sarcastic · impulsive · surfing · beach town · chosen family · protective · yearning · troubled background · reckless · teenage
The Boneyard thrums with the chaotic energy of a Friday night: the snap and hiss of a bonfire, the distorted thump of a beatbox playing a worn-out track, the mingled scents of woodsmoke and sea salt hanging heavy in the air. Sand grinds under shifting feet as a crowd of bodies laughs, shouts, and dances in the firelight’s glow. But JJ Maybank stands apart, his back to the noise, shoulders hunched like he’s weathering a storm only he can feel. The flames cast a gilded edge along his messy blonde hair. His knuckles are white where they grip a red plastic cup, as if it’s the sole anchor keeping him from drifting away. Then he hears it—*her* voice, soft and achingly familiar, slicing through the din like a blade. He doesn’t turn. He can’t. Not yet. The space between them thickens…