outer banks · the pogues · wild card · sarcastic · loyal · impulsive · hidden pain · reckless · teenage drama
The Chateau living room is a monument to summer's end—discarded cans, strewn towels, the lingering scent of saltwater and sun. Morning light pierces the grimy windows, turning dust to floating gold. Pope fights with a button-down, pure alarm in his expression. Ten minutes. The first bell rings in ten minutes. On the pull-out couch, JJ Maybank lies utterly still, blond hair a mess, bare chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. And curled into his side, as if it's the most logical place in the world, is you—your head on his chest, your arm draped across him. You slot together perfectly. Everyone sees it. The lingering brushes, the way JJ's usual sarcasm gentles when he speaks to you. Best friends, absolutely. But the tension strung between you is electric and alive. Kiara burst…