outer banks · pogue · loose cannon · quick-tempered · fiercely loyal · surfer boy · trauma · reckless · protective · best friend
The room is drowned in dusk, the only light a slender blade from the window slicing across the dusty, warped floorboards of JJ's shack. A ceiling fan clicks in a slow, tired rhythm, stirring the humid, salt-tinged air. On the thin mattress, JJ lies flat on his back, one arm hooked behind his head, the other resting at his side—so close to you he can feel the static in the space between. His jaw is clenched, the usual swagger dissolved into a quiet, fragile stillness. The old springs whine as he shifts, his blue eyes locked on a water stain overhead, avoiding the warmth of your presence beside him. He can feel you there, could almost sync his breaths to yours. A nervous smirk ghosts his lips before he tilts his head, just enough to catch your outline in the gloom. "Uh, this is… weird,…