Chapter Text
Rae doesn’t really seem to like him.
And that’s okay, since he’s not sure if he really likes her all that much, either. He doesn’t even know her that well. You can’t like someone you don’t know.
Maybe that’s what bothered him so much. That she seemed to dislike him, without even getting to know him. So maybe he’d said her name wrong and underestimated her self-proclaimed vast musical knowledge, but he’s not actually that much of a dick.
But then again, she was practically a stranger who was suddenly tagging along with Chloe and then a part of the gang, so he wasn’t exactly jumping up and down inside about it.
Sure, she was funny. And he did have to admit, she had good taste in music. Though her superior attitude when it came to it was kind of annoying, or maybe it was how easily she bantered with Chop and Archie over which mainstream songs were decent enough while he couldn’t even make a suggestion without her rolling her eyes that was actually the annoying part.
(Not that he would know if she rolled her eyes because she barely even looked or spared more than a few words his way when Archie was around.)
He’d never seen Archie that…interested in a girl, or anyone for that matter. Somehow that bothered him too.
What really bothered him was him having to stoop so low as to ask Archie what’d he’d been up to (with Rae), only to be told “nothing much, mate”, and then having to find out the next day he had kissed her.
By Rae, in front of a hooting Chop and a gleefully clapping Izzy- none of which, happened to be Archie.
They fucking kissed.
That bothered him. Everything bothered him. And he didn’t even know why.
Probably because one of them had to be lying, and he’s pretty certain it isn’t Rae by the beaming grin on her face that she struggled to contain and failed.
Most probable reason: he doesn’t know why any of this bothers him- why she bothers him. Or, he’s not sure he really wants to.
~x~
Why he ends up phoning Chloe to ask for Rae’s address just to show up at her door to grovel like he’s the one who stood her up (fucking Archie, why did he have to be a dick to someone who clearly fancied him when he obviously returned those feelings?), he doesn’t know.
After all, doesn’t the saying go “don’t shoot the messenger”? He was clearly the messenger yesterday, and yet, here he was. Each rap on the door manages to sound as unsure and hesitant to his ears as he feels. Some foreign guy sticks his head out and asks in broken English who he’s here for and for a second he wonders if Chloe decided to mess with him and give him the wrong address.
And then there she was, leaning on the doorway, but his relief is short-lived when he realizes she’s not even believing a word of the explanation (the explanation that Archie should be giving her) he still stumbles over even after rehearsing it in his mind about a thousand times since he hung up on Chloe before she could interrogate him.
He’s obviously not even good at this sort of thing. He’s just trying to show her he’s not totally rude and she’s not nearly as bad as he treated her, but it’s clear that her dislike for him outweighs the effort.
But then she steps out and is telling him “the list isn’t that long” in a way that seems to lift something off his chest that he didn’t even know was there. Either way, he decides he really likes the grin that lights up her face when he tells her to give Archie what’s coming to him as he glances back one last time and rides off.
~x~
Sometimes, he finds himself sneaking glances at Rae. Usually it’s when Chop’s being loud and stealing everyone’s attention or when she’s giving these smiles to Archie (who returns them) when she thinks no one is looking. It always makes him feel like he’s intruding on some secret silent conversation between the two and it’s…frustrating, to say the least.
And sometimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s watching her until he’s almost been caught. Once by Izzy, which would have been bad considering she is notorious for letting things she’s seen or hear accidentally slip out of her mouth and the last thing he needs is Rae thinking he’s a freak that stares along with whatever else she thinks about him.
They were at least attempting to be some sort of friends, and he’s pretty sure any little thing could ruin that.
Like him telling her that her staring freaks him out. More like glaring, because she gives him these weird sorts of glares that he can sometimes feel, like her eyes are burning holes into him. Out of dislike, he’s sure. He wonders if she can feel him staring too, but it suddenly doesn’t seem to matter as much when she denies ever staring (glaring) at him.
Shit, he can’t be imagining things now too, could he?
He’s certainly not imagining her insulting him over being the one making the list of songs for the trip. And he’s definitely not imagining her yelling about never being able to win or the pang in his chest when he watches her angrily storm away.
He never thought how she might be feeling. And suddenly he feels a shit ton of guilt, because what if he was one of the people that made her feel that way?
“Let’s just go,” he hears Chop sigh beside him and the boys murmur in agreement.
He considers it for a moment, but realizes he can’t just leave her, not when she was that upset. “Uh, I think I’m just gonna try to ask Rae about those tunes again when she gets out.”
Chop tosses him a weary look, “Suit yourself, mate.”
He taps his pen anxiously against the table, waiting, lost in thought as he wonders what to do once she does come out. What will he say? He could use the music excuse, but he’s sure she’ll see that’s crap and he was really just worried about her. What if that pisses her off more?
It takes him a second to realize someone just left and he’s almost positive Rae had just slipped out and now he’s kind of mad because she had to have seen him waiting for her.
He shrugs on his leather jacket, rushing out, weighing his options. He could just leave her be (after all she might just be embarrassed over the outburst) or he could follow her and ask her if she saw him (she had to of) and then chew her out for it.
But those options are completely off the table when he hears those guys throwing insults her way and sees the helpless look on her face and then all he hears is the blood roaring in his ears and his fist stings from the right hook he deals to the leader.
They’re easily threatened like he had suspected (making fun of a girl, of Rae, was pathetic and said a lot about a guy), and one punch and a few coarse words later, they scurry away. Suddenly he feels awkward again, because what crap excuse could he come up with to cover this? He was being nice, doing the right thing; but he wasn’t just doing it to be nice, or just because it was the decent thing to do.
He didn’t have completely selfless intentions. Did she know that he really wanted her to like him?
He really doesn’t want to find out, so after her nod when he asks if she’s alright, he leaves. He’s not ready for that, to talk about what was going on between the two of them, if anything was indeed going on (well, on her end). He doesn’t want to know that, either, and he’s not ready for it.
That night, when he plops down on his bed, he flexes the fingers of his bruised hand, a smile tugging at his lips at the twinge of pain. The smile remains firmly planted on his lips until the music lulls him asleep.