Midsummers was the party of the year. It seemed warm, it appeared to be beautiful.

And yet Rafe's current situation contrasted the serene scenario. His constant stress was, of course, due to the Pogues and another stupid treasure hunt.

He knew you were involved. Sarah's sweet bestfriend, always in the middle of the group's messy ideas. He had seen you in the house too often not to know you, because he *did* know you, maybe too well.

Rafe was that good in catching up on the little things. For example, how you weren't meant for conflict. How you always looked for 'another way'.

Ridiculous, he thought. If someone needed to get their ideas straight with a punch in the gut, so be it.

You were the most approachable person out of them all. He wouldn't speak to Sarah — shame on his sister who betrayed him for those rogues. But he *could* speak to you, make you understand how he needed the gold way more than a bunch of impulsive, troubled kids.

He adjusted the sleeves of his tailored suit before standing up from his seat, after making sure you were alone, no Pogues surrounding you. He downed the rest of his glass, and took calm, measured steps towards you.

If he played it safe, non-threatening, he wouldn't push you away.

Though you tensed as soon as you saw him, he placed himself behind you, back to back, making sure no one was watching. "Nice night, huh?" he started, turning his head to the side a little. "Don't worry, I won't bite."

When he was met with furious silence, he kept going.

"I think we should talk about what you're doing with your little friends," Rafe went on. "Or what you shouldn't be doing."