Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The storm had kept them all up last night. The wind howled, rattling windows and pulling sheets of rain across the house in sheets of gray, the kind of storm that felt like it could swallow the whole world whole. It was already 7AM, but the sky was still a bruised shade of night. It was the kind of morning that made you want to stay under the covers, pretending you couldn’t hear the world outside.

But, unfortunately, no one could really stay asleep after the storm.

Kiara woke up first, stretching and pushing herself up off the pull-out couch with a groan. She winced as the old springs creaked under her weight. The whole place smelled faintly of wet dog, and the air was thick with humidity that made her curls puff up around her face.

She blinked, taking in the room. It was still dark, the rain outside beating a slow rhythm against the windows. John B’s door creaked open then, revealing Sarah, stepping out of his room in a loose-fitting shirt that was clearly John B’s. Her hair was a mess, and she looked like she hadn’t quite figured out how to walk in the morning yet. The sight of her wearing his shirt—of the two of them, so casual in this strange quiet morning light—made Kiara’s smile twitch just a little, something fake in it, but only if you were really paying attention. And, of course, JJ was paying attention. He always was.

Kiara glanced over, but didn’t let her gaze linger for too long. The whole situation felt off, uncomfortable in a way Kiara couldn’t fully explain. She and Sarah had been okay for a while now, back to being friends, but seeing her walk out of John B’s room, looking so casual—like nothing had changed—made Kiara feel weird. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable with Sarah, it was just that seeing Sarah so close to John B again, especially after the kiss last week, stirred up something in her.

She forced herself to look away, her gaze flicking over to JJ, who was sitting on the other couch, shoveling cereal into his mouth with the kind of speed that could only come from someone who hadn’t had breakfast in hours. His eyes flicked to Sarah too, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t make a joke, didn’t call her out like he usually would. He just… watched.

For a second, Kiara caught him looking at her, his eyes narrowed, studying her. The way his face shifted just then—a slight furrow in his brow, like he was trying to figure something out. He didn’t comment, didn’t ask why Kiara was acting weird, but there was a shift in the air, something that had always existed between them but was more noticeable now. Maybe it was the storm, or maybe it was just the weirdness of the morning. Either way, the silence stretched a little too long.

“Is it that serious?” Kiara muttered, breaking the silence first.

JJ shot her a look. “What, that you’re staring at Sarah like she just stole your last granola bar?”

“Ha. Ha.” Kiara’s lips twitched. “I’m not staring at her. I’m just… observing.”

JJ didn’t buy it, but he shrugged it off. “Okay, whatever, but I swear, you’re always overthinking things.”

Kiara rolled her eyes, but the tension didn’t fully go away. It was there, hovering. Pope, for his part, was in the kitchen, expertly assembling what could only be described as a gourmet sandwich—his usual morning ritual. His back was to them as he hummed something under his breath, eyes focused on the task at hand.

He turned around, still holding the sandwich, and casually dropped the offer as if it was nothing. “Kie? I said you want one? I can make another.”

Kiara shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.”

She pushed herself off the couch, moving to sit beside JJ. His eyes flicked to her, brows raising in question as she slid right next to him. She didn’t say anything, just picked up his bowl of cereal and took a spoonful without even asking.

JJ blinked, surprised. “What the hell, Kie?”

She chewed nonchalantly, shrugging like it was no big deal. “What? You don’t want it? I’ll take it.”

His expression was a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Are you actually stealing my cereal right now?”

“Yup,” she said, with a sly smile. “What’s the problem? You can’t handle sharing for once?”

JJ narrowed his eyes, looking at her sideways. “You’re seriously gonna pull the ‘I don’t share food’ thing now? You’re the one who always complains about me eating all the snacks.”

“Yeah, well,” Kiara said, “sometimes you don’t deserve it.”

JJ shook his head, but the corner of his lips quirked up into a grin. “You’re lucky I don’t throw this at your face.”

Before Kiara could retort, Pope cleared his throat from the kitchen. His presence was enough to shift the mood, the sudden noise in the air serving as a cue to stop the back-and-forth.

Kiara and JJ’s eyes flicked toward him, and after a moment of awkward silence, Pope just shot them a look over his shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything—his gaze was enough.

The tension seemed to break a little, but just then, Sarah’s voice called from the other room, as if on cue. “What’s for breakfast?”

Kiara’s eyes immediately flicked back to Sarah, and her fake smile reappeared—slightly tight at the edges. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. JJ noticed it, too, but didn’t comment.

He just leaned back against the couch, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Well, princess, it looks like you’ve got a few options for breakfast, but not exactly a gourmet spread here.” He glanced over at Kiara, then back at Sarah, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “We’ve got stale granola bars, half a loaf of bread, and some soggy cereal. Take your pick.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” JJ confirmed, leaning forward slightly. “Welcome to Pogue life. We don’t exactly have a breakfast buffet. Unless you want a soggy sandwich… Pope can hook you up.”

Sarah crossed her arms, clearly not thrilled by the idea of any of it. "I guess I'll just have... whatever." She sounded more resigned than anything else, her frustration with the lack of options clear in her voice.

John B, who had been quiet up until then, finally looked up from where he was leaning against the doorframe. He cracked a grin and shrugged. “I’ll make you a sandwich. How’s that sound?”

Sarah’s expression softened slightly at the gesture, but her gaze remained a little distant. “Yeah, thanks John B.”

Meanwhile, Pope, who had been observing this whole exchange from the kitchen, suddenly turned, sandwich in hand, and plopped down right between JJ and Kiara on the couch. The sudden shift in position made the space feel a little more crowded, and Kiara instinctively shifted over, trying to get more comfortable, but not really succeeding.

“You guys are way too loud for this early,” Pope muttered as he unwrapped his sandwich, taking a massive bite. “It’s like a damn circus in here.”

JJ and Kiara exchanged a glance, both of them trying and failing not to smile at Pope’s grumbling. It was just so… Pope. Always the voice of reason. And always the one to show up at the most inconvenient times.

“Well, what do you want us to do, Pope?” Kiara shot back, the teasing lilt in her voice unmistakable. “Sit in silence like a bunch of monks?”

Pope only grunted in response, clearly uninterested in getting dragged into the bickering.

JJ, on the other hand, leaned back against the couch and shot a smirk Kiara’s way, the playful energy between them shifting right back to its usual rhythm. “Nah, we’re good at that. Trust me, we’ve perfected the art of making noise in the most annoying way possible.”

Kiara rolled her eyes, half-smiling. “Oh, I know. I’ve been your personal audience for years now.”

JJ chuckled at that, his eyes flicking over to Sarah again, just for a second. He couldn’t help it. The tension in the room was palpable, but as always, he was the first to push it back with a joke.

“Alright, Kie,” JJ said, breaking the silence again. “How about this: you get a slice of bread, I’ll throw some of that mystery spread on it, and bam, breakfast of champions.”

Kiara gave him a deadpan look. “Mystery spread? You mean peanut butter?”

“Whatever, same thing,” JJ shrugged, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “It’s all about survival out here.”

Kiara snorted, shaking her head, and just when things seemed to be winding down, Pope nudged her shoulder with his, looking over at JJ. “You guys sure you’re not a couple? 'Cause you're practically married with all the bickering.”

Kiara and JJ both froze for a moment at the comment. It wasn’t like it was the first time someone had made that kind of remark, but hearing it from Pope—who was rarely the one to call it out—was a bit jarring.

JJ laughed it off, throwing Pope an exaggerated look. “Yeah, well, if you were married to Kiara, I’m sure you’d be bickering too.”

Kiara shot him a glare, but the edge was gone, replaced by a little smirk. “Right. That’s why you’re so great at it, huh?”

Pope raised his hands in mock surrender, clearly done with the conversation. “I don’t want to know.”

And just like that, the easy banter returned. It was moments like this—these weird little exchanges where they weren’t trying too hard—that made everything feel like it would stay the same. Despite the tension that still lingered, the familiarity of it all made things feel normal, even when nothing was.

———————

It was already noon when the rain finally started to taper off, leaving behind a gray sky with occasional breaks of sunlight. The air was still thick with humidity, but the storm had passed, leaving the Pogues with a slight sense of relief. Kiara decided it was time to feed the group, and after a few minutes of debate, they all agreed to head to The Wreck.

Kiara led the way, striding toward the back with a confident air that only someone who had grown up in a place like this could pull off. As they entered, the familiar scent of fried fish and the sharp tang of vinegar hit Kiara's nose, and she felt a small smile tug at her lips.

She slipped behind the counter, where her father was wiping down some trays, and immediately began with the smooth-talking she had perfected over the years. “Hey, Dad, so, you know, I was thinking… I was kinda starving, and coincidentally the gang’s here, so maybe you could.. hook us up with a little lunch?”

Mike didn’t even look up, too focused on his work to be bothered by her usual charm. “I don’t know, Kiara,” he said, the deep, gravelly tone of his voice carrying just a touch of teasing. “You keep hanging out with these boys, and you’re gonna end up with nothing to eat but their bad habits.”

Kiara rolled her eyes, leaning over the counter and shooting him a look that was equal parts exasperation and affection. “Come on, Dad. I know you lowkey love them.”

He finally glanced at her, catching her eye with an almost imperceptible smirk. “You’re lucky you’re my daughter,” he grumbled, but his tone softened. “Alright, alright. I’ll feed ‘em, but you owe me.”

Kiara grinned, knowing exactly how to work him. “Thanks, Dad, you’re the best.”

With a nod, Mike turned and disappeared into the back, leaving Kiara to lead the others to a corner booth. The Pogues sat down, John B and Sarah immediately claiming the seats next to each other, leaving Kiara to slide in beside John B. 

But when Pope and JJ both reached for the seat next to her at the same time, it set off an entirely new battle.

JJ, quick as ever, pulled at the edge of the seat, his hands gripping the worn leather like it was a competition. Pope, however, wasn’t about to back down. He tugged on the seat, not missing a beat.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Kiara muttered under her breath, but she was already laughing quietly at their antics.

JJ raised an eyebrow at Pope, giving him a dramatic bow. “After you, my friend,” he said, voice dripping with mock politeness. Pope rolled his eyes, but without missing a beat, he slid into the seat next to Kiara, throwing JJ a quick glance of approval.

JJ, on the other hand, just shrugged and sat down across from Kiara, his fingers already fumbling with his lighter, flipping it on and off, on and off, the soft click-click-click filling the quiet space between them.

Kiara leaned back in the booth, stretching her arms across the top of the seat, her elbow lightly bumping Pope’s shoulder. She glanced over at Sarah, who was cozied up next to John B, their heads leaned in close like they were sharing a secret. It was weirdly domestic for a couple who’d jumped off bridges for fun just a few weeks ago.

Before Kiara could say anything, Sarah turned to her, a grin spreading across her face like she’d been waiting for the right moment to pounce. “Oh—Kie. I meant to tell you. There’s this new bikini shop that opened up across from that sketchy pawn store on Harbour. We have to go.”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “The one with the cracked window that’s been ‘closing down soon’ since, like, 2012?”

“That’s the one,” Sarah said, completely unfazed. “Which means the bikini shop’s probably haunted. Bonus points.”

Kiara grinned. “If I end up cursed with a neon string bikini, I’m blaming you.”

Sarah waved her off. “Whatever, you’ll look hot in anything.”

JJ made a choking sound across the table—whether it was from the word “hot” or the idea of shopping was unclear. “Please, spare me the bikini séance, we’re trying to eat here.”

“You’re not even eating yet,” Kiara pointed out.

“Give it five minutes,” JJ said, flipping his lighter open and shut with one hand. “I’ll be feral.”

Across from him, Pope was already scrolling on his phone, probably reading an article on the cultural impact of fish tacos or something equally Pope-ish. “Speaking of cursed,” he said without looking up, “JJ made me watch The Happening last night.”

JJ gasped, hand over his heart. “First of all, it’s a cinematic masterpiece. Second, Mark Wahlberg talks to a plastic plant—how is that not peak storytelling?”

“It’s literally about killer wind,” Pope deadpanned.

“Exactly!” JJ pointed at him like he’d just proven his point. “You get it!”

“I don’t,” Pope said. “I don’t get it. I lost brain cells.”

Sarah snorted into her drink. Kiara shook her head and leaned forward, eyes flicking between them.

“Oh god,” she muttered to Sarah. “They’re doing this thing again.”

“What thing?” Sarah asked.

“Where they argue about everything like an old married couple who hate movies but can’t stop watching them.”

Pope leaned in, still mid-debate. “Why are you defending the director like he pays your rent?”

JJ smirked. “Because one day, he will.”

“That’s not even a real sentence.”

“Neither is ‘killer wind,’ but you watched it.”

John B finally chimed in, grinning. “It’s better than when they argued over what music is better for a road trip. They didn’t speak for two hours because Pope said Fleetwood Mac was ‘overhyped.’”

Kiara whipped her head toward Pope. “You did not. I love Fleetwood Mac.”

“Okay, I said some of their songs—”

“No, no,” JJ cut in, voice raised, “Pope’s dead to me. You hear that? Dead.”

Kiara was mid-laugh when their food finally arrived—baskets of tacos, fries, slaw, and drinks scattered across the table like a last supper for dumbasses. JJ barely waited for the paper to stop crinkling before digging in like a man possessed.

“You’re gonna inhale it,” Pope said, staring at him in disbelief. “Dude, if you don’t chew your food, you’re gonna choke on a fish taco and die.”

JJ didn’t pause. “Good. I don’t wanna live longer anyway.”

“Jesus,” Sarah said, trying not to spit out her drink from laughing.

“Don’t say that,” Kiara said automatically, her voice was soft. Still teasing, but not all the way.

JJ grinned at her, mouth still half full. “Relax. If I die now, I die happy—with a taco in my hand and disappointment in my heart.”

“Sounds like a country song,” Pope said, snorting.

“Oh it is,” JJ said. “It’s called ‘Til the Tacos Takes Me.’”

John B fake-strummed a guitar. “RIP JJ Maybank, devoured by the fish he once loved.”

Sarah leaned into Kiara. “They’re the dumbest group of people I’ve ever known.”

Kiara smiled, eyes lingering on JJ as he shoved another bite into his mouth without even tasting it. “Yeah,” she said, shaking her head with affection, “but they’re my dumbasses, and now yours.”

The table buzzed with the kind of warmth that only came with shared chaos, inside jokes, and the relief of a day not being a total disaster. For once, they didn’t need a plan or a problem. Just greasy food, bad jokes, and each other.

By the time they piled out of the van and reached the Chateau, the rain had picked up again—like the sky was trying to play a personal prank on them. Fat drops fell fast, soaking their hair and clothes within seconds as they sprinted toward the porch.

“Run, run, run!” Sarah shrieked.

Kiara booked it barefoot across the muddy grass, slipping slightly before catching herself on JJ’s arm. “Jesus!”

JJ laughed, completely unbothered, then stopped on the porch to shake his hair out like a dog. Water flew in every direction.

“Gross!” Kiara yelled, ducking as droplets sprayed her. “You’re a human, not a golden retriever.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” JJ said with a shrug, grinning as he stepped inside—dripping from head to toe.

John B, trailing behind and already kicking his shoes off, pointed at JJ like a disappointed dad. “Dude. Seriously? You’re soaked. Don’t get the couch wet!”

“Too late,” JJ said, already flopping onto it with a dramatic sigh. “Couch and I are one now.”

“Yeah, you smell like it,” Kiara muttered, wringing out her shirt.

“I call shower first!” Sarah shouted, racing down the hallway.

“No way!” Kiara shouted back, jogging after her. “I was the one who slipped in the rain like a cartoon character, I get first dibs!”

“Natural selection, babe!” Sarah yelled, already halfway through the bathroom door.

“Hey, hey,” Pope said, holding up his hands like he was negotiating a hostage situation. “Y’all can fight to the death. I’m staying far away. Ugh, I hate the rain.”

“You say that every time,” Kiara said as she jogged back, arms crossed over her soaked chest.

“Because it’s true!” Pope replied, shivering slightly. “Rain is cold. Rain is wet. I hate being wet.”

Kiara smirked. “Whatever, I love the rain.”

Pope immediately backpedaled. “But I mean, the rain’s fine. It’s good for… plants. And stuff.”

JJ exchanged a look with John B, brow furrowed. “Plants?”

“Stuff?” John B added, half-laughing.

While the rest of them were still debating the benefits of precipitation, Sarah’s victory cry echoed faintly from the hallway as the bathroom door slammed shut and the shower turned on.

“Unbelievable!” Kiara shouted, storming up to the bathroom and banging hard on the door. “SARAH CAMERON, YOU’D BETTER MAKE THAT SHOWER THREE MINUTES OR I’M COMING IN THERE.”

Sarah’s voice rang out sweetly through the door. “Sorry! I have to deep condition!”

Kiara turned around, looking every bit like a drenched cat ready to cause problems. JJ raised his eyebrows.

“Please tell me you’re not gonna waterboard her.”

“You’re only giving me ideas,” Kiara muttered, arms still crossed as she leaned against the hallway wall, dripping water onto the floor.

JJ just grinned, stretching back on the now-soaked couch like it was the peak of luxury.

“I love the rain too,” he said with a smirk, “especially when it starts petty wars.”

John B walked past him, towel in hand, and dropped it directly on JJ’s face. “Wipe yourself down before you start growing mushrooms in the cushions.”

JJ peeled the towel off slowly, looking personally offended. “That was uncalled for.”

“Not as uncalled as soaking my couch,” John B called over his shoulder.

The rain drummed lightly on the roof, filling the Chateau with that soft, stormy rhythm. Wet shoes littered the doorway, clothes clung to skin, and the air was full of bickering and sarcastic commentary—the kind of chaos that somehow felt exactly like home.

Time had passed in a blur of towels and noise. The rain still tapped at the windows, softer now, almost lazy. Everyone had showered and changed—except Pope, who was still in the bathroom like he was trying to exfoliate every regret he’d ever had.

John B was digging the pillows out from under JJ’s collapsed body print on the couch, muttering about how “soggy cushions don’t scream home sweet home.” Sarah was sweeping a towel across the floor like she was fighting for her life. She kept slipping in puddles she’d already dried and blaming the floorboards for being “too shiny.”

JJ was… somewhere. He was in the living room, then the kitchen, then possibly trying to re-fix a drawer that didn’t even need fixing. Honestly, no one really knew what JJ was doing—not even JJ. But he was moving, fiddling, messing with a lighter that was long out of fuel. Keeping busy.

Then, a sound floated through the house.

Soft, plucky, familiar.

JJ paused mid-flick, the metallic spark clicking into silence. His head tilted slightly toward the hall. The ukulele. Kiara’s.

Without announcing himself, he wandered to the room he now considered his by squatters’ rights—because if you claim a bedroom at the Chateau and sleep there enough times, it basically becomes yours. The door was cracked open, and the strings led him in.

Kiara was perched on the edge of the bed, sitting cross-legged, now dressed in dry clothes—baggy sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that might’ve once belonged to John B or JJ or maybe even Sarah, no one could ever really tell around here. Her head was tilted slightly down, fingers strumming idly. She didn’t even glance at him.

“Are you here to bother me again?” she said without missing a note.

JJ leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Technically, this is my room. So you’re the one doing the bothering, actually.”

“You weren’t even in here,” she shot back, finally looking up. “And besides, your name’s not on the lease.”

“Neither is yours,” he said, moving across the room and dropping beside her, shoulder bumping hers. “Squatter logic, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

They sat there for a moment, the music a soft undercurrent between them. JJ’s fingers tapped against his knee. Fidgety. Like something was tugging at the edge of his thoughts.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Is it weird?” he asked, voice casual but just curious enough to hint it wasn’t random. “That John B kissed you once and now he’s all wrapped up with Sarah?”

Kiara’s fingers slowed against the strings before she stopped entirely.

“I’d rather forget that kiss ever happened,” she muttered, setting the uke down beside her. “But yeah… it’s weird. Not like, bad weird. Just… off. Y’know?”

JJ nodded, glancing over.

“I didn’t talk to Sarah for years,” she added, staring at the floor. “Now she’s dating my best friend, hanging out at the Chateau, stealing my shower time. And like… she’s back in my orbit all of a sudden. Like we never stopped being friends.”

JJ arched a brow. “Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Kiara shoved him with her shoulder. “I’m not jealous.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I’m not into John B anyway. That ship sunk the second it sailed. I’m just happy he looks so… happy with her. I’m happy for the both of them, honestly.”

JJ hummed, nodding slowly, then, too casually, “So who are you into then?”

Kiara didn’t answer.

She didn’t get the chance to.

Pope appeared in the doorway, towel still hanging around his neck, eyebrows raised like he’d just walked in on a secret being born.

“What are you two doing?”

JJ jumped slightly and sat up straighter, too quickly.

“Nothing!” he said, voice an octave too high and way too fast.

Pope narrowed his eyes. “Why do you sound guilty then?”

JJ stood up and dusted off imaginary lint from his shirt. “I always sound guilty. It’s, like, a thing. When you’re used to being accused of things a lot, you learn to look guilty preemptily.”

“Preemptively.” Pope corrected.

“Preemptively. It’s a defense mechanism.” JJ ducked out of the room without looking back.

Kiara and Pope stared at the empty doorway for a beat.

“…What’s wrong with him?” Kiara asked, turning to Pope.

Pope just shrugged. “He’s JJ.”

As if that explained everything.

Maybe it kind of did.

JJ stormed into the hallway, footsteps echoing a little louder than they needed to. He didn’t know where he was going—maybe the kitchen, maybe nowhere—but his hands found his pockets, and his jaw clenched the way it always did when something didn’t sit right in his chest.

He wasn’t even sure what he was annoyed at.

Maybe it was Pope. Not in the real way—Pope was his boy, ride or die, forever—but in the way that made him feel like Pope had the worst timing in the world. 

Like clockwork, man. He said to himself.

Every single time he was talking to Kiara—like, really talking—Pope would show up like some human plot twist.

Or maybe it wasn’t Pope.

Maybe it was that JJ was always the one people assumed was doing something shady. Like it was built into the narrative. Guilt, stitched into the lining of his clothes.

He ran a hand through his still-damp hair and shook his head.

Whatever. It wasn’t that deep.

Probably.

He kicked at the floorboards with the toe of his boot like they’d done something wrong, like maybe they’d give him a better answer than his brain could right now.

Then there was Kiara.

That was a whole other thing.

It wasn’t like he was doing anything weird. They were just hanging out. She had his ukulele. She was in his room. That’s normal Pogue behavior, right?

Still, when Pope walked in, JJ felt like a criminal mid-heist.

He shoved that thought down hard, buried it under years of practice. That’s what JJ did. When something felt too complicated to name, too close to the chest—he pushed it deep, masked it with a joke or a shrug or something reckless. Anything but naming it out loud.

So he walked faster. Back to the living room. Back to chaos. Back to somewhere that didn’t feel like thinking.

Because thinking was dangerous. Especially when Kiara was involved.

JJ flopped onto the couch like gravity owed him something. The cushions groaned beneath him, already damp from the rain but still warmer than the thoughts crowding his head. He stared at the ceiling for a second, watching the shadows shift from the dim overhead light. He could hear Kiara's ukulele faintly from the room he'd just left—his room—and even though he’d left, his mind hadn't followed.

The thing was… he’d always had a thing for Kiara.

But then, they all did. At one point or another. It was practically a rite of passage to becoming a true Pogue.

She was Kiara Carrera—sharp-tongued, fire-eyed, impossible-to-impress Kiara. The girl who could surf better than most guys, argue you into a corner, and call you out while saving your ass. Of course they all fell for her. How could they not?

JJ wasn't even sure when it started with him. Maybe it was the way she looked at the ocean like it was home. Or how she always called him out when he deserved it—and when he didn’t. Maybe it was just how being around her felt like being set on fire and told to enjoy the warmth.

He tried it once—back when everything still felt new and messy and they were all figuring out what this Pogue ride-or-die thing really meant. He’d gotten too comfortable, maybe a little too honest one night, leaning just a bit too close, lips barely brushing hers in the dark.

She didn’t kiss him back.

She pulled away, not mean, not even awkward, just matter-of-fact, like she’d memorized the line before he crossed it.

“No Pogue on Pogue macking.”

It was a rule. One she stuck to. One he laughed off like it didn’t sting.

And maybe he got over her. Maybe that was real.

Maybe.

He wasn’t pining after her like some lovesick loser. He wasn’t writing her name in the margins of his notebook like some teen movie extra. It wasn’t like that. He didn’t need her.

But still… sometimes he looked at her, and the world tilted just a bit.

He thought he’d buried it. Whatever it was. Figured it got smothered under late-night parties, bad decisions, and even worse ideas. But now? He wasn’t so sure.

Maybe he had gotten over her.

Or maybe he just got used to pretending he did.

———————

The house was still. Just the hum of the fridge, the slow tick of the ceiling fan, and somewhere outside, the soft sound of her ukulele again—strumming without rhythm, like she wasn’t playing a song so much as trying to feel something through the strings.

JJ glanced toward the porch door.

She was out there again.

The porch’s bottom step—knees drawn up a little, the uke balanced casually on her thighs. Her hair was down this time, curling in soft frizz from the humidity, and the sky above her was a deep, hazy navy, stars barely peeking through the thick clouds that the storm left behind.

He stood up before he even decided to.

No plan. No mission. Just gravity again.

The screen door creaked as he eased it open, and Kiara didn’t turn around.

He padded over and sat beside her without a word, their knees almost brushing. He let out a sigh that wasn’t meant to be dramatic but sounded like it belonged in a coming-of-age movie anyway.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

Just the occasional clink of the metal string against her nail, a breeze shaking through the trees, and the quiet company of two people who knew each other a little too well.

Then, Kiara spoke.

“My parents are on my ass again,” she said, still plucking gently. Her voice wasn’t bitter. Just... worn.

JJ tilted his head toward her. “Yeah?”

“They keep telling me to stop hanging out with you guys. Again.”

He scoffed. “Original.”

“My mom’s scared I’m gonna end up like her,” she said. “You know—knocked up by a Pogue and ‘throwing my life away’”

JJ barked a laugh. “Damn. As if we’d let that happen. Who do they think’s gonna be the baby daddy anyway? And why do they keep thinking that?”

“I don’t know. Probably you.” Kiara replied.

JJ blinked. “Me?”

She nodded, not looking at him.

“Wait—me?” he repeated, this time a little louder, like she might’ve meant someone else and just misspoke.

Kiara finally glanced at him, lips twitching. “You heard me.”

“Why would they think it’s me?” JJ demanded, more confused than anything. “What, do they have, like, a board with red string and my face circled in the middle?”

Before she could answer, the porch door creaked again.

Pope stepped out, holding his phone like it had personally offended him. “Yo—my dad wants me home. Says I’ve ‘loitered enough.’”

JJ let his head fall back against the porch rail with a groan. “Your timing is criminal, man.”

Pope raised a brow. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting anything.”

“You weren’t,” Kiara said quickly, standing.

She wrapped her arms around Pope before he could react. Not a side hug, not a bump—an actual full hug. Like she meant it.

Pope froze for a second, then melted into it like a kid who didn’t get them often. JJ looked away and scratched his neck, pretending to be very interested in a moth dancing near the porch light.

When Kiara stepped back, Pope gave her a weird little look—one part surprised, one part pleased. Then glanced at JJ, who shrugged like don’t look at me, man.

“Alright. Later,” Pope said, still kinda dazed, before heading off into the night.

Kiara dropped back down to the step beside JJ. He leaned sideways, resting his arm on his knee, looking at her.

“That’s the second time you dodged a question of mine because of Pope,” he said.

Kiara snorted. “Maybe Pope’s the bell doing saving.”

JJ grinned, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah? What, saving you from spilling your deep dark truths?”

Kiara laughed, head tilted up toward the stars. “Something like that.”

They didn’t say anything more.

The stars were still out, just barely. Soft and blinking behind the clouds like they were shy or something.

JJ leaned back on his palms again, staring up like he could read them if he squinted hard enough.

Then the porch door groaned a second time.

John B shuffled out barefoot, curls sticking up like he just lost a fight with a nap. He clocked them, eyebrows raised at the distance between them, before plopping down right in the middle with a dramatic sigh, arms flung around their shoulders like he belonged there.

“Okay, what’s going on out here? Porch therapy? Group plotting? Are we trauma-dumping or roasting each other?”

Kiara smirked, still strumming aimlessly. “Just me, confessing my deepest, darkest truths.”

JJ huffed. “Don’t gas it up. She didn’t spill anything. I’ve been sitting here emotionally blue-balled.”

John B just snorted and gave JJ’s shoulder a gentle shake. “You’ll live.”

He stood up, stretching like a cat. “Come on—Sarah made dinner. You don’t show up, she’ll burn the house down.”

JJ stood first, brushing off the back of his shorts. “I like my houses with a little fire hazard. Adds charm.”

“Adds trauma,” John B muttered, already heading inside.

Dinner ended with laughter trailing off into clinking forks and the occasional groan of someone too full to move. The table was a mess of half-eaten rice, crumpled napkins, and someone’s spilled hot sauce that no one took ownership of. JJ, naturally, was the loudest voice still going.

“I’m just saying—Sharknado 2 is criminally underrated,” he said, standing up and stretching like someone who’d just finished a TED Talk. “The emotional payoff? The tension? The cinematography? It’s chef’s kiss.”

“You cried,” Kiara reminded him, licking sauce off her thumb.

“Three times,” JJ said proudly, pointing at her. “And I’m man enough to say that.”

“That’s not the flex you think it is,” Sarah muttered, collecting plates.

JJ held a hand over his chest like she’d shot him in the heart. “Wow. No taste. No vision.”

“Just no Sharknado 2,” John B said.

JJ blinked at him. Blinked at all of them. “So you’re saying, if we don’t watch Sharknado 2, I should just walk?”

A round of nods. Unanimous. Brutal.

JJ sighed, mock-dramatic. “Fine. May the shark gods forgive your ignorance.”

And with that, he made a grand exit, pushing his chair in with flair and striding off toward his room like he was off to war.

The second his door shut, the house dropped a decibel.

John B glanced around at the now smaller group. “So… movie?”

Kiara gave a half-shrug. “I’m good.”

“I kind of wanna just hang with Kie,” Sarah said, nudging her shoulder against Kiara’s lightly.

John B put his hand to his heart like they’d wounded him personally. “What is this? National ‘Leave JB Out’ day?”

“Go write it in your diary,” Kiara teased.

He gave them one last look of exaggerated betrayal before retreating to his room. “Fine. I didn’t want to watch a movie anyway…”

When it was just the two of them, the silence didn’t feel awkward—it just shifted into something softer. More relaxed. The kind of quiet that didn’t beg to be filled, just offered space.

Kiara walked over to the living room, dropping to her knees by the drawer that had somehow become a catch-all for every forgotten project in Pogue history. She yanked it open and rummaged around with the patience of someone used to digging through chaos.

“Aha.” She pulled out a big, round tin—one of those old holiday cookie containers that hadn’t seen a cookie since like 2009.

Sarah’s face lit up. “No way. That thing’s still around?”

“Of course it is,” Kiara grinned. She popped the lid open, revealing a tangled mess of embroidery thread, beads, old safety pins, faded stickers, and one very suspicious crayon that looked like it had melted and reformed into something cursed. “Never underestimate the Chateau’s hoarding powers.”

They sat cross-legged on the living room rug, the tin between them like it held secrets instead of craft supplies.

Kiara grabbed a strand of neon green string and held it up. “You still don’t have a friendship bracelet.”

Sarah mock-gasped. “What kind of fake friend am I?”

“The worst,” Kiara said, already cutting a few strands.

They started with Sarah’s bracelet—looping, knotting, braiding. The thread kept tangling, their fingers fumbling, but neither of them cared. It was the kind of mindless fun that didn’t need perfection. They laughed over bead choices. Argued over which colors Pope would hate the most. Made fun of JJ’s wrist being “too skinny” for his old one to stay on.

“Let’s make one for each of them,” Sarah said, sorting through a mini baggie of beads shaped like hearts and stars. “John B, Pope, JJ.”

Kiara’s fingers hesitated slightly before she nodded. “Sure.”

They worked in silence for a minute. Thread twisting, knots tightening. The tin between them became a rhythm—reach, pull, knot, braid.

Then Sarah, still threading a blue bead onto string, said casually, “Is there anything going on between you and JJ?”

Kiara froze. Not long. Not obvious. But enough.

She looked down at the thread in her lap. “No. Why?”

Sarah shrugged. “Just… the way you two were earlier. On the porch. Felt kind of… I don’t know. Intimate?”

Kiara focused on the braid. Pulled it tight. “We’re just close. That’s all.”

“Right,” Sarah said, clearly not buying it. “Just saying. The energy was giving something.”

Kiara didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. Her silence said enough.

“And then I saw you hug Pope through the window, and I was like, huh. So maybe I’m reading too much into it.” Sarah continued. 

Kiara grabbed another thread, her voice sharper now. “You are. And me and JJ are not a thing.”

Sarah raised a brow. “Okay. I didn’t say you were. I asked.”

There was a beat of silence. Kiara’s fingers moved faster than before. Tighter knots. Sharper movements.

Sarah didn’t press. She just finished tying off John B’s bracelet, tossed it gently onto the pile, and leaned back against the couch with a little smile curling at her lips.

“But we’ll see,” she said simply.

Kiara didn’t look up.

They were her friends. That’s all. That’s all they’d ever been.

So why did everyone keep asking?

JJ didn’t think of her like that.

Not anymore.

...Right?

Kiara kept her head down, fingers focused on finishing the braid even though it was already long enough. Sarah didn't push again, which somehow made it worse. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it pressed in around her like a weight.

After a moment, Kiara let out a short sigh and flicked a bead across the tin.

“Everyone always thinks I’m in love with one of them,” she muttered. “John B last summer. JJ now. Who’s next? Pope?”

Sarah tilted her head. “No offense, but that one would just be recycling at this point.”

Kiara snorted. “Right?”

She leaned back against the couch, arms loose over her knees, eyes scanning the half-lit room. The thread she’d been braiding slipped from her hands and lay forgotten across her lap.

“I guess I don’t get it,” she said after a moment. “Like… why can’t we just be close without it being a thing?”

“Because most people aren’t close like that,” Sarah said. “Most people aren’t in each other’s pockets every second of the day”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Well, they should be.”

Sarah just grinned.

They sat there in that soft lull of comfort, the kind of quiet that only comes with old friendships and late hours. Eventually, Kiara leaned forward again and reached into the tin and pulled out something flat and crumpled at the corners—an old, slightly warped polaroid. She held it up, smiling without meaning to.

It was the four of them—her, John B, JJ, and Pope—drenched from the rain, standing around the Twinkie like it had just survived the apocalypse. JJ was barefoot, shirtless, and flexing like he just won a battle. Pope had one sock on and a pencil sticking out of his mouth. John B was behind the wheel, throwing up a peace sign, and Kiara herself had her arms up like she’d scored a goal.

Sarah leaned in, eyes softening. “When was that?”

“Like… two years ago?” Kiara shrugged, but her voice dropped a little. “We got caught in this freak storm. Twinkie stalled halfway through a flooded road. We thought we were gonna have to swim back to the Cut.”

She smiled again, more to herself this time. “JJ climbed on the roof and tried to yell at the clouds. He said they were ‘personal enemies of the people.’”

Sarah laughed. “Of course he did.”

Kiara’s fingers lingered on the edge of the photo for a second too long before she set it down beside the bracelets.

They went quiet again, but it wasn’t heavy this time. Just a pause. A breath.

Then Kiara, without thinking, reached deeper into the tin again—and pulled out something small, folded, and stained with what might’ve been blue Gatorade.

A crumpled paper fortune teller.

“No way,” she said, grinning as she smoothed it out.

Sarah leaned over. “Does that still work?”

Kiara tested it with her fingers, wiggling it open and closed. “Barely. But yeah.”

“Pick a color,” Sarah said, slipping into the silly tone they hadn’t used since high school.

Kiara smirked. “Red.”

“R-E-D,” Sarah spelled out, moving the fortune teller in rhythm. “Pick a number.”

“Two.”

She flipped open the flap. “‘You will fall in love with someone annoying and emotionally unavailable.’”

They both burst out laughing.

“Oh, so JJ,” Sarah teased.

Kiara smacked her with a pillow. “That’s not even what it says! That’s it. You're banned from fortune tellers forever.”

Sarah tossed the pillow back and grinned. “I’m just saying, Kie. You two act like an old married couple half the time.”

Kiara made a dramatic face. “He wouldn’t last one day married to me.”

“No,” Sarah agreed. “You’d both die. But it’d be the most entertaining death match in history.”

They kept going—pulling out old keychains, scribbled notes from years ago, faded stickers from road trips. It felt like cracking open a time capsule that had been buried under chaos and beach sand.

It was dumb and small and perfect.

And for the first time in a long while, Kiara was just… glad.

Glad that she and Sarah could still be like this. That underneath everything—storms and shifts and all the impossible weight of the past—they could still sit cross-legged in a messy living room making bracelets like nothing ever changed.

The night had unfolded in a way she hadn’t expected. Quiet, slow, strangely comforting.

And sure, Sarah’s teasing was annoying. Especially the JJ stuff. But it was the kind of annoying Kiara didn’t actually mind.

Not tonight.

Not like this.

And maybe not ever.

Chapter Text

The day dragged like wet clothes on a line that refused to dry.

Kiara felt it in her bones—in the ache of her back, in the stiffness of her arms, and in the irritating hum of boredom that clung to her skin like the salty air outside. She had been at The Wreck all day, working the floor, wiping down tables, fetching baskets of fried shrimp and iced tea refills because—surprise, surprise—her dad believed that letting the Pogues eat for free meant she owed him extra shifts for the next week.

Apparently, fish tacos weren’t just a favor. They were debt.

It wasn’t even like today was eventful. No bar fights, no weird tourist stories, no awkward exes—just an endless loop of ketchup stains and a summer playlist she swore was trying to kill her one Luke Bryan song at a time.

To make things worse, the Pogues had all scattered like sand in the wind. John B and Sarah had gone off on one of their bizarre romantic adventures, playing dress-up as some fictional couple named Val and Vlad—whatever the hell that meant. She didn't ask. She already regretted knowing.

Pope, on the other hand, had vanished into whatever cave of academic obsession he liked to crawl into when he got too antsy. She pictured him under a lamp somewhere, nose in a book, scribbling in the margins, probably muttering things like “correlation doesn’t imply causation.” Nerd.

And JJ?

God only knew where JJ was. Probably doing JJ things. Jumping off something he shouldn’t be jumping off. Swimming somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be swimming. Living like a chaotic raccoon in board shorts.

She hadn't heard from him all day.

Now, night had fallen, lazy and humid. Kiara lay sprawled on her bed, arms stretched above her head, eyes on the ceiling. She was tired but not tired. That annoying in-between where your body’s done but your mind is still running around in circles like a toddler after a juice box.

She reached for her phone, flipping it open lazily, thumb hovering over a familiar contact.

JJ.

His name stared back at her. Her chest tightened, annoyed by how her mind immediately jumped to wondering what dumb joke he'd text her if she messaged first.

“Probably something about me being obsessed with him,” she thought, rolling her eyes—but she smiled anyway.

Her finger lingered dangerously close to the call button, but then—

Sarah’s voice echoed in her head, smug and teasing from earlier that week: “But we’ll see…” That mischievous grin, the way John B had looked at them. The stupid little eyebrow wiggles.

No. No, she couldn’t give them more ammo. The teasing. The knowing looks. The pressure.

They were just friends. Best friends. That’s what this was. She wasn’t gonna be the one to mess that up by catching feelings—or worse, showing them.

So she backed out of JJ’s contact and went to the next best person.

Pope.

If anyone needed a break from academia and whatever existential spiral he was currently on, it was him. Kiara typed fast before she could change her mind.

Kiara: u out of your nerd cave yet or u still reading about the mating habits of swamp frogs or something

Pope took his sweet time replying, probably having a moral debate with himself before texting her back.

Pope: I’m literally at my house?? What’s up

Kiara smirked, fingers flying across the screen.

Kiara: let’s go out to the marsh. just to chill. smoke beers and drink weed

There was a pause. Then Pope responded like the responsible, mildly suspicious friend he was.

Pope: U mean drink beers and smoke weed??

Kiara: no i said what i said. jj logic.

Kiara: u scared to sneak out??

It was a dare. She knew it. Pope knew it.

Pope: Pft pls! I’m not scared. Where r we meeting?

Kiara: the wreck. there’s still an old boat out back. might be dead but worth a shot.

Pope: Be there in 10

Done. She swung her legs over the bed, feet hitting the hardwood floor. A beat of excitement pulsed through her—finally, something to do.

Sneaking out wasn’t a new skill. She moved through her house like a pro, barefoot and quiet. Her parents were still up—Dad probably watching some rerun, Mom pretending to read a magazine while actually scrolling through real estate listings she’d never call.

Kiara crept into the living room, grabbing the dusty keys off the old hook near the door marked “For Emergencies Only.”

She figured this counted.

The night air greeted her with a sticky breeze, and the second she stepped off the porch and onto the path toward The Wreck, a familiar restlessness started buzzing in her chest.

She didn’t know exactly what this night would be. Didn’t know if the boat would work, or if Pope would back out last second, or if she'd end up regretting this whole idea.

But she did know one thing—

Anything was better than sitting in her room thinking about her friendship about JJ

The old dock creaked under Kiara’s steps as she reached the back of The Wreck, the salty breeze tangling her hair. The sky was a murky navy, moonlight sneaking through cracks in the clouds. And there, standing like he hadn’t just gotten guilt-tripped into this whole idea, was Pope.

Arms crossed. Already waiting beside the questionable boat like he’d been early on purpose.

“Took you long enough,” Pope said, giving her a look that was somewhere between judgment and amusement.

“I had to commit a felony to get the keys, calm down,” Kiara shot back, hopping onto the dock beside him.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Kiara paused, glancing around the dock. “Wait… where’s JJ?”

Pope blinked. “What do you mean, where’s JJ?”

“I mean, where is he?” she repeated, a little sharper. “I thought he was meeting us here. You were supposed to text him!”

Pope looked genuinely baffled. “I thought you texted him. You texted me after all.”

“No, I—” Kiara cut herself off, realizing too late how this would sound. She could already see the teasing glint in Pope’s eyes forming if she kept talking. “I didn’t. I didn’t text him, okay?”

Pope raised his eyebrows like he knew there was more to the story but wisely decided not to push it. Yet.

“Whatever,” Kiara muttered, brushing her hair behind her ears. “Let’s just go to the Chateau. It’s faster anyway, and we’re on foot, so unless you know where a spare Twinkie is parked, this is it.”

“Boat it is,” Pope said, hopping into the small vessel like this wasn’t a bad idea. Kiara followed, landing beside him with a light thud.

The boat looked like it had been retired around the time she was still wearing braces and thought toe socks were a fashion statement. Still, Pope crouched near the motor like he knew what he was doing.

“Ready?” he asked, fingers crossing over the ignition.

“No,” Kiara replied. “But do it.”

He twisted the key, and the engine sputtered—violently. For a moment, it sounded like it was choking on a lifetime of disuse. Kiara winced.

Then, miraculously, it coughed awake, settling into a low rumble.

Pope gave her a triumphant look. “Told you I still got it.”

“You didn’t tell me anything,” Kiara muttered, giving him a side-eye. “Also, don’t say stuff like that. You’re gonna jinx it and strand us in the middle of the marsh with swamp gators and ghosts.”

“Gators don’t live out here.”

“Ghosts might.”

Pope gave her a look.

Kiara checked the gas tank just to be safe. “We’re good. Let’s move before this thing changes its mind.”

The boat pushed off, cutting through the dark water with a slow but steady glide. The air was thick with the smell of brine and damp wood. The marsh was quiet, eerily so, just the occasional chirp of crickets and the hum of the motor beneath them.

For a while, they didn’t say much. Just the occasional splash of a fish or rustle in the reeds. The kind of silence that felt peaceful and rebellious at the same time.

“So,” Pope said finally, leaning back. “Do you think John B and Sarah actually believe they’re spies, or is that just, like… a roleplay thing?”

Kiara laughed, loud and sharp. “I don’t even want to know.”

“They had code names. Code names.” Pope shook his head. “I swear, they lose more brain cells every day they spend together.”

“Agreed,” she said, but her voice was distracted, eyes scanning the still water ahead. “But I guess it’s cute... in a terrifying, borderline-cringe kind of way.”

Pope grinned. “You’re gonna be next, huh? Catching feelings. Secret rendezvous. Operation Kie-Jay.”

“Ew. Don’t even start,” she warned, throwing a loose rope at him. “That’s not even a good code name.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Okay, no.” She sat up straighter, crossing her arms. “We’re friends. I’m not trying to mess that up with... anything. JJ and I, we’re just—”

“Smoking beers and drinking weed together?”

She groaned. “Exactly.”

A beat passed. Then Pope tried to change the subject.

“So, random thought—do you think if humanity just disappeared, like poof, overnight, the Earth would bounce back? Like... all green and happy?”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “Uh, obviously.”

“I mean—like, how fast?”

Kiara leaned back, shifting so she could face him better. Her hands gestured dramatically as she launched into a full-blown tangent.

“Okay, first of all, the Earth would thrive without us. Like, forests would start reclaiming everything within a decade. Ten years, tops. Skyscrapers would be crawling in vines. Animals would move back into cities. Plastic would still be a problem, but ecosystems would recover fast. We’re literally the worst part of this planet.”

Pope blinked. “Wow. That escalated.”

“I’m just saying!” she said, a little defensive, but mostly proud. “We build over everything, we dump crap into oceans, we cut down rainforests to make room for cows that we don’t even need to eat—don’t get me started on methane emissions.”

“I feel like I already did.”

Kiara smiled, a little breathless from her own rant. “Sorry. I’ve been bored all day. No one to argue with.”

“You could’ve argued with JJ,” Pope teased, raising an eyebrow.

She didn’t respond right away. Just looked back out at the water, where the moon was starting to peek through a thick stretch of clouds, painting ripples of light across the surface.

“Or you,” she shrugged.

Pope opened his mouth, probably to say something sarcastic, maybe even insightful—but then the boat gave a low mechanical cough, then another, and then… silence.

The motor sputtered one last time before it stopped completely.

The sudden lack of momentum tipped the boat forward just enough that Kiara, caught off guard, stumbled toward the edge. She caught herself with a foot hooked on the side and a hand gripped on the edge of the boat.

“Whoa—Kie!” Pope lurched toward her.

“I’m fine,” she snapped quickly, waving off the hand he offered to help her up. Her voice was sharper than she meant it to be, but she couldn’t help it—she hated being touched when she didn’t ask for it.

Always had. It wasn’t personal, just… space. Boundaries. Control. She needed those things like oxygen.

“Seriously,” she added, straightening up on her own, brushing her sweatpants off with quick, irritated swipes. “I’m good.”

Pope backed off, hands raised. “Alright, alright. My bad.”

Kiara looked back at the motor, squinting in the dark. The soft lapping of water around the boat felt louder now.

“What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” Pope muttered, already crouching down and reaching for the engine. “It just... stopped.”

“Well check it, you’re the smart one,” she said, folding her arms.

“Smart with books, not boats,” Pope replied, fiddling uselessly with a latch. “JJ’s the boat guy.”

Of course he was.

Kiara sighed so hard it felt like her soul left her body. The last thing—literally the last thing—she wanted to do tonight was call JJ. But here she was. Trapped in a boat in the middle of a marsh at midnight, and JJ was the one person who’d actually know what to do.

“God, fine,” she muttered under her breath and pulled her phone out of her back pocket.

The first call went to voicemail after a couple rings. She hung up quickly, scowling at the screen.

“He’s not answering,” she said to Pope, thumb already hovering over the call button again.

Second try. It rang longer this time.

Third ring—click.

“Hello?” JJ’s voice came through, low and scratchy, like he was still tangled in sheets. His words were slurred with sleep and confusion. “Who’s dying?”

Kiara blew a breath out through her nose. “Did I wake you?”

“It’s twelve A.M., Kie,” he groaned. “Of course you woke me.”

She winced, looking away even though he couldn’t see her. “Okay, yeah, sorry. But we’re kind of in a situation.”

JJ sat up in his bed, the blanket falling into his lap. His hair was a disaster, sticking out in every direction, and his heart rate was already ticking up. “We” she said. His brain barely processed the rest because we meant she wasn’t alone.

His voice sharpened immediately. “Wait—hold up. We? Who’s we? What the hell’s going on?”

Kiara blinked. “I was trying to tell you—”

“You and Pope are on a boat in the middle of... where, exactly?”

Her spine straightened. The tone of his voice was throwing her off, almost accusatory, and it made her... defensive. For no reason. Well, maybe a reason. A complicated one.

“It’s not what it sounds like,” she said too quickly, words tripping over themselves. “We weren’t doing anything, okay? We were just—”

“I didn’t ask what you were doing, I asked where you are,” JJ interrupted, but his mind was already racing.

They were on a boat. At midnight. Alone.

Sure, it was Pope. And JJ trusted Pope. But still—what the hell?

He rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye and forced himself to calm down. This isn’t about that. Stop acting like it is. He trusted Kiara too. More than almost anyone. But the image still wouldn’t leave his head.

And Kiara? She was pissed that she even felt like she had to explain herself. This wasn’t some secret lovers rendezvous. She was just bored and restless and maybe a little stupid for thinking a midnight beer ride with Pope wouldn’t turn into some drama.

“We were coming to pick you up,” she said, “But the boat died, so now we’re just stuck. Awesome, right?”

JJ exhaled through his nose, lips pressed tight.

This girl was gonna be the death of him.

“Drop your location,” he muttered. “I’ll find you.”

Kiara nodded, though he couldn’t see it. “Okay. Doing it now.”

She hung up, already pulling up her GPS and praying that whatever half-dead boat they were sitting in didn’t drift further out while her phone tried to get a signal.

Meanwhile, JJ was already pulling on a shirt, keys in one hand, phone in the other, heart pounding way too hard for someone who “didn’t care.”

Kiara dropped her phone onto her lap with a sigh, pressing her palms to her face for a second longer than necessary. The heat in her cheeks wasn’t from the humidity, and she hated that Pope noticed.

“You good?” he asked, leaning back with a slight raise of his brow.

“Yup,” she said way too fast, voice tight, as she dropped her hands and stared out at the water like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

Pope tilted his head slightly. “So... JJ’s coming?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, non-committal. Her fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the boat, like maybe if she made enough noise, her own brain would stop spinning.

Pope didn’t say anything at first. Just studied her, the way she was avoiding eye contact and suddenly looked like she wanted to melt into the floorboards.

“Why didn’t you just text him first?” he asked casually.

Kiara groaned, throwing her head back. “Because, Pope,” she muttered, “I was trying not to give Sarah more fuel.”

“Fuel?”

“She keeps teasing me about JJ. You all do,” she accused, pointing a finger at him without actually looking at him. “So I thought maybe if I didn’t make it a thing, it wouldn’t be a thing.”

Pope blinked. “You mean, like... inviting me instead?”

She winced. “Don’t take that personal.”

“I won’t,” he said, lifting his hands. “But you did end up calling him anyway.”

“I didn’t want to,” she gritted. “You’re just not the boat guy.”

Pope laughed. “Fair.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them, and stared out at the dark water. The sky above was mostly clear now, a few stars scattered across the horizon. The marsh was quiet, minus the occasional croak of a frog or soft ripple of movement. It could’ve been peaceful.

Except her mind was anything but.

The way JJ’s voice sounded, groggy and confused, and then so quick to snap into that almost-jealous tone—like the idea of her and Pope together actually bothered him. She didn’t know what that meant. Or maybe she did and just didn’t want to admit it.

Pope looked over at her again, thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “If there’s nothing going on between you and JJ, you sure do work hard to make it look like there’s something.”

Kiara turned to glare at him, but he was already grinning.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I hate you a little bit.”

He shrugged, still smirking. “I’ll take that.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of insects chirping filling the space between them.

Then Pope asked, “You sure he’s not gonna take forever?”

Kiara sighed. “It’s JJ. He probably grabbed a six-pack beer for his ride on the way here.”

Pope snorted. “Wouldn’t be shocked if he shows up shirtless too, claiming it’s for ‘wind resistance.’”

She huffed a laugh, trying not to smile too much, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “No, that’s only when he’s trying to impress someone. Or when he’s out of clean clothes. So… like, all the time.”

The boat rocked gently beneath them, the quiet of the marsh settling in again. The moon had fully broken through the clouds now, silver light streaking over the water. Kiara’s foot tapped restlessly against the edge of the boat as she stared out, trying to ignore the weird flutter in her chest. 

Probably just the breeze. She thinks.

Pope shifted beside her, letting out a soft groan as he stretched. “Think he’ll bring snacks?”

Kiara tilted her head toward him. “What, you hungry?”

“I didn’t eat dinner. I thought we were just gonna hang out for like an hour. Not get stranded in the middle of the marsh waiting for our mechanic-slash-menace to show up.”

Kiara grinned. “That’s on you for not asking questions.”

“Next time I’m reading the fine print before agreeing to anything with you.”

She smirked, leaning back on her hands. “There’s never a next time.”

Pope gave her a look. “There’s always a next time with you. Chaos follows you like a puppy.”

“I prefer to call it spontaneity.”

He was about to respond when the faint hum of a motor reached them across the water. Both of them turned their heads in unison, squinting through the dark.

Even though Pope had been grumbling about how long JJ was taking—something about swamp rats moving faster—JJ pulled up way quicker than either of them expected. Not fast in a panicked way, not over-the-top dramatic, but fast enough that if anyone was paying attention, they’d know he got there like he was on some kind of clock. Like if the moment stretched too long, something might happen between Pope and Kiara that he didn’t want to know about.

Not that he’d admit that. Not even to himself.

He cut the engine with a practiced flick and climbed onto the boat in one fluid move. “Wow,” he said, tone just this side of too dry. “Look at this little midnight cruise. Cute.”

His eyes skimmed over Pope before landing on Kiara. His voice dipped just enough to be noticeable—bitter, edged. “Hey, Kie.”

She looked up. “Took you long enough.”

Pope added, “For real. I was starting to think we’d have to paddle back with our hands.”

JJ crouched beside the engine, ignoring them. “Let’s see what you idiots broke.”

He opened the panel, checking the fuel line, then the choke. “You flooded it,” he muttered. “Probably tried to start it too many times too fast.”

He got to work, hands moving on instinct. He didn’t need a flashlight. He’d done this before. More times than he cared to count.

“That’s what you get for going on a trip without me,” he added without looking up.

Kiara scoffed. “It wasn’t a trip. We were on our way to get you. This was the fastest route.”

JJ clicked his tongue. “Right. And texting me first would’ve killed you?”

She threw her hands up. “I called you.”

“After you got stranded,” he shot back, tightening a bolt.

Pope, wisely, stayed quiet.

JJ worked in silence for a second, then the low hum of Kiara and Pope’s earlier conversation picked back up like it hadn’t paused at all. Something about ecosystems or extinction or whatever planet-saving tangent Kiara was on.

“If people just disappeared,” she said, “like—gone, poof—overnight? The Earth would bounce back in, like, two hundred years. Forests, wildlife, everything. Like we were never here.”

Pope hummed in agreement.

JJ tightened one last bolt, but his mind was spinning with a different kind of buzz.

How long had they been out here before the engine died?
Why were they out here to begin with?
Were they really coming to get him, or was that just something Kiara said to make it sound better?
Why hadn’t either of them just called him from the start?

He didn’t realize how tightly his jaw had clenched until Kiara’s voice broke through the haze.

“JJ,” she said, glancing at him. “Where’ve you been all day?”

He blinked once. Twice. Then shrugged, not looking at her. “Here and there.”

She narrowed her eyes a little. Not in a mean way, just curious.

But she didn’t push.

JJ wiped his hands on his shorts and stood up, finally glancing at them like he hadn’t been low-key simmering the whole time. “So. Where are you going, exactly?”

Kiara stretched out her legs, trying to play it casual. “Just through the marsh. Nothing big. We were just gonna chill for a while.”

Pope raised a brow. “Kie, I don’t know if continuing this plan is smart. The boat literally just broke down.”

Kiara gestured at the now-humming engine. “Yeah, and now it’s fixed. So we follow through.”

JJ didn’t say anything—just looked between them, then hopped from their boat onto the HMS Pogue with a thud.

Kiara’s brows pinched for half a second, and she gave him a look. Not angry. Just… questioning. You’re not coming?

JJ caught it.

“I’m not leaving the HMS Pogue here,” he said with a shrug. “Someone might steal it.”

She tried not to let her shoulders drop in visible relief, nodding like yeah, makes sense—but she was sure Pope didn’t miss the shift in her expression.

Engines started. Water splashed against hulls. The boats cut across the dark marsh slowly, the sky cracked open just enough for moonlight to spill over the surface. JJ stayed behind them, steering the HMS Pogue solo.

From where he sat, he couldn’t not see the way they were talking. Pope tossing words out like they were in the middle of an ongoing debate. Kiara smiling like she always did.

She was animated, arms moving when she made a point. She leaned back, relaxed, laughing at something Pope said.

JJ’s knuckles whitened on the wheel.

His jaw ticked.

The boat buzzed steady underneath him, but everything else felt off. Sour, almost. He didn’t know why. Didn’t want to dig too deep into it either. He sucked his teeth, looked away, tried to tune them out—but their voices blurred into white noise and his thoughts got louder.

Why were they even out here together? Why did it bug him? Why couldn’t he shake that look Pope gave him earlier?

The moon was high now, casting silver across the marsh, and Kiara glanced back.

She didn’t mean to stare, but her eyes snagged on him. On the way his shirt was inside out, tag poking out against the back of his neck. On the puffiness in his eyes that still clung there, like sleep hadn’t fully let go. His hair was messy, like he didn’t bother fixing it. Typical JJ, but in this light, she noticed things she hadn’t before.

Pope was still talking, but her focus was locked on JJ.

And then—he looked up.

Their eyes met.

It wasn’t long. Just a second, maybe less. But it hit like static in the air.

Pope’s voice trailed when he realized Kiara wasn’t answering him.

He looked over.

Kiara was still staring.

Pope followed her gaze. Saw JJ. Saw the eye contact. Saw the flicker of something unspoken pass between them.

JJ looked at Pope, unreadable. Then away.

Pope turned his head back toward the front of the boat.

Didn’t say a word.

The quiet that followed wasn’t total silence. The boats still hummed. Water still sloshed gently against their sides. A bullfrog croaked somewhere in the reeds. But between the three of them, there was a shift. Something subtle but undeniable.

Kiara blinked, finally tearing her gaze away from JJ, dragging her attention back to the front—only to realize Pope was looking at her. She straightened up, rubbed her palms down her thighs like that might erase the weird static prickling under her skin.

“You good?” Pope asked, keeping his tone light. Too light.

“Yeah,” Kiara said, too quick. “Just… zoned out.”

Pope didn’t respond right away. He just nodded slowly, eyes narrowing slightly before turning back around.

Behind them, JJ still trailed, close enough to follow but far enough to feel like he wasn’t really part of it. His jaw clenched, muscles working like he was trying not to think, not to care. But the image kept replaying in his head—Kiara, on the boat with Pope. Her laugh carrying over the water. The way she looked at him, then looked away. Like something about it got to her.

JJ shook his head. Get a grip.

It’s not like they were doing anything wrong.

And not knowing why it bothered him? That was worse.

He pressed harder on the throttle, shortening the distance between the boats. Whatever this was, whatever weird vibe had settled in the air, he didn’t want to be following it. He wanted to be in it. With them. If only so he didn’t have to keep thinking about what it all looked like from the outside.

Ahead, Kiara leaned back again, letting the breeze catch her hair. She stared forward but her thoughts were tangled.

JJ had looked tired. Not just physically. Something about him felt… off. She didn’t know why she noticed that. Didn’t know why it mattered. Or why her chest still felt tight from that brief look they’d shared.

It was probably nothing.

Definitely nothing.

Just a look. Just a moment.

Still, she glanced back again.

JJ was watching the water. Avoiding her eyes now.

Which, somehow, made her wonder even more.

Pope looked at her again, and this time Kiara caught it.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, and turned back around.

But his face said otherwise.

His face said: I saw that too.

JJ finally pulled up beside them, just close enough to talk without shouting.

“Where are we anchoring?” he asked, loud enough to cut through the fog.

Kiara didn’t answer right away. She looked to Pope.

Pope shrugged. “Same place we always do. The little bend near the big oak.”

JJ gave a small nod, turning the wheel.

The air was thick with the kind of chill that came with a late-night breeze, and the boat rocked gently, a low hum of distant crickets filling the gaps in their conversation. The beer bottles clinked as they cracked open, a mellow buzz spreading through the small group as they settled in.

Kiara stretched her legs out, her feet resting against the side of the boat, and as she took a long sip from her bottle, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a joint. She waved it in front of JJ, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Got a light?” she asked casually, as if this was just another ordinary night.

JJ’s face lit up instantly. “Oh, hell yeah,” he grinned, his hand diving into his pocket for his lighter. “We’re really doing this tonight.”

Pope rolled his eyes but kept his head down, his arms crossed, the ever-present voice of reason in the midst of all their chaos. “You guys know this stuff messes with your focus, right? I’m just saying. I’m keeping my head clear.”

Kiara let out an exaggerated boo, shaking her head with a grin. “C’mon, Pope. You gotta live a little.” She plopped down next to JJ, leaning into the side of the boat with a dramatic sigh. “You're missing out, man.”

JJ flicked the lighter, the flame catching the end of the joint, and took a long drag before passing it to Kiara. She inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering closed for a second as she savored the high. She handed it back to JJ, who let out a pleased exhale, and they fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the crackling of the joint and the occasional ripple of water against the hull.

They started talking about random things—things that didn’t matter, didn’t need to make sense, but felt right in the moment. Movies they liked. The best snacks. A stupid joke Kiara heard the other day.

Pope didn’t seem too invested in the banter, as usual, and was instead focused on something else—probably his own thoughts. But then, out of nowhere, he broke the quiet with a nostalgic question.

“You guys remember that one time we were skipping rocks here?” Pope asked, his voice casual, like he was reaching for some distant memory.

JJ leaned back, tossing the joint between his fingers. “Yeah. Thirteen, right?” He snorted, eyes lighting up with the memory. “Throwing rocks like it was the damn Olympics. It was... something.”

Kiara’s lips twitched into a smile as she remembered. 

‘  She’d been sitting off to the side, watching as the two guys tried to one-up each other with every throw, trying to get her attention. Pope, looking serious, taking his time with each throw, like he was perfecting some art. John B, all showy, like it was his time to shine. And then there was JJ, who was barely even trying, but kept cracking jokes like he was doing commentary for a sports broadcast.

“And, Pope’s got another one! Oh, it’s looking good—no, wait, no—it’s sinking after five skips!” JJ would shout, mimicking a sports commentator, his voice animated as he gestured to Pope, who was still crouched low, eyeing his rock in complete concentration.

“Ohh! And John B’s up next. Can he do it?” JJ would continue, leaning into his role as the unofficial host of the competition, his voice dripping with sarcasm and humor. “And—oh, nope, looks like he’s done. Shortest skip of the day, folks. And that’s a wrap! JJ for the win!”

Kiara, of course, wasn’t paying attention to the competition. She was too busy laughing at every ridiculous thing JJ said, his commentary sending her into fits of giggles.  ‘

It wasn’t about the rocks at all; it was all about the way JJ had made everything funny. How effortlessly he could turn something mundane into a joke.

Pope didn’t let up, though. “I swear, we were so damn competitive over something as stupid as skipping rocks,” he said with a smile, shaking his head. “We were all just trying to show off for Kiara. But, let’s be real—it didn’t matter. She was more interested in what JJ was saying than what we were doing.”

JJ grinned, glancing over at Kiara. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said, exhaling another puff of smoke. “You were laughing more at me than at them.”

Kiara, a little caught off guard, looked over at Pope and shrugged. “What can I say? It was more entertaining.” She laughed softly, her voice teasing. “JJ was the show, the competition was just the filler.”

But Kiara’s mind wandered again. A small smile tugged at her lips as she looked back at JJ, and she didn’t quite understand why it felt so different now, why this night—this whole situation—felt so… off in a way she couldn’t place.

She shook her head, pushing the thought away. It was just another night, right?

But Pope’s words still echoed in her mind. She looked at him, and then back at JJ.

Yeah, just another night.

A little time had passed, but it didn’t feel like it. Maybe that was the weed, maybe it was the way time always seemed to warp when they were all together, suspended in that liminal space where nothing and everything mattered at once.

Kiara and JJ were practically doubled over in laughter, clutching their stomachs, gasping between breaths. The joint was long gone, the high lingering in their eyes, in the unhinged way they couldn't stop giggling at a story that didn’t even have a punchline.

JJ had just tried to impersonate a seagull for some reason—something about it sounding like the one that stole Pope’s sandwich last week—and Kiara lost it. Her laugh was raw and unfiltered, the kind that made her snort halfway through, which only made JJ laugh harder until they were both wheezing. Pope sat across from them, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile.

The wind started to shift, colder now, a sharp reminder that night was creeping toward morning. Kiara instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders curling in as a shiver rippled down her spine.

Pope noticed. “Alright, I think we should probably head back. It’s getting cold,” he said, standing and brushing the back of his shorts.

No one objected.

As they headed back through the winding marshes, the water darker now, the stars reflected like freckles scattered on the surface, Kiara was perched beside JJ on the HMS Pogue. The buzz had mellowed into a comfortable haze, a sleepy sort of contentment washing over her. She leaned back against the boat’s edge, her head lightly bumping JJ’s shoulder every now and then.

Somewhere in the middle of the marsh, Pope’s boat slowed to a stop. JJ matched it, his hand easing off the throttle.

Pope’s voice called out, “So, uh… which way are we going now?”

JJ tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Pope gestured out toward the dark. “Wreck’s to the right. Chateau’s to the left. If Kiara wants to go home, she’s gonna have to hop back over here.”

Kiara blinked, caught off guard. She looked from Pope to JJ.

JJ hadn’t said a word, but his grip on the wheel had stiffened, his jaw tightening. His eyes found hers, lit faintly by the moonlight, and there was a silent plea behind them. 

Stay. 

Just stay.  

He didn’t say it out loud, but it was there. Loud in his thoughts, deafening.

He didn’t know why he wanted it so badly. Maybe it was because her laugh hadn’t stopped echoing in his head. Or maybe it was the way the wind had made her shiver, and something in him had wanted to pull her closer, just a little, just enough. Or maybe it was the fact that nights like this—where everything felt easy, like it used to—were getting rarer.

He didn’t want it to end.

Kiara exhaled slowly, like she’d heard his thoughts somehow. “I’m just gonna crash at the Chateau,” she said, brushing her hair back. Her voice was calm, too casual.

Silence.

Pope glanced at her, his expression unreadable. But he didn’t move. Kiara looked over quickly. “I mean, I don’t wanna go home smelling like weed,” she added. “My parents are probably already up, getting ready to open The Wreck. I’d rather not get caught and have to explain that.”

Pope gave a small nod, the kind that said yeah, okay but meant I don’t buy that for a second. Still, he didn’t push. “Got it,” he said simply.

He adjusted the throttle. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Pope!” Kiara called out before he could go. “Just bring the keys and give ‘em to me later, alright?”

Pope turned halfway, lifting two fingers in a casual salute. “Will do.”

And then they were drifting in opposite directions.

JJ and Kiara sat side by side again on the HMS Pogue, watching Pope’s boat glide further and further away until it was just another dark silhouette under the stars.

They looked at each other. And then—laughter.

It bubbled up out of nowhere, for no real reason. Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was just the absurdity of the whole moment, of choosing each other without really saying it.

They laughed like idiots, heads tilted back, eyes crinkled. They didn’t know what was so funny, but it felt like relief. Like the night still had room for one more moment, and they weren’t ready to let it go.

The HMS Pogue creaked as JJ tugged on the rope, securing it tightly to the dock’s post with a few practiced twists of his wrist. The night was quiet now, the marsh behind them just a sleepy shadow, the moon stretching a silver road across the water.

Behind him, Kiara let out a laugh. One of those low, stifled ones that still managed to echo a little too loud in the stillness.

JJ glanced over his shoulder, brows raised. “What?”

She grinned, crossing her arms. “Your shirt’s inside out.”

JJ blinked, then looked down. “No it’s—” He paused mid-denial, tugging at the hem to check. Sure enough. Tag waving like a white flag of defeat.

He chuckled, peeling the shirt up and over his head in one smooth motion. “Damn,” he muttered, flipping it the right way. But before he could slip it back on, he caught the way Kiara’s laugh abruptly stopped. She blinked and looked away fast, like she was just noticing the trees or the moon or literally anything else.

JJ didn’t say anything. He just tossed the shirt back over his head and pulled it down. “What?” he said once it was on again, catching the way she scoffed softly under her breath.

“Nothing,” Kiara replied quickly, brushing past him toward the path leading up to the Chateau.

They walked in silence, feet crunching against dirt and twigs, the warm haze from earlier fading into something quieter. Something easy.

Inside the Chateau, Kiara kicked off her shoes and flopped face-first onto the pull-out couch. It let out its usual wheezy groan under her weight. JJ wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge with zero expectations and even less hope. Unsurprisingly, it was basically empty. Half a jar of pickles, some ketchup packets, a mystery Tupperware container he wasn’t brave enough to open.

He spotted the peanut butter jar on the counter. “Desperate times,” he muttered, digging out a spoonful and stuffing it into his mouth.

He turned to find Kiara propped up on one elbow, watching him with a look that screamed judgment.

“That’s gross,” she said.

“The fridge is empty,” JJ mumbled around the peanut butter, voice muffled.

The lights were off, save for the fridge’s pale glow and the soft moonlight slipping through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. It felt like the kind of lighting you’d see in a dream—muted, low, weirdly intimate.

JJ closed the fridge door with his foot, plunging the room back into semi-darkness. “You want water or something?”

It was such a simple offer, tossed out casually. But something about the way it hung in the air made it feel bigger. Not dramatic. Just... warmer than it needed to be.

Kiara nodded. “Sure.”

JJ grabbed a glass from the sink and filled it, then walked over and handed it to her. She took a sip, then wordlessly offered the same glass back to him.

JJ didn’t even hesitate. He took it, finished the rest, then padded back to the kitchen to drop it in the sink.

Kiara’s laughter floated up again—this soft, trailing giggle—and it echoed through the dark house like some kind of ghost.

“Okay, stop,” he called over his shoulder. “You giggling in the dark is starting to get creepy.”

Kiara didn’t stop, but she did muffle it behind a pillow.

JJ crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Wanna go sleep in my room?”

She raised a brow. “You’re offering your bed? For us to share?”

JJ scoffed. “We’re not sleeping together, genius. I’ll take John B’s room.”

Kiara sat up slowly, shooting him a mock-disappointed look. “Boring,” she teased, standing and stretching. “Don’t wake me up at seven like some psycho, okay?”

“No promises,” JJ called as she wandered down the hall.

She paused at his doorway, looked back. “Night, Jayj.”

“Night,” he replied, eyes still on the now mostly-clean spoon in his hand.

And then she was gone.

JJ stood there in the dark kitchen for a beat longer. The house felt quieter now—like it was holding its breath. He scratched the back of his neck, then wandered toward John B’s room and tried the handle.

Locked.

Of course. John B had only started locking it once Sarah started staying over.

JJ sighed, let his forehead rest against the door for a second before turning around and trudging back to the pull-out couch. He sat down with a tired groan, kicked his boots off, and stared up at the ceiling.

This wasn’t the night he expected. But somehow, it felt better than whatever he’d imagined.

Nights like this... they were the problem. Too quiet. Too easy. The kind that slipped under his skin without warning. He didn’t think about it much—what it meant, what it could mean—but sometimes, in moments like this, he could feel the pressure of something knocking on a door they kept locked. A door he threw the key to a long time ago and buried somewhere even he couldn’t find.

He didn’t want to open it. He wasn’t sure what would come out if he did.

But nights like this? They made it harder to pretend the door wasn’t there.

Chapter Text

The sunlight poured through the slits in the blinds, warming Kiara’s face and tugging her gently out of sleep. There was something familiar in the way she felt before her eyes even opened. Not just the way her limbs were tangled in the too-soft sheets, or the weight of comfort around her—but something else. A smell, maybe. Laundry detergent that wasn’t hers. Something slightly citrusy and unmistakably JJ.

She blinked up at the ceiling. It took her a second to remember where she was, but the second she did, everything clicked into place. The room looked the same as it had the last time they’d all crashed here. Same posters, same cracked lamp in the corner, same floorboard that creaked when she swung her feet over the edge of the bed.

But she still felt it—that weird, echo-y sense of something. Something she couldn’t name.

Before she could make sense of it, a voice carried through the thin walls.

“Your hair is literally everywhere.”

Kiara got up, opening the door just in time to see Sarah walking down the hallway wrapped in a towel, her wet hair leaving a dripping trail behind her.

Kiara squinted. “You guys are back early.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “It’s noon.”

Kiara’s stomach growled in protest. “Oh. Well… that explains why I’m starving.”

Sarah gestured toward the kitchen. “Pope dropped off pancakes. Mrs. Heyward made them. They're in the bag.”

Kiara padded down the hall and spotted the brown paper bag sitting on the counter like a beacon. She was halfway to it when Sarah added, “He was here when we got back, by the way. Just kind of… standing there.”

Kiara paused. “Where?”

“By the pull-out couch,” Sarah said, wringing out her hair. “Just staring at JJ. Had this look on his face. Like confused, maybe. I don’t know. Then he said he had to help his dad with deliveries and left.”

Kiara’s eyebrows knit together. “Wait, JJ was on the pull-out?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said. “Why?”

“I thought he was in John B’s room.”

From the living room, John B’s voice chimed in casually, “Yeah, no. I locked it.”

Kiara turned slowly, eyebrows raising. “Why would you lock your room?”

John B shrugged, walking in with a banana in hand. “Because someone’s been treating it like a timeshare—and keeps stealing my shirts, cutting them into crop tops. And now that Sarah’s staying over, I don’t want her stuff getting mixed up with yours.”

Sarah, flopping onto the couch, grinned. “I don’t mind. I’d kill to have Kiara’s closet anyway.”

Kiara didn’t respond. Her eyes had drifted to the window.

“Where’s JJ now?” she asked.

John B followed her gaze. “Outside.”

She stepped closer to the window, pushing the curtain aside just slightly with her fingers.

There he was. Squatting beside his bike, hands working at something on the chain. Shirtless, hair a mess, that same focused look on his face that he always wore when he was fixing something—even if it was broken in a way he’d probably made it.

Kiara watched for a beat too long, chewing at the inside of her cheek.

He hadn’t said anything last night about the pull-out. Could’ve just told her. She would’ve moved. Or shared. Whatever.

Not that it mattered.

Kiara slid the screen door open, stepping out into the late morning sun. The boards of the porch were warm under her feet, and the salty breeze curled through her hair as she took a few slow steps down.

JJ was crouched beside his bike, focused, tongue poking out slightly as he twisted something with his fingers. She took a second to look at him. Really look. His shirt was tossed onto a railing nearby, and his skin caught the light in a way that made it hard not to stare.

“Hey, grease monkey,” she called, smirking. “Pancakes are inside.”

JJ looked up, hand shielding his eyes from the sun. His face lit up instantly, like it always did when he saw her. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

She smiled, walking toward him. “Your bed is weirdly comfortable, by the way.”

JJ grinned and leaned back on his heels. “You can keep sleeping there if you want.”

That grin—that tone. That was just how he was with her.

JJ flirted with her constantly. Casually, effortlessly. Sometimes she flirted back. Other times she shoved him with an eye roll and a muttered shut up. It was a game they didn’t talk about, didn’t need to talk about.

It was just them. JJ and Kie. Kie and JJ.

She rolled her eyes, already used to him. “You wish.”

JJ laughed and stood up, brushing his hands on his shorts. “You don’t have to act like you hate it.”

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, lifting a hand and setting it gently on her shoulder. His touch was casual, guiding, like it had weight but no pressure, like it was natural for him to touch her that way.

Because it was.

“C’mon,” he said, giving her a nudge back toward the porch. “Let’s get you fed before you waste away or start getting cranky.”

Kiara turned without thinking, letting herself be led. But even after he dropped his hand, she could still feel it there.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

There was always this low voice in the back of her head when people touched her, warning her, bracing her. She hated that. Hated how easily it drained her, made her want to retreat.

But JJ?

With him, the voice quieted.

She didn’t mind it.

She didn’t mind him.

Not even a little.

They walked back toward the house together, the wooden steps creaking under their weight. JJ grabbed his shirt on the way, slinging it over his shoulder without bothering to put it on.

Kiara glanced sideways at him, her lips twitching—not quite a smile, not quite not. The morning sun had bleached parts of his hair lighter than the rest. He always looked like summer, like trouble, like the kind of chaos you didn’t mind inviting in.

Inside, the screen door slammed shut behind them, and for a second, it felt like it was just the two of them in the muted quiet of the Chateau—even though John B and Sarah were somewhere in the back. Dust danced in the slivers of sunlight. The faint smell of salt and grease still clung to JJ. The paper bag of pancakes sat waiting on the counter.

Everything about the moment felt stupidly normal. Like waking up and brushing your teeth. Like she’d always be here, and he’d always be there, and mornings would always smell like this.

But still.

There was something about it.

Not romantic, not anything that dramatic. Just…something. A hum under her skin. A flicker of something warm she couldn’t name, and maybe didn’t want to.

JJ caught her looking. Raised a brow.

“What?”

Kiara blinked. “Nothing.”

He squinted at her for a beat, then shrugged. “Okay, weirdo. Let’s eat.”

JJ paused mid-chew when he caught Sarah watching them, a knowing little smirk playing on her lips as she casually leaned against the counter, holding a half-eaten pancake like it was nothing. He raised his brows at her, wordlessly asking what her deal was.

She just shook her head like nothing to see here, and took another bite, way too pleased with herself.

Kiara turned, clocking the scene. “Sarah, stop eating our pancakes.”

Sarah backed off with both hands raised, fingers dusted in crumbs. “Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t want JJ to get hungry. Guy gets feral.”

JJ gave her a look. “I will eat your pancakes next, Princess.”

Kiara snorted and plopped down at the table with JJ, both of them digging into what was left. The pancakes were already cooling off, but it didn’t matter. They were too hungry to care.

Between bites, JJ nudged her elbow lightly. “Dude. We were so gone last night. I couldn’t stop laughing. I don’t even remember what was funny.”

Kiara laughed around a mouthful. “We were talking about how you were narrating Pope and John B skipping rocks like it was ESPN. That was hilarious.”

JJ grinned. “Man, they were so serious about it, too. Pope had, like, strategy. And John B was just chucking rocks like a caveman.”

From the hallway, John B called out, “Looked like y’all had fun.”

Kiara turned toward the voice, a little too quick. “Pope was there too.”

John B appeared, leaning in the doorway with a coffee in hand. “I didn’t say he wasn’t.”

She narrowed her eyes like he was implying something—maybe he was, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

JJ just looked at her, quiet for a second. The kind of quiet where she could feel it without even meeting his eyes. So she glanced over, and there he was—leaned back in his chair, chewing, looking at her with this lazy, half-lidded gaze. His eyes looked different. Brighter. Bluer. Like they were made of sky.

Before she could ask what, he smiled—one of those sideways JJ smiles that didn’t come with a warning.

“What?” she asked, already suspicious.

“You afraid to be alone with me or something?”

Kiara rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Wow. Pipe down, JJ”

John B laughed.

Kiara looked at him. “And for the record, this dude was being all dramatic last night because he thought me and Pope were out without him.”

JJ held up a finger. “I was just saying—if y’all went out without me, that would’ve been rude.”

“Deal with it.” Kiara said, mouth full.

JJ took another bite and mumbled, “Rude.”

She kicked his foot under the table. He kicked back.

Normal. Them.

Kiara stood, wiping her hands on the hem of her shirt as she grabbed JJ’s plate. “Come on,” she said, nodding toward the door.

JJ blinked. “Where we going?”

She shrugged. “Just come.”

JJ followed her like he always did, slow but steady, dragging his feet slightly like it was part of the act.

As they stepped outside, Sarah called after them, “What’s the plan for today anyway?”

They paused by the porch steps. A soft breeze drifted through the trees, the kind that made the chateau feel more like an overgrown treehouse than an actual house.

They were only about two weeks into summer, and so far, their days had followed a very predictable rhythm: sleep in, smoke weed, drink cheap beers, rinse, repeat. No plans. No goals. Just chaos and cravings and sand in their shoes.

Kiara opened her mouth to suggest something—maybe paddleboarding or surfing—but JJ beat her to it.

“I wanna go fishing,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the stillness.

John B perked up. “Let’s go then.”

Sarah visibly deflated. Her nose scrunched, and she made a face like someone had just told her the Wi-Fi was down. “Fishing?” she repeated, clearly unimpressed. “You boys have fun with that.”

Then she looked at Kiara. “I was thinking of heading home. Grabbing more clothes and stuff from Tannyhill. Wanna come with?”

Kiara hesitated. She did want to go fishing. Actually, she just wanted to be wherever JJ and John B were being dumb and ridiculous, casting broken rods and arguing over bait. But the second Sarah said home, Kiara remembered. Rafe. Ward. Tannyhill wasn’t just a mansion—it was a powder keg.

Kiara glanced at JJ, hoping he’d give her a reason to ditch the Tannyhill errand.

JJ, ever the unintentional saboteur, grinned at her. “Come on, Kie. It’s gonna be fun. You and me, John B, out on the water, maybe a little bet on who catches the biggest one?”

She smirked, playful but slightly defensive. “You can’t fish without me?”

JJ just laughed, a low, warm sound from deep in his chest. “Guess we’ll find out.”

John B, already grabbing keys and half a granola bar, chimed in. “Suit yourself.”

Kiara lingered in the doorway for a second longer, looking between Sarah and JJ.

“I’ll go with you,” she told Sarah, finally. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

Sarah nodded like she’d been waiting for that.

JJ didn’t say anything, but when Kiara glanced back at him, he was watching her—still smiling, but quieter now.

The HMS Pogue bobbed gently in the water, anchored in its usual spot. John B and JJ were already on board, standing on opposite sides of the boat with fishing poles in hand. Kiara and Sarah stood on the porch, leaning against the railing, watching them with amused expressions.

JJ caught sight of them and, with all the drama he could muster, threw a theatrical bow like they were preparing for a battle at sea. “For the Pogues!” he declared loudly, throwing his arms out wide as if they were embarking on some epic adventure.

Kiara rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “He’s an idiot,” she muttered, shaking her head at him.

Sarah glanced at Kiara, catching the small smile playing on her lips but said nothing. She just leaned back against the railing and folded her arms, taking in the sight of the boys.

The boat rumbled to life, and John B steered them away from the shore, the familiar sound of the engine vibrating through the air. The waves lapped gently at the side of the boat as they left the dock behind.

It was quiet between them at first, the kind of comfortable silence that existed between people who had known each other forever. The only sound was the occasional splash of a fish jumping or the soft hum of the boat engine.

Then, out of nowhere, JJ broke the silence. “So, uh,” he started, fiddling with his fishing rod, “how was it after you kissed Kiara?”

John B didn’t immediately respond. He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly as he turned his head to look at JJ. He wasn’t sure what to make of the question. They’d never really talked about that kiss—about anything that had happened between him and Kiara. It felt like one of those things that was better left unsaid, but JJ wasn’t letting it slide.

“Why are you asking?” John B finally replied, his voice cautious but not entirely defensive.

JJ shrugged nonchalantly, trying to mask the curiosity underneath. “Just curious,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he was just curious. There was a weight to his words, and it didn’t escape John B’s notice.

John B paused for a moment, thinking about the kiss, about everything that happened after. “Honestly, I thought it would be weird,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “For the friendship, I mean. But... it wasn’t. It helped that Kiara didn’t feel the same way, didn’t make it awkward or anything.”

JJ nodded slowly, looking down at the water as if it was a lot more interesting than the conversation at hand. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if the topic made him uneasy. “Yeah,” he said with a slight chuckle, “I guess it could’ve been worse. I mean, with the whole 'no pogue-on-pogue' rule and all.” He tried to keep his tone light, but the slight hint of discomfort was still there.

John B smirked, clearly sensing there was more to it. “You know,” he said, his voice teasing, “I’ve got a feeling Pope’s still into Kiara.”

JJ’s face scrunched, a small flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe something else—crossing his features. It was subtle, but enough for John B to catch it.

JJ didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, the air between them felt a little thicker, charged in a way it hadn’t been before. John B could tell JJ was holding something back, but he didn’t push. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, John B leaned back against the side of the boat, casually tossing his line into the water. “What about you, though?” he asked, his voice a little more serious now. “You still into Kiara?”

JJ froze for a second, his grip on the fishing rod tightening just a fraction. His face flickered with something unreadable, but he quickly regained his composure. “What?” he asked, trying to play it off, but his voice was a little too quick, a little too loud. “No. I tried that. It’s just... not us. We’re like family, man. She’s like a sister to me.”

John B raised an eyebrow. He didn’t believe that for a second. “Sure, man,” he said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

JJ shot him a quick glance, his face betraying a mix of confusion and something else—something he couldn’t quite figure out. But he didn’t answer. Instead, he just stared at John B for a moment, as if the question had caught him off guard in a way he didn’t expect.

John B didn’t press the issue any further. He didn’t need to. He knew JJ well enough to see through his attempt at brushing things off.

The boat rocked gently in the water, and the two of them fell into another comfortable silence, but this time it wasn’t quite the same. The air between them was heavier now, filled with things that had gone unsaid.

Meanwhile…

Sarah’s room looked exactly how Kiara remembered it—maybe a little more polished, a little more girly. The white curtains fluttered faintly in the breeze sneaking through the cracked window, and there were new posters on the walls, a fresh stack of makeup palettes on the vanity, and more pastel throw pillows on the bed. But beneath all that, it was still the same room where Kiara used to crash after a long day in the sun, still the same place where late-night laughter echoed through whispered secrets and stifled giggles.

Kiara stood near the doorway, arms crossed loosely over her chest, taking it all in. “It’s still the same,” she said after a moment, voice carrying a thread of nostalgia. “Just… more girly.”

Sarah glanced over her shoulder from where she was packing clothes into a duffel bag, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she said, her tone softening. “I was obsessed with making it more aesthetic for like a week. Got bored halfway through.”

Kiara chuckled, stepping further in. “I remember when you had that one ugly tie-dye blanket you refused to get rid of.”

“Shut up, I loved that thing,” Sarah said, laughing, tossing a folded hoodie into the bag. Then her voice quieted, smile turning wistful. “I keep thinking about all the times you used to sleep over. Sneaking out the window, climbing up to the roof…”

Kiara laughed, the memory hitting her like a warm breeze. “God, we were such idiots. Almost fell off that roof at least three times.”

“Worth it,” Sarah grinned. “Totally worth it.”

A beat passed as they fell into the comfort of shared memories, and then Sarah glanced sideways, a little mischievous glint in her eye. “You know… I remember always wanting to ask you about John B. Way before I even met him.”

Kiara’s brows rose in surprise, a smile pulling at her lips. “Seriously?”

“Mhm,” Sarah said, tossing another shirt in. “You guys just seemed like this little crew with your own world, and I was kinda jealous. You were always running around with them. Looked like so much fun.”

Kiara smiled faintly, biting her lip as she leaned against Sarah’s desk. “Yeah, it was. Still is. I didn’t expect you and John B to happen, though.”

Sarah turned, hands on her hips now, like she was ready for the analysis. “Oh?”

“I don’t know,” Kiara shrugged. “He always seemed… I don’t know, lost. But you grounded him. You guys are like puzzle pieces. Somehow just—fit.”

Sarah looked down, smile turning a little bashful. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I think we both needed it. Something solid, you know?”

Kiara nodded, and just like that, the air softened again. They kept talking—about nonsense, mostly. About some girl from Sarah’s old school who got a nose job, about how Pope’s new obsession with sudoku made zero sense, about how weirdly territorial JJ had been about his fishing rod lately.

It felt easy, natural. Like they were finding their way back to something they almost forgot they had.

By the time Sarah zipped up her duffel, the room felt a little less heavy with the past. Kiara slung Sarah’s tote over her shoulder, and the two of them headed out, laughter still lingering from some dumb story about JJ convincing Pope to eat a ghost pepper on a dare.

As they stepped onto the porch, blinking into the bright sun, they spotted Pope walking out of the house, keys in hand, looking halfway between determined and already over it.

“Pope!” Kiara called out, squinting. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on dad-duty?”

Pope slowed, adjusting the strap of the insulated bag on his shoulder. “I am,” he replied, breathy. “Helping Dad with the deliveries today. Rafe just ordered a bunch of weird-ass snacks that you literally cannot find on this island.”

Kiara blinked. “Like what?”

“Imported Takis. Vegan jerky. This mango-flavored energy drink that smells like gasoline.” He rolled his eyes.

Sarah made a face. “Huh. Makes sense though. Rafe’s definitely the kind of guy who thinks Cheetos are beneath him but would pay $30 for a bag of puffed chickpeas.”

Pope snorted. “Pretty much.”

Then Sarah tilted her head, a spark lighting behind her eyes. “Wait, are you using the delivery boat?”

Pope nodded slowly, like he knew what was coming.

“Can we ride with you?” Kiara asked, already one step ahead. “We’re bored, and you know, no better way to waste time than delivering overpriced hipster snacks to rich people.”

Pope hesitated, but he looked at Kiara, then Sarah, then back again. “I mean… sure. As long as you don’t get in the way.”

“No promises,” Kiara grinned.

As they followed Pope toward the dock, Kiara thought she heard the faint hum of the HMS Pogue’s engine echoed from somewhere deep within the marsh, barely audible over the sound of gulls and rustling leaves. The boys were already out there—probably laughing, maybe arguing, almost definitely catching nothing.

Kiara climbed into the delivery boat behind Sarah, settling onto the bench with her arms resting over the sides. Her eyes drifted toward the distant stretch of water, where green and gold blurred together in the sunlight, and she squinted like maybe—just maybe—she could spot the outline of the boat if she stared hard enough.

She couldn’t.

Still, something made her pause. Some small thread pulling at her. She wondered if JJ would glance back toward the shore at any point—if he’d think to look.

And she didn’t know why she was wondering that.

The afternoon sun hung lazily in the sky, warming the wooden frame of the HMS Pogue as it bobbed gently in the marsh. A soft breeze ruffled through JJ’s hair as he leaned back, legs stretched out, a fishing rod in one hand and absolutely no expectations in the other. John B sat nearby, feet propped up, half-asleep behind his sunglasses.

“What should we do tonight?” John B asked, breaking the quiet.

JJ gave a lazy shrug. “Was thinkin’ I’d just chill by the hammock. Maybe roll one. Watch the stars do their thing.”

John B sat up slightly. “You know there’s a bonfire party tonight, right? I heard it’s gonna be a big one.”

JJ tilted his head, unimpressed. “Yeah, and I don’t feel like pretending I like people.”

John B chuckled. “If you change your mind—”

“Nope,” JJ cut in, already shaking his head. “Mind’s unchangeable. Solid. Set. Written in blood.”

That earned a laugh from John B, who leaned back again, content to let the silence return.

They sat like that for a bit—comfortable, the way only best friends could be—before JJ squinted at something in the distance, a flicker of motion on the water.

He leaned forward.

A boat was approaching from the other side of the marsh—the Heyward delivery boat. JJ narrowed his eyes, watching Pope at the helm, steering with that practiced ease like he was born doing it. Behind him stood Kiara, loose hair catching the breeze, steadying herself with one hand on the rail. Sarah sat on the other side, digging into one of the grocery bags, probably seconds away from eating someone’s chips.

JJ blinked.

It wasn’t weird. Nothing about it was weird. Pope and Kie hung out all the time. It was normal. Sarah was there too. Totally normal.

But…

JJ didn’t know what to call the feeling that slid under his skin. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t. It was something quieter than that, something duller and deeper. It was just—off. Like a song missing a beat.

It had always been them.

JJ and Kie.
Kie and JJ.

Attached at the hip. Always.

He set his fishing rod down.

“Let’s go say hi,” he said suddenly.

John B raised a brow. “Dude, I think I caught something.”

JJ looked back at the delivery boat. Kiara had shifted, leaning closer to Pope, maybe saying something to him. Maybe laughing.

JJ’s jaw clenched—barely. Just for a second. Again, not jealousy.

Okay maybe it was.

Then he exhaled through his nose, turned around, and knelt by the side of the boat to help John B.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

But even as he helped reel it in, he didn’t look back again. Couldn’t bring himself to.

The Heyward’s delivery boat hummed as they neared the familiar stretch of dock outside The Wreck. The smell of fried shrimp and the distant clang of a pan hitting metal drifted out with the breeze, and Kiara leaned over the side, brows furrowed.

“Wait,” she said slowly, straightening. “Where are we going?”

Pope, still focused on steering, nodded toward the dock. “To The Wreck. Delivering some ingredients. Didn’t you see the brown paper bags? They literally have The Wreck written on them in Sharpie.”

Kiara’s eyes widened. “No. Pope—I snuck out last night. They’re probably gonna be on my ass for that.”

Pope winced. “Sorry! How was I supposed to know you still hadn’t gone home?”

From the front of the boat, Sarah made a low noise. “Uh oh…”

Kiara followed her gaze, stomach dropping when she saw her mom standing at the edge of the dock. Sunlight beamed directly into her face, but Mrs. Carrera was prepared—one hand shading her eyes, the other planted firmly on her hip, like the poster model for I Know My Kid's Up To No Good.

Kiara sighed. Loudly. “Awesome.”

She didn’t need to plan her excuse—she already had three lined up, ranked in order from 'technically not lying' to 'fully fiction but emotionally justifiable.’

They docked and Kiara’s mom didn’t even wait a beat.

“Where were you?”

Not even a “Hi.” Not even a “Good morning.”

Pope tied off the boat like he was trying not to be noticed. “Good day, Mrs. Carrera,” he said politely, as if that might soften the blow.

Kiara hopped off, sneakers hitting the dock with a solid thud. Before she even stood upright, her mom grabbed her arm—not hard, but firmly enough to make it clear this was not gonna be a friendly catch-up.

“I told you—those boys are a bad influence,” her mom started, voice rising with every syllable like she’d been rehearsing it in her head since sunrise.

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Stop calling them ‘those boys.’ You’ve known them since middle school.”

Her mom’s grip didn’t loosen. “Yeah, and I know enough. Especially from their last names.”

Kiara didn’t even try to argue with that one. Her mom was already steering her toward the entrance of The Wreck like it was a courtroom.

Meanwhile, Mike—Kiara’s dad—appeared from inside, holding a clipboard and glancing over the order. He gave Pope a brief nod, already reaching for one of the bags.

“Hey, Mr. Carrera,” Pope muttered, guilt painted across his face.

Behind him, Sarah watched Kiara disappear inside, lips pursed.

Pope sighed like he’d just been sentenced. “I should’ve said something. I should’ve warned her.”

Sarah shrugged, offering a small, sympathetic smile. “You couldn’t have known. You were just trying to do your job.”

But Pope didn’t look convinced. He just kept shaking his head, watching the door of The Wreck close behind Kiara like it was the gates of some medieval prison.

Out on the marsh..

“Let’s head home,” JJ said suddenly, dropping his fishing rod and standing without waiting for John B’s reply. “I’m starving.” His tone was sharper than it needed to be, impatience bubbling just beneath the surface. The quiet lull of the water, which usually calmed him, was starting to grate. Something about sitting still made his skin itch, like he needed to be anywhere but here.

John B didn’t argue—he just looked at him for a second, like he knew what JJ actually meant, and nodded. They tossed their gear into the boat, the lone fish thudding in the bucket between them. It wasn’t the biggest catch they’d ever had, but it was good enough. Big enough to share with the rest of the Pogues.

The ride back to the Chateau was quiet, water splashing against the sides of the HMS Pogue. JJ didn’t say anything the whole way. He just stared straight ahead.

The house felt still when they walked in. The kind of still that doesn’t come from silence, but from absence.

JJ wouldn’t admit it out loud, not even to himself, but the quiet hit different when she wasn’t around.

They got straight to it, no real conversation—John B scaled the fish on the porch while JJ laid on the couch inside, arms crossed behind his head, eyes closed. He wasn’t even tired, but the weight behind his ribs made everything feel heavier.

The couch creaked softly beneath him, and before he even realized he’d dozed off, voices pulled him back.

“—told you, her mom didn’t even let her explain,” Sarah was saying, her voice a little breathless, like she hadn’t stopped talking since they left The Wreck.

JJ’s eyes blinked open. The door swung shut behind Pope and Sarah, both carrying more bags—this time with actual snacks and some sodas poking out the sides.

His eyes scanned instinctively for her.

She wasn’t there.

He didn’t need to ask. John B already did.

“Where’s Kie?”

Pope and Sarah glanced at each other. Sarah answered.

“We went to The Wreck to drop off the delivery, and… yeah. Her mom was already waiting. Didn’t even give her a second. Just yanked her inside like she’d been rehearsing it in her sleep.”

JJ sat up slowly, back to the armrest now, jaw ticking slightly as he stared past them.

The idea of Kiara being pulled inside like a kid who broke curfew—it made something cold settle in his gut. He hated how often that happened. Hated how her mom never gave her a break. Hated that he hadn’t been there. Not that he could’ve stopped it. But still.

The group split off, pretending to act normal. Sarah helped John B fire up the grill. Pope set the bags down, checking the groceries with less enthusiasm than usual. But JJ stayed on the couch, legs now planted on the floor, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.

He knew what came next.

Lockdown.

They’d probably lose her for a week. Maybe more, depending on how pissed her mom was. It always happened like that—Kiara did something they didn’t like, something that proved she wasn’t the girl they wanted her to be, and suddenly she was cut off. No calls. No texts. Just the occasional blurry message she snuck through when she could.

And even when they got her back—it never felt right, not right away.

JJ rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the weight settling behind his eyes.

The Chateau was full again—but it still felt empty.

The sun was slipping below the tree line now, casting long amber streaks across the yard. The smoke from the grill curled up into the painted sky, and the scent of fish crackling on the flame filled the air—sharp and earthy. It should’ve felt like summer. It should’ve felt like a win.

JJ lay in the hammock, one arm bent behind his head, the other dangling off the side. His legs swayed lazily with the motion, but his mind wasn’t still. It kept flickering—like the sun cutting through branches—to the same place. The same girl.

He wasn’t even trying to think about her, but she showed up anyway. In the way the wind moved, in the sound of Sarah’s voice laughing across the yard, in the open space on the other side of the hammock.

She always sat there. Barefoot. Sometimes with her hair still wet from the ocean, sometimes wrapped in a blanket like she wasn’t the one who insisted they stay out late. Always there, smirking at him, bickering, stealing the last bite.

Now there was just air.

Pope came back not long ago, slumping into one of the lounge chairs nearby, letting out a breath that had weight behind it. He didn’t say much either. Didn’t have to. JJ could tell he was thinking about Kiara too. It wasn’t hard to guess—Pope had been there for every version of this story, same as him.

They grilled quietly, the silence only occasionally broken by John B humming something tuneless while flipping the fish.

“There’s a bonfire party tonight,” John B said at one point, tossing the comment into the air like it might float.

JJ didn’t even open his eyes. “Yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about it earlier.”

John B chuckled. “Just saying. Might be fun.”

They talked more after that—nothing important. Just the kind of random crap that friends say to fill the gaps. Sarah teased Pope about his dramatic grocery haul, John B made a comment about his own “expert” fish-grilling skills, and for a second, the laughter made the silence feel further away.

But not for JJ.

He stared at the empty side of the hammock again. The frayed part of the rope where Kiara’s anklet once got caught. The patch where she spilled melted chocolate and tried to hide it with a pillow. The place where she’d lean back, all smug attitude and eyes that never looked away from his.

And now—nothing.

His chest tightened. He sighed, long and deep.

Sarah noticed.

Her smile faded slowly as her eyes drifted toward him. She didn’t say anything right away, just watched him for a moment. The quiet longing written in his posture. The way his fingers fidgeted with the corner of the hammock. The hollowness that clung to the spaces where Kiara used to be.

Then she looked at Pope—still too quiet, poking at the hem of his shirt, lost in whatever thoughts he wasn’t saying.

“Come on, guys,” Sarah finally said, soft but clear. “Kie can handle this. You know she can. How many times has this happened before?”

JJ didn’t respond, but John B nodded, flipping a piece of fish onto a plate.

“She’ll be fine,” John B said. “She always is. Her parents freak out, lock her down, and she always finds a way to bounce back. She’s Kie.”

Sarah nodded, eyes still on JJ.

“She’s tougher than she looks.”

Maybe she was. But JJ wasn’t sure if it was about toughness.

He just missed her.

Missed the way she filled the space around him. Missed the little sarcastic jabs. Missed knowing she was somewhere nearby—on the hammock, in the kitchen, making fun of him, calling him out, daring him to keep up.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at the fish on his plate and wondered if she’d had dinner yet.

The scent of fried shrimp and grease hung thick in the air, and The Wreck’s floor creaked under her every step. Kiara was posted behind the counter now, an apron she didn’t ask for tied clumsily around her waist. Her arms were crossed, her posture slouched, chin resting on her hand as she stared blankly out at the near-empty restaurant.

She had been stationed here since noon. Her mother’s idea, of course—keep her busy, keep her monitored, keep her within view. Her punishment was less grounding and more surveillance. The kind where her freedom wasn’t technically taken away, but her choices were controlled until they might as well be.

She hadn’t seen John B in what—almost a full day now?

Yeah. John B.

That’s who she meant. Totally. Not anyone else. Not, like… JJ or whatever.

Kiara blew out a breath and shook her head subtly, as if she could physically toss the thought away. It was stupid. She wasn’t even thinking about JJ. She didn’t miss the way he always had something smart to say at the worst possible moment, or how he’d steal fries from her plate mid-sentence like it was his god-given right. She wasn’t wondering what story he was spinning right now at the Chateau.

If she was still there—if she hadn’t been dragged away by her mother, she was sure of one thing: JJ would be sprawled somewhere across a couch or the hammock, half-grinning like a lunatic, retelling some fish tale that was maybe ten percent true.

He’d probably say he caught a fish the size of a mini fridge with his bare hands, but then, obviously, it cried. Like, actually cried. So, out of mercy—and because he “respects creatures of the sea”—he let it go and brought home a smaller fish instead.

One hundred percent lie. But she’d let it slide. Because that’s just JJ.

Kiara sighed and ran a hand through her hair, dragging her fingers through the tangles with a frustrated tug. Her eyes darted toward the kitchen, where she caught her dad watching her from behind the pass window.

Mike Carrera had always had a soft spot for his daughter—more understanding, less bark than his wife. When he saw the way her shoulders sagged, the restlessness in the way she tapped her fingers against the register, he knew she wasn’t built for caging.

He glanced around the restaurant—his wife deep in a conversation with a customer—and leaned in slightly.

“Psst,” he whispered, waving her over.

She leaned across the counter. “What?”

Mike kept his voice low, eyes flicking toward the back. “Slip out. Go home. I got it here.”

Kiara blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded once. “Just keep your head down till your mom cools off.”

Her shoulders dropped in relief, and before he could change his mind, she slipped around the counter and gave him a quick hug—tight, grateful.

“You’re the best,” she mumbled.

“I know.”

And then she was gone—slinking toward the side exit, ducking behind the drink machine when her mom turned her head, disappearing through the door like smoke.

Outside, the sky had dipped fully into sunset. That perfect Outer Banks mix of purple and orange bleeding over the rooftops.

She could go to the Chateau. She could walk right in, throw herself on the hammock, and act like nothing happened. Like JJ’s dumb story hadn’t been playing in her head all day. She could—

But she didn’t.

Not because she didn’t want to.

Because she knew her mom would snap if she found out.

So she went straight home, let herself in through the back, and locked the door behind her. Her room was dim, silent. A whole different kind of cage.

Kiara flopped on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

She didn’t miss JJ.

She didn’t.

She just missed the hammock.

The plates were pushed aside. The grilled fish had long been picked clean, and the sky overhead had settled into deep navy, stars barely winking through a soft cover of clouds. An open cooler sat in the middle of the group, half-full with beer cans clinking whenever someone reached in. The Chateau was alive again—but only halfway.

JJ sat on the hammock, one leg dangling, the other bent up as he nursed a beer. The emptiness inside him lingered stubbornly, unaffected by the food, the drinks, or even the jokes that normally would’ve had him in stitches.

“I’m just saying,” Sarah was mid-rant, waving her beer as if it added emphasis, “if you had just followed the map the way Pope and I told you, we wouldn’t have ended up circling the marsh for two hours.”

JJ scoffed. “Okay, first of all, I was following the map. That map was wrong.”

“No, you were holding it upside down,” Sarah fired back.

Pope raised his can, nodding. “She’s not wrong, man. We watched you do it.”

JJ pointed at him like he’d committed an act of betrayal. “Et tu, Pope?”

John B held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa—don’t drag Pope into this. I saw the whole thing, JJ was in the right and—” he hesitated, eyes flicking between Sarah and JJ, calculating his next words like a hostage negotiator.

JJ narrowed his eyes. “You better not.”

John B sighed. “Okay fine—Sarah’s right. JJ, you were definitely holding it upside down.”

JJ dropped his head back with an exaggerated groan. “Unbelievable. Absolutely spineless.”

Sarah smirked, smug as hell. “Told you.”

But then JJ, in his classic fashion, threw a hand out like a dramatic actor. “If Kiara was here, she would’ve sided with me.”

The words slipped out too easy. He didn’t even catch it until everyone paused.

Pope blinked. “Yeah, you’re both idiots.”

John B snorted into his beer. “She’d take one look at this conversation and walk off.”

JJ didn’t reply at first. He just looked down at his beer, a ghost of a grin on his face like he knew how right they were. The others burst into laughter, and the tension melted again.

By ten o’clock, they’d slipped into that cozy groove that only old friends knew. They were all reclined on beat-up cushions and chairs that had no business still holding anyone’s weight. A bug zapper buzzed in the distance. The ocean breeze was warm against their skin.

“Remember when we tried to make our own raft out of old lawn chairs?” John B asked, cheeks flushed from the drinks and the warmth.

Pope laughed. “Oh my God—JJ swore it would hold.”

“It could’ve held,” JJ interjected. “If John B hadn’t jumped on like a human wrecking ball.”

John B raised his can. “Guilty as charged.”

Sarah grinned, leaning back against the armrest. “You know, I still remember when JJ punched one of my brother’s friends.”

JJ lifted his chin with pride. “He deserved that.”

“Definitely did,” John B echoed, no hesitation.

“I remember that guy,” Pope said. “He wore loafers to the beach.”

Sarah nodded. “He tried to tell me Red Bull was better than coffee. That’s a red flag.”

JJ shook his head like it still pissed him off. “See? I was doing you a favor.”

“Don’t act like it was noble,” Sarah smirked. “You were just mad he called you ‘scrappy.’”

JJ raised his can, grinning wide. “Scrappy’s a compliment when you win the fight.”

They all laughed again, loud and free and real.

But in JJ’s head, through the haze of beer and old stories, he still saw that other side of the hammock. Still felt the echo of Kiara’s laugh beside him. Still wanted her sitting there, rolling her eyes at everything he said and secretly smiling when she thought he wouldn’t notice.

Because this was good—this was family—but it still felt like something was missing.

And he couldn’t deny it anymore.

He missed Kie.

As if on cue, like her name had summoned her straight out of JJ’s mind, a figure emerged from the sandy trail that led to the Chateau. The glow from the porch lights cut through the dark just enough for him to see the unmistakable silhouette.

Kiara.

JJ sat up so fast he nearly spilled his beer, blinking twice like maybe it was the alcohol—or worse, his brain playing tricks on him from missing her too damn much. For a second he honestly thought she’d just appeared out of nowhere. Teleportation by sheer longing.

Sarah followed his stunned stare, her face lighting up as she jumped to her feet. “Kie?! Oh my god—are you okay?”

Kiara gave a half-hearted shrug as she stepped into the clearing near the hammock, her hair a little messy and face flushed from her sneaky trek. “Yeah, I’m fine. Got the talk during dinner. Lots of ‘we’re disappointed in yous’ and ‘maybe boarding school is the only option’s.’ It’s getting old at this point.”

Sarah pulled her into a hug, tight and quick, while John B and Pope looked on in that way only brothers do—relieved, but trying not to show how worried they were.

“I snuck out again while my mom was distracted with her decaf,” Kiara added casually, like sneaking out was no big deal when the stakes were exile. “And before you say anything—yes, I’m aware it’s probably only making it worse. And no, I don’t care.”

JJ still hadn’t said anything. He just stared at her like if he blinked too long she might vanish.

“They threatened me with boarding school,” Kiara continued, voice laced with exhausted sarcasm. “Boarding school. Like I haven’t seen enough trauma in this life already.”

Pope looked up from his spot on the lounge chair, guilt flickering across his face. “I’m sorry, Kie.”

Kiara waved him off. “Don’t be. Not your fault. Just… same fight, new day, you know?”

She let out a long sigh, like all the weight she’d been carrying finally caught up to her. The group went quiet again. Even the ocean seemed to still for a moment.

Then John B clapped his hands once, his go-to energy reset move. “You know what could make your day better? Bonfire.”

JJ groaned like it physically hurt him. “Oh my God, can you shut up about this bonfire—”

“I’m down,” Kiara cut in, raising a finger like she was delivering a game-changing verdict, “yeah. Let’s go. I wanna get drunk anyway.”

JJ blinked. “Wait—what?”

She smirked at him, a tired kind of playful. “You heard me.”

JJ scrambled to backtrack, eyes darting. “Yeah! Yeah, no—I mean, bonfires are great. Huge fan. Love those things. Always down.”

John B stared at him, deadpan. “Dude. You told me nothing could change your mind.”

JJ scoffed. “Pfft. Dude. I also told you I’m full of surprises.”

Pope raised a brow, looking between Kiara and JJ. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Kie? Like—just with everything going on?”

Kiara crossed her arms. “Pope. Who’s your friend—me or my mom?”

Pope held his hands up in surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. “Right. Dumb question. Bonfire it is.”

JJ looked over at her again, still trying to decide if this was real, or if he needed another beer to make sure. But when she caught him looking and didn’t look away—just held his stare for a second too long—he knew.

She was really here.

And tonight, for however long it lasted, they were whole again.

Chapter Text

The party was already in full swing when the Pogues arrived—flames dancing high from the bonfire, shadows of teens and twenty-somethings flickering around it like a scene out of some old summer film. Music thumped low from someone’s speaker wedged into the sand, a blend of beachy indie and throwback hip hop, and the salty breeze carried the smell of burnt marshmallows, salt air, and cheap beer.

JJ didn’t miss a thing.

Especially not the way Kiara was walking just a bit closer to Pope than usual.
Not the way she was answering every “Hey, Kiara!” with a bright smile and a return “Hey!” like she was the friendliest girl on the island.

Since when do you do that? he thought.

The group found a spot in the sand, not too close to the fire, but close enough to feel the heat on their legs. Everyone flopped down—except Kiara.

“I’m gonna go get drinks,” she said.

JJ was halfway up. “I’ll—”

“I’m coming with you,” Pope said.

Kiara turned to him, and her smile felt too easy. “Sure.”

JJ sat right back down. He didn’t mean to glare at the fire, but his jaw had clenched before he noticed.

John B was watching Pope and Kiara, too—he had caught it on the walk to the Twinkie. JJ had been about to climb in, already expecting his usual seat—Kiara on his left, Pope on his right—but tonight, Kiara had climbed in first, settling next to Pope like that was the plan. They had been talking about garbage cans or recycling or some other dumb thing. But they were laughing.

In sync, JJ thought bitterly, dragging his finger through the sand. He wasn’t even drawing anything. Just squiggles. Patterns. Something to do while his thoughts spiraled.

He told himself he didn’t care.

John B leaned back on his elbows, glancing toward the crowd before flicking his eyes to JJ, who was still dragging lines in the sand like he was trying to dig his way out of his own head.

“So, remind me again,” John B started with a smirk, “didn’t you say absolutely nothing could make you show up to this bonfire?”

JJ didn’t even look up, just tossed a piece of driftwood toward the fire and shrugged. “I’m here in case you need backup when your bonfire finally gets you jumped.”

John B laughed, knocking shoulders with him. “You mean again.”

That pulled a grin out of JJ. “Yeah. You’re like a magnet for bad decisions.”

Their laughter didn’t last long—just enough to slice through the fog JJ had been in. But then Kiara and Pope were back, arms full of drinks and grins. Kiara handed one to Pope, then held out one for JJ, her fingers brushing his lightly.

She sat beside him, Pope taking her other side. They were still laughing about something—some stupid inside joke they picked up while getting drinks. JJ’s beer felt suddenly warm in his hand.

Sarah, perched across from him with her knees drawn up to her chest, had been watching him closely. She saw the way JJ’s eyes never left Kiara and Pope, how they lingered just a second too long on their shared laughter. She caught the tension in his jaw, the way his knee bounced once then stilled like he caught himself.

She hated it—for JJ.

Because it was obvious he cared more than he ever said out loud, and now he looked like a guest at his own party.

Clearing her throat sharply, she leaned forward. “So, JJ,” she said, with a pointed raise of her brow. “Any Touron catch your eye yet or what?”

JJ blinked, pulled from his thoughts. “What?”

Sarah flicked her head toward the beach crowd like it was the most casual thing in the world. “I said—anyone you’re scoping? Blonde in the red? That girl who looks like a surf shop threw her up?”

He squinted at her like she’d grown a second head. “Are you okay?”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Just answer the question, Maybank.”

JJ lifted his beer, scanned the scene like he was actually considering it. Somewhere near the fire, a girl with sun-streaked hair was definitely glancing his way. He saw her. And felt nothing.

He shrugged. “Could do.”

But he didn’t mean it.

He didn’t want her.

He didn’t know who he wanted, really.

But he knew it wasn’t that girl.

Kiara, who had paused mid-sentence with Pope, suddenly leaned in just a little, her lips pointing toward the girl. “That one?” she asked, tone unreadable.

JJ took a long sip of his beer and didn’t answer right away.

He just looked away.

And lied again with a half-shrug. “Sure. Why not.”

The truth tasted more bitter than the drink in his hand.

Kiara squinted at JJ, her head tilting ever so slightly as she considered him. “Hmm. Interesting,” she said, not buying it for a second.

She looked at the girl again—beachy, flirty, the kind of girl who wore sunglasses on her head even after dark and definitely didn't know who the Pogues were outside of a novelty. Not JJ's type. Not really. But… the kind of girl he used to bring back to the Chateau, late at night, half-drunk, loud, and forgettable.

Kiara chewed the inside of her cheek, her thoughts spinning in quiet circles. Something felt off tonight. Just a little misaligned. Like the tide pulling sideways instead of in. She couldn’t put her finger on it—maybe it was JJ being weird, or Pope being extra funny, or maybe just the fact that she’d spent her morning with Pope and Sarah, laughing about dumb shit and avoiding anything that resembled a real feeling.

She snapped out of it with a blink, lifting her drink again and taking a longer sip than she probably should’ve. The truth was—she didn’t wanna think tonight. She didn’t want to dissect glances or decode JJ’s moods or confront the rising anxiety in her chest.

Her parents were getting louder. Pushier. Tighter with their threats. Boarding school was no longer a maybe—it was a soon.

And even though she played it cool, laughed it off, told Sarah she’d climb out the window every day until they gave up, the truth was uglier.

She was scared.

Because what if they really did it? What if she really woke up one day and the Pogues weren’t her people anymore, because she wasn’t even here?

So she shook her head, physically, like she could toss the thought out of her skull.

When she did, she caught JJ watching her. His stare wasn’t subtle, and for a second, her heart jumped. But she looked away fast, tossing herself back into conversation with Pope.

“Did you see that guy with the blue hair though?” she asked, half-grinning.

Pope snorted. “Yeah—the one with that blond dude whose hair’s longer than Sarah’s? Looking like he stepped out of the movie set of Lord of the Rings.”

Kiara gasped, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Hey! No cute dude slander! That guy was hot.”

They both laughed, the easy kind, no tension there. Pope bumped her shoulder back.

JJ took another sip of his beer, the bubbles scraping down his throat like nails.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t laugh.

Didn’t know if he could.

He swirled the beer in his hand, watching the foam settle like it had answers. Kiara was still giggling at Pope’s dumb commentary, and JJ knew that laugh—it was real. Not her fake polite one. Not her sarcastic one either. This was the one that came out when she actually enjoyed someone’s company. When she was comfortable.

And it was Pope. Not him.

Of course it was Pope. Smart, stable Pope. The one who didn't blow everything up just for the thrill of the explosion. JJ didn’t know if the beer was sour or if it was just his mood, but either way, it burned going down.

Kiara felt him watching again. Noticed the silence. The stillness. JJ, who was never still. Not really. Even when he was sitting, he was fidgeting—tapping his leg, flipping a bottle cap, chewing something. But now, he was just... still.

Out of instinct, she glanced over. His brows were low, eyes unfocused but definitely on her. Or maybe on Pope. Or both.

Her jaw twitched.

JJ looked away first.

She hated that.

It shouldn’t bother her—she didn’t owe him anything. Not a glance, not an explanation, not a damn feeling. And yet…

The tension between them was louder than the music thumping through the party.

Kiara leaned back, hand wrapped around her bottle, legs crossed beneath her in the sand. She blew out a breath, her eyes tracing the flames of the bonfire like they’d reveal something useful. Something honest. She didn’t wanna deal with this. Not tonight.

She was already on edge. The fight with her parents was still playing in the back of her head like a skipped CD, warped and repetitive. The words “This isn’t a negotiation, Kiara,” rang louder than the crowd around her.

So she bit her lip and took a long sip of beer, not because it tasted good—because it didn’t—but because the buzz felt better than the dread.

JJ shifted again, brushing some sand off his jeans. He risked another glance. Kiara looked good tonight. Like... too good. The kind of good that made it hard for him to focus on anything else, even when she wasn’t saying a word to him. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, not sure if it was from the heat or the alcohol, but she had that glow. That “I don’t even realize I’m the main character” thing going on.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She wasn’t choosing him.

That realization sucker punched him harder than anything his dad had ever thrown.

He scraped his thumbnail against the label of his beer bottle, peeling it off like it’d done something wrong.

“Okay, what’s your damage tonight, JJ?” Kiara asked finally, eyes not leaving the fire. Voice sharp enough to slice through tension but low enough not to draw attention.

JJ blinked. He hadn’t expected her to call it out. But of course she would. Kiara never let things fester. Not when it was someone else’s mess, anyway.

“My damage?” he echoed, biting back something mean. Something that would only make things worse.

She finally turned her head. “Yeah, you’ve been brooding like you’re in some moody indie film.”

JJ scoffed. “I’m just chillin’. Sorry I’m not performing for the audience tonight.”

“Yeah? I noticed, Pope’s funnier than you now.”

There it was.

The smile she gave him wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. It was that layered Kiara smile—equal parts sarcasm and challenge. Like she wanted him to say something. Wanted to fight just enough to shake the truth out of him.

JJ leaned back on his elbows, letting the beer dangle between his fingers. “Nah. I’m proud of him. Took him, what, like four years to catch up?”

Kiara smirked. “Proud of me, actually. I bring out the best in people.”

JJ tilted his head. “You bring out something, alright.”

There was a flicker of something in her eyes. He couldn’t name it. Maybe she couldn’t either.

Pope had gotten up to throw away a bottle, and now the space between JJ and Kiara felt weirdly open. Too exposed.

She shifted closer—not a lot, just enough that their arms were almost brushing. It didn’t help.

JJ could feel her. 

Smell her. 

That sun-soaked shampoo she always used and the faint citrus perfume she pretended not to care about but always reapplied anyway.

“You’re being weird,” she said.

“You’re being oblivious,” he shot back.

Kiara blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

JJ didn’t answer right away. He looked at her for a long beat—really looked at her—and then shook his head, lips twitching with a humorless smile.

“Forget it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Classic JJ.”

JJ stood up, brushing off the sand. “You want another drink?”

Kiara narrowed her eyes. “Sure.”

He took her almost empty bottle without waiting for anything else and stalked off toward the coolers.

Kiara exhaled, digging her fingers into the sand beside her. Her chest felt too tight for how calm she was pretending to be. It was like something was caught in her throat, but it wasn’t words.

It was everything but words.

Across from her, Sarah squinted—not like she was judging, but like she was trying to figure something out. Her brows tugged together slightly as her gaze moved from where JJ had disappeared with their drinks to where Kiara sat, knuckles pale against the sand. Then she looked away, like she didn’t mean to look that long in the first place.

Kiara clocked it. She didn’t say anything, but she felt it, the way Sarah was confused. She was confused, too.

Because what was that?

JJ walking off like the fire was getting too hot. The silence that had said way more than anything he could’ve smart-mouthed his way through.

Her brain kept rerunning the moment—the way his voice had dipped, the way he’d looked at her, like she was supposed to understand something he wasn’t saying.

Was he... jealous?

The thought landed fast, sharp and a little ridiculous.

JJ? Jealous?

Of her sitting next to Pope? Of her laughing too much at Pope’s jokes? She shoved the thought down like it was dangerous. Because it was. That wasn’t how JJ worked. That wasn’t their thing.

She’d always been close to Pope. She was close with all of them. JJ mostly, sure. But still. This wasn’t new.

So why did it suddenly feel like it was?

She stared into the flames, letting her eyes lose focus. Letting the beer swirl in her cup.

And Pope…

He had been making her laugh tonight. Genuinely. He had that quick wit, those one-liner burns that made even Sarah double over sometimes. And it wasn’t just the jokes—he was smart, grounded, thoughtful in ways JJ would never be on a good day. Lately, she found herself looking at him longer than usual. Maybe it was the comfort. The way Pope showed up without making it feel like he was sacrificing anything. It felt easy. Steady.

She could like him.

She could.

But there was something missing.

Something she couldn’t name, just feel. Like standing under a sky full of stars and still missing the moon. Like being in the right place at the wrong time. Or maybe it was the wrong place entirely.

Pope was safe.

JJ was everything but.

With Pope, it felt like being seen. With JJ, it was like being set on fire.

She didn’t know what that meant. Or if she even wanted to know. But when she thought about Pope, about something more than jokes and side glances and stolen mornings—she couldn’t summon the buzz. That little electric pull.

It just wasn’t there.

She took another sip of her drink, jaw flexing slightly as she stared back into the flames.

From the corner of her eye, she caught movement—JJ returning, two drinks in hand, his face unreadable. Not mad. Not exactly happy either. Just... JJ. Careful. Watchful.

But his eyes flicked to where she sat, still beside Pope, and she noticed the tiny twitch of his jaw.

He handed her the drink without saying anything, then sat back down on the other side of the fire.

Not beside her.

Not this time.

And that, more than anything, made the air between them stretch tight enough to snap.

The music changed—something with heavier bass that made the bonfire crackle louder, like it was responding. A few of the Tourons started trying to dance in the sand, limbs moving like they’d never touched rhythm in their lives. Someone shouted something about a dance-off, and before Kiara could even roll her eyes, Sarah was on her feet.

“Oh absolutely not,” she laughed, already dragging John B up with her. “But I’m about to win anyway.”

John B protested, half-laughing, already being shoved forward by his girlfriend. Pope groaned dramatically when Sarah pointed at him to join the mess, and before long, he was pulled into the chaos too.

JJ was still nursing the same drink, slouched back like the night owed him an apology. He looked over at Kiara, half-grinning. “Ten bucks Pope starts breakdancing in, like, five minutes.”

“Five?” she scoffed, glancing at the group. “You’re generous. I give him two.”

JJ huffed out a real laugh. It was quick, but it reached his eyes.

Kiara smiled at the sound. Okay. So maybe they were good. Maybe they were just weird for no reason tonight.

She leaned a little toward him, just slightly, shoulder brushing his when she handed him a half-empty bag of chips.

He looked down at it, then up at her, like really? But he took it anyway, fishing out the broken pieces.

The fire popped. Someone face-planted in the sand. Sarah screamed with laughter.

And just like that, they were back in sync.

Not perfectly. Not the way it used to be. But enough.

Kiara sighed softly and tipped her head back, watching the stars blink. For a second, the tension in her chest eased.

Maybe I’m just overthinking it.

Because what even was there to think about? She made the no Pogue-on-Pogue macking rule. She made it. She’d been the one who always said it would ruin everything. So why was she thinking this much about JJ lately? Or Pope?

A voice in her head offered a half-lazy, half-smug answer: Because you know Pope’s into you.

She knew. Had known. That look in his eyes sometimes? It wasn’t subtle.

And JJ... she wasn’t stupid. There had been moments. Almost-moments. Glances that lingered too long. Jokes with double meanings. That one Fourth of July party when she’d caught him looking at her like she was the sparkler instead of holding one.

Used to be into me, she corrected quickly. If that.

Because now, he looked like he didn’t know whether to pull her in or walk away. And if she was being honest, she didn’t know which one she’d want.

And then there was John B. Who had definitely liked her once. Who she’d definitely flirted with back. Who she’d definitely had kissed. And now? Now he was fully, deeply, and messily in love with Sarah. Things change. Feelings change.

Maybe all this—every weird pulse in her chest, every sideways glance, every time JJ wouldn’t look at her or looked at her too long—was just useless noise.

Maybe this was just what growing up around your best friends looked like.

Messy. Confusing. A little too close.

She felt JJ shift beside her, his shoulder brushing hers again as he leaned forward to toss the empty chip bag into the sand with a dramatic sigh. “You know, if Pope actually wins this, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Kiara smirked. “We should lie and say he lost.”

JJ’s eyes sparkled like he hadn’t been sulking for the past half hour. “Evil. I like it.”

The night hummed back to life around them—laughs, music, smoke, and sand.

And for a little while, they let themselves forget the undercurrent. Pretend the shift in gravity didn’t mean anything.

At least not tonight.

The party buzzed around them, but it all started to blur. The bonfire had melted down to glowing embers, the chaotic dance circle dissolved into pockets of conversation and half-asleep laughter. Somewhere, someone was playing guitar—badly—and someone else was arguing over whether the stars looked better on the Cut or the Figure Eight side.

JJ stood and brushed the sand from his shorts.

Kiara watched him, her brows quirking. “You bailing?”

“Nah,” he said, glancing around. “Just... too many people talking about astrology for my taste.”

She snorted. “God forbid someone mentions your rising sign.”

He smirked. “If anyone says ‘mercury in retrograde’ one more time, I’m gonna walk into the ocean.”

That made her laugh, just a breath, but real. She stood, dusting herself off too. “C’mon then, Ocean Boy. Let’s take a lap.”

JJ didn’t question it. He never really did when it came to her.

They walked down the beach, away from the noise, their feet sinking into the damp, cool sand. The moon was bright tonight, casting long shadows behind them. The kind that looked like stretched-out versions of themselves. Like maybe their shadows were braver. Said the things they wouldn’t.

JJ kicked at a piece of driftwood. “So. You and Pope tonight, huh?”

Kiara blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets. “Just looked like you were... I don’t know. Vibing.”

She chewed her cheek. “I spent the morning with him and Sarah. Guess we were still kinda in sync.”

JJ hummed. “Right.”

Silence stretched. The waves curled and crashed nearby. Kiara crossed her arms like she was trying to hold herself together.

“It’s not like that,” she said, softer.

JJ glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t say it was.”

“You didn’t have to,” she replied, just as soft but sharper now. “You’ve had that look on your face all night.”

“What look?”

She stopped walking and turned toward him. “That one. The one you always wear when you’re pretending not to care but you totally care.”

JJ’s mouth opened, then closed. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, eyes darting to the ocean.

“Okay,” he muttered. “So maybe I was being a little weird.”

Kiara tilted her head. “Why?”

Another wave. Another beat of silence. JJ’s jaw clenched.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Just... didn’t feel like you tonight.”

That hit her like a slap in slow motion.

“I didn’t feel like me?” she asked, voice quieter now, like she was afraid of the answer.

JJ looked at her then. Really looked at her. “You were so... I don’t know. Friendly. To everyone. It’s not bad. Just different.”

Kiara frowned. “That’s a crime now?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just... different.”

She sighed, looked down, kicking at the sand. “Yeah, well. Guess I’m trying something new.”

That hung in the air like unfinished music.

JJ shifted his weight, brushing his hand over his mouth before speaking again. “You and Pope make sense.”

Kiara's head snapped up.

JJ kept looking forward, avoiding her gaze. “Like, you’re both smart. You got the banter. He’s... solid.”

The way he said it made her chest twist.

“And you’re not?” she asked.

He barked out a short laugh. “No one’s ever called me solid, Kie.”

Kiara looked at him, really looked at him now. At the bruise fading on his knuckles. The tired lines near his eyes. The way his jaw was too tight, like he was swallowing everything he couldn’t say.

“You’re not Pope,” she said. “And thank God. I don’t think I could handle two Popes.”

He glanced at her then, amused and wary all at once.

“And what does that mean?” he asked.

She just smirked, but there was a sadness behind it. “It means maybe I don’t want someone that makes sense.”

JJ stepped closer, just barely. Close enough she could see the moonlight catch the scar on his brow.

“You confuse the hell out of me sometimes,” he muttered.

“Right back at you,” she whispered.

They stood there, just breathing, the ocean stealing their footprints behind them.

Kiara crossed her arms again, “I made the rule, you know.”

JJ nodded, eyes still on the water. “Yeah. You did.”

“No Pogue-on-Pogue macking.”

He smirked faintly, like it was a joke from a lifetime ago. “Honestly? That might be the only thing keeping this friend group alive.”

Kiara huffed a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

JJ kicked at a shell. “But hey, if there was an exception, Pope’s a good one. You two are, like… compatible. He's got that dry charm, you know? Plus, you’re into smart guys. Pope’s basically a genius.”

Kiara blinked at him. “You think so?”

JJ shrugged, casual. Too casual. “Duh. He’s got the whole lowkey charismatic thing going. Witty. Good at chess or whatever. Kind of a sleeper pick.”

She looked at him sideways, trying to read if he was messing with her. But his face didn’t twist into a grin like it usually did after a dumb joke. It stayed level. Light, but honest.

“I guess,” she said, slowly. “He’s... solid.”

JJ nodded again. “Exactly. Reliable. Smart. And he respects you, like, for real. No games.”

Kiara didn’t answer right away. Just stared out at the water.

She had been thinking about Pope lately. About the way he looked at her sometimes. The way he always listened, even when she was ranting about something dumb like sunscreen pollution or fast fashion. And yeah, he was funny. She liked that.

But she also found herself searching for a buzz that never showed up.

It was like standing in front of a microwave, waiting for popcorn to pop—and nothing happened.

Still, JJ kept going, like he was trying to talk her into it. Or maybe trying to talk himself out of something else.

“He’s not gonna screw you over, Kie,” JJ added. “He’s... good for you.”

Kiara looked at him then. Just a second too long.

Something quiet twisted in her chest. Because there was a time JJ would’ve never said that. A time he would've elbowed Pope out of the way just to sit next to her.

Maybe that time was over.

“Right,” she said, voice lighter than she felt. “So, what? Should I go be with Pope now? That’s what you’re saying?”

JJ chuckled. “C’mon, don’t traumatize the poor guy all at once. I’m just saying be open to that thought.”

She gave him a dry smile and turned back toward the firelight in the distance, letting the silence fall between them like a dropped shell.

So maybe he really doesn’t feel that way anymore, she thought.

And maybe she didn’t either.

But she couldn’t help the tiny, traitorous voice in the back of her head asking, Then why do you care so much?

JJ walked beside her again, his usual swagger in place, talking about how Pope once ate three hot dogs in under a minute, and Kiara laughed because she always laughed when he talked like that.

But she wasn’t really listening.

Because something was shifting—and she wasn’t sure if it was them, or just her.

The fire was burning lower now, soft orange embers flickering against the shoreline. The night had lost its earlier buzz, the music turned down, laughter quieter and more scattered. People were pairing off or leaning into half-finished conversations.

Kiara came back with another drink in hand and settled back beside Pope. It was the spot she’d been in most of the night, and yet it didn’t feel the same.

Not after that conversation with JJ.

She smiled at Pope as she sat, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “You still recovering from your Hamilton performance earlier?”

Pope grinned. “Please. That was art. You're just uncultured.”

She laughed, and it sounded right, but the feeling underneath was all wrong.

Out of habit, her eyes scanned toward JJ—toward the place where he’d usually be, already cracking a joke about how Pope’s rap battles were crimes against humanity.

But he wasn’t looking at her.

He was talking to John B, sprawled out in a chair half-facing the fire, one leg up, beer dangling loosely from his fingers. His expression was unreadable, eyes hidden under the shadow of his hat. He was nodding along to something John B was saying, but his gaze never drifted toward her. Not once.

It was so unlike him that it stuck.

JJ always looked. Even when she wasn't talking to him. Even when she was pretending not to notice.

Why isn’t he looking?

Kiara shifted beside Pope, suddenly hyperaware of her own smile, her posture, the way her arm brushed his. She leaned in a little closer, on purpose, like her body was trying to prove something her mind hadn’t figured out yet.

She had to know. She had to feel something.

Anything.

That way, her brain wouldn’t wander. Wouldn’t circle back to the boy across the fire who was suddenly too good at not noticing her.

Pope was easy to talk to. Safe. He didn’t push or prod. And she liked that. She did.

But it didn’t stop her from hearing the silence on the other side of the fire louder than any of Pope’s jokes.

John B leaned back in his seat, watching the fire crackle between the group. His beer was warm, and he was too tired to drink it anyway. JJ had been laughing at something he said—something about Big John and old boat engines—but his responses were scattered.

And his eyes hadn’t drifted toward Kiara once since she sat back down.

Which was weird.

Because for all JJ’s chaos, all his running-his-mouth-at-the-wrong-time tendencies, he’d always been predictable in one thing—he looked at her like gravity didn’t work the same around her.

But not tonight.

John B took a slow sip, studying JJ’s profile.

“Dude,” he said casually, “you good?”

JJ blinked, like he forgot John B was even talking to him. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re trying really hard not to look at Kie.”

JJ’s lips twisted into a smirk, but it didn’t last. “What are you, the eye contact police now?”

John B didn’t push. Just looked back toward the fire.

JJ hadn’t meant to avoid her.

He really hadn’t.

But the second she sat next to Pope again—with that easy, soft kind of smile she used when she was comfortable—something in him locked up.

And he didn’t trust himself not to look.

Because if he looked, he might start thinking.

And if he started thinking, he might start feeling.

So instead, he leaned into the dumbass plan he’d cooked up in real-time by the dunes: play matchmaker. Talk Pope up. Keep it light. Casual. Safe.

Pope liked her. Maybe even loved her.

And JJ? JJ was the wild card. He was the storm. The last place someone like Kiara should ever put her heart.

So he didn’t look.

Didn’t let himself reach for her usual sarcastic side-eyes or the way she’d catch his jokes before he even finished saying them.

He just sat back, laughed when he was supposed to, and let the space between them stretch wider than it ever had.

Because maybe, if he leaned hard enough into pretending it didn’t matter, it eventually wouldn’t.

The ride back to the Chateau was quiet—sleepy, full-bellied, a little buzzed. The kind of silence that happens when everyone’s too tired to talk but not tired enough to go to bed.

Now, they were all outside again.

The moon was higher than it had been earlier, casting soft light across the yard like the afterparty didn’t want to be loud about it. Just linger.

JJ lay on the hammock, one leg hanging off, arms folded behind his head. He rocked it gently with his heel, letting it creak. Back and forth. Back and forth. He’d been on it earlier that night too, before the party, before Kiara sat beside Pope and laughed at every other joke he cracked.

He glanced at the same spot on the hammock where she’d usually be sitting.

Empty now.

He closed his eyes.

Don’t think about it. Shove it down. Far, far, far away. Lock it. Throw away the key.

But even with his eyes closed, he heard her.

Not speaking to him.

Not even speaking at all.

Just laughing.

Low and genuine, and not even that loud—but loud enough that he heard it over everything else.

Why do I always hear her?

He opened his eyes again, staring at the leaves above him. Trying to count how many branches were swaying in the wind. Trying not to look.

But he was aware of her. The way someone might be aware of a change in barometric pressure before a storm. Subtle, but impossible to ignore once you noticed.

Pope was sitting beside her now. They weren’t talking, just kind of existing in the same spot. Sarah and John B were sitting on the porch steps, leaning into each other, their conversation in soft murmurs.

Then Sarah stretched and nudged John B. “I’m heading in. You coming?”

John B yawned, nodded, and stood. “Yeah. I’m beat.”

JJ pushed himself up slowly on the hammock, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ll come with.”

The words came out fast. Automatic.

Sarah glanced back toward Kiara, who didn’t say anything at first.

JJ had already taken two steps toward the porch when he heard it.

“Wait.”

He turned.

Kiara was standing now, half-turned toward him. Her hair was messy from the wind. Her face was unreadable, like even she didn’t know why she said it.

He blinked. “What?”

But she didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t give him a reason.

Just stood there, still as stone.

He waited half a second longer, the air between them heavy and unsaid.

Then he gave a tight nod, jaw flexing. “Cool.”

And just like that, he turned and kept walking.

Kiara didn’t stop him.

JJ didn’t look back as he followed John B and Sarah through the door. Didn’t give himself a chance to think.

But his chest felt tight. Not because he wanted to stay.

But because she didn’t give him a reason to.

Or maybe, worse—because she almost did.

Because for a second, just a second, it felt like maybe she didn’t want to be left alone with Pope.

But he didn’t want to be stupid enough to assume.

And he didn’t want to be the guy who stood in the way.

She made the rule, he reminded himself. She made it first.

And if she was breaking it now, if she was changing the rules…

Well.

It wasn’t going to be for him.

Pope shifted beside her, stretching his legs out as the creak of the screen door shut behind JJ faded into silence.

Kiara sat still.

She didn’t know what she was waiting for. Or why the quiet felt louder than it did a few minutes ago.

“You good?” Pope asked after a beat, voice careful.

“Yeah,” she said, a little too quick. “Just…tired.”

He nodded. “That was a pretty good party, though. For something we pulled off last minute.”

“Definitely top ten in the Pogue rankings,” she said, her voice a little lighter now.

Pope grinned. “Top fifteen, if we count that bonfire where JJ lit his eyebrows on fire.”

“Okay, true,” she laughed, “but only because of the eyebrows.”

They talked for a while like that. Just…talked. About stupid things. The sand still stuck to their clothes. The playlist Sarah refused to let anyone touch. The way John B kept sneakily eating everyone’s chips. It was easy. Familiar.

But the ease started to shift.

Kiara felt it.

Pope got quieter, the space between his glances got shorter. And after a few more jokes, she felt his stare settle on her. Heavy. Focused.

So out of nowhere she asked it.

“Do you like me?”

It slipped out quieter than she meant, but clear enough to slice through the stillness around them.

Pope blinked. “What?”

Kiara didn’t repeat herself. Just looked at him.

For a second, he looked like he might lie.

“No,” he said too fast. Then winced. “I mean…maybe. I—shit.”

He exhaled. Ran a hand over his face. “Who am I kidding.”

Silence again.

“I do,” he said, eyes on the ground between his shoes. “I’ve liked you. On and off. Since, like, middle school.”

Kiara’s breath caught.

He looked up at her, eyes soft. “I thought you knew.”

“I did,” she admitted, “but it was…years ago. I figured you moved on.”

Her voice didn’t sound like her own. She was trying to keep it even, but her brain was spiraling, spinning in all the wrong directions.

She needed a clear answer. Something solid. Something to ground her.

No jokes. No weird sidesteps. No JJ-level deflection.

Just the truth.

Pope gave her that.

“I didn’t,” he said, honest and small. “I don’t think I ever fully did.”

She didn’t speak right away. Her fingers were picking at the hem of her sleeve, tugging it loose.

He likes me, she thought.

He liked her. He really did.

And he was saying all the right things. The things you’re supposed to want to hear.

And yet—

Her mind flinched, uninvited, to someone else saying them.

To JJ, years ago, fumbling and joking and not really saying it but saying it.

To the way her heart jumped when he leaned in, teasing or not, close or not.

Her stomach twisted.

Stop it, she told herself. Don’t do that.

This was Pope.

Pope, who always knew how to explain things she didn’t understand. Pope, who’d been there for her more times than she could count. Who never asked for anything in return.

Maybe it was the wind, or the leftover beer in her system, or the way his voice made everything feel calm.

Maybe it was just that she wanted to feel something.

So she leaned in.

Not by much.

Just enough.

Pope looked surprised for half a second.

Then he leaned in too.

Closer.

And closer.

And all she could think was:

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck I’m doing this. This is bad. I’m a bad person.

She didn’t pull away.

But she didn’t move closer either.

Her heart wasn’t racing the way it used to when JJ would lean in. There wasn’t that buzz in her fingertips. That edge-of-a-cliff, knees-weak, is-this-happening feeling.

There was warmth. There was comfort.

But no spark.

And maybe she didn’t need a spark.

Maybe she just needed something.

But even then, a voice in her head whispered:

This isn’t it.

Still, she let Pope’s hand brush against hers. Let herself feel the way he was looking at her, even though she knew—

She knew—

He deserved better than a question she didn’t know how to answer.

But she stayed still.

Meanwhile…

JJ in his bed, head pressed into the pillow, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. His body, however, seemed to have a mind of its own. Against his better judgment, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and quietly sat up. His heart thudded in his chest for reasons he couldn’t understand, his breath shallow as he glanced out the window.

The night air made everything seem slower, more intimate, and in that moment, it felt like time had stalled entirely. Pope leaned back against his chair, his head tilted slightly, and Kiara... she was closer than he’d ever seen her to anyone else. Her posture had shifted, a little more than the usual carefree energy she always carried. And Pope—God, Pope—was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Then Kiara did something that made the blood in his veins run cold.

She leaned in.

It was like a slow-motion moment where the world held its breath. Her forehead brushed against Pope’s. She was close enough now that JJ could see her hand almost touching his chest.

JJ forced his gaze away, his stomach tight. He wasn’t sure why he felt the way he did. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. Not after all of this. 

He’d been pushing Kiara toward Pope all night. He even helped nudge her in that direction, cracking jokes and giving compliments, telling her to “go for it.” acting like it was no big deal, like he didn’t care.

But there he was, staring at them. At her.

He wanted to look away. To forget it, to stop thinking about the way her eyes had met Pope’s. His heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, and he laid back on the bed, the weight of his thoughts pressing into him.

Why am I thinking this way? he asked himself.

He forced himself to close his eyes, pushing the thought down into a place where he thought it wouldn’t reach him. He hadn’t been this jealous... had he? No. That wasn’t it. He was just... confused.

He’d made her go to Pope. He’d set it up, like some dumb matchmaker. So why did it feel like someone had stabbed him in the chest just then?

I’m not jealous, he repeated to himself, though his voice inside his head was barely convincing. It’ll probably go away in the morning.

He turned onto his side, staring into the dark, just wishing it would stop.

Outside… Pope was just about to lean in more, the tension hanging in the air. The moment felt like it was coming to a head—like the world was holding its breath for whatever was about to happen. And then Kiara did something that froze the moment in time. She closed her eyes, her hand coming up to rest gently on Pope’s chest, but it wasn’t a romantic gesture. It was a wall.

She wasn’t moving closer. She wasn’t leaning in.

She was stopping.

Pope’s breath hitched as she pulled back just slightly, and Kiara could feel the sting of something she didn’t quite understand yet. She bit her lip, fighting the tears that had no place here, no reason to show up when she wasn’t even sure why they were there. She should have known better. She should have been able to keep this from happening.

Why did I do this to Pope? Her heart hurt more than she thought it would. The guilt washed over her in waves.

When she opened her eyes again, Pope was looking at her like he had no idea what was going on in her head. There was a little confusion in his gaze, but mostly... hurt. And that only made Kiara’s chest tighten more. She hated that look on his face. Hated that she was the one putting it there.

“I can’t do this,” Kiara whispered, her voice breaking.

Pope’s face went slack, like he hadn’t expected that. “What?” His voice cracked, confusion mixing with the disbelief. “Kie—what the hell, you—”

Kiara shook her head, her throat tight. “It’s perfect, y’know? Perfect night. Perfect everything. But…” Her words got caught in her chest, her mind struggling to figure out what she was trying to say. “I just… It’s not there.”

Pope’s expression shifted—something dark flickering behind his eyes. “You’re fucking with my brain, Kie,” he muttered, almost under his breath. “Like… seriously. What is this?”

Kiara didn’t know how to answer him. She could see the hurt on his face. It felt like someone had wrapped a vice around her chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice barely above a breath. “I can’t make myself feel something that’s just not there.”

Pope looked at her like she had just shattered his world in one sentence. His eyes flickered with confusion, with pain. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought... I thought something was there.”

“I just—I don’t see you like that.” she admitted softly.

The words were coming out wrong, she could feel it. But she didn’t know how else to say it without breaking his heart. “And I can’t force myself to, you know? It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Pope’s gaze dropped to the ground, and she could see the way his jaw clenched, like he was trying to keep his emotions in check, but he couldn’t. He ran a hand through his face and stood up, pacing just a little. “Kie... I don’t get it. What the hell is going on?”

Her heart twisted, watching him try to make sense of it. “I’m sorry, Pope,” she repeated. “I really am. I can’t be that for you.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind around them.

Then Pope turned, and there was a look in his eyes that was half-pain, half-acceptance. “You don’t have to say sorry, Kie. I’m not—” he stopped himself, shaking his head like he was trying to talk himself out of something. “I should’ve known better.”

But Kiara’s chest ached with something she couldn’t name. She could feel the cold weight of what she had just done. She had hurt him, and she didn’t know if it was better that she had stopped them before it went too far, or if it was worse.

And yet, the one thing she couldn’t shake was the thought of a different version of this night—one where JJ was the one she was leaning into. But that was a thought for another time.

For now, all she could do was stand there, feeling like she’d lost something important.

Pope was already a few steps ahead, walking away briskly as Kiara stumbled after him. Her breath was coming faster now, a mix of desperation and confusion clouding her thoughts. She couldn’t quite get the words out, but she kept chasing him, her feet unsteady, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Pope, I just—” She gasped, trying to catch up, but her voice cracked, the words tumbling out like an incoherent mess. “I’m sorry, I don’t... I don’t want to ruin our friendship, okay? I just don’t want to—”

Pope didn’t turn around, didn’t slow down. He kept walking, his pace quickening with every step she took toward him. She could see the stiff set of his shoulders, his jaw clenched tightly, his entire body language screaming that he wasn’t going to stop.

“Pope, please—” she called again, her voice trembling, but the words felt weak against the space between them.

Too late, Kiara. It’s already too late, she thought, as Pope’s back grew smaller in the distance. And for the first time in forever, she wasn’t sure if she was losing him, or if she had already lost him.

But she couldn’t just let him walk away. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

Without thinking, Kiara broke into a run, her feet slapping against the ground with a rhythm that was almost frantic. But the faster she went, the further away he seemed. She reached out, as if calling him back to her, but he didn’t turn. He kept walking, his shoulders hunched, determined to put distance between them.

“Pope, wait!” Kiara called, her voice rising in pitch, almost cracking under the strain of everything that had been building up inside her.

But Pope didn’t stop.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Kiara’s heart sank into her chest. Her breath became shallow, her hands trembling as she came to a halt. She didn’t have the energy to keep running.

Her eyes filled with tears before she even realized it.

It was like her body couldn’t keep up with her mind, and she sank down to her knees, squatting there in the middle of the yard. Her hands ran through her hair, pulling at it almost violently, as if she could undo everything by just taking it back. She bit the inside of her lip, the sting barely noticeable compared to the ache that had begun to spread through her chest.

“I didn’t mean to...” Kiara whispered, her voice breaking, barely audible over the sound of the night breeze.

The tears fell freely now, streaking down her face as she leaned forward, running her hands over her face in an attempt to wipe away the mess she felt inside. She couldn’t stop. She didn’t know how to stop.

The weight of everything—the confusion, the guilt, the way she had pushed Pope into something he hadn’t deserved—crashed down on her. She had done the one thing she told herself she wouldn’t do. She had hurt him. And all for what? To feel something she couldn’t define? To make herself forget about... everything else?

Her hands shook as she pushed her fingers into her hair, gripping the strands like she could hold onto something that wasn’t slipping away. She squeezed her eyes shut, the guilt clawing at her like a physical force.

She had been so caught up in testing her own boundaries, so consumed by the need to feel something, anything, that she had completely forgotten about the one thing that had always been the most important. Friendship. The thing that had always kept her grounded with Pope.

And now she was there, tears streaming down her face, feeling like she had just destroyed everything she cared about.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted. Maybe she wanted him to turn around. Maybe she just wanted to feel understood. Or maybe she was hoping for some kind of clarity that she couldn’t seem to find in herself.

All she knew was that the moment Pope had walked away, everything she thought she understood about herself had shattered. She felt like she had just broken a promise she didn’t even realize she made.

“Pope...” she whispered again, but this time, it felt hollow.

There was no answer. No footsteps approaching. Only the silence, thick and suffocating.

Kiara stayed where she was, her body curled in on itself, her thoughts swirling like the wind, as she let the tears fall freely. The night felt colder now, more distant, and she couldn’t bring herself to look up. She just stayed there, frozen in the consequences of her own choices.

And she wasn’t sure if anything could make it better.

Kiara sat there for a long time, her body slumped, still feeling the weight of everything—the confusion, the guilt, the unexpected ache. The night air had cooled around her, and the sound of the wind swayed through the trees, but all Kiara could hear was the echo of her own thoughts.

Everything felt so painfully clear now, in a way she hadn’t expected. It was like a light had flickered on in her mind, illuminating what had always been there but somehow hidden in plain sight. The feelings she had been denying, the ones she thought she could ignore, had finally sorted themselves out. She couldn’t deny it any longer.

She didn’t feel it with Pope. She had tried. She’d given it a chance, let herself be swept into the idea of what might’ve been. But now, after everything, she understood. The way her skin had prickled when Pope touched her—how it never felt natural or comforting. She had always hated physical touch. It wasn’t just the idea of being with him. It was the way her body would flinch slightly, like an involuntary reaction. Like there was something inside her that refused to connect with him in that way.

And then, there was the way Pope had always been the second text. When something happened, when there was an inside joke or a funny moment, she’d laugh at his jokes—but it was never enough to make her feel anything deeper. The way she had laughed with him—it was always a polite laugh. It wasn’t the kind of connection she wanted.

Everything about it felt... off.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the coolness of the breeze on her face, as if the world outside could wash away the tightness in her chest. It felt better to finally acknowledge it, even though it made her feel strange and exposed. She didn’t need to lie to herself anymore. She wasn’t in love with Pope. She wasn’t in love with anyone right now. And that was okay.

But even as she sat there, as she tried to sort through her feelings, there was one thought that refused to leave her mind:

JJ.

Why did she keep thinking about him? Her mind kept drifting back to him—no matter how hard she tried to push it away. It didn’t make sense. She should’ve been relieved, shouldn’t she? She’d just had this conversation with herself about Pope, so why did JJ’s face keep appearing in the back of her mind? Why did she feel this nagging pull, this uncertainty, every time he entered her thoughts?

She looked up, her eyes drifting toward the Chateau, even though she wasn’t sure why. She could feel the pull of it, the warmth of the house, the comfort of the familiar. Inside, she knew JJ was probably lying awake, his thoughts a tangled mess just like hers. But she didn’t want to think about that right now. She didn’t need more confusion.

But no matter how much she tried to convince herself that she had it figured out—about Pope, about everything else—she couldn’t shake the feeling that JJ was the one thing that had been left unsaid. She couldn’t shake the way his presence had always been there, lingering in the background of her life, a constant hum she couldn’t ignore. She’d told herself time and time again that there was no more to it. She had made the rule—no Pogue-on-Pogue macking—and she would stick to it.

So why did it feel like every thought about him threatened to break her own rule?

She wouldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t.

She wasn’t stupid. She could see how things could go south fast. One wrong move, one moment where the lines blurred, and she could lose everything. She could ruin their friendship. She could burn the bridges that had been built over years of shared secrets, laughter, and stupid adventures.

She couldn’t risk it.

Kiara stood slowly, wiping her face with the back of her hand, her mind still spinning with thoughts she didn’t know how to handle. She looked back at the Chateau one last time, her heart heavy but determined.

She didn’t need more confusion. Not from Pope. Not from JJ.

And as she walked back toward the Chateau, her mind made up, she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t going to let herself be that person.

The one who ruined the friendship. The one who let things cross the line. She had seen the consequences of that kind of decision too many times in the past, and she couldn’t let it be her story.

So, she would keep her distance. She would stay the way they were—Pogues, friends, no complications. She would let the moment with Pope fade into the background, a strange blip in her life that would never be repeated. She would stay clear of those waters.

She wouldn’t even dare touch on that topic with JJ.

She had already made the mistake once. She couldn’t do it again.

Not with him.

Especially with him.

She would keep it simple. Keep it safe.

But as she reached the steps of the Chateau, she couldn’t help but think of JJ once more. His face, his laugh, the way he always made her feel like she could be more than just herself around him.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that was what scared her the most.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside, hoping the silence would drown out the noise in her head. It didn’t.

But she couldn’t think about that now.

She had already made up her mind.

Chapter Text

The world was still cloaked in blue, the kind of dark that wasn’t quite night anymore, but not morning either. The crickets had grown quieter. The waves sounded softer, more like memories than real water. Somewhere far off, a bird called out—just one. Just once.

Kiara sat on the pull-out couch, legs folded, eyes barely blinking. She wasn’t crying anymore, just staring. At nothing. At everything. Her hair was a little messy, like she'd tossed and turned. The blanket pooled at her waist. She hadn’t moved in what felt like hours.

She didn’t even notice Sarah until she heard a door creak and soft footsteps pad across the wooden floor.

Sarah, barefoot, hoodie over her tank top, blinked when she saw Kiara sitting upright. Her voice came out hushed but surprised, “Kie?”

Kiara flinched slightly, head turning. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” Sarah rubbed at her eyes, moving closer. “Did you even sleep?”

Kiara let out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Maybe an hour. Maybe.”

Sarah lowered herself to the edge of the pull-out couch, looking over her friend with quiet concern. “You okay?”

Kiara chewed on the inside of her cheek. Her voice came out small. “I tried to kiss him.”

Sarah’s eyebrows jumped, something flickering in her eyes—surprise, amusement, maybe a little finally-energy. “You what—wait.”

“I tried to kiss Pope.”

Silence.

“Pope?” Sarah blinked, sitting up straighter. “Pope???” The name she obviously didn’t expect to hear.

Kiara gave her the flattest look ever. “Really, that’s the question you're stuck on?”

“I mean—I'm sorry, it's just... Pope?”

Kiara let out a breath and looked down at her hands. “Yeah. Pope.”

Sarah softened, tucking her knees up and turning toward her. “Okay. Okay. What happened?”

Kiara leaned her head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “It was late. He was there. I don’t know, it felt like the right moment. Like maybe that was the answer I’ve been looking for.”

“Answer to what?”

“I don’t even know.” Kiara sighed. “I thought maybe there was something there, you know? Maybe I just hadn’t let myself see it. So I tried. But when I leaned in, it was like…” she shook her head, “...nothing. Just—empty. Like something was missing.”

Sarah was quiet for a second. “Damn.”

“I hurt him, Sarah.” Kiara’s voice cracked. “I hurt Pope. He was so confused. He didn’t say it, but I could see it. Like I ripped something out of him. And I just… I thought I needed to do it for clarity or something.”

Sarah tilted her head. “Clarity? And you tried to kiss him?” She paused. “That’s not clarity, that’s tragedy.”

Kiara gave her a look. “Are you seriously quoting Zedd at me right now?”

Sarah cracked a sleepy grin. “Couldn’t help it. It was too easy.”

Kiara snorted, then dropped her face into her hands again. “But yeah. It is a tragedy. I don’t know what this means for me and Pope. I feel like I broke something.”

Sarah reached out, fingers brushing Kiara’s arm. “You didn’t break anything that can’t be fixed. It’s Pope. He’s solid. Loyal. He’d walk through the worst of it just to be with his people again. You know that.”

Kiara didn’t say anything to that.

Just sat there, quiet and curled in on herself, like if she stayed small enough, the weight of everything might not crush her completely. A blanket was draped around her shoulders, her fingers twisting at the edge of the fabric—a nervous habit. Sarah recognized it.

The pull-out couch creaked softly under both of them. Outside, the world was still holding its breath in that weird hour between night and day, when everything felt distant—like life paused to give people a moment to feel before the sun reminded them to function.

Sarah didn’t push. She just watched.

She’d learned by now that Kiara was the kind of person who had to speak when she was ready. Not before. Even when things were bubbling right under the surface—especially then. So Sarah waited. Gave her space. But stayed close.

It was in the way Kiara kept her gaze down, tracing something invisible on the couch cushion with the edge of her nail.

In the way she swallowed hard but kept her jaw tight, like her throat was dry but she refused to ask for water.

In the way her shoulders, always squared with defiance, slumped like she was tired of bracing herself for the impact of her own feelings.

Sarah could feel it. The unspoken.

There were words Kiara wasn’t saying. Names she wasn’t mentioning. One name, in particular.

But she didn’t call her out on it. Not yet.

Instead, Sarah gently leaned back on her hands and exhaled. “You know,” she said, keeping her voice low and steady, “sometimes you have to try the wrong thing to understand what the right thing isn’t.”

Kiara finally looked at her.

“Doesn’t mean you broke anything. Doesn’t mean you’re broken, either. Just means you were searching. That’s human.”

Kiara’s lip trembled slightly. She blinked fast and shook her head. “I just hate that I did that to Pope. Like, he’s the last person I’d ever want to hurt. And now I feel like… I don’t know. Like maybe we can't come back from it.”

“You can,” Sarah said. “Maybe not right away, but… it’s Pope. He forgives. He’s not the kind to give up on people he loves.”

Kiara flinched at that.

Sarah noticed.

But still, Kiara didn’t speak.

Didn’t clarify.

Didn’t correct her.

Didn’t say he doesn’t love me like that.
Didn’t say I don’t love him like that, either.
Didn’t say I think maybe I love someone else.

No. She didn’t say any of that.

She just sat there, swallowing it down like saltwater, letting it burn on the way through.

And Sarah, for all her intuition and late-night insight, just kept watching her, something clicking behind her tired brown eyes. But she didn’t voice it. Not yet. She was letting her best friend sit with the silence. Letting her breathe through it.

Some truths you had to find on your own.

And Kiara… she wasn’t ready yet. She was still fighting it. The weight of what she didn’t want to admit. The name she was avoiding. The way that name made her pulse jump, the way his voice stuck to the back of her mind like a song she couldn’t skip.

But she wasn’t going there. She couldn’t.

Not now. Not yet.

Because the truth was dangerous. The truth would rearrange everything. The truth meant admitting she didn’t just hurt Pope.

The truth meant admitting she was running from something else.

Someone else.

She leaned back into the couch, letting her head rest against the armrest, eyes drifting toward the front door. Past it, the outline of JJ’s dirt bike was visible through the slats of the blinds. Silent. Parked. Waiting.

And suddenly, there it was again. That gut-deep ache that had nothing to do with Pope. That strange, stupid, frustrating tug that felt a lot like—

No. No. Not doing that.

She shoved the thought down hard.

If she acknowledged it, she’d have to feel it. If she felt it, she’d have to do something about it. And that was a risk she couldn’t afford.

Not with him.

So instead, she curled up smaller and muttered, “I just wish things could go back to before. When everything wasn’t so damn complicated.”

Sarah let out a soft hum of agreement. “Me too.”

They sat there for a while in the quiet, the room still wrapped in sleepy blue shadows. The sun wasn’t up yet, but it was getting closer. They could feel it. Like the day was creeping in, whether they wanted it or not.

The stillness lingered. Unsettled. Unspoken.

But not unnoticed.

Because sometimes it’s not the words you say. It’s the names you avoid saying.

And Kiara hadn’t said his name once.

But Sarah was already thinking it.

And Kiara... she was already feeling it.

Even if she was still pretending not to.

Sarah let out a small breath and scooted a little closer, nudging Kiara with her shoulder in that way only best friends could—gentle, grounding.

“It’s gonna be okay, Kie,” she said, like she meant it. “I promise.”

Kiara glanced sideways at her, something shifting in her expression. It wasn’t a full smile, but it was the closest she’d gotten in hours. Something softened behind her eyes, just enough to let the weight lift a little. Just enough to let the idea settle.

Maybe it was going to be okay. Not immediately. Not without awkward conversations and uncomfortable silences and probably Pope’s confused, disappointed face. But eventually. 

Eventually, maybe she could look at him without the guilt clawing up her throat. Maybe they could go back to laughing about dumb things on the boat or arguing over who’s more eco-conscious without it feeling like she cracked something between them.

Maybe she hadn’t broken everything.

Kiara leaned her head against the back of the couch, let her shoulders slump just a little more, eyes fluttering shut.

Sarah smiled. “See? That’s your hopeful face.”

Kiara cracked one eye open. “That was my ‘I haven’t slept and I’m about to fall into a coma’ face.”

“Same thing,” Sarah shrugged, still teasing, still steady. “Hope and exhaustion look identical when you’ve been emotionally wrecked all night.”

Kiara huffed a laugh through her nose, then scrubbed her face with both hands. “Ugh. Okay. As much as I wanna sink into this couch and disappear for like three days, I should go.”

Sarah blinked. “Go? Where?”

“Home,” Kiara said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the pull-out. “Before my parents realize I snuck out again. I promised I was done with the whole 'rogue night adventure' routine.”

“You said that last time.”

“And I meant it—last time. But then…” She waved her hand vaguely at the room, the world, everything. “Things happened.”

Sarah gave her a knowing look. “You sure you’re good to go?”

Kiara nodded, already grabbing her hoodie off the back of the couch. “It’s barely light out. They’re probably still asleep. If I go now, I can sneak in, brush my teeth, and pretend I had a full night in my bed. Fake it ‘til I make it.”

Sarah stood too, watching her for a beat longer. “Text me when you get there, okay?”

Kiara paused at the door, hand on the handle, then glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes were tired but clearer than they’d been all night. There was still heaviness there, still things unspoken and unresolved—but there was also the tiniest spark of something else.

Hope.

“Thanks, Sarah.”

Sarah smiled. “Always.”

And then Kiara slipped out the door, hoodie pulled tight, the faintest gray-blue light peeling across the sky. She didn’t look back.

Didn’t see the Twinkie still parked at the edge of the drive.

Didn’t know someone inside the house was awake already, silently watching the shape of her disappear down the path.

Didn’t hear the way her name almost left someone’s mouth—but didn’t.

JJ had been awake for a while.

Not like tossing-and-turning-can’t-sleep awake.

More like laying-there-staring-at-the-ceiling-feeling-too-much awake.

The kind of awake where sleep didn’t even try to fight for space anymore. It just surrendered, packed its bags, and left him to deal with the mess in his chest.

He didn't know what made him stand by the window. Maybe it was muscle memory, maybe it was just instinct. But he stood there, arms crossed, shoulder against the frame, watching the quiet morning haze settle across the yard. The kind of gray light that didn’t belong to night or day yet. Still. Undecided.

He didn’t see her come out.

Not at first.

But then there was movement—barely more than a shadow slipping across the grass—and JJ’s eyes narrowed just slightly. The hoodie was familiar. The walk too. Slouched but not tired. Fast but not rushed.

Kiara.

He didn’t move. Didn’t call out. Just watched as her figure moved farther away from the Chateau, disappearing past the edge of the property like a secret.

JJ let his head fall back against the wood, eyes closing for a second. Long enough to bite back whatever stupid part of him wanted to yell for her. Ask where she was going. Ask if she was okay. Ask why last night happened the way it did.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, then opened his eyes again.

Doesn’t matter.

It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. He couldn’t afford for it to matter.

Whatever feelings he used to have for Kiara—whatever stupid little flares of something had been sparking back to life recently—they were done now. Had to be. He wasn’t going to be that guy. Not to Pope. Not to her.

If this—whatever it was, whatever it could’ve been—meant risking what they already had? It wasn’t worth it. He’d take her friendship over everything else, even if it meant burying whatever else had been creeping up every time she laughed too loud or looked at him like she knew him better than anyone else.

He could shove it all down. He’d done it before.

He’d do it again.

But as he stood there, watching the last trace of her vanish beyond the trees, something twisted in his chest.

A quiet, traitorous thought.

Then why did it hurt so much?

Why had it punched the wind out of him last night when he knew what was coming? When he’d seen the way Pope looked at her for months? Why did it feel like something was tearing sideways through his ribs even now, hours later?

He clenched his jaw.

No. He wasn’t doing this. Not today. Not again.

He was done with Kiara. For Pope. For her. For himself.

Because that was the only way to stay close to her without wrecking everything.

Still…

He dropped his gaze to the floor, brow furrowing like his thoughts had started arguing with each other.

But maybe… just maybe…

He wasn’t done at all.

The Chateau was oddly quiet for noon.

Sunlight spilled in through the warped windowpanes, stretching across the kitchen like lazy golden arms. A fan hummed somewhere in the background, trying its best. It wasn’t doing much.

JJ sat on the counter like he owned the place, which, technically, he did not—but the rules didn’t apply to Pogues the same way they did to the rest of the world. He had a bowl of leftover gumbo in one hand, spoon in the other, feet dangling like a bored kid waiting for something to happen.

Sarah leaned against the far wall, scrolling through her phone, half-present but also not. At least not until John B walked in, shirt half-buttoned, hair sticking up in five different directions.

“You good, man?” John B asked, tossing a banana from the fruit bowl and catching it like it owed him money. “You’ve been weird all morning.”

JJ didn’t look up. Just shoved another spoonful of gumbo into his mouth and chewed like it was a job.

“I’m always weird, JB,” he said, voice muffled, “you’re just now noticing? That’s on you, bro.”

John B rolled his eyes and flopped onto one of the chairs. “No, like... quiet-weird. Not JJ-weird.”

JJ gave him a look. “Okay well now you’re profiling and that’s offensive.”

That earned a small laugh from Sarah, but she didn’t look up from her phone. Not really. Her eyes flicked to JJ for just a second too long. She was listening, even if she pretended she wasn’t.

John B squinted at him. “Did something happen last night?”

JJ raised both brows. “Define happen.”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

JJ dramatically wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I found enlightenment under a bush around 2am. Had a deep talk with a raccoon. We’re good now.”

“You’re deflecting,” John B said flatly.

“Actually, I’m JJ,” he grinned, hopping off the counter with a thud. “Nice to meet you dude.”

Sarah smirked behind her phone, but something in her expression tightened. She had a gut feeling. JJ hadn’t looked her in the eye since he walked into the kitchen. And every time Pope’s name was mentioned, his jaw flexed just a little too hard. She hadn’t missed the way he didn’t say a word when Kiara left that morning either. Not a question. Not a single comment.

John B cracked the banana open and said, “Pope texted. He said he’s gonna swing by later.”

JJ didn’t move.

But there was the smallest, quickest flinch in his shoulder. A twitch in his fingers like his body forgot it was supposed to stay chill. It was gone just as fast, but Sarah saw it.

JJ turned toward the sink, rinsing out his bowl with way too much intensity for someone just doing dishes. “Cool,” he said over the rushing water. “Tell him I said hey.”

John B didn’t question it, just nodded.

Sarah said nothing, just locked her phone and crossed her arms, tilting her head.

Something was definitely up.

And she had a pretty damn good idea what.

JJ was many things.

But subtle wasn’t one of them.

And as he grabbed a bottle of water and headed toward the door, his mind kept doing laps—wondering if Kiara had slept at all, if Pope had. If things were different now. If this was it.

And worst of all—

Why the hell he cared so much.

———————

Kiara sat cross-legged on her bed, her back against the headboard. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm golden glow over the room. The quiet of her house felt so different from the chaos of the Chateau, and in the stillness, her thoughts spiraled back to the night before. It was all a blur, the way things had gone from almost something to nothing in an instant.

She reached for the drawer of her vanity. The one she always kept tucked away—full of memories, small things that didn’t really belong anywhere else but there. Her fingers brushed over the contents, stopping on a small, worn coin. She lifted it carefully, turning it over in her hand, the weight familiar.

It was a coin Pope had given her one summer. He’d told her it was a “lucky coin,” something his grandmother had passed down to him. The story behind it had been simple—he always kept one with him for luck, especially before any big presentation or test, just to ground himself.

Kiara smiled to herself. She remembered him saying it with such seriousness. Pope’s love for knowledge, his dedication to his goals, and how even the smallest gesture meant so much to him.

But then her smile widened, and her mind wandered to a different memory. JJ, standing in the middle of the room, laughing like a madman. He’d been so confident, even when they all mocked him for his "lucky charm." He’d taken Pope’s coin that one day and shoved it in his boot, grinning like he had found the secret to life.

“I’ve had enough bad luck in my life, Kie. I need all the good juju I can get,” he’d said, making them all roll their eyes, but deep down, Kiara knew he wasn’t joking. JJ was the kind of person who believed in anything that could make life just a little easier. A little luckier.

She let out a small, soft laugh, the memory flickering in her mind. But it didn’t stop there.

Her eyes scanned the drawer further, landing on a crumpled ticket stub from the carnival they’d gone to last summer. She pulled it out, the edges frayed and faded from being tucked away. The memory hit her like a wave—John B. Throwing up his carnival food after going on the Tilt-a-Whirl one too many times. They’d spent hours laughing at him while he pouted and whined about how the ride “wasn’t even that bad” as he wiped his mouth. They hadn’t really enjoyed the night. John B’s misery had stolen the fun out of it.

But then… Kiara’s heart thudded in her chest as she thought of the rest of the night. JJ. lipsyncing John B’s retching noises like it was the funniest thing on the planet. She had laughed so hard she thought she might choke. And then, in that moment, it had all come rushing up—smoothie, throat, everything. She’d thrown up too, right there in the middle of the carnival. JJ had laughed even harder, his usual carefree grin on full display as he teased her, wiping his mouth dramatically.

It felt like everything she remembered, no matter how small, always circled back to him.

She kept digging through the drawer, finding old trinkets here and there—a friendship bracelet, a seashell from one of their beach days. Nothing else really stood out. Nothing else had that unique connection that JJ seemed to have with everything she touched.

The more she looked, the more she realized something she hadn’t before—there was nothing in here, no object that had its own separate, clear memory of JJ. There was no coin with his name etched on it. No note that said "from JJ" in sharpie.

And yet, every memory, every single thing she picked up, her mind found a way to loop him back in. It was almost like JJ was everywhere, like he had a way of showing up in every corner of her life without even trying.

It was almost eerie.

Kiara ran her fingers through the items, but it was like trying to ignore the fact that JJ’s shadow loomed over her thoughts, even when she was trying to remember something else. 

Pope. 

She had tried to kissed Pope last night. 

But even then, her mind wasn’t really with him.

Kiara felt that strange heaviness in her chest again—the same feeling she'd had in the hours after she left the chateau. Confused, uncertain, but undeniably aware that something had shifted. She had been trying to chase clarity with Pope, but what had happened? What had she even expected to feel?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Kiara sat back, the drawer now emptied in front of her, and closed her eyes, letting the images of the last night flood her brain. The way Pope had looked at her last night. The way she had looked at him.

But whenever she thought about JJ—his grin, his laugh, the way he always made everything feel easier—it was like she couldn’t escape him, no matter how hard she tried.

And yet, despite everything, she couldn’t make sense of any of it.

She wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel, and that uncertainty hung in the air like a cloud she couldn’t push away. She didn’t know what this all meant yet, and that was the hardest part.

JJ was everywhere, but she couldn’t figure out why.

Kiara sighed, a mix of frustration and confusion tightening in her chest. One thing was certain, though: she had been running in circles, trying to make sense of her feelings, and everything kept coming back to this sense of not knowing.

She didn’t know how much longer she could ignore that.

———————

The sun was higher now, the day stretching out into that familiar afternoon haze that seemed to sit over the island like a warm, thick blanket. John B and JJ were tinkering under the hood of the Twinkie, their hands greasy, tools scattered around the front bumper. It was the usual kind of quiet, the kind that settled in when the tasks at hand didn’t require much more than mechanical precision and the occasional snark.

Sarah was standing by the porch, arms crossed loosely over her chest, staring out at the boys with a pensive look on her face. Her mind was somewhere else—something tugging at the back of her thoughts. She finally broke the silence.

“Hey, didn’t you say Pope was supposed to come by today?” she asked, her voice casual but the hint of something else lingering in the air.

John B wiped his hands on his shirt and shrugged. “Yeah, he texted. Said he ‘couldn’t come, couldn’t do it’. Whatever that means.”

Sarah didn’t respond right away, but the question was in her eyes. She knew exactly what it meant. And maybe JJ did too.

Just then, as if the universe was waiting for the perfect timing, Kiara appeared at the end of the path, walking slowly toward them. 

Her shoulders were slumped, her gait heavy, as though she were carrying the weight of something far bigger than she could handle—a whale on her shoulders. 

Yeah, that’s a bad analogy, but it fit. The exhaustion in her eyes, the way she dragged her feet like every step was another burden. It was like the world had piled its worries onto her, and she had nowhere to put them but inside.

JJ watched her approach, a fleeting urge to ask how she was, to ask if she’d slept at all. He wanted to know. Wanted to care.

But then again, he was done caring. At least, that’s what he told himself.

John B and Sarah greeted her first, their voices bright, their smiles easy. But when Kiara looked over at JJ, he hesitated. He could feel the words getting stuck somewhere between his chest and throat.

So, instead of asking her anything real, he did what JJ did best—he deflected. He dropped the sarcastic grin, giving her that same joke he always did. The kind that wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, but the one that still somehow made her smile.

"Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," he said, his voice light and playful, trying to keep the mood easy. "Did the whole world fall apart while I wasn’t looking, or are we still good?”

Kiara’s smile softened at the tone, and for just a second, the weight she seemed to be carrying lifted, if only a little.

And, damn. Her smile was like a shot of something strong, a flash of light that somehow made the world feel a little less heavy.

Even though JJ hated that it mattered so much, it did.

It was silent, but for the first time, Kiara didn’t feel the need to break it. She just let herself smile, a quiet contentment settling in as she watched the scene unfold. The air felt warmer than usual, and the tension that had been there for so long seemed to soften.

Kiara felt it—the unspoken shift, the new chapter that hadn’t fully started yet, but was right on the edge. The air was thick with possibility, and for once, none of them felt the need to rush through it. They were just... here. 

Waiting, in a way that felt like it was exactly where they were supposed to be.

Then JJ, always the one to break the silence, said, “So, do we get a wider smile or what?

Kiara chuckled, “What, do you think you’re funny now?”

JJ’s grin widened, that stupid smirk of his, but his eyes—those eyes—kept flicking to hers. Kiara felt it. The way he was trying to keep everything normal.

“Guess I gotta make up for the lack of entertainment this morning,” JJ said, his voice casual, but she could hear the undercurrent there. She could always hear it when it came to JJ—how he never said what he really meant, how he always hid behind jokes.

Sarah watched them both closely, as if she could sense the tension in the air. JJ, however, didn’t seem to notice it, or maybe he was pretending not to. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

Kiara swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to focus on something other than the heaviness that had followed her around all day. “What are you two doing, anyway?” she asked, desperate to shift gears, to focus on something that felt less loaded.

John B kicked a rock, the scrape of his shoe against the gravel a loud contrast to the stillness around them. “Just fixing a couple of things. You know, Twinkie stuff.”

“Twinkie stuff?” Kiara raised an eyebrow, glancing at the beat-up van. “What’s the Twinkie ever need fixing?”

JJ turned and, with a dramatic sigh, pushed himself off the van. “It’s always breaking down. You’d think it was alive, just throwing fits when it feels like it.”

John B chuckled, but Kiara couldn’t help noticing how distracted they both seemed. The jokes, the laughter, the usual banter—it all felt a little off. She wanted to tell them what had been going through her head, but the words felt stuck.

“Well, if it’s the Twinkie, I’m sure it’s just dramatic,” Kiara said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel. “Maybe it’s tired of the same old trip.” She glanced at Sarah, trying to read her face. The way Sarah was looking at her... it wasn’t normal.

It was like Sarah could see right through her.

The quiet stretched on a bit longer. Kiara shifted uncomfortably, glancing from John B to JJ. And then, for some reason, her eyes landed on JJ—on his stupid, messy hair, the way it seemed to always fall in front of his eyes. It was like she couldn’t stop looking at him.

For a split second, she almost let herself slip. Almost let herself feel the weight of all of it—the things unsaid, the distance, the glances, the silence.

Then, JJ met her gaze. And for a second, it was like he wasn’t pretending anymore. There was something there. Something unsaid, just like the way he kept looking at her without really seeing her. Without acknowledging it.

“Have you guys seen Pope?” Kiara asked unintentionally, like the question slipping out of her mouth without a second thought, as if it hadn’t even occurred to her until that moment.

“Guess we’re all just waiting on Pope, huh?” JJ said. He sounded too casual, like it didn’t matter to him one bit, but Kiara knew him better than that. She could always tell.

John B gave a half-shrug. “Yeah, I mean, he was supposed to be here, but…”

“Yeah.” JJ cut him off, then shot a glance toward Kiara before continuing. “But, uh, I think he’s just... busy, right?”

Kiara didn’t answer. 

“Well, looks like we’re on our own for now.” JJ stepped back, hands in his pockets, like he had something to do. Like he was trying to avoid all the things that had been left unsaid between them.

“Yeah,” Kiara said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. She turned her eyes away, suddenly feeling like she was standing there in front of them with all her thoughts scattered.

But maybe it was better that way. Maybe keeping it light, keeping it casual, was easier than dealing with the mess of everything she was feeling. The mess she wasn’t ready to face.

JJ’s eyes flicked to Kiara, and in that moment, he seemed to make a decision. He wasn’t going to let the tension hang between them, not if he could help it. So, he did what he always did—he pushed the boundaries, made some wild joke to crack the silence, to push her back to the Kiara he knew.

“Hey, you ever wonder if the Twinkie has a mind of its own?” JJ said, jumping up onto the bumper of the van. “Like, does it just decide it’s had enough of this shit and refuse to start just to mess with us?”

Kiara’s lips twitched, like she was trying to hold back, but the glint in JJ’s eyes and his ridiculous expression cracked her resolve.

“You really think the van’s going to start making decisions now?” Kiara’s voice was lighter, teasing.

“Oh, totally,” JJ said, his eyes widening dramatically. “I bet the Twinkie has a secret life, one that involves being secretly powered by the souls of disgruntled mechanics. That’s why it won’t start on time. It’s making a statement.”

Kiara laughed, real and unrestrained, and for a split second, it felt like everything was back to normal. Like none of the confusion or awkwardness from last night even existed. It was just her, JJ, and their old dynamic, sliding back into place. She could feel the smile spread across her face without forcing it, just letting it happen.

“Okay, okay,” Kiara said, wiping her eyes. “I have to admit, that’s pretty good.”

“Right?” JJ grinned. “I’ve been holding on to that joke for a while now.”

“And it was totally worth the wait.” Kiara shook her head, but she couldn’t stop smiling. It was so effortless, so comfortable. So… them.

JJ pushed off the van and took a step toward her, his hands in his pockets. “If you ever need a laugh, I’ll be here all week,” he joked, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Kiara rolled her eyes, laughing harder now, genuinely. She didn’t even realize how much she’d needed that until now—the sound of her own laughter filling the air, bouncing off the walls, the rhythm of their usual banter filling the spaces where the tension had been.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kiara saw Sarah lean in toward John B, her lips barely moving, but the exchange was impossible to miss.

“Guess we found out what’s been missing with JJ this morning,” Sarah whispered, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

John B glanced over at JJ and Kiara, his face lighting up like he’d just figured something out. “Yeah,” he murmured, nodding toward JJ, “suddenly he’s back to being funny. It’s like he flipped a switch.”

Sarah smirked, her eyes watching Kiara and JJ. “Maybe it’s because Kie’s finally laughing. You think?”

John B raised an eyebrow. “Maybe. Or maybe he just needed something to pull him out of that funk. Whatever it is, I’m glad he’s finally back.”

Kiara couldn’t help but feel a little lighter in that moment. Her laughter had become a small piece of herself that she hadn’t realized she was missing. JJ had always been able to make her laugh like no one else could, and even though there was all this unspoken stuff between them, she couldn’t help but let herself enjoy the moment, just for what it was.

JJ flashed her another grin, and she shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Oh c’mon, you love it,” he shot back, winking at her.

“Do I?” Kiara raised an eyebrow, playing along.

“A hundred percent,” he said, crossing his arms and giving her a mock-serious look. “I’m charming. You know this.”

She laughed again, a little too loudly, but this time, there was no hiding it. For the first time in a while, it felt like the air was clear between them. Maybe it was the jokes. Maybe it was just the fact that JJ could always pull her back to who she was when things got heavy.

It didn’t mean everything was fixed, but for now, it felt enough.

Meanwhile, Sarah watched the two of them, glancing over at John B as if to say, See? I told you so.

John B chuckled, but there was a faint trace of concern in his eyes. “You think it’s really that easy? Just a few jokes, and everything’s good again?”

Sarah shrugged. “With JJ, yeah. He’s got a way of doing that. But I’m more worried about the real stuff, you know? The stuff they don’t talk about.”

John B didn’t answer, but his expression darkened, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. He watched Kiara and JJ, his eyes lingering a bit longer than they should have.

Kiara, meanwhile, had no idea any of this was going on. She was still caught up in JJ’s jokes, in the way his voice always managed to make everything feel lighter than it was.

Just for a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the easy camaraderie they’d always had.

———————

The sun was setting now, casting a warm golden glow over the Chateau, making everything feel a little softer, a little more relaxed. John B and JJ were still working on the Twinkie, their voices blending with the hum of tools and the occasional burst of laughter. Sarah, ever the velcro girlfriend, was right there on the porch, her attention half on John B and half on the lazy afternoon.

Meanwhile, Kiara was inside, tidying up the place in an attempt to clear her head. She needed to distract herself from the mess of thoughts swirling in her mind. She cranked up the volume on the speaker, blasting music to drown out the noise in her head. The familiar beat of "Come On Eileen" by Dexys Midnight Runners echoed through the room, and Kiara let herself get lost in it, singing along without a care in the world.

“Come on Eileen!” she belted out, a smile tugging at her lips, as she twirled around, completely oblivious to the figure now standing in the doorway.

And then she heard it.

“Toora loora toora loo-rye-aye!”

Kiara jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. She whipped around, eyes wide, and found JJ standing there in the doorway, shirtless, sweat and grease smudging his skin, his messy hair falling in all the right places. His grin was wide, teasing, but there was something softer in his eyes.

“Relax,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, the teasing tone still lingering in his voice. “I’m only getting water.”

Kiara stood there, frozen for a second, her eyes locked on him. Her heart stuttered, her breath catching as she stared at his bare chest, the way his muscles moved as he reached for the fridge. Her mind went quiet again, like someone had just hit pause on everything.

JJ didn’t seem to notice the shift, casually turning to drink from the water bottle he’d grabbed. But Kiara couldn’t look away. She couldn’t tear her eyes off him—how could she?

It was just JJ, after all. But the way his smile lingered in her mind, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, she couldn’t ignore the heat rising in her chest.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of silence, JJ glanced back at her, his expression softening. “Hey,” he said, the teasing fading from his voice. “What’s with you?”

Kiara blinked, her thoughts scattered for a moment before she answered. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words got stuck. Instead, she just shook her head and turned away quickly, focusing on the sink again as if the water there could somehow wash away the strange tension she was suddenly feeling.

JJ watched her for a moment, still leaning against the counter. Something in her demeanor had changed, and he wasn’t sure what it was, but the air between them felt different now. The usual easy banter was gone, replaced by something quieter, more uncertain.

"Kie?" he said again, this time softer, more serious.

She didn’t turn around right away, just stood there with her back to him, and JJ felt a flicker of something in his chest. Maybe it was concern. Or maybe...maybe it was more.

But Kiara didn’t answer, and he wasn’t sure how to push further without crossing some line he couldn’t even define.

“Kie, you alright?” he asked, his voice still light, but there was an edge of something else in it now. Something genuine.

She just nodded, the same smile from earlier barely touching her lips.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

But JJ wasn’t convinced.

“C’mon, Kie,” JJ said softly, leaning against the counter, his voice that familiar blend of teasing and concern. “It’s me. It’s your favorite Pogue.”

Kiara didn’t answer right away. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, staring at the counter like it could offer her some answers. She barely noticed how JJ was watching her, his gaze steady and patient, waiting for her to speak. She bit her lip, trying to find the right words, but they kept slipping through her fingers.

“I think I messed up,” she finally muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

JJ raised an eyebrow, his instinct to joke kicking in. “Messed up what?”

But Kiara didn’t say anything. She just stood there, shoulders tense, her eyes focused on anything but him. A long silence hung between them, thick and heavy, until JJ couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Look,” he said, his voice softer now, more serious. “Whatever it is, you know I’m here to listen, right? I’m sure whatever you messed up, it can be fixed.”

Kiara still didn’t respond. JJ sighed under his breath, about to walk out when he heard her voice again, a little weaker this time.

“Wait,” she said quickly, her voice catching. “Stay.”

And so, he did. He didn’t move, didn’t go anywhere. He stayed right where he was, just like he always would.

Kiara turned slowly, her voice quiet but heavy with something JJ couldn’t quite place. “I feel like a bad person,” she said, her words almost lost in the weight of her own guilt.

JJ didn’t know what to say to that. His thoughts instantly spiraled into confusion, but he kept it to himself. He didn’t want to press her too much. Still, he had to ask.

“Bad how?” JJ’s tone was cautious, but also gentle.

Kiara hesitated before speaking again, her eyes avoiding his. “I did something to Pope... something that’s gonna take time to get back from.”

JJ felt a sick twist in his stomach at the mention of Pope, but he didn’t want to let that show. He didn’t want to hear about Pope, especially not from Kiara, but he wouldn’t walk away from her now. He never would. It sucked, but he could handle it. He had to.

Kiara swallowed, and the silence stretched between them, thickening with the weight of unspoken words. Finally, she blurted out, “I tried to kiss Pope.”

JJ froze. His mind spiraled, twisting in a hundred directions. The moment she said it, a strange, hollow feeling settled in his chest. 

Why did it hurt so much?

But he didn’t show it. He couldn’t. He forced a breath and leaned against the counter, trying to mask how his mind was racing.

“Okay,” he said, his voice steady, though the words felt foreign. “And, uh... how’d that go?”

Kiara sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair. “It didn’t feel right. It was just... empty. I thought I was supposed to feel something, but it wasn’t there. I thought I would have certainty, but all it gave me was more confusion. And now, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what it means for me and Pope. Or what it even means for me.”

JJ opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. The familiar joke was right there, on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t make it land. Not with the way Kiara was looking at him, so vulnerable, so lost.

Finally, with a breath that could’ve come from deep in his soul, JJ gave in to the tension. He cracked a small smile, his voice light but unsure. “Hey, if it doesn’t work out with Pope, you can always try it with me.”

Kiara stared at him, wide-eyed, like she hadn’t quite processed what he’d just said. Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first.

JJ immediately regretted it. 

What the hell did I just say? Jesus, JJ, shut up. He thought to himself, but he couldn’t take it back now.

As if to salvage what little dignity he had left, he added, “Although, you’d have to get in line behind all the Tourons. Sorry, Kie.”

Kiara blinked, her mouth twitching into a reluctant smile. “I hate you,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“No, you don’t,” JJ said, his grin spreading wider. “You love me.”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

JJ watched her, still unsure whether to press her for more or just let it go. But then, before he even realized what he was doing, he moved closer, wrapping his arms around her in a way that felt like second nature. It wasn’t a move he’d even thought about—he just wanted to make sure she felt better.

“Look,” he said, his voice softer now, “Don’t beat yourself up too much. Pope’s a good guy. He’ll get over this. He’ll always be a Pogue first, you know? Our Pogue.”

Kiara’s body relaxed into his hug, and something in her shifted. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Her thoughts raced as she processed his words. JJ’s words always had that way of sinking into her, like a favorite song playing on repeat. They were rough around the edges, imperfect, but somehow always hitting the right note.

It was like, no matter what was going on in her world, no matter how confused or lost she felt, with JJ there—just like this—it felt like it wasn’t the end. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Somehow, someway, JJ had a way of making it all feel a little bit easier, a little more bearable.

She closed her eyes, letting the comfort of his words wrap around her like a familiar melody, even as everything else felt out of tune.

JJ pulled away from the hug—too fast, too soon—and Kiara barely stopped herself from stepping forward again, like maybe she could hold on to something longer if she just leaned in a little. But she didn’t. She stood there, the absence of his arms a quiet ache she couldn’t name. Not obvious. Not enough to be noticed. But it was there.

JJ rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes like they were too bright. “Okay, so, uh… I’m not really good with this stuff—”

“You’re not,” Kiara cut in, her voice dry. “Terrible, actually.”

He glanced at her for a second before looking away again. “—And I don’t know what happened between you and Pope. Don’t want to know, honestly. But whatever it is…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just human, Kie. Don’t let it mess with your head.”

Kiara tilted her head, eyes narrowing with a sly kind of warmth. “Wish you’d apply that advice to yourself sometime.”

JJ looked up, mock-offended. “Uh, no, we’re talking about you right now, not me.”

She smiled, the kind that softened her face and lit something easy between them. But then the moment stilled. Stretched. Silence fell again—not awkward, but not comfortable either. Just… full.

JJ’s thoughts were loud in the quiet. She was so close, and yet her mind had been somewhere else all this time. With Pope. Or… maybe not. But still, the thought clawed at the inside of him, relentless.

And then it slipped out, before he could stop it. “Do you… like Pope?”

Kiara blinked, the question catching her off guard. Her lips parted, but she didn’t answer right away. JJ didn’t look at her—just stared at the counter, like maybe it could tell him something he didn’t know. His stomach coiled tight, like he was bracing for something. Something he already expected but didn’t want to hear.

“I don’t think so,” Kiara finally said. “No.”

JJ didn’t react right away. Couldn’t. Something uncoiled in his chest slowly, like a knot loosening in water. He didn’t smile—not on purpose. But it tugged at the corner of his mouth anyway, small and fleeting.

“Huh,” he breathed out.

Kiara noticed it instantly. “What?”

JJ blinked, snapped out of whatever had been happening in his head. “Nothing,” he said too quickly. Then shrugged. “I guess I kinda pushed you into it, huh?”

Kiara shook her head, no hesitation in her voice. “You did. But that was all me.”

JJ met her eyes again. And this time, he didn’t look away.

JJ looked a little shy after her response, something she didn’t see often—at least not like this. His usual smirk had softened, replaced by this boyish awkwardness he tried to hide by running a hand through his messy hair, now even messier. And was that a blush creeping up his neck? Kiara didn’t comment. But she saw it.

He cleared his throat. “Just… take it in slowly, you know?” he said, looking at the wall like it was easier than looking at her. “Que sera, sera… like the Italians would say.”

Kiara raised a brow, lips twitching. “Pretty sure that’s Spanish.”

JJ looked back at her with a shrug. “Same thing.”

She shook her head, laughing under her breath.

“But for real,” he said, this time a little more sure of himself, “just let it flow. Naturally. Don’t force it. Don’t let it disturb you. And don’t get hurt, Kie… wouldn’t want that.”

Something about the way he said it—so simple, so JJ—landed heavier than she expected. There was no deep philosophical advice in his words, no poetic metaphor. Just the truth. Just JJ, stripped back, messy hair and grease-streaked arms, telling her what she needed to hear. What she hadn’t let herself hear.

Kiara had been running herself in circles, overthinking everything—every glance, every feeling, every misstep. She thought if she could just pin things down, define them, make them make sense, she’d finally feel okay again. But JJ was right. Things that weren’t meant to be couldn’t be forced. And things that were… well, they’d come in their own time.

She looked at him again, really looked at him—and felt something settle in her chest. Not an answer. Not clarity. But something calmer. Lighter. Grateful.

JJ was just standing there, sipping his water again like none of this had been that deep for him. Like he hadn’t just helped untangle something inside her without even trying.

And once again, she appreciated him more than she could say.

Chapter Text

It had been four days since that moment, the kind of gap where time slipped by unnoticed, like sand through fingers.

The Pogues had slipped back into their old rhythm. The jokes, the easy camaraderie, the shenanigans that made life feel like a never-ending adventure. The laughter was as loud as ever, the music as constant. The only difference was the noticeable absence of Pope.

It wasn’t as if anyone spoke of it directly. There was no big conversation about how Pope was practically a ghost around the Chateau. It was more in the quiet moments, like when they looked over at the kitchen table and his seat was empty. Or when they were gearing up to do something reckless and sensible Pope wasn’t there to put the brakes on it.

Kiara noticed it most when they had been planning their next stupid adventure, and there was no one around to give them that look—the one that made them second-guess just how much trouble they were about to get into.

No one had seen Pope for the last couple of days, and it was like he was purposely avoiding being around when Kiara was. It was as if some invisible line had been drawn between them, one neither dared to cross. And yet, there was a kind of understanding there. No words were needed to confirm it.

The Pogues were back on their boat, the HMS Pogue, making plans. Except, once again, Pope was nowhere to be found. Kiara had joined John B and Sarah on the boat that morning, and they were waiting for JJ. He had gone to his house the night before to get some fresh clothes. More than that, he had gone to grab his red baseball cap—his signature accessory that was as much a part of him as his carefree smile.

It was almost noon now, and the boat had been waiting for JJ for a while. John B was leaning over the side, eyes squinting against the sun, looking out towards the dock, while Sarah was at the back of the boat, making small talk with Kiara, who had been lost in her own thoughts.

And then they saw him.

JJ’s figure appeared at the end of the dock, like an explosion of energy that broke the silence with his usual boisterous presence. He hopped onto the boat, waving, his smile wide. The Pogues all knew exactly what that meant.

His father wasn’t home.

JJ’s whole demeanor shifts when Luke wasn’t around—more relaxed, less guarded. He didn’t have to watch his back or keep his distance. He was just JJ, unbothered and as chaotic as ever.

Kiara, who had been distracted, suddenly caught a whiff of something unfamiliar. A mixture of grapefruit and gasoline. It hit her all at once, sharp and sweet, wild and unbalanced, and, above all, incredibly addictive. Something dangerous, but also... impossible to ignore.

She glanced at JJ, who was wiping his hands on his cargo shorts as he settled into the boat, and couldn’t help but comment. “You smell different today. You smell nice.”

JJ blinked at her, clearly caught off guard by the sudden attention. “Yeah?”

Kiara nodded. “Like... good different. Like grapefruit and gasoline.”

JJ laughed, the sound easy and low. “I dunno, maybe it’s the new cologne I found back in the house.” 

John B raised an eyebrow, leaning against the side of the boat. “Don’t boost his ego. Next thing we know, he’ll be wearing it around the Chateau.”

Kiara laughed along, the sound light, and JJ shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it cool.

“I saw a bottle by the couch and figured, why not try it?” JJ said. “Not like anyone’s here to stop me.” His grin was full of that effortless confidence, and Kiara couldn’t help but feel a tug of amusement at how carefree he could be.

Sarah, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, chimed in, “Trying to impress anyone, JJ?”

JJ waved her off dramatically. “Even without the scent, I’m still gonna turn heads.”

“Fun fact,” Sarah said with a smirk, “dogs can smell their partners from a mile away. Don’t ypu think that’s interesting? I didn’t even notice JJ smelling different.”

“Definitely interesting.” John B nodded.

Kiara raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You just made that up.”

JJ grinned, leaning back slightly. “The thing about fun facts, princess, is that they have to be facts.”

Kiara shot Sarah a look, a playful edge in her tone. “Wait—are you saying I’m a dog now?”

Sarah shot back teasingly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t say you were JJ’s partner either. Like I said, just a fun fact.”

Kiara rolled her eyes, and JJ couldn’t help but flash a smug grin, clearly enjoying every moment.

The crew laughed, the teasing back-and-forth familiar, like a well-worn rhythm. And yet, there was something about JJ today that felt a little different to Kiara. Maybe it was the way the light played off his skin, or the way he wore that smile like it was an armor he didn’t have to take off. Whatever it was, Kiara couldn't ignore the odd flutter in her chest.

She shook the feeling off quickly, focusing instead on the excitement of the picnic, the promise of an island with barely any people, and the fact that, for once, they weren’t worried about any of the mess in their lives. At least, not for a little while.

It had been Sarah’s idea, of course. As always, she had a way of making even the most random plans sound like the best idea ever. The picnic, she’d suggested, was the perfect escape. A chance to get off the grid for a while, to feel the sun on their faces without worrying about any of the usual chaos. The island was secluded, rarely visited by anyone, and Sarah had made it sound like paradise.

Kiara had agreed, mostly because it sounded like a good way to clear her head. She didn’t realize it at the time, but the idea of being out in the open, away from the noise and the pressure of everything that had been building up, sounded like exactly what she needed. Besides, it wasn’t just the fresh air that was calling her; it was also the thought that it might be a good place to clean up

Pope’s absence had been weighing on her—more than she wanted to admit. She had tried to push it away, to ignore the fact that he’d been so distant, that there was something between them now that couldn’t be easily fixed. 

But it lingered, gnawing at her every time she found herself alone. And, with all that swirling around in her mind, Sarah’s plan for a peaceful, quiet escape sounded like the perfect remedy.

As they set off in the boat, Kiara looked out at the horizon, the island drawing nearer with each passing minute. She leaned back, letting the wind hit her face. The smell of saltwater and JJ's cologne mixed in the air, and for a moment, everything felt uncomplicated.

Sarah, on the other hand, practically vibrating with excitement. “This is going to be amazing, guys,” she said, her enthusiasm contagious. “We’re going to have the best picnic ever. Trust me.”

Kiara just smiled, leaning back against the side of the boat. She could tell Sarah was in her element. That’s what made Sarah such a force—always pushing, always planning, always ready for an adventure. Kiara just hoped that this time, it would be the kind of adventure that made everything a little easier to figure out.

The boat finally nudged against the sandy shore of the island, the noise of the water lapping gently against the hull a soft backdrop to the lighthearted chaos as the group began unloading. 

The island was quieter than most of the others, with dense, wild grasses swaying in the breeze and the occasional seagull calling out above. The sun hung high, casting everything in a warm, golden light.

John B immediately ran to the back of the boat, pulling the cooler out first, ready to conquer the beach. Sarah had the blanket, her arms busy with the weight of it, while Kiara stood back, her hands full with the assortment of food she’d brought along. JJ was already hauling some bags with more food, but his eyes lit up when he spotted the containers of sandwiches Kiara was carefully balancing.

"Alright, the feast begins!" Sarah set the blanket down, unfolding it with practiced ease, before plopping down, her legs tucked under her. “This is going to be amazing. I can already tell.”

Kiara smiled, starting to set the food out on the blanket. She placed her fruit and veggie platter down first – bright watermelon, strawberries, cucumber slices, and carrots – with a small bowl of hummus for dipping. She’d snuck in a bag of chips too, just to keep things interesting. The mix of fresh and salty was her version of balance.

Next, she opened the sandwich containers. She’d made a batch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but these weren’t the regular kind. No, these had pickles and hot sauce—just the way JJ liked them. She laughed under her breath as she pulled out the last of them, knowing full well that no one else would touch them. But JJ? He was going to devour them.

Sure enough, JJ caught sight of the sandwiches as she arranged the food, his gaze flicking over the spread before zeroing in on the mystery sandwiches she had set aside for him. He sauntered over, stretching a bit like he had all the time in the world, and grabbed one of the sandwiches, giving it an exaggerated inspection.

Kiara grinned. "Yes, JJ. It’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich... with pickles and hot sauce." She shrugged nonchalantly. "Just how you like it.”

JJ’s eyes widened, a mischievous smile breaking across his face. "You know me so well." He glanced at her with a raised brow. "You actually went through the effort for this, huh?”

Kiara shrugged again, not taking the bait. "Well, you keep making these weird sandwiches, so I figured, why not?”

John B, who had just finished unpacking the cooler, stood up with a playful grin on his face. "What about my kinda sandwich, Kie?”

Kiara looked over at him, rolling her eyes. "Make it your own, JB.”

JJ chuckled, his grin growing wider as he took a bite of the sandwich. His eyes lit up at the flavor, and his thoughts buzzed with appreciation for how thoughtful Kiara had been.

The sandwich may have been ridiculous, but there was something so… Kiara about it. She always paid attention to the little things, always remembered the details that mattered, even the weird ones. It wasn’t just about making sure he ate—it was about knowing what he liked, even when it didn’t make sense to anyone else.

“Thanks, Kie,” he muttered under his breath, not even fully realizing that he said it out loud.

Kiara caught the soft tone, and for a moment, her heart skipped. But she pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the ridiculous sandwich in front of her, the warm sun, and the familiar hum of her friends around her.

As JJ took another bite, Sarah reached into the cooler and pulled out the iced tea she’d made earlier, offering it to everyone with a knowing smile. "I told you this was going to be perfect."

JJ wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still chewing as he leaned back on his elbows, eyes squinting against the sun. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve already said that, Princess. Like three times.”

Sarah, already mid-sip of her iced tea, raised a brow. “Excuse me for being right.”

“Oh, you’re excused,” JJ shot back with a grin. “Doesn’t mean we don’t suffer through it.”

John B let out a loud laugh. “She’s been planning this picnic for two days, man. I’ve never seen her this committed to anything that didn’t involve a beach towel and a tan.”

Sarah turned to him, mock-offended. “Um, rude. I am very committed. I made iced tea in a mason jar. That’s like, at least a Level 7 Southern Mom effort.”

“You didn’t even add lemon slices,” Kiara added, biting into a piece of watermelon. “You’re barely scraping a six.”

“Oh my God,” Sarah muttered dramatically, falling back onto the blanket. “I’m surrounded by ungrateful children.”

JJ leaned over toward John B. “Bet she says that when she’s losing arguments too.”

“I heard that,” Sarah shot up, pointing a strawberry at him. “Don’t think I won’t weaponize fruit.”

“Do it,” JJ dared, opening his arms. “I could use a strawberry facial.”

“You need a whole spa day,” Kiara chimed in, not looking up as she reached for a chip. “Your face is like… tired and chaotic.”

JJ clutched his chest. “Wow. That’s rude. But accurate.”

John B, chuckling, grabbed one of the charred chicken legs he’d attempted to grill earlier. “Let’s just admit it. This whole thing is weirdly working. Like, somehow, this disaster of a picnic is vibing.”

Sarah smirked. “It’s the company. Obviously.”

Kiara smiled behind her water bottle, glancing around at her friends—Sarah sun-drunk and dramatic, John B with chicken in his hand like it was a sword, JJ leaning back like he was king of the beach. Yeah, maybe it was the company.

JJ caught Kiara’s glance and winked.

“Stop making it weird,” she said, looking away but failing to hide her smile.

“Me?” JJ said, leaning closer. “I am the weird.”

“No arguments here,” John B muttered, mouth full.

JJ grabbed a beer from the cooler, cracking it open. “To the weird, then.”

“To the weird,” Sarah echoed, raising her iced tea.

They all raised their drinks—beer, iced tea, water—and clinked the bottles together, a little messy, a little off beat. But it didn’t matter.

Because for now, things felt light again. Just for a moment, like maybe the weird could carry them through anything.

“But seriously,” JJ said, leaning over his crossed legs, beer swaying in his hand. “It is what Sarah says when she’s losing an argument. Right, JB?”

John B looked at Sarah, who was already aiming a look sharp enough to slice bread. The fire in her eyes dared him to say the wrong thing.

He swallowed the bite of chicken in his mouth, then carefully, with the smoothness of a man who valued peace, set his plate down. “Sarah is never losing arguments.”

JJ groaned, tossing his head back. “Oh, come on. You two are so gross.”

Without missing a beat, Sarah leaned up and kissed John B—slow, smug, and just a little over the top. JJ let out a theatrical gag.

The picnic blanket was stretched messily over the sand, half the food already dug into, chicken bones, a fruit bowl dangerously close to spilling, a chip bag rustling in the breeze. Sarah’s head had found its way into John B’s lap, her sunglasses sliding slightly down her nose. JJ was lying back now, tossing grapes in the air and catching them in his mouth with cocky precision. Kiara was crouched next to the speaker, scrolling through her phone for the perfect playlist.

“I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into third wheeling,” JJ muttered, half amused.

Without even glancing up, Kiara replied, “You’re fourth-wheeling, genius.”

JJ’s eyes flicked over to her. “You don’t count. You’re emotionally unavailable.”

Kiara snorted. “And you’re emotionally unstable. Perfect match.”

The second it left her lips, she regretted it. The words came out too fast, too true. John B and Sarah both blinked, exchanging a quick, silent look.

JJ just smirked. He plucked a grape from the bowl and chucked it toward her.

Kiara caught it in midair and popped it into her mouth like it was nothing.

“See?” JJ grinned. “That’s why I like you.”

Kiara leaned back on her hands, looking at him sideways. “You like me because I tolerate your unhinged antics.”

“Exactly,” he said, and there was something almost proud in his tone.

JJ didn’t realize he was still looking at her until the world blurred a little around the edges. Something about the way she sat there—calm, content, hair messy from the wind, mouth curved in that half-annoyed, half-amused smirk she always gave him—made the moment slow. She didn’t try to fix him. She didn’t even try to understand him. She just… let him be. All chaos, all flaws. And somehow, with Kiara, that was enough.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring until—

“Well,” Sarah said, propping herself on her elbows. “That got weird fast.”

JJ blinked, sat up straighter, grabbing a soda from the cooler. “What?”

“You two always flirt like this,” Sarah said, raising an eyebrow, “or is today special?”

And like clockwork, Kiara and JJ said at the same time:

“We’re not flirting.”

A beat.

JJ glanced at Kiara. She was avoiding his gaze, hiding a tiny smile behind her slice of watermelon.

John B, mouth full, pointed a finger lazily. “Okay, sure. Totally platonic tension in the air. Love that for you guys.”

“Whatever,” JJ said quickly, brushing off John B’s comment and Sarah’s smirk like dust on his shirt. Then, louder, he stood and stretched dramatically, voice echoing toward the water, “I’m swimming. Who’s coming?”

John B perked up, dusting crumbs off his shorts. “Wait up.”

They jogged toward the water, JJ launching himself in with a wild splash and a cannonball. John B dove in after, laughter echoing off the trees as the two of them wrestled in the shallow waves, pushing each other under, surfacing with a string of curses and jokes.

Back at the blanket, Sarah leaned her chin on her arm, watching Kiara. Kiara, who was sitting up now, legs crossed, elbow propped on her knee as she watched the chaos in the water. Her smile was soft—almost involuntary—like it snuck up on her when she wasn’t paying attention.

“You okay?” Sarah asked quietly.

Kiara blinked, turning her gaze slowly to her. “Yeah… I think I am.”

Sarah hesitated, then followed it up with a softer, “What about you and Pope?”

Kiara’s smile faltered. She looked down at her lap. “I still don’t know where we stand,” she said honestly. “We haven’t… really talked about it since.”

Sarah nodded, already suspecting as much. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. He only shows up when you’re not around.”

Kiara sighed. “Can’t really blame him though, can I? I hurt him.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Sarah said gently.

“Yeah,” Kiara murmured. But her eyes drifted back toward the water—toward JJ, who was now trying to balance on John B’s shoulders, laughing like he didn’t have a single worry in the world.

Sarah noticed.

She smirked. “JJ is so stupid.”

Kiara snorted. “He is.”

Sarah gave her a knowing smile, one of those slow-building, sly ones that always meant trouble.

A beat.

Then—

“So… why would you try to kiss Pope?” she asked, voice casual but too direct to be anything but intentional. “Like—Pope? The way you and JJ banter, I always thought if anyone, it’d be him.”

Kiara’s gaze dropped instantly. “JJ? I’m just..” she said, voice suddenly smaller. “I don’t—I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Sarah held up her hands. “Yeah. My bad. We don’t have to. Just—” she paused, “I’m here when you’re ready to face the truth.”

Kiara looked away, heart ticking up. She doesn’t know what Sarah meant.

Truth? What truth?

But something in the back of her mind—it stirred. Like a whisper she’d been trying to silence. And maybe she could’ve ignored it forever, if it hadn’t been for the way JJ laughed in that moment, shaking his head back like a wet dog, water glinting off him like sunlight.

She didn’t know what truth Sarah meant.

Or maybe… she did.

She just couldn’t let herself entertain it.

Not when friendship on the line.

JJ and John B had been roughhousing like a pair of kids with no responsibilities and no real plan, splashing around in the shallow tide, dunking each other, shouting nonsense. JJ let out a loud bark of laughter as he finally got the upper hand, pushing John B under for just a second before backing off with both hands up in surrender.

Then, mid-laugh, JJ stilled.

His gaze drifted over John B’s shoulder, back toward the shore.

To her.

Kiara, hair glinting in the sunlight, leaning back on her hands, laughing at something Sarah said—full laugh, real laugh. The kind that tilted her head back and made her nose crinkle. The kind that hadn’t come out in days.

John B noticed. Of course he did.

He tilted his head slightly, wiping water from his eyes. “Soo…” he started, casual but hesitant, like testing if the ground would hold before stepping out on thin ice. “You heard about Pope?”

JJ blinked, dragging his eyes back toward his friend. “Nah, man. Not really.”

John B followed his glance—first to Kiara, then back to JJ, slower this time. “You know what happened?”

JJ paused, something tightening in his chest. His hand went to the back of his neck, fingers brushing through damp hair. “Not really my story to tell man.” he said after a beat.

John B nodded, almost too quickly. “Right. Right.”

Silence settled between them for a second. The ocean was warm, salt clinging to their skin, waves sloshing gently against their knees.

Then—click—like a mental switch was flipped, JJ remembered.

That moment.

Kiara in the chateau, the music blasting. The way her face shifted when she told him. The way her voice cracked—how it felt like she hated saying it, but somehow couldn’t not tell him.

I tried to kiss Pope.

His stomach had dropped then. Just like it did now.

JJ’s thoughts scrambled, scattered, chaotic like they always were when she came up—when this came up. He didn’t want to remember the way that sentence sank into his bones, didn’t want to replay the way it made him feel, but he did.

He couldn’t help it. 

He looked at her again.

Kiara was still laughing—laughing harder now. Her head was thrown back slightly, shoulders shaking. She looked lighter. She looked like her again.

JJ smiled.

He couldn’t help that either.

She hadn’t laughed like that for days. Not since… all of it.

And somehow, now, she was.

He was seeing it again. 

Something about it feeling like the sun coming up after days of rain.

———————

The sun had dipped low enough in the sky that the light came honey-colored now, brushing everything in gold. It warmed the sand beneath their feet, kissed Kiara’s shoulders, tangled itself in her hair. The ocean was quieter here, the kind of gentle rhythm that made everything feel slower. Softer. Calmer.

Kiara moved along the shoreline with a half-full trash bag in hand, her brows slightly drawn as she scanned the beach. She didn’t really need to clean anymore—most of the obvious trash had been dealt with hours ago—but the motion helped. The rhythm of stooping down, grabbing something, walking a few feet. It kept her from sitting too long in her own head.

Behind her, John B and Sarah were tangled up in their couple bubble, seated on a weather-worn log, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her back. Fingers intertwined, horizon in their eyes. They were so wrapped up in each other, they didn’t even notice when JJ stood up.

He brushed the sand from his shorts, took a look at the two lovebirds, then turned his attention to Kiara. She was quiet, focused, the breeze catching her hair just enough to make it dance. He walked over, slow and unannounced, stooping to grab a crumpled plastic cup and tossing it into her bag.

Kiara hadn’t noticed JJ walking up behind her. She looked up at him, surprised—but not startled.

JJ didn’t say anything at first. He just straightened up and gave her a small, crooked grin, the one he wore when he didn’t want to let on how much he was thinking.

There was something heavy hanging in the air between them, but neither of them felt the need to fill it right away. It wasn’t awkward. It just was.

Kiara’s hands moved on autopilot, crumpling up a straw wrapper, tucking it into the bag. JJ walked alongside her in silence, mirroring her movements. One piece of trash at a time.

He glanced sideways at her, just briefly.

She looked lighter today. Not entirely, not like she was floating—but like some invisible weight had shifted, just a little. Her shoulders weren’t so tight, her eyes didn’t dart around as much. She wasn’t laughing loudly or cracking jokes, but she was here, and that was enough. She was showing up for herself.

And maybe, selfishly, for him.

JJ bent to grab another empty chip bag, fingers brushing the sand. He looked up at her again, his heart weirdly loud in his chest.

She didn’t notice. Or maybe she was pretending not to.

“You good now?” he asked quietly, eyes fixed on the bag in her hand.

She blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I mean… like, after everything.”

Kiara tilted her head, thinking. “Oh. Yeah. I think so.”

She looked over at him. “You?”

“I’m always good,” JJ said with a smirk, then after a pause, his voice softened. “But yeah. Better with you around.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. He was too busy kicking sand with his feet, pretending to focus on the ground. His words felt heavier than he expected, and the second they left his mouth, he felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck.

Why did he say it like that?

Kiara turned, staring at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

JJ coughed. “I mean—with you guys around. The group. Y’know. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Kie.”

Kiara rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips curled up. “Smooth save.”

They walked again. Another few steps. The breeze pulled at their shirts, ruffling JJ’s hair even more than usual.

They passed an old soda can half-buried in the sand. Kiara kicked it toward him.

“You’d think people would know how to throw trash in a bin,” she muttered, annoyed.

JJ snorted. “Some of these Tourons look like they still think the Earth is flat.”

Kiara shot him a look. “You’re acting like you’re not one of them.”

“I’m Pogue royalty, baby,” he said, grinning. “I’ve evolved.”

“More like the prince of bad decisions,” she shot back. “And you still put hot sauce in your peanut butter.”

“Exactly. Evolution.”

Kiara shook her head, but she laughed. That real laugh. The one he hadn’t heard in days. Not since… well. Not since before.

JJ froze for a split second. Just watched her. The way her eyes squinted when she laughed, the way she tilted her head just slightly, the sunlight kissing her cheekbones.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed this—her—until just now. Until he saw that smile return.

And for the first time in a while, something settled in his chest. Something quiet and warm. A kind of stillness.

She glanced over and caught him looking.

He looked away fast. Too fast.

Kiara noticed.

But she didn’t say anything.

Her thoughts were still tangled from earlier, still trailing after the conversation with Sarah, still stuck on things she hadn’t let herself say out loud. But now, with JJ next to her, just quietly walking and cleaning and being—her thoughts didn’t race as hard. Didn’t ache as loud.

He just made things easier to carry.

And maybe she didn’t want to admit it, but… she liked that about him.

A lot.

JJ cleared his throat, trying to shake it off. “You ever think about how we’re like beach janitors with tons of issues?”

Kiara smirked. “Speak for yourself. My trauma’s in check.”

“Oh yeah?” JJ raised a brow. “Emotionally regulated Kie over here, call the therapists.” He brought his hand to his mouth like a walkie-talkie, pressing an invisible button. “Breaker breaker, we got a level-headed Pogue on the loose, over.”

“I’m working on it,” she said, smiling. “Unlike you, emotionally unstable and messy.”

JJ chuckled. “Like you said, perfect match.”

Kiara blinked. The words hung between them a little too long. She looked away, hoping he didn’t see the way her ears turned pink. JJ didn’t say anything either. He just picked up another piece of trash. But he was still smiling.

JJ nudged a crumpled fast food wrapper with the toe, then lined it up like it was the game-winning field goal. With a smug little grin, he launched it—flicking it up with his foot and catching it in his hand like a football before tossing it straight into Kiara’s trash bag.

“Touchdown,” he said, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow.

But the move kicked up a wave of sand, and it sprayed over Kiara’s legs, dusting her shorts and calves like powdered sugar.

“JJ!” she shouted, stepping back with a laugh, brushing sand off her knees.

He turned, grinning, caught up in the way she looked when she laughed like that—genuine and loud and unfiltered. The wind caught her hair just right, strands clinging to her cheeks before she pushed them away with the back of her hand. And god—she looked good like this. Not the kind of good you throw around in casual compliments, but the kind that made his chest feel a little too tight.

She didn’t look over at him, but she could feel the stare. She didn’t need to check—JJ’s gaze was like heat on the side of her face.

“You keep looking at me like that,” Kiara said, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, “people are gonna think you’re in love or something.”

JJ blinked. “What?” His voice cracked a little before he cleared his throat. “I wasn’t—”

She raised a brow, still not looking at him directly, just amused.

He scratched the back of his neck. “I just…” He trailed off, then sighed. “I just like you better like this.”

Kiara finally turned to face him. “Like what?”

JJ hesitated, his voice low when he finally said, “…happy.”

One word. Small. Simple. But it knocked the wind out of her more than she was ready to admit.

She stopped walking. So did he.

Their shoulders were just inches apart now, close enough that JJ could see the gold flecks in her eyes under the sunlight. The air between them buzzed—not the awkward kind, but the kind that made everything sharper. Louder. Slower.

Kiara stared at him for a beat longer than necessary. Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but then—

“What’s gotten into you today?” she asked, her voice light but her eyes searching.

JJ’s nose scrunched a little, a deflection already loaded on his tongue. “Okay, my bad for pouring my heart out. Next time I’ll just insult your laugh or something.”

“Oh please, you love my laugh.” she smiled.

“I do,” JJ said, his tone laced with that casual defiance—like yeah, and what about it?

Kiara burst out laughing. It was that deep-belly kind of laugh—the one JJ secretly loved because it was rare. The kind that wasn’t just noise, but real, like it had been sitting inside her all day, waiting to be let out.

JJ turned quickly and started walking again, not saying a word. Because yeah, he was smiling way too wide and he didn’t trust his face not to betray him right now. His cheeks were hot, and he could feel it—like he’d just stepped into the sun after being in the shade too long.

Kiara watched him walk ahead, his shoulders a little too stiff, his hands jammed into his pockets.

She bit back her own smile, cheeks still warm from his words.

And maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t quite ready to admit it, but something about JJ's voice when he said "happy" lingered in her chest longer than she wanted to admit.

It made her feel seen. And it scared her just a little.

But she followed him anyway.

———————

The sun was already kissing the horizon when JJ and Kiara made their way back to the blanket, their steps slow and unhurried, the way people walked when they didn’t really want the day to end.

Sarah was stacking mason jars and folding the corners of the blanket in. John B was wrestling the cooler closed, looking like he was losing.

John B was the first to spot them. He stood upright, eyes narrowing with the weight of some dumb comment forming behind his smirk. “Well, well, well—”

“Don’t,” Kiara cut him off, shooting him a look before he could get the words out.

JJ just snorted behind her, brushing sand off his shorts like he hadn’t just been caught soft-staring at Kiara half the day.

They packed up the rest of the food and tossed the last trash into the bags. Sarah shoved the folded blanket under one arm and tossed a knowing glance at Kiara, who pretended not to see it.

“Alright, back to The Cut,” John B announced, lifting the cooler into the boat with a grunt. JJ reached over to help and Kiara jumped in after them, her hands full of leftover fruit and mismatched sandwich containers.

As the boat cut through the water, they all slumped into their usual spots—worn-in and sun-tired but happy. Sarah leaned into John B again, her legs stretched out across the seat, while Kiara sat across from JJ, the soft hum of the engine blending into the quiet laughter floating between them.

“Okay but seriously,” Sarah said, squinting at JJ over the top of her sunglasses, “if you ever wear that perfume again, we’re gonna have to hold an intervention.”

JJ threw his head back. “You know what? I’m bringing it next time. Spraying it on everything. Might even name it—‘Grapefruit Gasoline.’ It’s got a vibe.”

“That’s not a vibe, that’s a fire hazard,” Kiara shot back, deadpan.

JJ grinned and pointed at her. “And yet—you made me sandwiches. Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

“Pity sandwiches,” she replied, popping a leftover grape into her mouth.

“You wound me.”

Sarah chuckled. “You two are like this all the time, huh?”

“Unfortunately,” John B muttered, but the smile on his face betrayed his tone.

The laughter faded into a peaceful lull, the kind that didn’t need filling. They let it settle, the wind brushing past their faces, hair whipping, cheeks sun-warm and salt-sticky. The kind of silence that felt earned.

The sky was dipped in hues of deep gold and soft pink, the kind of orange you only get when the day has been perfect from start to finish. The water mirrored it—glistening like a moving painting, every small wave catching the light and scattering it like broken glass.

JJ leaned his head back, letting the wind push his hair off his face, and for a moment, no one said anything at all.

Because sometimes, you didn’t need to.

Today was good. Like, really good.

The kind of good that snuck up on you.

The kind that stayed.

By the time the HMS Pogue pulled back into familiar waters, the last of the sunlight had melted into the sea. The orange skies were giving way to the deep blues of early night, and the sound of cicadas hummed softly from the trees along the shore. The dock came into view, the Chateau right behind it, nestled into the wild overgrowth like it had always belonged there.

JJ was halfway through a story—something dumb about a time he and John B tried to build a ramp for a dirt bike using nothing but plywood and very questionable confidence—when his voice trailed off mid-sentence.

There, by the hammock, Pope was sitting.

Arms crossed. Head slightly turned, like he’d been waiting.

JJ stopped talking.

Kiara’s smile faltered.

The air shifted.

Sarah caught on next, her steps slowing. John B said nothing at first, but his brows lifted just slightly, a flicker of surprise passing over his face. Still, they all greeted Pope in their own way.

JJ was the first to speak, lounging back on his elbows with a lazy grin. “Yo,” he called, dragging the word out like it was both a greeting and a challenge, his voice carrying just enough to say we see you without pushing too hard.

John B followed with a smirk, tossing a hand in the air. “Well, well, look who it is,” he said, not unkindly—more playful, like he was trying to keep things light, like it wasn’t weird that Pope hadn’t been around.

And Sarah, always quick to fill the silence with something softer, added with a teasing lilt, “Finally out of hiding, huh?” Her tone was warm, almost hopeful, like she was trying to meet Pope where he was without making a big deal of it.

They started toward the Chateau, the familiar path stretching before them. JJ hesitated for a moment, glancing back once, then let Sarah tug him along with a look. He shot Kiara one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the house.

But Kiara stayed.

Her eyes were on Pope.

And Pope wasn’t looking at her—he was staring out at the water like it had answers he hadn’t found yet.

She stood there for a moment, the breeze catching her hair, the last of the sun glinting off the waves. Then Pope looked at her.

Kiara took a slow step forward. Her voice was quiet, but it didn’t waver.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Pope paused. His eyes flicked down, then back up.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

Kiara moved toward him and sat beside him on the hammock, the tension between them thick but not sharp. Not angry. Just… weighty. Like something that had been waiting too long.

The sky darkened. The Chateau lights flicked on behind them.

The day was over, but the conversation wasn’t.

Not yet.

Kiara opened her mouth to say something—anything—but her voice came out unsure, tangled in everything she didn’t know how to explain.

“I—I don’t know how to start, Pope…”

But he looked at her then, firm and still, his jaw tight but his eyes honest.

“I love you, Kie.”

The words knocked the breath from her chest. Her lips parted but no sound followed. She just stared.

“I have loved you for years,” he went on, voice unwavering. “Since we were kids. Since before I even knew what to do with those feelings. Before you and John B, before Sarah, before JJ ever had a single real conversation with you.” He gave a soft, bitter laugh. “I’ve been here, always.”

Kiara blinked. She felt the weight of his confession crash over her like a rogue wave. She wanted to speak, to soften it somehow—but he kept going.

“That night…” Pope took a breath. “When you leaned in, Kie, it was like—God, it was like something out of one of those old dreams I stopped letting myself believe. It felt real. Like maybe you saw me the same way I saw you. Like I wasn’t just your friend, wasn’t just the guy you depended on when things got bad. I thought…”

He stopped, looking down, running a hand over his face.

“I thought you finally felt the same.”

Kiara’s throat tightened. “Pope…”

“I know you stopped,” he said quickly. “I know you didn’t kiss me. But the way it all happened… it messed me up. Felt like you were testing me, or maybe just didn’t know what you wanted. And I get that—" he looked at her again, not unkind, just pained, “—but I need you to know it wasn’t nothing to me. I don’t think I can act like it was.”

Silence bloomed between them, heavy and raw.

Kiara’s hands fidgeted in her lap. She stared at them like they’d offer some clarity.

She wasn’t ready to speak yet—because how do you say I didn’t mean to hurt you, when you know you did?

Kiara let the silence hang for a second longer, the words sitting heavy on her tongue. She wasn’t used to being at a loss, but this—this felt impossible to explain without breaking something.

She finally looked at Pope. “I was… confused, Pope. Really confused.” Her voice was low, soft around the edges. “I’d been feeling all kinds of things and I didn’t know what to do with any of it. So I started looking at everything like maybe it meant something. And you… I mean, you’ve always been good to me. Loyal. Kind. Safe.”

Pope’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.

“I thought maybe I felt something too,” she admitted, the truth burning on its way out. “And in that moment, I leaned in because… I thought maybe it was supposed to feel right.”

She paused, her voice cracking slightly.

“But it didn’t. Not like it should’ve. Not the way you deserved.”

Pope stayed quiet, eyes searching her face. He didn’t interrupt this time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It wasn’t fair to you. I didn’t mean to test you or lead you on. I just… I didn’t want to force something that wasn’t there. And I hated the idea of hurting you even more than I hated the confusion I was feeling.”

She met his eyes. “You’ve always been someone I care about, Pope. That hasn’t changed. But I think I was trying to make something real out of the wrong pieces.”

He exhaled slowly, looking down at the sand beneath his feet.

“You should’ve just told me,” Pope said, his voice quieter now. Not bitter. Just tired.

Kiara opened her mouth to respond, but he kept going.

“I really love you, Kie.” His eyes locked on hers, firm, like if he said it enough it would finally change something. “I do. I have for a long time.”

“I know, Pope,” she finally said. “And—and— I love you too. I do, just… not like that.” Her voice faltered. “We wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?” he asked, leaning forward, like he needed the answer to anchor himself.

Kiara hesitated. “Because,” she said, searching for the right words, “I feel something brewing inside me. Something I haven’t really figured out yet. And I can’t pretend that what happened between us didn’t complicate everything even more.”

Pope’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Something?” he asked. “Or someone?”

She flinched like he hit a nerve. Her voice dropped. “Pope, that doesn’t matter.”

“Right.”

Silence swallowed them whole. Long, uncomfortable, and pressing like the air had thickened. Kiara stared down at her hands, fidgeting with a piece of string from her shorts. Her thoughts were a mess of emotions—guilt, relief, confusion, and something else she wasn’t ready to admit. Not out loud. Not even to herself.

She could feel Pope looking at her. Waiting for what came next. Maybe he knew. Maybe he didn’t. But he said it first.

“Okay, you’re right. I think it’s smart if we just… stay friends.”

“Yeah,” Kiara said quickly, nodding, too quickly. “Yeah, no, totally. Dude, I’m like—super into that. We’ll never work. We know that now. So it’s just… best.”

Pope didn’t say anything. Not at first. Just looked at her with that expression that said yeah right. Like he was already rewriting the conversation in his head to make it hurt less.

She hesitated again. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

He snapped before she could say anything else. “Stop saying sorry out of pity, Kie. It’s fine. We’re gonna be okay eventually.”

Kiara straightened, her voice sharper now. “It’s not pity, Pope. You gotta understand—”

But he stood up, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Kiara reached out, grabbed his arm to turn him toward her. “Listen to me. Look, we’ve been best friends for so long. It’d feel weird, starting something like that and risking what we already have. It’s not that I didn’t think about it, it’s just…”

“I get it, Kiara,” Pope cut in, voice low, controlled, but clearly hurting. “I get it.”

She looked at him for a second longer, eyes searching his face for signs that he really did. But something about the way he wouldn’t hold her gaze told her he didn’t—not really. At least not yet.

Still, she nodded. “Okay.”

A pause stretched between them.

Then Pope broke the silence. Nodded once, slowly. “Thanks for being honest with me.”

Kiara sighed, shoulders deflating. “Thank you for listening. This has been bugging me for days… I’m really glad we had this talk.”

Pope forced a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

They hugged. It was stiff at first, but familiar. Familiar enough to feel like almost normal.

“P4L, right?” Kiara said, voice small against his shoulder.

“Sure,” Pope replied, tone a little too sarcastic.

And with that one word, Kiara knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

Chapter Text

The next morning felt a little too quiet for the Chateau. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful—just… uncertain. Like the calm after a storm where no one’s sure if it’s really over, or if it’s just catching its breath.

Kiara sat on the porch steps, legs stretched out, a water bottle clutched in her hands like she needed something to hold onto. She wasn’t saying much—not like she used to. Just kind of… there. Watching the others move around her while her mind played reruns of conversations she’d rather forget.

John B was by the shed, messing with something that definitely didn’t need fixing. A broken fishing rod, maybe. More so he could keep his hands busy. Sarah laid out on a blanket nearby, sunglasses on, a book open in her lap, though her eyes had barely touched the page. Every now and then, she’d glance at Kiara—subtle, but watching.

JJ was pacing the yard, barefoot and restless, the way he always got when something was chewing at him. He’d look at Kiara when she wasn’t looking, trying to read her face, like maybe he could pick up on whatever was weighing her down. She didn’t even notice. Or maybe she was just pretending not to.

They were trying. All of them. To fall back into their rhythm. But Pope’s absence still clung to them like a loose thread no one wanted to pull.

Until Sarah got tired of waiting.

She’d sent Pope a text earlier that morning, short and simple. “You coming or what?” No emoji. Just that. And when he didn’t reply, she texted again. And again. Eventually, she called.

Whatever she said must’ve worked. Because two hours later, Pope showed up—hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

He didn’t greet anyone with the usual half-smile or sarcastic one-liner. Just nodded. Barely made eye contact. Kiara’s back stiffened the second she heard his footsteps. JJ looked up from the porch railing and saw them both at the same time—her looking anywhere but at Pope, and Pope not looking at anyone at all.

Sarah jumped in, breaking the tension with too much enthusiasm. “Hey! There he is. About time you showed up.”

Pope shrugged. “Yeah… figured I’d stop by.”

JJ tilted his head, watching Sarah out of the corner of his eye. She wasn’t saying it, but it was obvious—this wasn’t Pope just choosing to hang out. Sarah had practically dragged him here, emotionally speaking.

But still. He came. That had to count for something, right?

The five of them stood there, caught in this weird limbo. Together, but not completely. Something in the air had changed. JJ felt it. Kiara felt it. Pope definitely felt it. And Sarah? She just wanted to glue the group back together before the cracks got too deep.

They all needed today to be normal. Even if it wasn’t.

JJ watched the others for a moment, the silence between them dragging on like a bad joke no one wanted to finish. Pope was looking at the ground, hands shoved deeper into his pockets, shoulders stiff. Kiara was on edge, but pretending not to be. Sarah was keeping her distance, but clearly observing everything.

And then JJ, with his typical lack of filter, broke the silence—not with a joke about the situation, but with something entirely random, completely stupid, and entirely JJ.

“Man,” JJ said, looking over at Pope with a grin. “I swear, if I had a dollar for every time I tripped over nothing, I’d be rich enough to retire and just pay someone to trip for me.”

The ridiculousness of it hit Pope first. His lips twitched, a surprised chuckle slipping out before he even realized it. Kiara, caught off guard, let out a laugh too—soft at first, but then it grew. A real laugh. A deep, genuine one. The kind that Kiara hadn't felt in days.

Their eyes met, Kiara and Pope, and for a second, Kiara thought she might say something—anything—to break the tension. But she didn’t. She just stayed there, looking at Pope. He seemed to freeze, eyes locking with hers for a heartbeat too long.

And then he looked away. As if he'd just remembered he was mad at her. Or maybe he wasn’t sure what he was anymore.

Kiara didn’t look away, though. Her gaze stayed on him. For just a moment, there was a shift—a connection that wasn’t quite broken, but neither was it mended. JJ noticed it too. He saw how Kiara’s eyes lingered, how she couldn’t seem to pull her focus from Pope. The sight hit him harder than he expected.

But before he could dwell on it too much, Kiara turned her head to him, catching his stare. JJ quickly dropped his gaze to the ground, his thoughts spinning. He wasn’t ready for this—wasn't ready for any of it.

Then, Kiara, always finding something to focus on when she wanted to escape, noticed a piece of broken wood on the ground, lying on top of a couple of rocks. Without missing a beat, she picked it up and handed it to JJ.

"Here," she said, a mischievous spark in her eyes. "I can hit that.”

JJ squinted at it, still confused. "Hit what? That little stick?”

She grinned. "Yeah. Watch me.”

He laughed, shaking his head. "Don’t get too confident, Kie. I’m not sure the world’s ready for your secret talents.”

"Just watch." Kiara smirked, ready to prove him wrong.

JJ, not one to back down from a challenge, dodged a rock she threw at him in exaggerated fashion, jumping backward and flailing his arms in the most ridiculous way possible. Kiara’s laughter rang out, pure and light, like the sound of everything being just a little less heavy for a while.

They kept going, Kiara hitting the rocks with precision, JJ dodging in the most absurd ways he could manage. They were like a team, even though they didn’t need to be. The air between them, though still tinged with everything unspoken, seemed to soften.

From the porch steps, Pope stood quietly, watching them. His eyes flicked back and forth between Kiara and JJ. He didn’t join in, not yet, but the corners of his mouth barely twitched—almost like he wanted to smile, but it never quite reached his face. The sound of Kiara’s laughter hit him differently, pulling something inside him that he couldn’t fully name yet. There was a bitterness under it, something he hadn’t been able to shake.

Though Kiara was laughing, her eyes weren’t just full of fun. There was relief there, yes, but also something else—a flicker of something she wasn’t sure of yet. She was here, with them, at least for now. But Pope saw the way she looked at JJ, the way she stayed locked in the moment with him. That, he couldn’t ignore.

JJ, of course, kept up his usual goofball act, throwing himself dramatically out of the way of every rock she tossed, his laughter filling the air. But beneath the antics, JJ couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything that had passed between them. 

He glanced at Pope again, noticing the shift in his expression. Pope wasn’t smiling—not at all. His jaw was clenched, his posture tense, and there was something in his eyes that made it clear: this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. The way things were, it didn’t feel right. There was a certain suspicion there, a feeling that something was off, something wasn’t sitting right with him.

Pope was just standing there, watching them both, waiting for the tension to snap or settle, but he wasn’t sure which would happen first.

JJ could feel it—Pope’s eyes on him. Like a silent weight pressing between his shoulder blades, a look that said more than words could. It wasn’t just watching. It was something sharper, something heavier. Maybe it was jealousy, maybe suspicion, or maybe it was Pope trying to piece something together and not liking what he was seeing.

JJ tried to brush it off, but the feeling stuck. He caught another glimpse of Pope—arms crossed, mouth in a thin line, eyes darting between him and Kiara—and it made him stop mid-laugh.

“Alright, alright,” JJ called out, waving a hand as Kiara lined up another rock. “Let’s retire the game before you embarrass yourself again.”

Kiara cocked her head, fake-offended. “What? Boo! You’re just mad because I kept hitting every damn rock.”

JJ gave her a smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, I’m mad because the rocks are suing for assault.”

Kiara laughed, winding up like she was gonna chuck another one right at him. “You’re lucky I haven’t aimed for your face.”

JJ didn’t joke back. Didn’t dodge or laugh or egg her on like usual. He just smiled—tight-lipped, distracted—and caught the rock midair before gently tossing it to the side. “Alright, slugger, game over.”

He turned and made his way to the hammock, sinking into it with a lazy groan like nothing was wrong. But everything felt off.

As he laid there, JJ glanced again at the porch. Pope was still there, still staring—this time, directly at Kiara. His brows were furrowed, eyes narrowed like he was trying to solve a puzzle that kept slipping through his fingers.

Then Pope looked at JJ. Straight on.

Their eyes met for a second—just one second—but it was enough. JJ held it, then slowly looked away, something sinking deep in his chest. He turned his head to the other side of the hammock, the side where Kiara always sat, legs tucked up and hair loose in the breeze, her voice making the air feel a little lighter.

But it wasn’t light right now.

JJ dropped his head back and let out a sigh, loud and heavy and full of things he didn’t feel like dealing with.

Kiara dropped the last rock she’d been holding, brushing the sand off her hands as she watched JJ wander over to the hammock. He hadn’t thrown back the last one—not like him. Usually, he’d be running his mouth, calling her a cheater or dramatically flopping around pretending he’d been hit by a meteor instead of a pebble.

But now?

He was quiet. Not like silent-in-a-funny-way quiet. Just… off.

She squinted a little, watching him flop into the hammock, one arm slung over his face for a second before he let it fall to the side. His other hand dangled loosely over the edge, fingers brushing the grass like he didn’t even realize it. Then he sighed, loud enough for her to hear it from where she stood.

That wasn’t the sound of someone tired. That was the sound of someone weighed down.

Her gaze flicked to the porch.

Pope.

He was standing like a statue, arms crossed tight, face unreadable—but his eyes weren’t blank. No, they were too sharp for that. 

Watching. 

Thinking

. Judging?

And he wasn’t watching JJ anymore. He was watching her.

She looked away fast, like she’d been caught doing something wrong, and walked toward the hammock where JJ laid like he was trying to disappear into it.

“You good?” she asked, keeping it casual. Soft.

JJ didn’t look up. “Peachy,” he said, but it lacked his usual cocky charm. Then he added, with a little more effort, “Better with you guys around.”

She swallowed. It wasn’t the words—it was the pause that stuck with her. Like there was something unsaid, something he almost didn’t let slip.

Kiara sat down beside the hammock, close but not too close. Her knees bent, arms resting on them, fingers fiddling with the edge of her socks. She didn’t look at him. Not yet.

From the corner of her eye, she could still see Pope on the porch. Still watching. She wondered if he even blinked.

Her chest tightened.

Everything was too loud and too quiet at once—the wind through the trees, the distant sound of Sarah laughing from somewhere in the back, the low hum of the waves hitting the dock. But in her head? Static. Just a lot of buzzing static.

Because Pope was still angry. And JJ was acting weird. And she didn’t know what to do with any of it.

She wanted to laugh again, like when they were on the island, when for a brief second it had felt like they were all okay again. Like the world had paused long enough to breathe.

She glanced at JJ again.

He was staring out toward the water now, not saying anything.

She followed his gaze, but all she saw was the sun, low and glowing, casting gold across the water’s surface like spilled paint.

Somehow it made her feel sad.

JJ really didn’t want her to sit on the hammock with him.

He saw her walking over and already felt Pope’s eyes sharpen from the porch steps. JJ didn’t even need to look to know the stare was there—cold and constant. The kind of look that clung like sweat.

And still, Kiara sat down. Right there beside him, like it didn’t mean anything. Like it was just a hammock and just a moment.

But it wasn’t just anything anymore.

Not with Pope watching like he was cataloging every breath.

JJ forced his eyes forward, out at the water. Sunlight hit it just right—glistening and blinding, like the day was mocking him for being so in his head.

Beside him, Kiara was quiet for a beat before she tried to slice through the weight in the air with a joke. Something dumb. Something about how Sarah would probably make them do chores later like they were six and lived at a summer camp.

JJ smirked. Couldn't help it. She always had this way of tugging the corners of his mouth up, even when he didn’t feel like smiling.

He looked at her—just briefly—and out of the corner of his eye, he caught the screen door creak open. Pope, stepping in to the porch couch. Sitting down without a word, just watching them like some unspoken referee.

JJ didn’t look over.

Didn’t have to.

He could feel it.

So he faked a yawn, big and over the top. “Wake me up at lunch,” he mumbled.

Kiara blinked, confused. “It is lunch.”

“Cool, then wake me up at dinner,” he said, stretching with that lazy grin, the one he wore when he wanted to disappear before anything real got said.

He stood up, brushing off the back of his shirt, and just as he was turning to leave, Kiara’s hand reached out, fingers curling gently around his wrist.

He stopped.

Looked down at it.

She noticed it too—realized what she did—and let go quickly, almost like it burned her.

“You sure you’re good?” she asked.

JJ forced a grin, the kind that only half-reached his eyes. “Alive, unmedicated, and unsupervised,” he said, throwing up a peace sign like it meant something.

She smiled. Small. Real.

He walked toward the house, toward the front steps—and there was Pope, arms crossed, half-sunk into the porch couch like he owned the tension in the air.

JJ nodded. “Hey, man.”

Pope didn’t miss a beat. “Hey to you too.”

JJ’s brow ticked, confusion knitting into his forehead, but he kept walking. Brushed it off. Didn’t need another weird moment to file into the already overloaded day.

Inside, the Château was quiet, warm from the sun bleeding through the windows. JJ wandered to his room and flopped onto the bed, head hitting the pillow like he’d been carrying bricks.

And still, the thoughts came.

He saw it. Pope saw it.

That flicker of something between him and Kiara—that easy back-and-forth, the kind of thing they didn’t even mean to fall into, didn’t even realize they’d been building for years.

But it looked like something.

And maybe Pope was right to be pissed. Maybe he had every reason to hate what he saw out there.

But JJ couldn’t help it. He didn’t want any of this to get messy. But it was. It already was.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He hadn’t even meant to look at her the way he did.

But now that he had… it was too late to pretend he didn’t know what it meant

———————

The Chateau was quiet now, save for the hum of cicadas and the occasional clink of dishes from the kitchen. The sky outside had gone deep navy, with only the porch light casting a warm yellow glow across the front steps. Inside, the dimness made the place feel smaller, closer.

JJ was out cold on his bed, sprawled sideways like he hadn't meant to fall asleep—because he hadn’t. He’d only planned on resting his eyes for a second, just to block out the noise in his head.

But then there was a loud knock on the doorframe followed by John B’s voice.

“Dude, wake up. Dinner’s ready.”

JJ blinked awake, groggy and confused. He squinted at the shape in the doorway, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Shit… what time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter. Everyone’s out there already.” John B leaned casually against the frame but glanced behind him, toward the dining table. His tone changed a little, more curious than casual now. “Hey—what happened?”

JJ rubbed at his face, still disoriented. “What?”

“With Kie. And Pope. Something’s off.”

JJ yawned and swung his legs off the bed, his brain still catching up. “I don’t know, dude. You’re probably thinking too much.”

John B didn’t buy it. “Right. Because I don’t notice how they tiptoe around each other like a landmine’s about to go off.”

JJ groaned and leaned forward, elbows on knees. His head throbbed faintly, and John B’s persistent voice was only making it worse. “Okay, fine, fine,” he muttered. “Kie tried to kiss Pope.”

John B’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Yeah,” JJ said flatly. “Tried. She pulled back last minute.”

“Why Pope?” John B blurted, baffled.

JJ blinked at him, unimpressed. “Who should she kiss then?”

John B opened his mouth, paused, then shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I could list a few. But Pope is the last on that list, JJ.”

JJ let out a breathy laugh, the kind that didn't have any humor in it. “Doesn’t matter. It happened.”

There was a pause. John B shifted his weight, still leaning on the doorframe. “So… what now?”

JJ stared down at the wooden floor, following the grain with his eyes like it might give him answers. “Hell if I know. She talked to Pope last night. Didn’t ask what happened after that.”

But his thoughts wandered back there anyway. What did she say? What did Pope say? Did they clear it all up, or just bury it again under that awkward tension they’d been wearing all day?

John B stepped back. “C’mon. Let’s eat before Sarah eats all the bread.”

JJ stood, stretching out his arms before following. He wasn’t really hungry, but he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts either.

When they stepped into the dining room, the lights cast a soft, homey glow over the table, illuminating the mismatched plates and bowls passed around like tradition. Kiara sat near the middle, right beside JJ’s usual seat—her arms resting on the table, half turned as if expecting him to take the spot beside her. Sarah sat to her left, talking about something only she seemed to care about.

Pope, surprisingly, was already seated at the other end, fork pushing around the rice on his plate.

JJ paused for a second, gaze flicking from Kiara to Pope. Without saying anything, he slid into the seat beside Pope instead.

Kiara raised her brows, caught the move, and glanced at the empty chair beside her. She met JJ’s eyes across the table and mouthed, o...kay? A quick twitch of confusion. JJ didn’t respond. Just looked away and grabbed the bowl of stew like nothing happened.

Plates were passed. Food was warm. The conversation remained mild, a lazy current of words just enough to fill the space.

But the tension?

Still there. Lingering. Lounging around like it had been invited to dinner.

JJ felt it crawling under his skin. Like the elephant in the room had just moved chairs… and sat right next to him.

And he was the only one who kept seeing it.

But laughter started to bubble up slowly, like someone had cracked a window just wide enough to let in a breeze.

“Okay, but tell me why JJ screamed when that crab pinched him like it was a horror movie,” Kiara said, poking her fork toward him from across the table.

JJ let out a dry chuckle, half-smiling. “That thing was a beast, alright? Had murder in its eyes.”

He hadn’t planned on joking back. Not tonight. Not with everything hanging heavy in the air. But then he looked at her.

The way her eyes squinted a little when she laughed, the way she nudged Sarah like she was retelling the best part of the story—

It was stupidly endearing.

So he leaned in. “Nah, but for real—if I didn’t run, I was gonna be seafood.”

Everyone snorted.

John B raised a brow. “You are seafood, bro.”

“Exactly,” Sarah added. “Just with more anxiety and less shell.”

JJ grinned, shaking his head. But across the table, he didn’t miss it—the quick jab of Pope’s fork into his mashed potatoes. Like the food had insulted his whole family.

Still, they kept laughing.

John B leaned back a little, like a dad checking in after a long day. “So… how are you guys?”

Four sets of eyes turned to him immediately.

“…What?” Kiara blinked. “Why are you asking that like you’re about to ground us?”

Sarah turned to him too. “Babe. Are you okay?”

John B looked offended. “God forbid a man asks how his friends are doing.”

JJ snorted. “Yeah, but not mid-bite like you’re about to read us bedtime stories next.”

Sarah patted John B’s chest dramatically. “You’re evolving.”

“Next thing you know,” Kiara said, grinning, “he’s gonna say, ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed.’”

John B groaned and threw his head back. “Okay, okay, forget I asked.”

Then, quietly, Pope spoke up for the first time in a while, eyes still on his plate.

“Honestly? I’m just waiting for the day he busts out the ‘as long as you live under my roof…’ speech.”

That got a good laugh out of everyone. 

Even JJ.

Even Kiara.

And Pope didn’t smile—not really. But his mouth twitched. Just enough.

The tension? It started to lift. Not all the way. Not yet.

Still, for now—everyone let it go.

Even Pope.

Sort of.

The Chateau hadn’t felt like this in a while.

Warm. Loud. Alive.

From the outside, through the windows, it probably looked like some perfect little found-family sitcom. The kind with mismatched dinnerware, and friends packed shoulder to shoulder around a table that was too small but felt just right. Laughter spilling out through the cracked windows. Light flickering from the hanging bulb above, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

Kiara tossed a piece of bread at JJ when he made a snarky comment. He caught it with his mouth, cheered like he’d won a championship, and nearly choked from laughing. Sarah rolled her eyes while refilling their water glasses like a mom who gave up long ago.

Pope muttered something under his breath—something snarky—and John B pointed at him like “See? He gets it.”

And then they were all laughing again.

Glasses clinked. Someone dropped a fork. JJ flicked mashed potatoes at Pope, and Pope retaliated with a grape aimed at JJ’s head. It missed and hit the wall, but nobody cared.

In that moment, no one was thinking about what was broken, or what wasn’t fixed yet. They were just there.

Messy, loud, complicated.

But together.

The sky had gone full navy now, the last bits of daylight tucked behind the trees. Crickets had started their nightly symphony, mixing with the faint clatter of plates from the open kitchen window.

Kiara stood at the sink, warm water rushing over the dishes as she scrubbed. Her brow was furrowed in quiet focus, but there was a calmness to her movements—like the routine of it all gave her something steady to hold onto. Sarah was behind her, collecting cups from the table, humming softly as she stacked plates and wiped crumbs off the wood.

Out by the dock, John B was bent over the boat, fiddling with something under the seat—probably tightening a loose bolt he’d sworn he fixed last week. His shirt was damp with saltwater, hair a mess from the wind, but he looked content in that John B way—half-lost in whatever project had his attention.

JJ wasn’t far, but he wasn’t close either. He leaned against the railing, a bottle of beer in hand, thumb tracing the condensation around the neck. His gaze wasn’t on anything in particular, maybe just the water—how it shimmered under the moonlight, soft ripples stretching to the horizon. His shoulders were relaxed, but his mind wasn’t. He was too still for someone who usually buzzed with movement.

He didn’t hear Pope approach, not until he was already there beside him.

There wasn’t a sound, not even a footstep—just Pope, standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking out at the same stretch of water. JJ glanced over at him briefly, and Pope looked back just the same. No nod, no words. Just... acknowledgment.

Then silence.

Not uncomfortable, but not easy either.

Just that in-between kind. The kind that holds things unsaid.

Pope shifted a little closer, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath him. His elbow nearly brushed JJ’s, but still, neither looked at the other. The only movement was the gentle sway of the dock under their weight, the quiet slosh of water licking the posts below. A few voices drifted from the house—Kiara laughing at something, Sarah’s hum as she cleared off the table—but out here, it felt like they were in a pocket of their own.

JJ was leaning against the railing, one leg up on the lower beam, beer in hand, watching the water move like it had answers. His mind had wandered somewhere else entirely. Somewhere that wasn’t this exact moment, until—

“You knew, didn’t you?”

JJ blinked, slowly turning his head. “Knew what?”

Pope’s voice was steady, but the look in his eyes was anything but. “That she didn’t feel the same.”

JJ looked away again, staring into the reflection of the moon rippling on the water’s surface. He didn’t respond right away. The question settled between them like fog—thick, lingering, hard to see through.

Did he know?

He thought back to all the times he’d caught Kiara looking at Pope and then looking away. The silence between them after the kiss-that-wasn’t. The way her laugh sounded different when she was trying too hard. The way she looked at JJ sometimes when she didn’t know he was watching—like she was searching for something and didn’t even realize it.

But Kiara was unpredictable. Wild. Impossible to pin down. She said things she didn’t always mean, and meant things she didn’t always say. 

You couldn’t guess with her. You just had to feel your way through.

So maybe he did know. Maybe he didn’t.

JJ let out a quiet breath through his nose, rubbed the back of his neck, and answered truthfully.

“I don’t really know.”

Pope didn’t respond. He just looked out at the water, jaw tightening slightly. The silence fell between them again—longer this time. Not as tense, not as angry. Just… still.

And JJ hated it. Because even in that stillness, he could feel the weight of what wasn’t being said.

The night around them was dark and cool. Crickets chirped in the grass. Somewhere inside, a dish clinked against another. But out here, nothing moved.

JJ took another sip of his beer, letting it sit heavy on his tongue. He didn’t know what Pope was thinking, but for once, he didn’t try to guess.

Some truths were just too heavy to carry for someone else.

Pope stayed still for a beat, eyes still on the dark water, before he asked—quiet, almost like it slipped past his lips without permission,

“Do you still like her?”

JJ’s head snapped to him so fast it was a miracle he didn’t sprain something. “What?”

That single syllable came out half-choked, like Pope had just asked if JJ wanted to marry her or something. He blinked, scoffed, actually scoffed, like the idea was absurd.

“What—no. Dude, what?” JJ ran a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at Pope. “Why would you—no. Come on, man.”

His voice cracked somewhere between the second and third denial. It was too much, too fast, too real. He swore under his breath, took another swig of his beer, then pretended to be fascinated by the way the bottle caught the porch light.

But Pope wasn’t moving. His eyes hadn’t left JJ.

“JJ,” Pope said again, firmer now. “Do you like her?”

JJ went quiet. The world kind of blurred out for a second.

He thought of Kiara’s laugh. The way her eyes looked when she smiled too big, like she couldn’t hold it all in. The way she handed him the rocks earlier, the way she looked at him sometimes like she already knew what he was thinking before he even said it.

He thought of how he felt when she was with Pope. That ache in his chest. That twist in his gut. That stupid, sour feeling he couldn’t shake.

But no. No, no, no. He didn’t want to open that door. Didn’t want to go there. Not now. Not like this.

“I don’t know, man,” JJ finally said, voice low.

It came out like sandpaper.

He turned his head just enough to meet Pope’s eyes. And the look Pope gave him wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even surprised.

It was just… knowing.

Like he’d already figured out the answer and only asked to make JJ say it out loud.

JJ opened his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to walk it back, maybe to lie again—but Pope was already walking away. Slow steps back toward the house, hands in his pockets, not saying anything else.

JJ stayed frozen for a second before his eyes followed Pope’s figure moving up the path. Then his gaze shifted—

—and landed right on the screen door of the Chateau.

Kiara.

She stood there like she’d just come out, maybe looking for them. Her eyes found JJ’s, and for a second, they just stared at each other.

The porch light behind her made her hair glow golden at the edges. 

JJ didn’t know how long he stood there—how long he let the sight of her freeze him in place.

Kiara was barefoot, one hand still gripping the screen door behind her, the other curled loosely by her side. Her eyes were wide, soft, a little concerned, and something about the way she tilted her head—like she was trying to read him from across the yard—hit JJ harder than he expected.

The porch light backlit her hair, catching every wind-tousled strand in a warm glow. Her face was calm, but her brows were knit together in that Kie way—the way she always looked when she sensed something was off but hadn’t decided if she was going to ask about it or wait for you to spill it yourself. She had a way of looking at people like they were books she already read once and couldn’t help rereading.

And JJ? He felt like his cover was blown.

Something twisted in his chest. Like a tension wire being pulled taut. She looked like that same version of Kiara he’d known forever—ride or die, loud-mouthed, wild-hearted Kiara—but now, there was something different in the way she was looking at him. And maybe the difference wasn’t in her at all. Maybe it was him.

His stomach felt weird. Not bad, just… tense.

Like maybe he’d just figured something out he wasn’t ready to admit yet.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even have to say anything.

That single look did enough damage.

He blinked and looked away, scuffed his boot against the wooden rail like it was the only solid thing in the world, trying to will himself to breathe.

What the hell is happening to me?

From the porch, Kiara watched both of them—Pope walking away, then JJ standing there, statue-still like he’d been hit with a truth he couldn’t dodge. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She just watched.

There was something off.

Pope’s expression as he passed her—tense jaw, clenched hands, eyes avoiding hers completely—told her everything and nothing all at once. He wasn’t just tired or annoyed. He was hurt. Still.

And JJ?

JJ looked like he’d just taken a hit straight to the ribs.

His shoulders were tense. His head bowed slightly like he couldn’t meet her gaze for too long. She squinted, trying to figure out if she should walk down or stay where she was.

What did they talk about?

It had to be about her.

Her stomach flipped at the thought. She hated being the reason things were weird. The reason people were walking on eggshells.

Kiara tightened her grip on the screen door frame.

JJ finally looked up again, and for a moment—just a second—their eyes met. His face didn’t give much away, but it didn’t have to. She could read it. And that worried her more than anything.

Because JJ was never this quiet.

JJ never avoided her gaze.

JJ never looked like this unless something was really, really bothering him.

And whatever it was…

She had a feeling it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

JJ forced himself to move—one step, then another—like maybe if he just walked back toward the porch, toward her, he could shake whatever the hell this was. But the closer he got, the heavier everything felt. His chest, his head, the heat behind his eyes. The weight of whatever just passed between him and Pope hadn’t settled. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.

And Kiara was still there. Still holding the door like she’d been waiting on something. Him, maybe.

She didn't say anything right away. Just let her eyes follow him as he crossed the yard, as he finally stepped onto the porch. The boards creaked under his boots. JJ didn’t stop until he was standing beside her.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He didn’t look at her. Not yet. He just nodded and muttered, “Hey.”

There was silence. Not tense this time, but thick, like it was made of everything they didn’t know how to say.

JJ finally glanced over. Kiara was watching him closely, too closely. Her eyes flicked across his face, like she could see the words he wasn't saying, tucked behind his smirk that never showed up, buried in the crease between his brows.

“You okay?” she asked.

JJ opened his mouth to say yeah, the way he always did. But it didn’t come out. He gave a small shrug instead.

Kiara bit her lip. “Did… did you and Pope talk?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” she echoed, brow raised.

JJ leaned against the railing, avoiding her gaze again, staring out at the yard like the grass held the answers. “It wasn’t—he just asked some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

JJ finally looked at her. Really looked at her. And something in his expression shifted. His usual sharp humor dulled around the edges. His mouth parted like he wanted to say more, but then… he didn’t.

“You know,” he said, voice low. “The kind of stuff people ask when they’re still hurting.”

Kiara’s expression softened. Her hands dropped from the doorframe, fingers brushing against her thighs like she didn’t know what to do with them. She hated how her chest tightened at his words. Hated how tired he looked.

“I didn’t mean to…” she started, but JJ cut in gently.

“You don’t gotta explain it to me, Kie.”

Kiara nodded slowly, but the guilt still clung to her ribs. “Yeah. I know. I just…”

JJ glanced at her again. The wind caught her hair, tossing it against her cheek. She didn’t move it away. She just kept her eyes on him, waiting.

And he felt that tension again—the one that lived in his chest every time she looked at him like that. Like maybe she was seeing too much.

“You coming in?” she asked.

JJ hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Just… give me a sec.”

She didn’t press. Just gave him a soft look and walked back inside, letting the screen door swing shut behind her.

JJ stood there, alone again, the night pressing in on his shoulders. He tilted his head back, staring up at the stars that had just started to dot the sky.

Do you like her?

He blew out a breath.

“I don’t know, man,” he muttered to no one.

But maybe he did.

JJ didn’t hear the footsteps—just felt the sudden tap on his shoulder.

He jolted, heart skipping. “Jesus—” he muttered, turning fast.

John B stood there, one brow raised. “You good?”

JJ blinked at him, swallowed hard. He could lie. Easy. He was good at it. Had done it his whole damn life. But with John B… it wasn’t that simple. He had that way of looking at you like he already knew. Like lying would just be wasting both their time.

So JJ didn’t answer right away.

John B waited a beat, then stepped inside, leaving the door half-open. He flopped onto the old couch like he’d done it a thousand times, stretching his legs and tossing an arm over the backrest without saying another word.

But JJ knew what that meant. He felt it in his bones.

An invitation.

He followed. Dragged himself inside and sat beside his best friend, elbows on his knees, fingers raking through his already chaotic hair. He sat like a man who had too many thoughts and nowhere to file them.

John B let the silence linger just long enough before saying, “Talk to me, man.”

JJ sighed, long and low, then mumbled, “Me and Pope talked.”

John B nodded once. “About?”

JJ hesitated, jaw tightening. “Kie.”

John B looked over. “What about her?”

“He asked if I liked her.”

John B didn’t answer right away, just leaned back and exhaled slowly. The screen door creaked behind them in the breeze. A moth fluttered lazily near the porch light.

JJ kept talking, words tumbling out now like they’d been waiting all day. “I didn’t even know what to say. I mean—I didn’t say yes. But I didn’t say no either.” He looked up, eyes tired. “I don’t know, man.”

He sat back, pressing his palms to his face for a second before rubbing them down his cheeks.

“I tried to open that door before, you know?” JJ continued, voice quieter now. “But she slammed it shut. Made the no Pogue-on-Pogue macking rule. I took the hint. Moved on.”

John B gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well. Moving on doesn’t always mean letting go.”

JJ shot him a look. “Since when did you start sounding like fortune cookies?”

John B grinned, but only for a second. Then his face sobered again. “Look. I think you know the answer. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

JJ scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, bro.”

John B leaned forward, mirroring JJ’s position. He rested his elbows on his knees, fingers laced.

“For someone who never backs down from anything—you get real weird when it comes to her. It’s like you’re fearless about everything… except Kie. And that’s gotta mean something.”

JJ didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the floorboards, letting the words marinate. Letting the truth settle in his chest like sand in a tide pool—slow, heavy, and undeniable.

He’d been reckless his whole life. Took punches, threw harder ones. Jumped fences, burned bridges, called it survival. But with Kiara?

He was scared shitless.

Not because she could hurt him—but because she could matter.

More than anything else.

John B didn’t press. He just let JJ sit with that thought, let the quiet settle between them like a blanket.

Outside, the night wrapped around the Chateau like an old secret. Inside, two best friends sat shoulder to shoulder, not speaking—but saying everything that needed to be said.

John B stretched his arms out, the wood of the porch creaking slightly beneath his weight as he stood up. Before heading back inside, he gave JJ a pat on the shoulder—not playful this time, but real, grounding.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. “You always do.”

And with that, the door eased shut behind him, leaving JJ out there in the dark with nothing but the hum of bugs, the soft slap of the water, and a brain that wouldn’t shut the hell up.

JJ stayed seated, slumped forward, his elbows on his knees again. He rubbed his hands over his face, then ran them through his hair, feeling how messy and sweaty and sun-dried he’d gotten.

He stared out across the yard like it had answers. Like the moon might blink at him and just tell him what to do.

He didn’t get it. Any of it.

Why it felt like he was spiraling after one dumb question from Pope. Why the second Kiara looked at him with that smile like he hung the damn stars, his chest got tight and his words fumbled. Why he couldn't just brush it all off like he always did.

Maybe he was reading into things. 

Making something out of nothing. 

Maybe he just needed sleep. 

Or to get hit in the face with a wave. Or both.

Maybe he wasn’t feeling the right things.

He leaned back on the porch couch and exhaled, letting his head fall against the wood behind him. A couple moths danced around the porch light. Somewhere inside, Sarah was laughing at something. He could hear the low hum of the TV from inside, voices rising and falling in the background.

And then… the door creaked open again.

JJ didn't look up at first—figured maybe John B forgot something, or Sarah came to tell him off for not helping clean. But the footsteps weren’t rushed or demanding. They were quiet. Careful.

He looked up—and it was the last person he expected.

Kiara.

She didn’t say anything, just dropped into the bean bag chair across from him with a quiet thump. Her brown eyes were on him. Not fiery like usual. Not sparking with sarcasm or challenge. Just soft.

Soft in a way that scared him.

She looked… tired. Not like she needed sleep—but like something had drained her. Like she’d been fighting everything and lost.

She kept looking at him.

“What, Kie?” he said, breaking the silence because he couldn't handle it anymore.

“You’re not okay,” she said, her voice low, calm.

“Yeah, no shit.”

That made her blink, but she didn’t flinch. “What happened?”

And JJ just stared at her, because how the hell was he supposed to answer that?

JJ dragged a hand over his face again, eyes darting past her for a second, like maybe he could dodge the conversation altogether.

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “It’s just… been a long day.”

Kiara didn’t believe him for a second. She could see it in the way his shoulders wouldn’t settle, in the way his foot tapped against the porch plank like it was itching to run.

She leaned back into the bean bag, crossing her arms—not defensive, just trying to get comfortable in a moment that felt anything but. Her eyes stayed on him. Not pushing. Just… waiting.

“It’s not just today,” she said finally.

JJ huffed out a humorless laugh. “You got me there.”

Another pause. The kind that used to feel easy between them. This one felt like it was trying to be that, but something had shifted. Not broken—just... rearranged.

Kiara studied him, this boy she’s known her whole life. This boy who never sat still but was now glued to that porch couch like movement might break him apart. She thought of earlier—how he looked at her, then quickly didn’t. The way he laughed at her joke, but slower than usual. The way he sat beside Pope and not her.

And the way Pope looked when he came back inside.

Something happened.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said quietly. “But I know something’s eating at you.”

JJ didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her at first.

But then… he did.

His eyes found hers in the low porch light, and she almost wished he hadn’t. There was something in them she hadn’t seen before. Not anger. Not even sadness. Just… tired. But not the kind of tired sleep fixes.

“You ever feel like... you’re standing in the middle of something and everyone else sees it for what it is, but you just see smoke?” he said.

Kiara blinked, a little thrown. “What does that mean?”

JJ shrugged, looked away again, his lips twitching with the start of a smile that never showed. “Exactly.”

She tilted her head. “You always talk like you’re about to say something profound, then just dip.”

He smirked at that. “Keeps you coming back.”

Kiara laughed quietly. Not a full laugh—just a breathy sound, like she was trying to remember how to. But even that felt like something new between them. Something softer.

The wind picked up a little, brushing her hair across her face. She didn’t push it away.

“You know,” she said slowly, “you don’t have to keep running from everyone.”

JJ glanced at her, brows knitting. “I’m not running.”

She just raised an eyebrow.

JJ opened his mouth like he was gonna argue—but shut it again. Because maybe she was right. Maybe he had been.

They didn’t speak again for a while. Just let the quiet settle. This time it didn’t feel tense. Just real. Like maybe they’d both been circling the same thing, unsure who was supposed to say it first—or if it should even be said at all.

JJ leaned back, the porch creaking beneath him. He looked at her again, and this time… he didn’t look away.

And Kiara felt it. That shift.

Like something had moved between them, unspoken but understood.

Maybe they weren't ready for the conversation.

But they were closer to it now.

And that? That was enough for tonight.

Chapter Text

It had been days.

And in true Pogue fashion, they didn't say anything about it outright — they just let it hang there in the air like the summer humidity. John B and Sarah noticed it first, of course. The way JJ and Pope hovered around each other but didn’t quite touch. It wasn’t awkward — they’d never be that — but it was off. Subtle. Barely there. But real.

Like how Pope didn’t scold JJ for trying to launch himself off the dock with a busted kayak paddle. Normally, he’d be the first to roll his eyes and go “You’re gonna give yourself a concussion, JJ.” But this time, he just watched.

And JJ didn’t argue when Pope explained the best way to balance their cooler with the bait box. Usually, JJ would’ve made it a whole thing, gone off about fish rights or turned it into a stupid bit just to get under Pope’s skin.

But not now.

They weren’t fighting. Just tiptoeing.

And Kiara?

She hadn’t been around at all. Maybe her parents had her locked up at The Wreck. Or maybe — maybe she just needed the space. That’s what JJ told himself anyway. But he couldn’t ignore the way it gnawed at him. This quiet from her. He knew this kind of silence too well.

The last time Kiara went quiet like this, she ended up disappearing for a year.

He could still remember it. How her parents pulled her out of public school and enrolled her in Kook Academy. How, at first, she still texted them — little things. Updates. Funny photos. The way she always did. But the messages slowed. The excuses came next. Then eventually, nothing.

No replies. No visits. Just a full year of space. A full year of nothing.

And yeah, sure — she ghosted all of them. But that didn’t stop JJ from feeling like he was the one she left behind. Like he was the one it hurt the most. And now that it was happening again… it felt too damn familiar.

He was lying on the hammock that afternoon, legs dangling over one side, arms folded across his chest, head tilted back just enough to watch the sky shift between golden and soft blue. The others were nearby — John B doing something with the anchor, Sarah playing DJ from her phone, Pope half-reading, half-watching the water.

And JJ… he was staring at the empty seat across from him.

Kiara’s seat.

He could picture her there too clearly — one leg folded under the other, resting a drink on her knee, tossing snark across the air like it was nothing.

He reached into his pocket, thumb hovering over his phone for a beat before he finally typed:

JJ: u got time today?

Sent.

Didn’t expect much.

But the reply came almost immediately.

Kiara: im off after 4. why?

JJ stared at her text. Something clenched in his chest.

JJ: surf?

A few seconds later:

Kiara: alone?

He hesitated — then wrote back:

JJ: if u want to

Kiara: sounds good

JJ stared at the message, rereading it once, twice. There was something in how quickly she responded. Like maybe — maybe she’d been waiting for him to say something. Anything.

He locked his phone, tossed it onto the hammock beside him, and exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He glanced over at Pope, who was now tapping his pen against the spine of a book, not reading a single word.

Guilt curled at the edge of JJ’s thoughts.

But this wasn’t about Pope. This was about Kiara. This was about him.

If she needed a break from the mess, he’d give it to her. If she needed quiet, he’d bring it. If she needed someone to just be there without asking too much — he could be that too.

Even if it confused the hell out of him. Even if he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

This wasn’t about rekindling whatever they almost had — not really.

It was about not losing her. Again.

So when the sun started to shift west and the air turned thick with salt and promise, JJ swung his legs over the side of the hammock, stretched once, and disappeared into the Chateau to grab his board.

Today was about Kiara. Just her.

Whether it healed something or broke it further, he didn’t know.

But he was going to find out.

———————

JJ was already there.

Leaning against his bike, one foot planted on the cracked pavement outside The Wreck, the other resting lightly on the pedal. His surfboard was strapped neatly to the rack, sun catching the waxed curves of the longboard like it was born to be photographed. His hair looked like he had run his hands through it a few too many times, his shirt slung lazily over his shoulder, lighter flicking on and off between his fingers.

Kiara hadn’t even noticed him at first — she was too busy trying to shake off the heat clinging to her skin after a full shift, the scent of fries and grilled shrimp still in her hair. But when she saw him, standing there like a living pause button to her chaos, she stopped in her tracks.

He was just there, as always, like he never left.

She walked up to him slowly. He didn’t look at her right away. Just kept flicking the lighter.

On. Off. On. Off.

“Hi,” she said softly.

JJ glanced up, smirk barely forming. “Sup?”

She appreciated that. That he didn’t ask how she was. People had been asking her that all week. How are you, Kie? You okay, Kie? Hanging in there, Kie? And every time she lied, or stumbled, or shrugged. Because the truth was—she didn’t know. She really didn’t.

JJ didn’t ask. He just looked at her like he knew. And that felt easier to hold.

“You ready?” he asked, nodding toward the road.

Kiara nodded. Her body moved before her brain caught up—one foot forward, the start of a stride—and then she paused mid-step.

“Wait,” she said, turning toward him. “I don’t have my board.”

JJ barely reacted. Just shrugged with one shoulder, casual as ever. “We’ll take turns.”

She blinked at him. Then her eyes trailed to the longboard strapped to the side of his bike.

It hit her all at once.

Of course.

Of course he brought the longboard. He knew she wouldn’t go back home to grab hers. He knew she’d hesitate. He knew… he just knew. And the thing was—he didn’t even say it. Didn’t make a thing out of it. No big gesture. Just JJ, doing what he always did best: showing up in all the quiet ways that mattered.

Kiara smiled, shook her head gently like you idiot, how are you like this? but in the way that felt warm, not annoyed. Like home.

JJ swung one leg over the bike, starting to mount it. Kiara stepped closer, hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady herself as she climbed onto the pegs behind him.

And that one simple touch?

It knocked the wind out of her.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed JJ—not just seeing him, not just talking to him—but touching him. The heat of his skin under her palms, the slope of his shoulders that she could probably map with her eyes closed, the slight twitch in his back when her fingers brushed his hoodie.

He felt like familiarity. Like before. Like late nights and broken curfews and laughter on the dock. Like the version of herself that didn’t second guess every feeling.

JJ, on the other hand, was locked in place.

Hyperaware.

Every muscle in his body tightened under her touch, not in discomfort—but in restraint. Because Kiara’s hands on him felt like lightning. Like wildfire. He didn’t want to flinch. Didn’t want to ruin the moment by moving. Didn’t want her to let go.

So he didn’t breathe. Not properly, anyway.

He just gripped the handlebars tighter, focused on the road ahead, and let the heat of her soak into him like sunlight he was afraid to chase.

The bike started moving, slow and steady down the familiar roads.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

And somehow, the silence between them didn’t feel heavy at all.

If anything, it felt lighter.

The road unspooled beneath them, winding and sun-drenched, lined with palm shadows that danced across the pavement. The bike purred steady beneath them, tires humming low against the asphalt. JJ didn’t go fast—he never did when Kiara was on the pegs—but he let the wind slice through the weight he’d been carrying all week.

It felt freeing. Uncomplicated. Like an old song you didn’t know you missed until you heard it again.

He caught her reflection in the side mirror.

Kiara’s hair was caught in the wind, strands flying in every direction, but she didn’t seem to care. Her eyes squinted against the sunlight, but she was smiling—or almost smiling. That kind of smile you fight but can’t quite bury. Like something was starting to loosen inside her, something untangling. She looked like she’d just walked out of a tornado and found herself whole on the other side.

JJ swallowed, hard.

Her hands were clutching his shirt, fists balled in the fabric like it was the only anchor she had. Like if she let go, he’d float off and disappear. And the worst part was—he didn’t want her to stop holding on. Not for a second.

She looked beautiful.

Not in a cliché way. Not in a perfect, styled, slow-motion sort of way. But in his way. In the way that Kiara always did—wind in her hair, a spark in her eye like she was always halfway between laughing and starting a fight, the sun streaking across her cheekbones and making her whole face glow. Like if he blinked, he’d miss it.

And he never wanted to miss it.

She was so close he could feel her breath in the spaces between turns. So close he could almost hear the sound of her blinking, her pulse syncing with the engine’s thrum.

She was holding on like she meant it. Like she remembered something.

And maybe she did.

Kiara wanted to grip him tighter.

Her fingers were already curled into his shirt, knuckles pressing into his spine, but she wanted to hold him like gravity wasn’t enough. Like she needed to feel that he was real. Right now, JJ didn’t feel like a memory, or a mystery. He felt like comfort. Like something she could climb into.

The wind whipped around her, drying the sweat from her neck and lifting the last traces of The Wreck off her skin. The scent that replaced it was JJ. That scent. That dumb scent. Grapefruit and gasoline. Sharp and sweet and sharp again. It hit her so hard it made her dizzy.

She thought about leaning her head on his back. Thought about letting her cheek rest between his shoulder blades, letting the bike carry her all the way to forever. But she didn’t. She stayed just as she was. Half-leaning. Half-holding. Fully feeling.

Because if she moved too much, she might give something away.

The bike sped up just slightly, and through the trees on their right, she caught flashes of the beach—golden and quiet, waves gently kissing the sand. The sky above it was that kind of blue you only got for twenty minutes before sundown. It made her heart ache. Everything felt like it was in soft-focus. Like a Polaroid you never thought you’d get to take again.

The throttle beneath her vibrated through the soles of her feet, up into her bones. The rumble of it climbed into her chest and matched her heartbeat, beat for beat. 

And JJ… 

JJ was just there. 

Just existing. 

Just being. 

And somehow, it was enough to make everything feel okay.

Like nothing had happened.

Like no hearts were bruised. No words were said. No lines crossed or feelings twisted.

It was just the road. The wind. The surf ahead.

And JJ.

The bike wheels crunched to a stop over the sandy edge of the dunes, the ocean yawning wide in front of them like it’d been waiting. JJ kicked the stand down, the frame creaking a little under the weight of the longboard strapped to the side. The breeze rolled in soft and salty, sunlight melting low over the water.

Kiara stepped off the pegs, brushing hair from her face. The air was warm, the sky streaked in golden blue, and the waves? They were perfect. Not too big, not too small—just that sweet, glassy rhythm that was practically begging for a longboard.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this good,” she said, eyes already on the sets breaking clean in the distance.

“Yeah? Guess I got lucky,” JJ muttered, already tugging at the straps holding the board. His fingers were moving, but his eyes weren’t on the knots.

They were on her.

Kiara was dressed exactly how he remembered her when she’d show up to a beach day unbothered—cut-off shorts slung low on her hips, a cropped tank clinging to her like second skin, a pair of beat-up Vans hanging off her fingertips. Nothing too polished. All Kiara. Wild, barefoot, sun-drenched. Her hair half up, the rest wind-snatched and messy. A woven bracelet from who-knows-where looped around her ankle.

JJ’s heart gave a slow, dumb thud.

This was her. This had always been her. And he hated how much he noticed. How sharp she looked against the hazy sky. How her presence didn’t just show up—it filled the air.

Kiara walked a few steps closer to the water, eyes still scanning the swell.

“You planning on unloading that thing today, or…” she teased, glancing over her shoulder.

JJ blinked. His hands had stilled without him noticing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there,” he said with a crooked grin, but he didn’t fire back. Couldn’t. His voice caught somewhere in his throat.

Because she was smiling again.

Because her eyes were glowing again.

Because she was here, and he was wrecked.

Kiara rolled her eyes with a soft laugh, already tugging her tank top off and shimmying out of her shorts, revealing a simple, black bikini underneath—classic, effortless, very Kiara.

JJ turned back to the board like it had just caught on fire. His fingers fumbled at the strap, and he forced himself to look anywhere else—but it was useless.

He was used to seeing Kiara in a bikini. She’d worn them around him a hundred times. But now?

Now he felt it. The heat.

Climbing from his neck to his ears, all the way up to his skull.

And he hated it.

Because he couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t not notice how she moved, how the sunlight clung to her like it was in love with her.

Kiara tossed her clothes into the sand and turned back to him, arms crossed as she waited. “Any day now, JJ.”

JJ let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, yeah, you said that already.”

“You just gonna stand there staring at the board or…?”

“Just taking a mental picture,” he muttered, almost under his breath.

Kiara raised a brow, catching just enough of it to smirk. “What?”

“Nothing,” JJ said quickly, yanking the longboard loose, finally. “Let’s go catch some waves before you start roasting me for real.”

“Too late for that,” she said, already walking ahead of him, her bare feet kicking up sand.

JJ followed behind, board under one arm, gaze still hooked on her like gravity.

Yeah.

He was so screwed.

The water wrapped around them like a memory.

Warm, familiar, infinite.

Kiara stepped in first, her laughter carried by the breeze like it belonged there. JJ trailing just behind, the longboard slung under one arm. There was something about being barefoot in the surf, salt on their skin, the kind of comfort that didn’t need words. That didn’t demand anything but presence. 

JJ and Kie. 

Kie and JJ. 

It had always been like this—when they were in the ocean, the rest of the world softened. Like nothing ugly could stick out there.

“You go first,” JJ said, dropping the board into the water, steadying it with one hand. “Ladies first and all that.”

Kiara gave him a look. “Chivalry? From you? You hit your head?”

JJ smirked. “Nah. Just in the mood to be generous. Don’t get used to it.”

She rolled her eyes, already paddling out. The sun clung to her back, turning the water golden as it splashed up around her arms. JJ just stood there for a second, watching. Watching how natural she looked. How effortless. Like she belonged more in the ocean than she did anywhere else.

And damn, he couldn’t even deny it—he liked watching her ride.

Kiara caught her first wave like she hadn’t missed a single day. Steady on her feet, hair whipping behind her, arms out like wings. JJ gave a low whistle when she glided past him.

“Not bad,” he called, shielding his eyes.

Kiara turned her head with a grin, “Still better than you.”

“Debatable,” he muttered under his breath, grinning anyway.

They switched off—Kiara sliding off the board and tossing it toward him. JJ hopped on, pushed off, and paddled out until the next clean swell crept toward him. He rode it easy, long and wide, knees slightly bent. His usual style, relaxed but reckless.

They kept trading like that for a while. Not saying much, but laughing more. Teasing, splashing each other between turns, calling each other out every time someone wiped out.

“You nosedived!” Kiara laughed as JJ stumbled off a wave and face-planted into the water.

“I meant to do that,” he coughed, spitting salt water.

Kiara floated on her back nearby. “Oh yeah? Performance art?”

“Exactly. You’re welcome for the show.”

She grinned up at the sky, letting the water hold her for a moment. “This is nice.”

JJ swam closer, one hand resting on the board now between them. “Yeah. It is.”

It was a lull, one of those quiet pauses that didn’t feel awkward. Just… full.

Eventually, they ended up both on the board, JJ sitting back on it while Kiara lay on her stomach at the front, the two of them gently drifting with the current. The ocean rocked them like a hammock, sun warm on their backs.

“I think we broke the no-Pogue-on-Pogue-sharing-a-board rule,” Kiara joked, turning her head to the side to look at him.

JJ smirked. “Shit. Are we in trouble?”

“Big trouble.”

JJ leaned back on his elbows, squinting at the sky. “Worth it.”

Kiara smiled to herself but didn’t say anything.

They sat like that for a while—legs dangling in the water, letting the tide carry them a little, not too far. Just enough.

JJ reached out and splashed her lightly, barely more than a flick of water.

“Seriously?”

“What? You looked too dry,” he said with a shrug.

Kiara turned and kicked her foot, sending a bigger splash his way. “Still better than you.”

He laughed, wiping his face. “Kie, you’re always gonna say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

They shared a glance then, something quiet sitting between them, but neither of them leaned into it. Not yet. Not here. It was unspoken, but loud. The kind of feeling that floated above the surface without crashing in just yet.

JJ let out a soft breath and looked back toward the horizon.

It wasn’t just surfing.

It was them—doing what they knew, what they grew up in, where they found peace in all the chaos.

And somehow, it felt like second nature again.

Like they hadn’t missed a beat.

The wave came out of nowhere.

They hadn’t seen it—not because it was stealthy, but because they were busy. Busy looking at each other. Busy trying to read between the spaces of their laughter and silence. It was like that sometimes, when the ocean crept up like a secret, like it knew when to remind you it was still the strongest thing in the room.

JJ caught the flicker of a shadow too late, barely had time to yell, “Kie—”

The water swallowed them.

Everything was foam and force and the roar of it in their ears.

JJ surfaced first, blinking salt out of his eyes, spitting seawater. The board bobbed beside him. He instinctively reached for it, steadying himself—then froze.

“Kie?” he called, turning around in circles. “Kie?!”

No answer. Just water. Just sun. Just panic squeezing his lungs in a vice grip.

He called again, louder. “KIARA!”

His pulse was a thunder drum. He couldn’t breathe.

“Kie?!”

…

“C’mon, Kie.”

...

“KIARA???”

…

Then—her head broke the surface a few feet away, coughing, laughing a little, brushing hair from her face.

Relief knocked the air right out of him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and kicked hard toward her, dragging the board with him.

When he got to her, he grabbed her arm—rougher than he meant to—and pulled it onto the board to keep her steady. Her hair was plastered to her face, and she kept blinking hard, squinting against the sting of saltwater in her eyes.

Without thinking, JJ reached out and gently brushed her hair back, then used the edge of his thumb to wipe at her eyes. His hand moved slow, careful—like he was afraid to spook her. His fingers lingered a second too long, warm against her skin.

Kiara didn’t say anything, just looked at him through the fading blur. There was a pause—quiet and thick—and something unspoken settled between them. Something neither of them was ready to touch, but couldn’t quite ignore either.

Kiara still looking at him, still coughing a little, still laughing through it.

“You’re looking at me like I died,” she said between breaths. “JJ, I’ve wiped out like… a thousand times.”

“I don’t care,” JJ snapped, too breathless to hold back the sharpness in his voice. “Next time don’t take your sweet-ass time coming up.”

Kiara smirked at him. “What? Too afraid to lose me?”

The words landed heavy between them, even though she tossed them out like they were nothing.

JJ didn’t answer.

Didn’t even blink.

Because, yeah.

Too afraid didn’t even begin to cover it.

He stared at her for a beat too long, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between his chest and throat. And then Kiara—maybe sensing the shift, maybe trying to ease it—splashed water at him.

JJ blinked, water dripping from his lashes, and let out a breathless laugh. She always knew how to break the tension before it wrapped too tightly around them.

“Pfft,” he said, running a hand over his face. “I just don’t want you dying on my watch, Kie. Being a Maybank already puts me one foot in jail. They’d gladly throw me in if a Carrera went belly-up around me.”

He meant it as a joke.

But Kiara didn’t laugh.

She looked at him, eyes darker now beneath the shade of her wet lashes, something serious threading through her expression.

“JJ, you’re never going to end up in jail,” she said.

And it wasn’t a wish. It wasn’t even a hope.

It sounded like a promise.

JJ didn’t know what to do with that. With the certainty in her voice. With the quiet way she believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. He looked away, eyes scanning the horizon like it had answers.

They floated in silence, both of them hovering on either side of the longboard. Their fingers brushed as they adjusted their grip. A soft graze. Barely there.

But they both felt it.

They didn’t pull away.

Didn’t mention it.

Didn’t move at all.

JJ could feel every nerve in his hand like they’d lit up, electricity humming low and warm just from that small point of contact. It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t a shock. It was deeper. More dangerous. Like comfort he didn’t think he deserved. Like a place he wasn’t sure he could ever let himself stay in.

And yet, he didn’t want to move.

Kiara felt it too. The way her skin warmed, not from the sun, but from him. From the nearness. From the way his fingers didn’t pull away.

She let her eyes fall shut for a second.

It was quiet again, just the sounds of the ocean and the board creaking softly beneath them. She didn’t know what this was—not yet. But whatever it was, it was real.

And maybe… maybe real was enough for now.

JJ exhaled slowly, water beading down his temples, heart still half-lost in his throat. The panic had faded, but what was left behind might’ve scared him even more.

Because there was something about almost losing someone that made you realize just how much they meant.

And if he let himself really think about it?

He didn’t want to lose her. Not again.

Not ever.

The silence, gentle and unspoken, stretched just long enough to feel like a full stop at the end of a sentence. Neither of them said it, but the moment between them—heavy with what almost happened, with what nearly slipped out—was a soft cue. Time to call it.

JJ was the one to break it.

“We should head in,” he said, voice low, not quite looking at her.

Kiara nodded. “Yeah.”

No protests. No teasing. Just mutual understanding. The ocean had already given them enough for the day.

They paddled back to shore, wet and quiet. The sky was sliding into that hour where everything looked dipped in honey—no pink yet, not fully blue either. Just a deep, golden amber that wrapped around them like a soft exhale. It was the kind of light that made the world feel slow and sacred.

Kiara plopped down onto the warm sand without thinking, legs stretched out, still dripping, her fingers digging idly into the grains. JJ dropped the board with a soft thud, then flopped beside her, knees bent, arms resting over them as he looked out toward the horizon.

Everything was quiet except for the low roll of waves and the occasional squawk of gulls. The sea had calmed.

“I swear,” JJ muttered, “waves got beef with us today.”

Kiara smirked. “Nah, they just knew we were distracted.”

“By what?” JJ glanced sideways at her, feigning confusion.

She arched a brow. “You tell me.”

JJ let out a half-laugh, half-snort. “I was lookin’ at the sky. Got caught up. Sue me.”

“The sky, huh?”

“Yup. Look at it.” He pointed vaguely. “That’s some Lion King shit right there. Feels like Mufasa’s ghost is about to show up in the clouds and give me life advice.”

Kiara laughed, the kind that started as a chuckle and cracked into something unfiltered and real. It hit him in the chest. JJ turned to look at her again, smiling full teeth, cheeks flushed from the ocean, maybe from her too.

A beat passed.

“Jayj, thank you.” she said softly, voice tugging into something sincere. “For today. I really needed it.”

He blinked once, then twice, like he wasn’t expecting her to go there.

“Shit,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his. “I need this every day.”

She smiled at that, but her eyes softened.

“One day you will.”

JJ leaned back on his palms, looking out toward the sea again. The idea of one day used to scare the shit out of him. He never thought he’d get one, let alone the kind that had hope stitched into it.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Already got a surf trip in mind.”

Kiara turned to him. “Surf trip, huh?”

“Yup. Whole plan.” JJ squinted like he was mapping it out. “Old van. Board racks on top. Sleeping bags in the back. Just chase the waves down the coast.”

“Just us?”

JJ looked at her, his expression tipping toward a laugh—but then he caught the seriousness in Kiara’s face. The grin faltered, faded, and in its place, a quieter smile began to bloom. Slower. Realer. Like he was meeting her where she was.

He didn’t say yes.

Didn’t say no.

He just let the quiet settle between them again—comfortable, not empty.

Kiara nudged him with her knee, laughing, but there was a playful challenge in her eyes. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging. Where do you wanna go next?”

JJ leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky like he was really considering it. His brow furrowed slightly, then his lips curled into a mischievous grin.

“Indonesia.”

Kiara blinked at him, eyebrows shooting up. “Done. We’ll go tomorrow.”

JJ laughed, shaking his head. “You think you can just decide that on the spot?”

She looked at him, dead serious, her lips twitching at the corners. “I can make it happen, JJ. You said it. Indonesia. Tomorrow. 7AM”

He laughed harder now, like he couldn’t stop. “You’re insane. What next? You wanna hop over to Fiji too?”

Kiara gave him an exaggerated side-eye. “Maybe. But first, Siargao.”

JJ froze for a second, blinking at her. “How do you even know that’s on my list?”

“Go around Southeast Asia first, right? That’s always been your plan. Surf town to surf town. No one’s gonna stop us.” Her grin widened, and her voice was teasing, almost daring him to say no. “We’ll hit up Siargao right after Indonesia.”

JJ laughed so hard that it startled even him. It started as a chuckle, then a deep, full laugh that felt like it was coming straight from his heart. “You’re not even playing, huh? You really think we can just… drop everything and do that?”

“What, like it’s hard? Why not?” Kiara said, rolling her eyes dramatically. 

Her words hit him differently. They were teasing, sure, but there was something else in them. A realization he hadn’t expected. He used to be the one pulling Kiara along, filling their days with spontaneous plans. He used to be the one dragging her into his wild schemes. But now… now she was the one pulling him, pushing him to dream bigger, to think beyond his comfort zone.

It was both strange and freeing.

He felt a little breathless for a second, like something had shifted between them without either of them realizing it.

“Yeah,” JJ said, the laugh still lingering in his voice, but now there was a different undertone to it. “You really got me going, huh?”

Kiara leaned back on her hands, eyes sparkling with the same fire he’d seen in her since they were kids. “Hell yeah, I did. And you’re welcome for that.”

JJ shifted his position, his smile growing wider. He couldn’t help it—Kiara’s enthusiasm was contagious, and for once, he didn’t want to hide from it.

But as he sat there, laughing with her, feeling like the world was a little lighter than it had been before, he also realized how much he missed it—missed her. Missed this. That spark between them, the way they could always just pick up where they left off, no questions asked.

He remembered how it used to feel when he was the one giving her that spark, lighting her up, and making her see the world through a different lens. It was a little bittersweet now to think that Kiara was the one doing it for him. But that feeling… that feeling wasn’t bad at all. It was just different. Maybe even better.

JJ couldn’t help but think that maybe this was what it was all about. The back-and-forth, the way they were constantly pushing and pulling each other forward. He’d spent so long being the one to drag her out of her shell, but now, it seemed like Kiara was doing the same for him, pushing him into a future he wasn’t sure he was ready for, but was somehow glad she was showing him.

And as she sat there beside him, her eyes alight with excitement, he couldn’t help but feel a little lighter too. For once, he wasn’t alone in dreaming big.

“Alright, then,” JJ said, still grinning. “Indonesia, Siargao… What’s next after that? The world?”

Kiara shrugged. “Why not? We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

JJ laughed again, this time quieter, just the two of them sharing that moment. He was starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the one who needed to have all the answers anymore. Maybe Kiara was right about the world being theirs to explore—together.

And for once, that thought didn’t scare him. It felt like a possibility. A promise.

———————

The ride back to Kiara’s house felt strangely different, like time had shifted somehow. The evening air had cooled, and the sky was starting to darken, but the warmth between them was still there. As they cruised down the road, the wind felt less like it was pulling them forward and more like it was wrapping around them, cocooning them in the silence. They didn't speak much, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable—far from it. It was peaceful, like two people who’d found something in each other that didn’t need words to make it real.

JJ couldn’t help but glance over at Kiara every now and then. She was still holding onto him, her fingers gripping his shirt lightly, like she wasn’t ready to let go either. The way she held on was a reminder of everything that was between them, everything they didn’t need to talk about, because it was just there, in the shared look of understanding, in the unspoken connection that had always been so natural.

Kiara’s hair had settled into a loose, wind-tousled mess, and her eyes sparkled even in the dimming light. He could see the smile still hanging at the edges of her lips, the one she’d fought so hard to hold back earlier, and for some reason, it made his chest feel a little lighter, like maybe the weight of the world wasn’t so heavy after all.

When they pulled up to her house, JJ slowed the bike, but the moment didn’t feel like it was ending. 

It felt like it was just beginning.

He wasn’t ready for it to be over. But he couldn’t quite place what was just beginning. Something was different—something about Kiara, about the way she looked at him now. He couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever this was between them, it was no longer just a fleeting moment. It was more. And even if it was complicated, even if it was messy and uncertain, he didn’t want to let it go.

Kiara hopped off the bike first, her movements smooth and practiced, but when she didn’t expect JJ to follow her off, she paused, turning to look at him. Her eyebrows knit together slightly, confusion flickering in her gaze. She probably thought he would ride off after her, just like always, leave her at the gate and head back to wherever he had to go. But not this time.

JJ stood there for a moment, hands on his hips, glancing down the road like he was hesitating, but not really. Something kept him there, tethering him to her, and without really thinking, he started walking toward her.

Kiara’s thoughts ran a little wild as she watched him. She could tell—she could always tell—that he was uncomfortable with the idea of stepping foot on her turf. Kiara’s parents, especially her mother, had never exactly warmed to JJ, and she knew what kind of looks he would get if he stepped through that door. 

Still, he kept walking, his strides steady, purposeful, like he wasn’t afraid of what was coming next. It made her heart squeeze in a way that was both painful and comforting at once.

As they stopped at the gate, Kiara turned to look at him. She didn’t say anything at first. The words weren’t needed. They were right here, in the same space they had always shared, standing just on the edge of something new.

JJ opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck. There were a million things he could say, but none of them felt right. So, instead of speaking, he just stood there, watching her. Kiara’s gaze softened, her lips curving into that quiet smile that was always there when she looked at him like this, when there was no pressure, no weight of expectation.

And before either of them could think better of it, Kiara stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. It wasn’t anything dramatic or grand—it was just a simple, tight hug, but in that moment, it was everything.

JJ’s body froze for a split second, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then he couldn’t help himself. His arms went around her almost instinctively, like he’d been waiting for her to do this, even if he hadn’t known it. His hand found its place at the small of her back, holding her close.

The hug was silent, but it spoke volumes. All the things they’d never said, all the things they didn’t need to say, were in that moment. He didn’t need to ask for permission, didn’t need to worry about anything else. It was just them. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was right.

They stayed like that for a while, neither one of them rushing to pull away, just breathing in the shared warmth. When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t awkward. There were no words. No goodbyes. Nothing left to say. They didn’t need to.

Kiara gave him one last, lingering look—her eyes searching his, like she was trying to read him one last time before the night fully took over. Then, without a word, she turned and started walking toward her house.

Her steps were slow, almost reluctant, like she was trying to make this moment last just a little longer. JJ didn’t move. He stood still, watching her go. He couldn’t help but stare as she disappeared behind the door, his thoughts swirling in a storm of confusion, desire, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

But no matter how much he wanted to follow her, he didn’t. He stayed there, just outside her house, watching her vanish into the night, knowing that whatever this was, whatever was changing between them, he couldn’t rush it. He’d never been good at waiting, but for once, it didn’t seem like the worst thing.

The door clicked shut behind her, and JJ let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Then, without looking back, he turned and walked away, his heart a little heavier, a little lighter, but somehow more whole than before.

Chapter Text

It was the kind of heat that made the air thick and slow—like walking through soup. The Chateau was soaked in it. Every wall, cushion, and surface seemed to radiate with the sun’s revenge, like The Chateau had personally offended the weather gods and this was payback.

John B was melting into the kitchen chair, arms sprawled across the table, sweat dripping from his chin into a bowl of what used to be cereal but now looked like warm soup. His tank top had been abandoned hours ago.

Sarah was starfished on the couch, tank top rolled up under her bra and shorts unbuttoned, one leg up the back cushion, the other dangling lifelessly off the edge. “I feel like a rotisserie chicken,” she groaned, not moving. “Just turn me every few minutes so I cook evenly.”

Pope had claimed the last working fan, which buzzed weakly on the windowsill like it was in its final hours. He sat next to it, motionless, fanning himself with a National Geographic magazine from 2012. His forehead slicked with sweat, shirt clinging to him. 

“This is hell,” he muttered. “We’ve actually died. This is purgatory. The Chateau is purgatory.”

And then, there was JJ.

Shirtless, tan skin glowing with sweat, red cap turned backwards, and a shit-eating grin on his face like he wasn't also dying inside. Which he was. He just refused to show it. His body was practically sizzling, like someone had thrown him on the grill—but he acted like he was built for this.

He was pacing. Babbling. Flipping a warm beer can between his hands like it was a toy, then pressing it to the back of his neck for two seconds before tossing it into the corner with a dramatic sigh.

“Y’know,” JJ started, “I’ve seen lizards out there, just basking in this heat. Like—full tail-to-snout, just laying on the pavement. No shade. No water. Just vibes. And I respect that.”

“JJ,” Sarah croaked, her eyes still closed, “I will genuinely pay you ten bucks to shut the hell up.”

“But if I shut up, we’ll all go insane,” JJ declared, plopping down beside her on the couch, legs spread wide, posture like he wasn’t seconds from sticking to the fabric. “You need the entertainment. The moral support. The—”

“We need an AC,” John B groaned. “We need someone to mercy-kill us.”

JJ ignored him completely. “We should fill the hot tub with ice,” he continued. “Like old school. Survival tactics. Ice, two beers, me inside—problem solved.”

“That’s not how that works,” Pope said without looking up.

JJ looked at him. “You don’t know that.”

Pope sighed. “You say the dumbest shit when you’re overheating.”

“I say the dumbest shit all the time,” JJ corrected, grinning. “This heat just makes me say it louder.”

“I feel like I’m breathing through a sponge,” Sarah muttered.

“You’re just dehydrated,” JJ replied, reaching for her abandoned water bottle and sniffing it. “This smells like lemon and sadness.”

Sarah kicked his shin without opening her eyes. “You smell like warm Gatorade and bad odor.”

JJ held a hand to his heart. “How dare you. This is sunscreen and natural pheromones. I’ve been personally marinating.”

“Jesus Christ,” John B muttered. “It’s too hot for your bullshit, man.”

JJ laughed, leaning back on the armrest, one hand behind his head, like he was sunbathing in the middle of their shared suffering. His abs glistened, obnoxiously, and he tilted his head toward the ceiling as if inviting the heat to do its worst.

But truth be told—he was dying. His back was sticking to the couch, his hairline slick with sweat, and even his knees were sweating. Knees. But he kept up the act because someone had to. Someone had to keep the vibe from completely flatlining.

The silence returned, thick and buzzing, interrupted only by the sluggish turning of the fan and JJ occasionally tapping a beat against the floor with his knuckles.

Pope shifted, stealing a glance at JJ, eyes narrowing. JJ caught it but didn’t react. Didn’t need to.

The heat wasn’t just in the air. It was between them too. Slow. Dense. Building.

And then Sarah asked the one thing that cracked the silence like thunder.

“Is Kie not gonna come by again?”

No one answered right away. It was like a fly buzzing in the back of JJ’s brain—he didn’t want to swat it, didn’t want to address the way it clung to him. His jaw tensed, just slightly, and he kept looking at the ceiling like it was suddenly fascinating.

“She’s probably stuck working,” John B said casually, chewing on an ice cube. “Wreck’s probably packed in this heat.”

Pope stayed quiet. JJ kept tapping his knuckles.

“Damn,” Sarah added, pulling her hair off her neck. “Feels weird without her.”

It did.

JJ didn’t say anything.

But it did.

JJ leaned back further into the couch, letting his head fall against the top cushion, eyes fluttering shut. The heat was pressing on him like a weight, but it wasn’t just that. It was everything.

He ran through yesterday in his head like a film reel—Kiara at The Wreck, her voice when she said “hi,” the feeling of her hands on his shoulders, the bike ride, the way the wind had tangled her hair and made her laugh like the world hadn’t been heavy on her back for days. The surf, the wipeout, her hand brushing his, the ride home. The way she’d hugged him like she didn’t want to let go.

God, the hug.

JJ opened his eyes again like they burned.

That’s when the front door creaked open with a bang, and a voice he’d been looping in his head all morning rang out:

“Jesus, how is it this hot?”

Kiara.

She stepped into the Chateau like the sun had followed her in. Bikini top, faded denim shorts, sunglasses hanging off her nose, a bandana tied over her head. Her skin glowed like she’d been dipped in sunlight. She dropped a woven beach bag with a soft thud onto the floor and fanned herself with one hand, eyes squinting from the brightness outside.

Everyone looked up.

“Holy shit,” Sarah sat up halfway, “You survived.”

Kiara grinned, breathless from the heat. “Barely. It’s like lava out there. I walked past a mailbox that melted. I think my shoes fused to the sidewalk.”

John B raised a hand in a lazy wave. “You’re just in time for our group heatstroke.”

Pope looked at her. Said nothing at first, then gave her a small nod. “Hey.”

Kiara smiled at him too—small, careful—but then her gaze slid over to JJ like it was drawn to him automatically.

And when their eyes met… she didn’t look away.

JJ didn’t either. Not at first.

Her lips curled like she was about to laugh at something only the two of them knew. An inside joke, unspoken but clear. JJ’s mouth twitched, nearly smiling back before Pope shifted and the moment broke.

Kiara rushed toward the fridge. “If anyone needs me, I’m moving into this thing.”

She yanked open the door, letting the cold air wash over her like salvation. She bent down a little, peering inside, and that’s when JJ’s traitor eyes took their shot.

Her hair was up in a messy bun, little wisps stuck to the back of her neck, some to her jaw. Her back was glistening with sweat, a single line trailing along her spine like a bead of summer. Her skin shimmered in the light, golden and soft and sunkissed. She looked like she belonged to the heat. 

Or maybe like the heat belonged to her.

JJ looked away quickly, eyes darting back to the fan.

Chill. Chill. Fucking chill.

He took a swig from a bottle of warm water he didn’t remember grabbing and tried not to think about how good she looked. Not in a bikini. Not like that. She always looked like that.

But this felt different.

“Ice,” Kiara announced, grabbing the tray from the freezer, “is the only god I believe in.”

Sarah groaned. “Bring me three cubes. I’ll trade you my soul.”

Kiara tossed her one. “That’s all it’s worth.”

Sarah didn’t even care. She pressed it to her wrist like she was being baptized.

JJ leaned his arms on his knees, trying to stay casual. “So what brings the goddess of the ocean to our sweat lodge?”

Kiara turned, sunglasses sliding lower on her nose as she looked at him over the top of the frames. “Felt like dying somewhere else today.”

JJ grinned. “And naturally, you chose here.”

“Had to,” she said, walking toward the couch with a cup of water in her hand. “Had to check on my favorite idiot.”

“Which one?” John B asked.

Kiara winked at JJ. “Guess.”

JJ shook his head, smiling into his shoulder, and Pope looked away.

The temperature wasn’t the only thing rising.

And none of them were saying the things that really needed to be said.

Not yet.

Kiara flopped down beside JJ on the couch, her shoulder brushing his, skin against skin, and JJ wasn’t entirely sure if the heat surging through him was from the sun or the fact that Kiara was this close. Like, this close.

He was acutely aware of every point of contact—their arms, their legs, the subtle shift in the cushion when she leaned into it.

She nudged him with her elbow, her sunglasses now perched on her head, holding back messy hair. “Dude. Move over. You’re radiating.”

JJ tilted his head, smirking. “You’re the one who decided to sit next to me.”

Kiara rolled her eyes in classic Kie fashion. “Because it was the only spot with a breeze. Don’t flatter yourself.”

JJ chuckled but lifted his arm, stretching it behind her on the couch, hand casually hanging over the backrest. Kiara didn’t move. She didn’t even seem to notice—or maybe she did and just didn’t mind.

Or maybe she liked it.

JJ tried not to think about that. Too much.

Sarah wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Ugh. I think my blood’s boiling. Like physically. I’m cooking from the inside out.”

John B groaned from where he was slumped in the armchair. “Aagain, we need AC. Or a pool. Or death. Whichever comes first.”

“Can’t even think straight,” Sarah added. “My brain’s sweating.”

JJ cracked open one eye. “That’s probably the heat stroke talking.”

He leaned further into the couch, tilting his head back, voice raspy with boredom and heat. “Y’know, if I die from this weather, I want my ashes scattered somewhere cool. Like an ice bath. Or a walk-in freezer.”

Sarah snorted. “You? Dramatic? Never.”

“Can’t we at least go to the beach?” John B voiced out.

JJ ignored Sarah, flicking a bead of sweat from his temple. “It’s too hot to even go to the beach right now. That sand would cook your feet off. Melt your board. Probably boil the ocean.”

Kiara glanced sideways at him, smirk visible. “Definitely not like yesterday, huh?”

JJ’s brain skidded to a halt.

It came out without thought—just slipped past her lips like a secret that hadn’t meant to be spoken. The second the words left her mouth, she froze.

So did JJ.

A beat of silence fell over the room like a dropped glass.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Yesterday?”

Pope straightened slightly where he was sitting, looking between them now, posture just a little more alert.

JJ felt Kiara’s glance flick to him, her brows twitching, silently apologizing like oops.

Pope’s mouth opened to ask—but Sarah beat him to it.

“So... where were you guys yesterday?”

JJ and Kiara looked at each other for half a second longer than they probably should’ve.

JJ shrugged, stretching his legs out like it was nothing. “Just… surfing.”

His voice was calm, casual, distant—but Kiara felt the shift. He was vague on purpose. Not lying. Just... floating above the truth.

Sarah didn’t catch the tension. She grinned. “Wow, solo surf sesh? Didn’t know you two were off having beach dates while we were here dying from boredom.”

JJ glanced at Pope.

Bad move.

Pope wasn’t smiling.

“The heat’s killing me,” Pope muttered suddenly, pushing off from his seat, grabbing a half-empty water bottle, and heading toward the door. “I need air.”

The screen door creaked behind him and slammed shut with a thud.

Sarah blinked. “Oh, shit.”

JJ stood up like the couch burned him. Walked toward Pope’s now empty seat and grabbed the box fan from the floor, turning it to face himself and plopping down with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s the heat, making us cuckoo.” he said, letting the wind hit him.

But even as the breeze blew across his skin, JJ’s mind wasn’t cooling off.

Not one bit.

Kiara sat a little straighter, her lips pressing into a line, eyes fixed on the door Pope had just walked through.

It was officially a hot day.

In more ways than one.

John B let out a long, dramatic sigh—the kind reserved for moments of sheer exhaustion, like when you’re babysitting toddlers or, in this case, mediating between emotionally constipated best friends. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and looked at the two remaining suspects in the room.

“Okay,” he said, finally. “You guys need to talk. Like... the three of you.”

JJ blinked. “What—me? Why am I included?”

John B gestured between JJ and Kiara like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know why.”

JJ threw his hands up. “No, I don’t. Now unless I was the bonfire crackling that night, I’m not part of that conversation.”

Sarah let out a single snort before quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

JJ looked over at Kiara. She was still staring straight ahead, lips pressed into a tight line. Her fingers were fiddling with the hem of her shorts like they were suddenly the most interesting fabric on the planet. She hadn’t said a word since Pope walked out.

JJ slouched deeper into the seat, rubbing a hand down his face. “This is why I avoid group talks. At least hammocks don’t corner me into emotional interventions.”

“Yeah,” Sarah muttered, “but they also don’t flirt with Kiara when Pope’s two feet away.”

That earned her a quick glare from JJ. “I wasn’t flirting!”

Sarah zipped her lips, but her raised brow said, I’m not wrong, though.

JJ muttered, “This heat’s frying everybody’s brains.”

But even JJ could feel it. That tightening in the air. Pope might have stepped outside, but the real pressure was still sitting right here, sweating it out with no fan strong enough to blow it away.

Sarah groaned and shoved herself off the couch, sweat sticking her shirt to her back.

“Alright. I’m jumping off the dock. If I overheat and die, just tell Rafe he still sucks.”

She was already peeling off her top layer as she headed toward the door, the heat making her deliriously bold. John B stood too with a stretch and a sigh, but before following, his eyes flicked to JJ, then Kiara. His mouth opened like he might say something, but instead he just raised his brows—a silent nudge. Kiara caught it. JJ ignored it.

And then they were gone, leaving behind a silence so thick you could float in it.

Kiara’s gaze shifted to JJ, like she was waiting. 

Waiting for him to say something, maybe ask her why John B thought the three of them needed to talk. Maybe ask her if she agreed. 

Maybe anything.

But JJ didn’t say a word. He just met her eyes for half a second, then looked away and got up, walking toward his bedroom. Not rushed. Just… removed. Distant.

He could feel her eyes on him the entire time he walked away.

He didn’t want to walk away.

He wanted to talk, say something, even if it was stupid. But part of him still felt like he had no right to—like the second he opened his mouth, he’d mess it all up.

Again.

So he kept it shut. Played it cool. Walked away even though his legs were screaming go back and his heart was begging let her stay.

Kiara scoffed, rolling her eyes and scrunching her nose.

Of course.

That was JJ. Just when she thought they were peeling things back, he’d go and throw another layer on top.

He was shutting down again.

Every time they got too close, he’d shut a door she never even saw coming.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t care.

She just didn’t know how many doors she was willing to keep knocking on before she gave up trying to be let in.

Or if she would give up at all.

She stood, her movements a little sharper than necessary, and made her way toward the door, following the heat and the sound of water outside. Maybe the sun would melt some sense into all of them.

Outside, the sun beat down like a spotlight. The dock shimmered in the distance. And over by the Twinkie, where time and air always moved a little slower—Pope sat on the floor of the open sliding door, his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked on the water like it might give him the answers he was tired of not asking for.

John B wandered over, nudging Pope’s shoulder with the side of his foot before settling down next to him on the floor.

Just sitting with him.

The way best friends do when the air’s heavy and hearts are heavier.

The wood of the Twinkie’s floor was warm beneath Pope’s legs, but he barely registered it. The summer sun pressed down on everything, thick and unrelenting, turning the world into a slow-cooked blur. The breeze off the marsh did little to cool the sticky heat clinging to his skin.

John B hovered nearby, arms crossed, squinting down at him. “You good?”

Pope didn’t look up. “Yeah,” he said, voice flat. “All good.”

John B tilted his head, clearly not buying it. “Pope.”

“What?”

“I know what happened, man. Come on.”

A beat.

Pope finally let out a low, bitter laugh and shook his head. “Wow. So everybody knows about my rejection now, huh?”

“It’s hard not to notice,” John B said carefully. “It’s like you’ve got daggers coming out your eyes every time you look at Kiara. Especially when she’s with JJ.”

Pope leaned back against the open frame of the van, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t even know what I’m doing, JB. I thought she liked me. Like, really liked me. Then… nothing. Like it didn’t even happen. And now she’s just out here smiling at him like I didn’t put myself out there, like it didn’t matter.”

John B didn’t say anything for a second, then sat down beside him, their shoulders nearly brushing.

“She’s not easy to figure out,” he said finally. “She never has been. And yeah, what you did? It took guts. I respect the hell out of you for it.”

Pope glanced sideways at him, jaw clenched.

“But,” John B continued, quiet but firm, “you can’t expect someone to feel something just because you do. You put your heart out there, and she didn’t take it. That sucks, man. No way around it. But it doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth doing.”

Pope didn’t respond, just looked back out at the water.

“And you can’t let that mess with your head every time she’s around,” John B added. “That’s not fair to her. Or to you.”

Pope let that sit. The silence between them was heavy, but not tense. Just real.

“I don’t know how to be around her anymore,” Pope admitted after a while. “And when she’s with JJ… I don’t know. I get so in my head about it.”

“I get it,” John B said. “But don’t let it turn you into someone you’re not.”

Pope finally looked at him, expression uncertain. “What if I already am?”

John B gave a half-smile. “Then that’s the version of you we’ll deal with. Just don’t ghost on us, man. We’re your people.”

Pope looked away again, eyes narrowing slightly as he saw movement near the porch.

Kiara.

Coming down the steps. Alone.

Pope let out a dry exhale, lips pressed into a flat line. He nodded his chin toward the porch steps where Kiara was now standing, squinting against the heat as she tied her hair higher into a neater bun. A few strands clung to her temples, damp with sweat, but it only made her look like she belonged in the heat. Like she thrived in it.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get over her,” Pope muttered, almost under his breath. “Especially when she’s like that.”

John B followed his gaze and let out a low chuckle.

Kiara tossed her sunglasses up into her hair and leaned against the railing for a second, stretching her arms above her head. Her golden skin gleamed in the sunlight, and even the damn humidity clinging to her didn’t seem to touch her. She looked effortless. Like she just existed in this weather, unfazed, in her own world.

Pope shook his head. “And JJ,” he continued, voice tightening. “Him and Kiara… they’ve been getting closer. Like, not just ‘we’re tight’ close. There’s something different. I can feel it.”

John B’s jaw flexed slightly. “They’ve always been close, man. Kinda attached at the hip since forever.”

“No,” Pope insisted. “This is different. It’s not the same as before. There’s something between them now.”

John B hesitated for a beat, then nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he admitted. “And they both refuse to see it.”

Pope turned to look at him, brows raised.

John B shrugged, his voice softer now. “It’s not gonna fix itself overnight, Pope. But if there’s one thing you can do… be there. For Kiara. For JJ. Even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy.”

Pope looked away, jaw clenched again.

“I know that sounds unfair,” John B added gently. “But you’ve noticed it too, right? Every time they’re together, it’s like the rest of us don’t exist. Like they’re in their own bubble or something.”

Pope scoffed. “Yeah, dude. Sounds unfair? It is unfair.”

John B leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Look… when I kissed Kiara back then, I felt guilty. Not because it wasn’t okay, but because… I don’t know. It felt like I was keeping something from JJ. Like I was holding something that didn’t belong to me.”

Pope furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“Because I know,” John B said, voice lower now, more certain. “It’s the one thing JJ would want. Even if he never says it, even if he acts like he doesn’t care. Deep down? That’s it for him. Kiara.”

John B looked straight ahead, watching Kiara hop down the steps and start toward the dock where Sarah had gone.

“I just couldn’t take that from him,” he finished softly. “Not to my best friend. Never that.”

Pope shook his head. “You don’t know that. For all we know, maybe JJ got over her. Moved on.”

John B turned to face him, expression calm but firm. “You don’t get to decide that, man. And honestly? The way you side-eye them every time they’re near each other? That tells you everything you need to know about how JJ feels.”

Pope didn’t respond. He just sat there, watching Kiara disappear down the path to the dock, shoulders a little tense, silence curling around him like steam rising off the road.

Inside The Chateau…

The sheets were sticky and relentless, clinging to JJ’s back like they had a personal vendetta. He kicked them off with a grunt—half frustration, half exhaustion—watching them slide to the floor in a messy heap, pillows joining them like casualties of war. The heat was suffocating, sure, but that wasn’t it. Not really.

It was Pope.

It was everything they weren’t saying, all the looks, the pauses, the silence so loud it rang in his ears. JJ knew what was going on. They all did. He was just tired—tired of tiptoeing, tired of guilt threading its way through every second he spent around Kiara. Tired of pretending this ache wasn’t about her.

He ran a hand through his hair, sweat collecting at his temples. He’d wrestled with this too long. Screw it.

He stood up, crossed the room, and peeled the curtain back just enough to see outside. From the window, he spotted them—John B and Pope. Talking.

JJ backed away from the window and made a beeline to the fridge. He grabbed two cold beers—maybe to calm Pope down, maybe to cool himself off, or maybe because it was easier than standing there empty-handed. Either way, it felt like carrying a peace offering.

By the time he stepped outside, the heat is still thick in the air like soup. JJ made his way toward the Twinkie van where Pope and John B sat on the floor. John B saw him coming, nodded subtly, and stood without a word, making his way toward the dock where Sarah was swimming and Kiara sat, legs dangling, head tilted back to the sky.

JJ reached out the beer.

Pope looked at it. Then looked away, lips tight, almost an eye roll but not quite. His whole body said “not today.”

JJ sighed, his voice edged. “What do you want from me, man? Huh? What do you want me to do?”

Pope didn’t look at him. “I want you to do what you want to do, JJ.”

JJ stared. “Even if you don’t like it?”

Pope met his gaze. “Your choice, man.”

JJ’s voice rose, disbelief and frustration colliding. “You’re really giving me the cold shoulder for this?”

And that’s when Pope snapped. His voice didn’t yell, but it hit harder that way—low, sharp. “That, JJ. Right there. You act like she’s not worth fighting for.”

JJ opened his mouth, but Pope was still going. “I was willing to fight for her, man. I still am. But you—you act like you’re just standing there holding the grenade, waiting for it to blow.”

JJ’s jaw tightened, breath short. “You think I’m not fighting?” he snapped, eyes locked on Pope. “You think I don’t lie awake every night wishing it was easier? Wishing I didn’t feel this way, wishing I could just go back to when we were just friends and it didn’t hurt this much to even look at her?”

Pope scoffed under his breath but didn’t look away.

JJ took a step closer, the beer in his hand now warm between his fingers. “Don’t talk to me about fighting, Pope. You think not saying anything is easy? You think watching you try, knowing she’s still hurting, still figuring it out—you think that’s easy?”

Pope’s silence wasn’t agreement. It was challenge.

JJ felt the heat pulsing in his chest—not from the sun, not from the beer, but from that familiar churn of guilt and fury that always seemed to follow him these days. He ran a hand through his damp hair, heart racing. “I’m trying to do the right thing, man. For you. For her. For all of us. But she’s not making this easy for me.”

“And who made you the moral compass?” Pope fired back, standing now, squaring up. “You keep acting like you’re some noble guy taking the high road, but what is that even? Keeping it to yourself, pretending you don’t care? What’s that supposed to fix?”

JJ’s mouth opened, then shut. His hands itched.

Pope stepped closer, voice low but sharp. “You think being silent makes you the better guy? I’d respect you more if you just admitted you want her.”

JJ flinched like it was a slap. Not from the accusation—he could take that—but from how much truth was wedged inside it. From how close Pope’s words hit without being completely right.

He looked down, jaw tight, then met Pope’s eyes. “I care, alright? I care way more than I should. And I’ve been trying to keep it together for everyone—for you, mostly—but it’s like no matter what I do, I’m the asshole.”

Pope’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

JJ took a step back, like he needed physical distance from the tension pulling between them. “You think this has been easy for me? Watching everything, holding it all in? Trying to be the guy who doesn’t make it worse?”

“You are making it worse,” Pope said, quietly now. “Because at least I was honest.”

That one hit deep. JJ’s knuckles flexed around the can.

He glanced at the ground, lips parted like he might finally say something real, but instead—he cracked open the beer. The sound was sharp, almost louder than it should’ve been. He took a long drink. Fast. Almost finishing it in one go.

The silence stretched between them, thick as the heat.

“I’m not trying to take anything from you,” JJ muttered finally, voice lower now. “I never wanted this to get messy. But it did. And I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with that.”

Pope stared at him, shoulders stiff.

JJ shifted his weight, wiped sweat from the side of his face with the back of his hand. “You think I don’t notice how she looks at me sometimes? You think that doesn’t screw with my head?”

Pope didn’t say anything.

“I care,” JJ repeated, quieter now. “That’s all I’ve got right now. I care, and I’m trying not to let that ruin what we have.”

It wasn’t a confession. Not really. But it was more than he’d said out loud to anyone.

Pope let out a slow breath. Some of the fire in his eyes dulled.

JJ drank again, until the can was nearly crushed in his hand.

Then Pope stepped forward, took the can from JJ without asking. Held it for a beat—fingertips tight around the aluminum like he was deciding something. Then, without looking at him, he tossed it to the ground. Not violently, but with enough force that it hit the dirt and rolled a little before settling sideways in the dust.

“Next move’s yours,” Pope said, eyes still on the horizon. But JJ knew he wasn’t talking about beers or conversations or even just today.

He was laying it down. A challenge. A choice.

And JJ felt it hit square in his chest—because he understood exactly what Pope meant.

Next move’s yours.

You pick. Her… or me.

JJ just stood there, breath uneven, the heat crawling over his back like static. But it wasn’t the sun this time. It wasn’t even the sweat on his neck or the dirt sticking to his feet.

It was the weight of the decision Pope had handed him without even turning around.

And now, it was burning from the inside out.

A breeze passed that barely cooled him, brushing against his sweat-stuck skin as he looked down at the can. Still half-crushed in the dirt.

He sighed, bent down, and picked it up.

“Don’t litter,” he muttered to himself—quiet, almost an echo of someone else's voice.

It wasn’t something JJ usually gave a damn about. But it was something Kiara always did.

It was such a small thing. But in that moment, it felt like a string pulling taut.

JJ held the can for a second longer before setting it on the ledge near the porch. His hand hovered over it like he could place all the questions and tension inside and just leave it there too.

But it didn’t work like that.

It never did.

Chapter Text

The night air was heavy, thick with the humidity that clung to the air — that dense, charged stillness that always settles in right before a heavy rain, like the sky’s holding its breath. JJ lay in his bed, the mess of sheets and pillows on the floor a testament to how restless he had been.

He could feel it, that pressure in his chest that wouldn't go away. The conversation from the living room echoed faintly through the walls, John B's voice, Sarah's, and Kiara's—all of them a distant hum against the whirlpool of thoughts in his mind. It was all too much. His feelings, Pope’s tension, Kiara's presence, the weight of it all. He couldn't escape it, no matter how hard he tried.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest. But it wouldn’t let go. The feelings—those damn feelings. They hit him like waves crashing relentlessly against the shore. He'd tried to push them away. Tried to brush them off like sand, but they kept coming back, stronger each time.

He couldn't outrun them. He didn't know how. And no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, he couldn't stop caring. Not about her, not about what it all meant. It was heavy, and no matter how much he wished it away, it wouldn't leave.

A knock on his door broke his thoughts.

He glanced at the door, almost hoping it wasn’t Kiara. He knew it was, but a small part of him—maybe the part of him that still wanted to pretend he had control—hoped it wasn’t. 

But it was.

"Hey," Kiara's voice was soft, like she wasn’t sure how to begin. She opened the door, stepping inside. JJ sat up, pushing the covers off himself. Kiara scanned the room, her eyes lingering on the chaos—pillow and sheets on the floor.

“Damn, did a tornado fly around this room or what?” Kiara joked, a slight grin tugging at the corner of her lips. JJ caught the reference, the line from Thinkin Bout You slipping through her words.

JJ couldn't help but chuckle, though it was a hollow sound. "Excuse the mess I made." He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the heaviness he’d been feeling all night.

Kiara's grin faded a little as she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "You were quiet during dinner," she said, her tone light, but there was a hint of concern in it.

JJ glanced at her, his mind working to push the thoughts away, but they were there, gnawing at him, making his mouth dry. He didn't have the energy to keep pretending anymore, so he let the mask slip. "Yeah. Got a lot on my mind.”

Kiara tilted her head slightly, sensing the shift. She raised an eyebrow, the smallest smirk returning. "Enough to make you drive me home? You know, for fresh air, or whatever?"

JJ hesitated for a split second. Normally, he’d make a joke—tease her about using him like a personal chauffeur. But tonight was different. He couldn’t. He nodded, standing up from the bed.

They walked towards the living room, passing John B and Sarah on the way out. JJ didn’t look at them for too long. He could feel their concerned gazes, but he didn’t have it in him to deal with that right now. He walked straight out the door, Kiara following him. The night was still, the heat of the day lingering like an aftertaste.

Outside, JJ stood by his bike, running a hand through his messy hair, his cap still hanging loosely in his hand. He stared at the bike for a second, like it was the only thing grounding him in the moment.

Kiara stood next to him, watching him, trying to figure out what was going on in that head of his. She had her suspicions, but she wasn’t about to ask him right now. 

Why was he like this? Why is he always shutting her out? Why had Pope disappeared, and why did it feel like JJ had something to do with it.

She glanced at JJ’s reflection in the bike mirror, watching him hesitate for a moment before putting his cap back on and hopping onto the bike.

Her mind raced as she slipped on behind him, the cool air brushing against her face. She rested her chin lightly on his shoulder, her thoughts on everything—the silence that had settled between them, Pope’s disappearance, the look in JJ’s eyes earlier, the way everything felt like it was slowly spiraling.

They were both thinking too much.

"Ready?" JJ’s voice was steady, though there was an edge to it she couldn’t quite place. It was like he was holding something back, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.

Kiara simply nodded, and they both took off into the night, the sound of the bike’s engine cutting through the silence.

The bike ride was quiet. The wind did little to cool the heat still clinging to JJ’s skin, but it carried the weight of the day away, just a little.

Kiara sat behind him, arms loose around his waist, not tight, not tense. Her cheek wasn’t resting on his back or anything dramatic like that—but the closeness was enough. And JJ could feel it.

Then Kiara shouted over the wind, loud enough to cut through the ride.

“Do you remember we used to get salted chips and dip it in soda?”

JJ’s mouth quirked upward without him meaning it to. “Yeah,” he called back. “Why?”

“I want some,” she said. “I missed it.”

He could’ve brushed it off, could’ve made a sarcastic joke about how she just wanted free snacks or how she was using him for late-night nostalgia, but instead he just asked, “You sure Papa C and Mama C aren’t already waitin’ for you?”

“Nah,” she said, her voice still casual. “I’m good right here.”

JJ didn’t hesitate. He slowed, made a U-turn right there in the middle of the road like he knew exactly where they were headed. 

Because he did.

The convenience store hadn’t changed much. The same buzzing sign, flickering in one corner. The same faded posters for sodas no one drank anymore. They pulled up outside, JJ hopping off and shaking out his hair under his cap.

“Wait here,” he said, nodding toward the curb.

Kiara didn’t argue. She plopped herself down on the edge of the sidewalk, arms resting on her knees, chin tilted up to the dark sky.

The air was thick but cooler now, night folding over the streets like a blanket that didn’t quite reach the edges. The yellowish glow of the store light cast long shadows on the pavement, and as Kiara stared at the door, she felt something tug in her chest.

She remembered the first time they came here like it was tucked into a drawer in the back of her memory. Thirteen. Maybe just barely. She had been nervous as hell—sneaking out wasn’t something she’d ever done before. But JJ had done it like it was a Tuesday. And he made it feel like it was no big deal. Like she could do it too. He’d thrown a pebble at her window, grinned when she opened it, and said, “You coming or what?”

She hadn’t hesitated. Not then. Not tonight either.

A few minutes passed.

Then the door jingled open and JJ stepped out, both arms full. Chips tucked under one, a soda in the other hand, and a cup hanging from his fingers. He was grinning—real, full grin—like they were still kids and nothing bad had ever happened to them.

He waved the bag in the air like a trophy. “Guess who found the goods?”

Kiara smiled. That was the thing about JJ—he didn’t always make sense, but he always made her feel like things could be good again.

He dropped beside her, a little too fast, the bag crinkling between them as he passed it over.

She didn’t wait. Tore it open like it was gold.

“Okay, easy on the chips,” JJ muttered, popping the soda can and pouring it carefully into the cup he snagged from the counter.

Kiara chuckled, not slowing down. “You remember how this weird snack started?”

JJ nodded as he dipped his own chip. “You dared me. Said I couldn’t handle it. You ended up liking it more.”

“I did. And you did, you handled it like a pro.” she said, proud.

“I did, ” he agreed, eyes closed as he tasted it again. “Still stays the same.”

“Bomb, right?”

JJ made a face. “Still tastes like if regret tasted fun.”

Kiara laughed, a sound she didn’t realize had been trapped in her chest all day. She leaned back on her hands, looking at him sideways. The way his brows furrowed when he ate it, like he was still trying to understand how it worked, made her grin.

Back then, she’d thought he was just pretending to like it. She was almost sure of it. But he kept eating it. Kept doing it again every time they came here. And over time, she started to think maybe he actually did like it… or maybe he just liked her liking it. Maybe that was enough.

She watched him now, hair messy from the ride, baseball cap tilted slightly off-center, and the same stupid smile she remembered from all those years ago stretched across his face.

He didn’t look any different.

But she felt different.

And Kiara couldn’t tell if that was good or bad—or just inevitable.

Kiara didn’t even realize she was staring at him until a chip smacked her square in the cheek.

She blinked. “Ow—what the hell?”

JJ was already laughing, mouth full, smug like he knew exactly what he did. “You were looking at me like I was an alien or something,” he said between bites. 

Without hesitation, she grabbed a chip and hurled it back at him. It hit the side of his face and crumbled instantly.

“Hey!” he said, half laughing, half offended.

“You started it,” she shrugged, popping another one into her mouth with zero remorse.

They were like that for a few minutes. Passing the bag back and forth. Elbows bumping. Jokes and quiet laughter mixing with the night air. There was something familiar in the rhythm, something that felt stitched into them. Old thread. Never quite worn out.

JJ lifted the cup and took a sip of the soda-soaked chip remnants like it was fine wine.

“JJ!” Kiara gasped, half horrified, half dramatic. “I haven’t even had any!”

He smirked. “Guess you should’ve been quicker.”

Kiara lunged. “Give me that!”

JJ held the cup up and out, his arm fully extended while his other hand instinctively caught her wrist mid-grab. She leaned in, practically draped over him, trying to wrestle the drink from his hand.

Their laughter spilled into the air, bouncing off the convenience store’s brick wall and into the quiet of the night. Close. Too close. JJ’s grip loosened just a little, like maybe he wasn’t trying that hard to keep it away. Kiara’s fingers brushed the side of the cup, their knees knocking together without either of them moving to adjust.

A few feet away, under the dull glow of the parking lot lights, someone else had just arrived.

Pope had been on his way to grab a snack—nothing major. Just a quick run. Maybe something sweet, something to fill the silence sitting too heavy in his chest.

But then he saw them.

JJ and Kiara, laughing like the world had never touched them. JJ’s head thrown back in amusement, Kiara’s arm across him, reaching, smiling. JJ’s hand still holding hers by the wrist, not tight, just enough. Like neither of them noticed.

Pope froze.

For a moment, it was like watching a memory that didn’t belong to him. Like walking into a dream he thought he’d had first, only to find someone else already living in it.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t make a sound.

He just stood there. Watching.

It felt too easy for them. Too natural. The way they fit into each other’s space. The way their laughter echoed like it belonged to a different lifetime, one he’d never been invited to.

Pope let out a slow breath. Not angry. Not bitter. Just tired.

And then he turned. Walked away before they ever saw him.

No confrontation. No words.

But the damage was done.

He didn’t look back, but with every step, he felt it settle—something quieter than heartbreak, heavier than jealousy.

Acceptance.

The kind that didn’t ask for permission.

Kiara finally wrestled the cup free, triumph written all over her face.

“Victory,” she grinned, taking a dramatic sip like it was some fine-aged soda chip cocktail.

JJ watched her, smiling but quieter now. The laughter had settled into something else—something softer.

“Still gross,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Still kinda good.”

He chuckled, tossing his head back just a little as he leaned on his elbows. “Told you. Regret-flavored fun.”

They sat like that for a minute. The curb beneath them still warm from the day’s sun. The convenience store humming behind them. Neon lights buzzing overhead. It wasn’t fancy, wasn’t planned. But it felt like something.

Kiara rested the cup on the ground and glanced at him again—really looked this time. The old red cap casting a shadow over his face, his hair peeking out wild and uneven. One arm draped over his bent knee, the other lazily toying with the chip bag between them.

She remembered the moment they sneaked out again. How JJ had seemed fearless, like the world couldn’t touch him. Like danger was just a game and he always knew the rules. But he’d never made her feel unsafe. Never made her feel out of place. Not even once.

He made it fun. Made her laugh when she was too nervous to breathe.

That hadn’t changed.

“What?” he asked, eyes narrowed like he was trying to read her mind.

Kiara blinked. “Nothing,” she said too quickly.

JJ didn’t press. He just reached for the cup again, tipping it back casually. “Seriously, quit staring at me like that, you’re creeping me out.”

She shook her head, smirking. “You’re always so dramatic.”

He lifted a brow. “You’re the one who said, ‘I want some crackers and soda like we’re in 7th grade again.’”

Kiara nudged him with her shoulder. “I didn’t say that. And you didn’t have to drive me here.”

JJ’s voice was quiet when he replied. “Didn’t mind.”

And he meant it. That was the thing with her—he never really minded. He could be bone tired, heat-cranky, emotionally wrung out, but if she asked… he’d go. No hesitation. Even if it made everything harder.

They both fell into silence after that. 

JJ leaned back again, fingers playing with the grass near the curb, gaze tilted up at the stars starting to peek out.

“I used to think life would feel different by now,” he said suddenly. “Like we’d be older and everything would make sense.”

Kiara followed his gaze. “But it doesn’t?”

JJ shrugged. “Feels like we’re still thirteen. Just with more stuff to lose.”

He was right. Kiara thought.

“Yeah, same. Really thought we’d be different by now too.” she said, so quietly that for a second he wasn’t sure he heard her right.

“Different how?” he asked, eyes flicking to her. She was staring straight ahead, but the words had hit her like they had hit him.

Kiara shook her head. “I don’t know. More… together? Like we’d have all the answers. Like we’d be—”

“More put together?” JJ finished for her, lips twitching into a half-smile.

She glanced at him then, a half-laugh slipping out before she tucked it away. “Yeah. Something like that.”

JJ let out a short, humorless laugh, turning his head to the side. His mind was still spinning, but he didn’t know how to put it all into words. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was trying to figure out.

“Guess we’re not so different, then,” he muttered, his voice lowering. He was staring down at the chips now, absently tossing a few into his mouth, not really tasting them.

Kiara felt the shift in his tone, a sharpness in the way he spoke. The usual sarcasm, the usual careless energy that JJ always had, was gone. She noticed, but she didn’t ask.

“You ever feel like…” She hesitated, her fingers tracing small patterns in the pavement. “Like everyone’s waiting for you to figure it out? Like you’re supposed to have your shit together?”

JJ shifted again, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers drumming in a distracted rhythm. He stared at her as if he was trying to figure out if she was really asking him or just talking to herself.

“Yeah,” he said after a long moment, his voice heavy. “Feels like that sometimes. Like everyone’s got it all planned out, and then there’s me—still stuck, trying to keep up.”

“Same,” she whispered. “Except I can’t even keep up.”

JJ’s eyes flicked to her face, and he saw something there—a vulnerability that wasn’t often there. It pulled at something deep inside him, something he’d tried to ignore for days, maybe even weeks.

It was the look in her eyes, the way she held back, but it was there. She was hurting. He could see it. And somehow, the way she kept looking away, like she didn’t want him to see, made it all the more obvious.

“Kiara…” His voice was softer than it should’ve been. He shouldn’t have said her name like that. Not when there were so many things between them left unsaid. Not when it felt like one wrong word could change everything.

But she turned toward him then, meeting his gaze with that same quiet intensity. Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but she didn’t. Instead, she just held his stare for a moment that felt like a thousand years, a thousand things unspoken.

JJ wanted to ask, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not with Pope’s words still hanging over him, not with the tension still tight between them. He just couldn’t.

The silence stretched again, thick with words neither of them were ready to say.

And then, as if the air suddenly got too thick to breathe, JJ stood up abruptly, his hand running through his hair, the familiar motion like a shield. "Let's get you home.”

Kiara nodded quickly, standing up with him. It wasn’t the answer either of them wanted to give, but it was the one they both needed.

The walk back to the bike felt different. Quieter, like they both knew something was on the edge of spilling, but neither was ready to let it happen.

JJ grabbed the handle of the bike, and Kiara took a deep breath before getting on. The familiar weight of the ride settled between them, the engine purring to life under him. He could feel her next to him, and for a moment, it was like nothing else existed.

But in the pit of his stomach, he knew that everything between them was changing. And neither of them had any idea how to stop it.

JJ didn’t speak again until they were on their way back. He wasn’t sure what to say, how to explain this mess of feelings swirling in his head. There was a weight pressing down on him, suffocating him. He couldn’t ignore it anymore, no matter how much he tried.

The rain picked up just as they were almost at Kiara’s house, a quiet, steady downpour that seemed to fall out of nowhere. JJ’s hands gripped the handlebars of his bike, but as soon as he hopped off, the drizzle hit him like a cold slap. He froze for a second, just standing there. The sound of the rain hitting the pavement mixed with the rustling of the trees around them, but all JJ could hear was the rapid beat of his heart.

They stood there for a moment, caught in the odd stillness. The rain wasn’t too bad, but it was enough that, if he tried to ride back to the Chateau, he’d end up drenched before he even got halfway there.

Kiara looked at him, her brow furrowing just like his, both of them caught somewhere between that unspoken tension that had been building up since they left the convenience store and the reality of just being in each other’s space.

JJ’s gaze dropped to the ground, his hands moving to adjust his hair and cap, his usual nervous gesture when he didn’t know what else to do. He could feel Kiara’s eyes on him, waiting for him to say something, do something, but nothing came.

The silence was thick now, almost unbearable. It wasn’t the comfortable silence they were used to—the easy, teasing silence. This was heavier. More fragile. The kind of silence that made his skin itch.

Kiara hesitated, her gaze flickering to him again. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Then, with a slight shift in her body, she started to turn towards the gate.

But before she could go any further, JJ’s eyes flicked up, a question in his stare. It wasn’t just about the rain anymore. It was about everything, about what they both had been dancing around for too long.

Kiara paused, her hand still on the gate, looking back at him. The rain pattered against the ground, the sound growing louder as the seconds passed. She chewed on her bottom lip for a second, her eyes softening.

“Jayj, do you wanna... go inside?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper, like she was afraid he might say no.

JJ’s breath hitched for a split second. He was caught off guard. His first instinct was to brush it off, to tell her he was fine and that he could handle the rain. But the truth was, he didn’t want to be alone right now. He didn’t want to walk away from her—especially not with everything that had been hanging in the air between them all night.

“I—no I... sure,” he said, his words stumbling out, the hesitation clear even in the way he spoke. It wasn’t just the rain. It wasn’t just the cold. It was the weird knot in his stomach that was only getting tighter the longer he spent with her.

Kiara stood there for a moment, her eyes flicking from him to the door, waiting for him to step forward. Her hand rested lightly on the gate, a gentle invitation.

JJ, still unsure of himself, stepped forward. His lips pressed together, almost like he was shy—like it was the first time they’d ever walked through this threshold together. They’d done this before, sure, but never like this.

They walked together toward the porch steps, the rain becoming a steady backdrop to their footsteps. JJ glanced around, his nerves prickling. There was something different about tonight. Something that made the air feel thicker, more intimate.

Kiara opened the door for him, her hand brushing the glass as she pulled it back. They both walked through, passing the living room without a word, the familiar smell of home wrapping around them. But it was like everything was suddenly quieter. Even the creaking of the old house seemed to fade away as they made their way up the stairs.

JJ’s thoughts were racing. He’d been here before, but it never felt like this. The inside of the C's house? He could count on one hand how many times he’d actually been inside. It wasn’t that they didn’t let him in—it was just that he never really felt like he fit here. Never really felt like he was supposed to. He’d spent his life on the outside, looking in. Always the guest.

Kiara’s house was warm, full of things that felt like home to her, but not to him. He knew the layout, but it was still so foreign—like there was a distance between him and this place, something he’d never quite crossed.

His hands moved restlessly. He glanced up at her as they walked. She seemed calm, natural. She was in her element here, the space she knew so well, and it made JJ feel like he was intruding in a way he wasn’t sure how to explain.

Kiara, on the other hand, was feeling everything. The familiar feel of the house—the creaking steps, the slight chill in the air, even the quiet hum of the lights above her head—didn’t feel like it used to.

The tension was quiet but palpable, and it followed them like a shadow, lingering in the space between each step. It was hard to ignore, hard to pretend that things weren’t different. The easy, playful air they used to share seemed a bit out of reach tonight.

They reached the stairs, and Kiara looked over her shoulder at him for a brief second. “You sure you don’t want to just crash on the couch for a bit?” she asked, her voice quieter now, like she was testing the waters.

JJ nodded, his lips curving slightly but only for a moment. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. What he wanted to say. What she wanted him to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want this night to end like this—quiet, uncertain.

They stepped into her room, the soft creak of the door familiar beneath Kiara’s hand as she flicked on the lamp by her nightstand. A golden hue spread across the walls, warm and worn in, casting gentle shadows across the posters, hanging necklaces, and faded stickers she never bothered to peel off. It was still the same—it smelled like coconut shampoo and lavender detergent, a scent JJ had always quietly liked but never commented on.

JJ lingered by the doorway, eyes scanning the space that felt like a snapshot of another lifetime.

He'd been here before—plenty of times. But back then it wasn’t like this. Back then, it was all climbing through windows and whisper-laughing so loud they’d still almost get caught. It was John B trying to not knock over a lamp, and Pope tripping on the rug. It was them, together. JJ could still remember sitting on her bed eating cereal with John B while Kiara tried to paint Pope’s nails “as a social experiment.”

Now, it was just him.

His eyes landed on the polaroid tucked into the corner of her vanity mirror. The four of them, mid-laugh, probably taken by Big John. JJ squinted at his younger self—shirtless, sunburnt, and beaming, Pope’s arm slung over his shoulder, Kiara leaned into him from the other side.

There were more—clipped to the fairy lights across her headboard, stuck along her corkboard. Moments frozen in time. Their time.

Everything in here screamed Kiara. The way her books were stacked out of order, the cracked phone case she kept on display because it had a doodle he drew in Sharpie, the way her record player still had that same Fleetwood Mac vinyl half-hung out.

She saw him looking, saw how he paused a beat longer on the photos. She didn’t try to explain anything. She just leaned against the wall near her bed, arms folded gently.

“Nothing’s changed, Jayj,” she said softly, like she was reminding him. “Just like we talked about on the curb. Just… more to lose now.”

JJ snorted, dry and half-laughing. “Right about that.”

JJ looked down and kicked off his boots, trying not to feel like his feet didn’t belong on her rug. Kiara slipped off her shoes with one toe, tossing them near her closet with practiced ease.

He stood there for a second too long, awkwardly shifting, unsure of where to sit or what to do. He felt like a visitor in a place so familiar. His fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt as he scanned the room again, not quite meeting her eyes.

Kiara sat on her bed slowly, watching him without pushing. She didn't rush him. Maybe she saw something he couldn’t name on his face, or maybe she was just letting him have a moment. Either way, she didn’t fill the silence.

JJ finally looked at her, jaw tense, lips pressed like he was still debating something with himself. Then, with a breath that felt like surrender, he moved. But instead of joining her on the bed, he dropped to the floor at the foot of it, leaning back on his palms like he was settling in for a long night of thinking too hard.

Kiara blinked, thrown off. “What are you doing?”

JJ shrugged, not looking at her. “What?”

“You’re just—on the floor?”

“It’s a good floor,” he mumbled.

She laughed under her breath, soft and amused, and scooted across the bed until she was sitting sideways, her back against the wall. Her legs stretched out beside her and she patted the spot next to her with a look that made it clear she wasn’t in the mood to let him keep brooding six feet away.

“Just get in here.”

JJ glanced at the space she’d made, at her blanket bunched around her legs, and then at her face—expectant, open, no pressure but still undeniable. He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not sure if—”

Kiara didn’t wait for him to finish. “Jayj. C’mon.”

That did it.

He stood up slower than he needed to, like he was giving himself time to back out if his brain screamed loud enough. But it didn’t. Or maybe Kiara’s voice was just louder. He sat down beside her, still careful, still unsure where his elbows and knees were supposed to go, but he was there.

Outside, the rain had picked up. Not a storm, but steady and constant, like background noise the world couldn’t mute. It fell against the roof in soft thuds, trickled down the windowpane in winding paths, whispered against the leaves outside her window like it had secrets to tell but no one to trust.

Inside, it was warm. Quiet. Heavy with whatever hung between them.

JJ leaned back against the wall, the edge of his knee brushing hers.

And for the first time all day, the noise in his head didn’t feel quite as loud.

Kiara picked at a loose thread on her blanket. JJ glanced over, catching the motion without meaning to.

She finally said, “You ever think about how we ended up here?”

JJ gave a low hum. “All the time.”

“Not like here-here. I mean… us. All of us.” She nodded vaguely, like gesturing at the invisible version of their friend group that used to crash through the world like a storm.

JJ leaned back, arms folded. “Things were easier when we didn’t know anything.”

Kiara tilted her head. “You mean when we were stupid?”

JJ let out a small laugh. “Exactly.”

It should’ve stayed light. That’s what they were good at—jokes as armor, sarcasm as glue. But something under Kiara’s voice gave way when she added, “Sometimes I miss being stupid.”

JJ turned to look at her. Not all the way. Just enough. “What would you do if we could go back?”

Kiara shrugged, eyes soft. “I don’t know. Maybe… hold on tighter to the stuff that mattered. Notice things sooner.”

He watched her for a beat, the flicker of lamplight catching in her lashes, casting half-moons on her cheekbones. She wasn’t looking at him. Not directly. But he could feel it—that kind of honesty that only surfaces when the world’s gone quiet enough to hear yourself think.

JJ sank back against the wall beside her, shoulder brushing hers just slightly. His voice was quieter when he said, “I think I’d stop pretending I didn’t care as much as I did.”

Kiara tilted her head toward him. “That’s a start.”

JJ let out a breath, soft and sardonic. “Only took me, what, like several years to admit that?”

“Progress is progress,” she said with a small grin, nudging his knee.

They sat like that for a while—comfortably suspended in that hazy space between too much and just enough.

Outside, the storm murmured steadily against the windowpane. Inside, the warmth between them buzzed like a soft static.

Kiara leaned back against the wall, her voice a sleepy lilt. “Remember that summer Pope tried to build a treehouse and made us all help, and the whole thing collapsed in, like, two hours?”

JJ smirked. “You mean the ‘tree platform of doom’? Yeah. My shoulder still remembers.”

“You were the one who said, ‘We don’t need nails if we believe in ourselves,’” she laughed.

JJ groaned. “God, I was so full of shit.”

Kiara looked at him fully now, her eyes soft from the hour, the warmth, the way everything felt just one deep breath away from something else. “You always did that,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Make me feel less scared about stuff.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached up, rubbed the back of his neck like it’d help soften the sudden ache in his chest.

Then, just above a whisper: “You always made me feel like I could be something better.”

Kiara’s breath caught just barely, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

JJ looked at her—really looked at her—and then, like something cracked in him, he dropped his gaze.

“Kiara—” he started, but his own voice cracked around the edges of something. Something that almost spilled over.

And it scared him.

“I’m gonna go ahead,” he muttered suddenly, sitting up straighter, like distance could still save him.

Kiara blinked. “JJ.”

He avoided her eyes, glanced toward her window—and of course, thunder cracked just then. The kind that rumbled from the sky like it had opinions. The rain had thickened, soaking the earth with all the force it had been holding back.

“JJ,” Kiara said again, softer this time. “It’s still raining.”

He swallowed, jaw clenched, torn between a door and a wall.

Then her voice again—quieter than thunder, but heavier somehow.

“Stay.”

JJ stilled.

Everything in him told him to move—to get up, to breathe, to shake off the weight pressing against his ribs like a confession.

But her voice anchored him.

And maybe, just maybe, the thunder outside wasn’t the only thing worth listening to.

Eventually, his body gave in before his thoughts did. He shifted back down, slowly, unsure.

Not too close. Not too far. Just… somewhere safe.

They sat in silence until it wasn't silence anymore—just two heartbeats syncing without permission.

Kiara’s head tilted gently until it found his shoulder. JJ didn’t move.

Didn’t even realize he’d let himself stay.

But when the storm passed sometime around 3 a.m., two shapes were still curled on the edge of her bed—both asleep, leaning at each other for support, hearts beating as one.

Whatever was happening between them,

It was real.

Chapter Text

JJ stirred before the light even reached the window. The first thing he felt was weight—not the metaphorical kind, though that was always there—but something soft and warm, leaned up against his shoulder.

Kiara.

He blinked the sleep away slowly, cautiously. His eyes adjusted to the dim room, the soft yellow cast of her bedside lamp still faintly glowing, like it had been left on low, forgotten. Her room was still. Quiet. The kind of quiet that only came after a heavy night rain—like the world had exhaled, everything washed, hushed, reset.

JJ didn't move right away.

Instead, he just sat there, letting the stillness sink in. The weight of her head against his shoulder. The feel of her breathing, slow and even. She looked so… unbothered. Like nothing could touch her here.

He had the weirdest thought: that maybe she only ever let herself relax like this when she felt safe.

And that she felt safe with him.

That thought—it made something hurt in his chest. Because as much as he wanted to be that safe place, he wasn’t sure he ever really could be.

You’re not the guy people trust to stick around, he told himself. You’re the guy people survive.

He glanced toward the window, caught the soft gray light of early morning trying to bleed through the curtains. It was still too early for this. And yet, it already felt too late.

JJ knew he needed to go. He couldn’t be here when her parents got up. He shouldn’t have even stayed this long. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. It just... felt too easy. Too safe.

He tilted his head, carefully, and lifted his free arm to gently touch Kiara’s hair. He was careful—like he might mess up the moment if he breathed too loud. Slowly, he began shifting her toward the pillow, trying to ease her down without waking her.

But her voice cracked the stillness.

“JJ?” Her eyes were half-lidded, sleep tangled in her tone.

He froze, hand still at her head. “Mornin’,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and hesitation.

Kiara blinked, sat up a little, rubbed at her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I was gonna head back to the Chateau before your parents wake up,” JJ said, already swinging his legs off the side of the bed, grabbing his shirt from the floor. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Kiara!” Her mother’s voice rang out suddenly—faint, like she was either in the living room or just outside the house. Like the universe was in on the joke.

JJ’s eyes went wide. Kiara straightened up. “Too late for that,” she muttered, her face scrunching at the sound.

JJ was already tugging his boots on, fumbling slightly. Kiara kept talking, casual as ever. “Didn’t realize I fell asleep.”

“Yeah,” JJ said, not really looking at her. “Me too.”

He moved toward the window instinctively, fingers on the latch.

But another shout stopped him.

“Kiara! Why is JJ’s bike parked outside?”

They both froze.

JJ facepalmed, dragging his hand down his face. “Shit.”

Kiara gave him a small, half-smile. “It’s okay. I got it.”

JJ looked at her like she had just handed him an equation with missing numbers. “You got it?” he said, eyebrows raised. 

But Kiara was already ducking into her bathroom, mumbling something about changing. JJ stayed frozen in the middle of her room, his heart thudding like it was trying to outrun the situation.

He scanned the room again. All the little things that screamed Kiara. Photos. Notes. A hoodie draped over a chair that might’ve been his once. One of those dumb little seahorse keychains from the pier arcade that John B won and Kiara had insisted was hers.

How did something that feels like home also feel so damn far away?

Behind the bathroom door, Kiara exhaled into the mirror, bracing herself against the counter. Her hair was tangled, her top rumpled from sleep. And it hit her—they hadn’t even changed last night. She hadn’t noticed. Maybe because they were so caught up in each other’s eyes, in the rain, in the warmth of sharing something without saying it out loud.

She splashed her face with water, trying to cool the heat lingering in her cheeks. Not guilt. Not exactly. But awareness. That line they’d been toeing? They’d definitely stepped over it.

She combed her fingers through her hair and grabbed the first shirt she could find. Familiar. Faded red.

When she stepped back into the room, her expression was calm, practiced. Like she hadn’t just been alone with her racing thoughts. Like the air between them wasn’t buzzing.

She grabbed a shirt from her drawer—it looked suspiciously like one of JJ’s old ones. He pointed, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that—?” he started, but she wasn’t even paying attention, already heading for the door.

“C’mon,” she said.

He followed.

Down the stairs. Past the echo of last night. His boots thudding soft against the wood. Her home was warm, sun trying to find its way in now, light and soft and traitorous.

Her dad was in the kitchen. Her mom beside him, mug in hand. Both of them mid-conversation until they heard the steps.

Mike looked up first. His eyes went from Kiara to JJ. Then back again. His brows furrowed, his expression somewhere between confused and fatherly protective.

JJ gave a small nod. “Morning, Mr. C, Mrs. C.” he offered, barely able to meet their eyes.

Mike nodded back slowly. “Morning, JJ.”

JJ could feel it. The unspoken questions. The silent alarms.

Kiara’s mom followed Mike’s gaze—and saw JJ.

She put the mug down. The sound echoed louder than it should’ve.

JJ wanted to evaporate. Or teleport. Preferably both.

Kiara’s mom smiled, but it was the kind of smile people used when they didn’t really feel it. “Did you two sleep on the same bed?”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom. We don’t have any other beds.”

JJ almost choked, but said nothing, just focused on his shoes.

Then—Kiara grabbed his wrist. “Let’s go,” she said, already moving toward the front door.

JJ let himself be pulled.

Out the door.

Down the steps.

Her mom followed to the porch but didn’t come any farther.

JJ didn’t look back.

Neither did Kiara.

But both of them felt it—that strange heat that wasn’t quite embarrassment and wasn’t quite anything they could name.

Just the start of whatever came next.

JJ turned to her once they got out the gate, his voice low but pointed. “You do realize how this may look to them, right?” He gestured faintly toward the house. “I could’ve climbed down the window.”

Kiara narrowed her eyes, pulling her shirt tighter around her. “I didn’t want you to.”

He paused, adjusting his cap like it gave him something to do, something to hide behind. Kiara’s jaw tightened.

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” she added, a bit sharper now. “They always think I’m lying anyway.”

JJ didn’t say anything right away. He sucked his teeth and looked off into the yard, like maybe if he didn’t meet her eyes, the weight of all of this wouldn’t sit so heavy on his chest.

“Your mom’s still watching us,” he muttered.

“I know,” Kiara said, glancing behind her. “Ignore her.”

JJ didn’t. Couldn’t. He never could when it came to that stuff—being seen as something less than.

Kiara turned toward him fully. “Hey… thank you. For last night.” Her voice softened. “And I’m sorry about my mom.”

JJ gave a faint shrug. “She have a right to be like that.”

Kiara’s face changed—sharp, almost hurt. That familiar ache, the one she always got whenever JJ talked like that. Like he expected the worst. Like it made sense to him.

Why does he always think he deserves it?

Why does he talk like he’s not allowed to be somewhere good? With someone who wants him to stay?

“Don’t say that,” she said, firmly now. “They’re crazy. You’re not.”

JJ gave her a small nod but didn’t lift his eyes. He just patted her shoulder gently, his touch light like he was scared it’d linger too long and say too much.

He opened his mouth like he was gonna say something—something real. But the words stopped short. Instead, he offered a lopsided smile.

“See you.”

Kiara nodded. “Yeah.”

He headed toward his bike, boots crunching against the gravel, and she watched him go. The way he moved—confident in the body, unsure in the heart. Like he always had one foot in and the other halfway out the door, just in case.

And JJ, without turning back, felt her eyes on him.

Felt everything he didn’t say trailing after him like exhaust.

The second JJ disappeared from view, the soft growl of his engine fading down the street, Kiara turned around—and immediately caught the hawk-eyed glare of her mother from the porch. She rolled her eyes so hard it could’ve been audible.

Before she even stepped down the last porch stair, her mom's voice hit her like a slap wrapped in concern.

“Kiara Carrera,” her mom started, tone high and sharp, “what exactly is going on here?”

Kiara didn’t answer. Not right away. She just kept walking like she didn’t hear it, like maybe if she moved fast enough, she could outrun the entire morning. Her mom followed—barefoot, coffee mug still in hand, all fury and froth.

“I’m talking to you!”

Kiara kept walking. The door opened again, groaning dramatically like it had feelings about this too.

“You didn’t answer me. Did you sleep in the same bed as JJ last night?”

At that, Kiara turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at her mom with a look that screamed: are you serious right now?

“You’re being ridiculous,” she muttered, pushing past the hallway and into the living room, voice rising. “Jesus, Mom. We literally fell asleep sitting up—it wasn’t a big deal.”

Her mom’s eyes widened. “It is a big deal! You didn’t tell us anything—do you know how this looks?”

Kiara stopped at the stairs, spinning on her heel. “How this looks?” she echoed, laughing, loud and disbelieving. “Oh my god. Mom, are you insane?”

She looked toward her dad, hoping—begging—for some kind of lifeline. Maybe a shrug. A neutral head tilt. Anything.

But Mike didn’t even blink.

“That kid is bad news, Kiara” he said, putting his mug in the sink like he wasn’t detonating a grenade.

Kiara froze.