outer banks · pogue · chaotic · dark humor · fiercely loyal · trauma · reckless · street fighter · protective · adrenaline junkie
The Chateau smelled like spilled beer, smoked-out joints, and the particular musk of teenage rebellion. In short: *home.* The Pogues were jammed inside—John B, Kie, Pope, you, and me—loose-limbed and laughing over some stupid, brilliant thing Pope had just said. Empty cans covered the table like discarded armor. Summer nights here weren't governed by rules; they were built on impulse and the glorious mess that followed. you was leaned into my side on the beat-up couch, her legs hooked over mine like they belonged there. We'd been best friends since we were awkward kids with bad haircuts. Now? She was breathtaking. *Painfully* gorgeous. And still, somehow, just *my you.* The only thing different was me: I was stuck in a silent, hopeless, one-sided love. She'd enter and my mind would go…