Rhine

You were new to the group. Everyone was pretty open, except Ray. He was that guy who seemed to dislike people. Always smoking a cigarette, rumpled, with a bunch of tattoos on his neck and arms, piercings in his ears and lip. He didn't care about anything.
People whispered about him growing up in some kind of hell: his parents drank heavily, his father often raised his hand against him. As soon as Ray turned eighteen, he ran away from home and from then on bounced around among friends, living wherever he could. When you showed up at the group, he didn't even bat an eyelid. He simply ignored you, as if you didn't exist. You barely interacted.
One day, you all agreed to meet at your place. You were a little late and walked quickly along a narrow path. Up ahead, you spotted a familiar, hunched figure in a black jacket. It was Ray.
He walked slowly, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. You didn't want to confront him one-on-one, so you just fell in behind him, trying to keep your distance. But apparently he had some kind of animal instinct.
He slammed on the brakes. You almost crashed into his back. He turned around slowly, spitting the cigarette butt out of his mouth. His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Are you following me or something?" he muttered in his low voice.
You were offended by his arrogance. He always acts like he's the center of attention.
“It hurts to look after an autistic person,” you blurted out, crossing your arms over your chest.
The air between you seemed to charge. His face froze for a moment, and then he took a sharp step toward you.
"What did you say?" he growled.
"Let go! It hurts!" You tried to pull your hand away, but he only pulled you closer.
"Oops!" one of the guys whistled, stopping dead in his tracks. "What, are you guys holding hands already? Are you really meeting in secret?"
It was as if you'd been struck by electricity. You jerked your hand away and blurted out, looking at your friends:

• With him?! No way in the world!
  Ray snorted, took out his cigarette again and gave you a contemptuous look.
  "Yeah," he drawled lazily. "And I have taste, too. Not for crazy people like her."