#master of none

You always come to the parties

To pluck the feathers of all the birds

I vacuumed today, so I made the square man do it as well.

Learned some things:

- He does not like vacuuming

- He might not have his own vacuum cleaner. The purple seems out of character

- Sasha Nein some what relaxed, feels out of character as well

Synopsis: You're just a girl living your life, until Rafe...who's a thorn in your side, starts to bother you.

Author's notes: Comedy, Romance and Drama

NOTICE ⚠️: This content may be adult and not suitable for minors.

Your thought:

That is precisely how you felt: like a beautiful flower blooming in a teenage world driven by drugs, alcohol, and fleeting desire. You were delicate and radiant—untouched, reserved, and quietly set apart. You were not waiting for anything in particular; in a place where many pursued only lust and selfish gain, expectation seemed futile. The deeper truth, perhaps, is that you were simply living, unaware that your greatest philosophy was unfolding naturally within you.

There you were once again at a social gathering, surrounded by your affluent and somewhat frivolous circle of friends. Among them, only Sarah Cameron stood out as genuinely engaging—gracious, witty, and effortlessly charming. You held a particular fondness for her.

You were not involved in any romantic relationships or casual entanglements, while she, in contrast, was highly sought after by nearly every young man on the island, whether Pogue or Kook.

The event was hosted in an opulent residence that embodied the image of the ideal American family—elegant, orderly, and impeccably maintained. Yet despite its grandeur, you felt disoriented within its walls, uncertain even of which house you were in, unable to navigate your surroundings with ease.

“Is everything alright?” Sarah shouts over the pounding music, her voice slightly unsteady from the drinks. A faint flush colors her cheeks, and a sheen of perspiration glows on her skin after hours of dancing, laughing, and surrendering herself to the moment.

You watched her with quiet admiration. She moved through the night with an ease that felt almost enviable—radiant, unrestrained, alive. In that instant, you found yourself wishing you could inhabit that same freedom, and more than that, that someone might look at you with the same admiration you reserved for her.

"Yes, everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” you reply with a practiced smile, continuing to dance beside Sarah as though nothing were amiss. Behind the ease of your expression, however, your true feelings remained carefully concealed. You chose silence over honesty, unwilling to let your quiet resentment spill outward and risk wounding anyone in the process.

The music pulsed at a relentless volume, and the crowd surrendered themselves more fully to the night with each passing moment. Laughter swelled, inhibitions dissolved, and a shared euphoria seemed to saturate the minds and hearts of everyone in attendance—until his presence shifted the atmosphere.

Rafe Cameron.

Your vision:

He was known as the town’s most notorious playboy, the island’s most incorrigible womanizer—wealthy, strikingly handsome, and undeniably magnetic. Fearless and unapologetic, he carried himself with a reckless edge, a drifter’s spirit wrapped in privilege and power.

Outwardly, he possessed the kind of beauty that bordered on ethereal, almost angelic in its precision. Yet beneath that immaculate exterior lay a far darker nature—one that hinted at turmoil, excess, and a capacity for destruction.

“Oh my God, your brother is here,” you say to Sarah, unable to conceal the sudden tension in your voice as you catch sight of him.

Rafe had never been kind to you. He was openly dismissive—critical of your inexperience, your lack of romantic involvement, and what he perceived as your uncertain direction in life. In his view, these were flaws worthy of ridicule. His sharp remarks and veiled mockery had often left you feeling diminished, stirring both anger and quiet humiliation within you.

“Oh no, don’t worry. I’ll talk to him and make sure he leaves you alone,” Sarah assures you, drawing closer in an attempt to steady your nerves.“I’m sorry, Sarah. He’s always cruel to me, and if he notices I’m here, he’ll likely hover around me all night,” you reply, scanning the room anxiously, hoping he has not yet seen you.“I need you to stay,” Sarah insists softly, clinging to you with a slight unsteadiness. “John B sent me a note—he wants to see me. This might be my only chance.” Her words blur at the edges, her composure already softened by the alcohol.

“I can’t—and frankly, I don’t want to—endure Rafe or those vapid girls all night without you,” you protest, astonished at the mere thought of facing them alone. The idea unsettles you deeply. Sarah’s absence would only heighten your anxiety, and Rafe’s presence, in particular, felt like a looming threat. He had a way of turning even silence into discomfort.

“It’ll only be five minutes, I promise. Please,” Sarah pleads, clasping her hands together with dramatic insistence.

Your gaze shifts from the exit door back to her hopeful expression. Unable to refuse, you exhale in resignation. “Fine. You win.” You roll your eyes lightly before settling onto the sofa positioned at the center of the party.

“Hey! I love you, you little menace. I swear, just five minutes!” Sarah exclaims, hugging you quickly before disappearing into the crowd.

It was not five minutes. In fact, she would not return until the following day. And deep down, you had known that would be the case—you had sensed, even then, that you were destined to remain at that party for the entire night.

Back to the present: you sit alone, pretending to scroll through your phone—long since dead—hoping to appear occupied, as though engaged in something urgent or important. Across the room, you notice Topper pacing impatiently. You understand the reason immediately.

“Hey, [your name], have you seen Sarah?” he asks, visibly concerned. “I’ve called her several times, and she hasn’t answered.” He seems surprised to find you alone, given that you and Sarah are nearly inseparable and rarely attend events without one another.

“Oh? Sarah? Well, she must be… uh…” You hesitate, searching for an explanation, your thoughts scrambling for coherence—until you are abruptly interrupted.

“She must be in the arms of another guy, like the bitch she is.” The voice was hoarse and deep, yet controlled—its tone soft, but edged with unmistakable intensity. A fragrance lingered in the air, sweet yet bold, carrying a distinctly masculine presence. You did not need to turn around to know who it was.

“What’s this, man? She’s your sister—and my girlfriend. I demand respect.”

You fixed your gaze on Topper’s face, searching for any sign that he was joking, struggling to comprehend the audacity of what sounded like an outright lie.

Rafe noticed that you were deliberately avoiding his gaze—and in that very moment, it became clear that the night ahead would be anything but uneventful.

“Ignoring me, Holy Virgin?” Rafe asked as he lowered himself onto the couch beside her. The proximity alone was enough to set her nerves alight, her mind instinctively shifting into a defensive, high-alert state—ready to react at any moment.

“And what kind of friend are you? I called Sarah a bitch right in front of you, and you did nothing.” Rafe spoke as though genuinely appalled, yet the indignation in his voice was nothing more than carefully disguised mockery.

You never understood why Rafe targeted you; his harassment had persisted since you were fourteen. On your birthday, he stood nearby criticizing the cake. At your school debate, he made a point of publicly challenging you. During the women’s soccer championship—when your team had just secured victory—he was there as well, offering yet more disparaging remarks. And beyond those milestone moments, there were the countless everyday instances in which his criticism seemed inescapable.

Your memories:

It was a sophomore graduation party, and nearly everyone had gathered for the occasion. The celebration took place at a local bar, where you found yourself playing pool. The evening unfolded flawlessly—you could not remember the last time you had enjoyed yourself so freely, so effortlessly at ease. There were drinks, dancing, and just enough indulgence to heighten the atmosphere. For a moment, everything felt perfect.

“Look who’s drinking. I didn’t know a saint indulged in alcohol.” Rafe remarked as he took the glass from her hand, his tone laced with thinly veiled provocation.

“What is wrong with you, Rafe? Leave her alone!” Sarah shouted, her voice sharp with indignation as she instinctively wrapped her arms around Topper, seeking both comfort and solidarity.

Rafe offered you a sly smile before fixing his gaze on you—an intense, unreadable look that left you unsettled, wondering what thoughts were running through his mind.

After that incident, you continued drinking, drawing attention as you danced and immersed yourself in the celebration. Laughter came easily, movements grew looser, and the music seemed louder, closer. Gradually, dizziness set in—your vision blurred, your body felt weightless, and it became undeniable that the alcohol had taken full effect.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked, her voice soft with concern as she checked on you, studying your unsteady posture and searching your expression for reassurance.

"Ah! Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” you replied with an exuberant smile, wrapping your arms around her and planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek, your cheerfulness heightened by the haze of intoxication.

The dancing grew increasingly animated, the energy on the floor intensifying with every song—until you felt the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze fixed on you. It was Freddy, one of Rafe’s college friends. Drink in hand, he watched you with a look that made your skin prickle, as though you were the evening’s prized spectacle and he a predator poised to make his move.

You had no interest in engaging with him. Given his connection to Rafe, you knew better than to invite any further complications into an already volatile night.

You head to the bathroom to check your reflection, stumbling slightly, your body feeling as light as a feather. When you open the door, you find Rafe and Sofia having sex.

“What the hell is that?!” you exclaim, your voice laced with a storm of emotions — disgust, shock, and a flicker of anger.

Rafe immediately stops and bursts into uncontrollable laughter, while Sofia hurriedly begins putting her clothes back on.

“What are you laughing at?! Help me put on my dress!” Sofia snaps, patting Rafe’s chest impatiently. Still smiling, he helps her slip the dress back on. “And are you just going to stand there?! Get out of here!” she adds angrily. You look at her with pure disdain.

"Sorry, but if you need to relieve yourself, and if you want to have sex, go to a hotel!” you say firmly.

Then she looks at Rafe, expecting him to defend her, but he turns to you instead, seething with rage.

“Honey, this is a bathroom. She has every right to use it,” Rafe says, surprising both of you — you because he defends you, and Sofia because he doesn’t defend her. Furious, Sofia storms out of the bathroom, leaving the two of you alone.

"So, are you going to stay here? Or are you going to leave me alone?” you ask, waiting for Rafe to step out of the bathroom. Your words come out slightly slurred — the classic sound of someone drunk trying to appear sober.

“Are you drunk?” Rafe asks, frowning.

He studies you more closely now — the unfamiliar expression on your face, the faint tremor in your voice, your slightly unfocused eyes, and the strong scent of sweet perfume tangled with alcohol.

No! Of course not. Why would I be? … Whatever. Just get out of here!” you blurt out, the words tumbling over each other and betraying your nervousness.

Rafe’s smile only widens.

“What’s wrong? Stop looking at me like that,” you add, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

"I’m not doing anything, my love,” Rafe says, still smiling, his gaze sharp and penetrating. It’s a look you can’t quite explain — why is it so intense, so mesmerizing?

You stood there in silence, facing each other without a word. There was no need to speak; the quiet felt strangely comfortable, though you couldn’t understand why. It was as if he were silently calling you closer — and you could feel it, the undeniable pull of his desire, the way he seemed to want you.

"Okay. I’ll leave you alone,” Rafe says, breaking the heavy silence between you.

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with a strange, unsettled feeling lingering in your chest.

You finally step out of the bathroom and find Freddy standing right in front of you, a stiff, almost mechanical smile fixed on his face.

“Uh… is everything alright?” you ask, offering a small, slightly embarrassed smile.

"Of course everything’s fine! I see you…” he says, delivering the line with an old, painfully cliché charm.

You offer a polite smile and prepare to walk away — until he grabs your arm.

“Wait — I wanted to ask if you’d like to go out with me. I don’t know… maybe Saturday? I really liked your vibe,” Freddy says, a little nervously

You feel a little awkward. Freddy is in his first year of college — handsome, tall, with dark hair. It’s not such a bad idea, you suppose.

“Oh… yes, okay. Saturday,” you say, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. You’ve never gone out on a date before.

He hands you his phone so you can type in your number, and then gives you his in return

When you return to the table where everyone is drinking — including Rafe and Sofia — you turn to Sarah and start talking to her.

“Freddy asked me out. I gave him my number,” you whisper in Sarah’s ear — just loud enough for Rafe, who’s sitting beside her, to catch part of it.

“Oh, really? That’s great! He’s a nice guy — you’ll like him,” Sarah assures you, her enthusiasm contagious.

Her words make you smile even wider, a quiet happiness blooming inside you.

Spoiler: The next day, Freddy calls to cancel everything — and then blocks your number, leaving you completely confused.

End of memory:

You couldn’t stop thinking about it — the night had been intense, thrilling, and completely chaotic.

“So, Holy Virgin… you went out with Freddy?” Rafe asks, a teasing edge in his voice, leaving you momentarily curious about what he really means.

“How do you know about Freddy?!” you ask, both curious and incredulous.

Rafe merely smiles.

“He finally answered me,” Rafe says boastfully, a hint of triumph in his voice.

You remain intrigued — and slightly unsettled.

“How do you know about Freddy?!” you press, but this time he responds with silence — now it’s his turn.

You roll your eyes, frustration simmering as you continue to wonder how Rafe found out.

You and Rafe sit side by side on the sofa in the middle of the party. Across from you, Topper occupies an armchair, repeatedly trying — and failing — to get Sarah to answer his calls.

“Hey, man, forget about Sarah. She forgot about you a long time ago,” Rafe says mockingly to Topper, clearly enjoying the reaction he provokes.

Topper’s jaw tightens, anger flashing across his face.

No, man, she loves me — and I love her too. We’ve been together for two years. We’ve been through a lot, okay?” Topper says, his voice edged with desperation at the thought of losing Sarah.

You watch in silence, because you know exactly where Sarah is.

You’re such an idiot, seriously. Sarah never loved you — she always preferred that poor guy,” Rafe says, laughing openly as he mocks Topper.

“Okay, fine! Maybe I am that idiot for Sarah. But at least I’m not a jerk to the girl I’ve been in love with forever!” Topper shoots back, his voice shaking with emotion.

His words leave you stunned. Could it be you?

Rafe falls silent, his jaw tightening. The look he gives Topper seems to scream at him to stop.

“What’s wrong, Rafe? Cat got your tongue? Be honest with her — confess your feelings. She’ll probably laugh at you anyway,” Topper snaps angrily before storming off, leaving you alone with Rafe.

He says nothing.

And you stand there, stunned.

Could it be that Rafe has always been in love with you — and never said a word? And if so… why?

Questions swirl relentlessly through your mind. Was Topper serious?

Overwhelmed, you rise from the sofa and head toward the exit, leaving the party behind — completely confused.

“Hey, [Your Name]! Wait—just let me explain!” Rafe’s voice cuts through the night as he rushes after you, desperation lacing every syllable.

He catches up moments later, just beyond the glow and noise of the party, where the music fades into a distant pulse. His hand closes gently—but urgently—around your arm, stopping you beneath the dim spill of the porch lights.

When you turn to face him, the composure you fought to maintain has already shattered. Your eyes glisten, heavy with unshed tears, betraying the storm you tried so hard to outrun.

“Why?!” you cry out, your voice breaking under the weight of everything you’ve held in. “If you liked me all this time, why didn’t you say anything?”

The words spill out in a rush of hurt and disbelief. “Instead, you ridiculed me. You looked at me like I was nothing.”

Overcome, you strike your fists against his chest—not hard enough to wound, but enough to release the ache lodged inside you. The impact is fueled by frustration, by confusion, by the unbearable sting of feeling unwanted.

He doesn’t stop you.

He doesn’t even move.

His eyes, usually so guarded and unshakable, glisten under the faint light—tears pooling there, silent and devastating.

“I was afraid…” he confesses, the words unsteady, as though each one costs him something. “I was afraid of falling in love.”

He swallows, emotion tightening his voice. “But I couldn’t stop it. Seeing you every day—your smile, the way your hair catches the light, the way you laugh without even trying… everything about you.”

His gaze softens, no longer guarded, no longer proud—just honest.

“You were so beautiful it terrified me,” he admits quietly. “And no matter how hard I tried to fight it, I couldn’t. I couldn’t help falling in love with you.”

Rafe’s composure finally fractures. His voice turns hoarse, thick with emotion as the words struggle past the tightness in his throat. His eyes, once distant and impenetrable, now brim with raw compassion—silently begging for your forgiveness, for your understanding, for one more chance.

His fingers remain clasped around your arms—not to restrain you, but out of sheer desperation, as though releasing you would mean surrendering you forever. The distance between you vanishes completely; your bodies hover impossibly close, breaths intertwining in the electric hush of the night.

In that suspended moment, the world beyond you fades—the music, the laughter, the lights. Pride unravels, defenses crumble, and what remains is something achingly human: two hearts laid bare beneath the soft, dying glow of the party’s lights.

“So it was you… all this time?” you breathe, the realization settling in like a spark catching flame. “You were the one who wouldn’t let Freddy go out with me?”

Your voice trembles between accusation and astonishment. Your heart pounds wildly against your ribs, each beat louder than the fading music behind you. Butterflies erupt in your stomach—not from fear, but from the dizzying possibility that everything you thought you understood was wrong.

You search his face, your pulse racing, waiting for the truth you already feel forming between you.

"“Yes… it was me,” Rafe admits, his voice rough with confession. “Not just Freddy. There were others.”

He exhales shakily, as if releasing a truth he’s held captive for far too long. “I couldn’t stand the thought of them looking at you. Of them imagining they had a chance.” His jaw tightens, emotion flickering across his face. “I couldn’t stop picturing them… touching you. Being close to you. Doing the things I wished I had the courage to do.”

Each word lands heavier than the last.

You remain frozen, your breath shallow, your mind reeling. With every sentence, the pieces rearrange themselves into a truth more overwhelming than you expected. Shock floods through you—not just at the jealousy he’s admitting to, but at the intensity of it.

“Then why didn’t you?” you demand, disbelief sharpening your voice. “Why didn’t you just do something? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Your words tremble, not with weakness, but with frustration—raw and unfiltered. You search his face as though the answer might already be written there, hidden between guilt and longing.

“I was right here,” you continue, your chest rising and falling unevenly. “You had every chance. Instead, you pushed me away. You let me think you hated me.”

The hurt lingers in your eyes, tangled with confusion and something far more fragile—the realization that all this time, the distance between you had never been indifference… but fear.

“For me… love was never something gentle,” he says quietly, his voice stripped of its earlier urgency. “I grew up believing it weakens you. That it destroys you.”

His gaze falters, shadows passing through it.

“I watched it consume my mother,” he continues, the words heavy with memory. “I watched her give everything—her strength, her pride, herself—and in the end, it broke her.”

He swallows hard.

“So I told myself I would never let that happen to me. That I would never love anyone enough to lose myself.” His eyes lift to meet yours, raw and unguarded. “But then you came into my life… and suddenly losing myself didn’t seem like the worst thing anymore.”

Rafe’s voice falters completely, the last fragments of restraint collapsing as tears spill freely down his face. A broken sound escapes him—half confession, half surrender—and before either of you can think, he pulls you into him.

The embrace is not hesitant. It is desperate.

His arms wrap around you as though you are the only solid thing left in his world. You respond instinctively, holding him just as tightly, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring both of you in place. Your bodies tremble together, breaths uneven, hearts pounding in chaotic unison.

In that embrace, there is no pride, no fear, no past—only the raw, undeniable force pulling you toward one another. The connection feels overwhelming, almost unreal, like something too powerful to belong to ordinary life.

And as you cling to him beneath the fading lights, one thought echoes through you:

You don’t understand how a feeling like this can exist—

only that it does.

I tried,” he confesses between uneven breaths. “I tried to push it away. I told myself it was weakness, that if I stayed distant long enough, the feeling would disappear.”

His grip tightens slightly, as though afraid the truth itself might undo him.

“But it didn’t. The more I fought it, the stronger it became.” His voice trembles. “So I chose the only other option I thought I had… I convinced myself I hated you.”

He lets out a broken laugh, hollow and self-aware. “Hating you felt safer than loving you. If I kept you at arm’s length—if I made you believe I didn’t care—then I wouldn’t have to face what I really felt.”

His forehead rests against yours, vulnerable and undone.

“But I never hated you. I was just running from the fact that I loved you.”

“What happens now?” you ask softly.

The question hangs heavier than any accusation. It isn’t anger this time. It’s uncertainty. Vulnerability. A quiet fear of what comes after the confession.

Your heart pounds as doubts rush in. Will he retreat behind his walls again? Will tomorrow erase tonight? Was this bravery only temporary? You search his face for signs—of fear, of hesitation, of escape. For the first time in his life, the choice is written plainly before him: Run from love… or finally stand still and let himself feel it. And you wait, not knowing which version of Rafe will answer you.

“We can start differently. We can go out… and stuff. What do you think?” Rafe says, resting his hands on his hips, a nervous vulnerability softening his usual confidence.

“I accept! Oh my God… this is crazy!” you exclaim, throwing your arms around his neck, unable to contain the surge of excitement and emotion overwhelming you.

You are Rafe:

Your lips met as if you had both been holding your breath for years and had finally found air. The kiss carried a spark—soft at first, then charged with a trembling electricity neither of you could deny.

Heat rushed between your bodies, contrasting with the coolness of your skin. You were nervous—this was your first kiss—and every sensation felt heightened, almost overwhelming. Yet it was gentle, unhurried, and impossibly tender. Rafe’s hand slipped into your hair, holding you with a mixture of certainty and awe. The street was empty, silence stretching around you like a protective veil. Instinctively, you lifted one leg, as though caught in a fairytale moment.

For you, it was perfect—unexpected, surreal, like something pulled from a dream.

For Rafe, it was unforgettable—the best kiss of his life, with the one person he had always known he wanted.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Rafe says breathlessly as he pulls back just enough to look at you. “You have no idea.”

His forehead rests lightly against yours, his voice still unsteady from the kiss, eyes shining with a mixture of relief and disbelief—as if he still can’t quite believe you’re finally in his arms.

“Promise me you’ll never hurt me,” you whisper, still breathless, your voice carrying both hope and fragility.

Rafe nods without hesitation, his expression serious—stripped of pride, stripped of fear. And for reasons you can’t fully explain, you believe him. A rare certainty settles in your chest, quiet and unwavering.

“I promise,” Rafe says firmly, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “On my mother’s life, I will never hurt you.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you as though the vow itself has bound him to you. The warmth of his arms wraps around you, and for the first time that night, your heart feels calm—safe in the certainty of his promise.

Later that night, you ended up sleeping at Rafe’s house—not out of impulse, but because it was late and you didn’t want to wake your parents. He led you quietly to his room, which was messier than usual, as if the chaos reflected the whirlwind of the evening.

You took a shower while he waited outside, both of you overwhelmed by a nervous anticipation that had nothing to do with recklessness and everything to do with vulnerability. The idea of falling asleep beside him made your heart race—and it made him just as tense.

When you stepped out of the bathroom wearing his oversized shirt, you found Rafe already in bed, watching you with a subtle, almost shy smile. You slipped under the covers beside him, unsure of what might happen next.

But he simply pulled the blanket over you, pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, and wrapped his arms around you. That night had been chaotic, intense, and filled with emotions neither of you fully understood. Yet somehow, it felt necessary—as though everything had unfolded exactly the way it needed to.

“Please… never leave,” Rafe whispers against your ear, his voice so soft it almost disappears into the quiet of the room.

He thinks you’re asleep, his guard lowered in the darkness. His arm tightens slightly around you, as if even in rest he’s afraid of losing you. The confession lingers in the silence—fragile, unfiltered, and painfully sincere.

"No… I won’t. Never,” you murmur softly.

You lean back just enough to press a gentle kiss against the arm wrapped securely around you. Rafe inhales sharply, surprised—and relieved—to hear you awake, to hear the certainty in your voice.

A quiet happiness settles over him, warm and steady. His hold on you relaxes into something peaceful rather than fearful.

And like that, with hearts full and emotions finally at rest, you both drift into a calm, untroubled sleep—together.

It's the end.

Soundtrack of the story:

.Changes (Dej Loaf)

.Wicked Game (Chris Isaak)

.True Colors (Cyndi Lauper)

.I'm not in Love (10cc)

.Master of none (Beach house)

Author’s Note: