his tall frame as he looks down at you with awe. "You're telling me you've been mine all this time?"

"Yep," you confirm, dragging him toward the front door.

He stares at you, his expression turning surprisingly tender despite his intoxication. "I don't deserve you," he murmurs, his words slurred but sincere.

You pause, glancing up at him. "Well, you're stuck with me anyway," you say softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. "Now let's get you inside before the neighbours start calling the cops."

Rafe lets out a contented hum, leaning heavily against you as you unlock the door and guide him inside. As you help him to the couch, he flops down with a sigh, looking up at you with sleepy eyes. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"You're drunk," you reply, smoothing his hair back and pulling a blanket over him.

"Still true," he says, his eyes fluttering closed.

You sit on the edge of the couch, watching Rafe's chest rise and fall for a few moments, ensuring he's calm and settled. Just as you start to get up, his hand weakly grabs at your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for someone so out of it.

"Don't go," he mumbles, his voice softer now, stripped of the drunken bravado. "Stay...please."

Your heart clenches. It's rare for Rafe to let his guard down like this, even when he's drunk. He's always so determined to keep up appearances, to act like he doesn't need anyone. Moments like these, though—when the walls come down—you're reminded of the boy beneath the mask.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper, settling back onto the couch beside him, resting your hand on his chest.

His eyes crack open, filled with something raw and unguarded as he cups the hand on his chest. "I love you, you know," he murmurs, his words slurring together but the meaning clear. "I don't say it enough...but I do. So much."

You feel your throat tighten, emotion welling up as you lean down to brush a kiss against his forehead. "I know, Rafe. I love you too."

He smiles at that, a lopsided grin that makes him look boyish, almost innocent. His hand loosens on your wrist but stays there, his thumb brushing your skin in lazy circles.

"You're too good for me," he mumbles again, his words starting to trail off as sleep pulls him under. "I gotta be better. For you."

"You're enough," you say softly, even though you know he probably won't remember this conversation in the morning. "Just...try to believe that, okay?"

Rafe hums in acknowledgment, his eyes finally closing completely as his breathing evens out. You sit with him a while longer, stroking his hair gently, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your hand grounding you.

Tomorrow, he'll wake up hungover and probably grumpy. He might not even remember how vulnerable he was tonight. But you'll remember. You'll remember the way he looked at you, the way he held on to you like you were his anchor.

And for now, that's enough.