jj maybank · outer banks · pogue · reckless · loyal · trauma · wild card · humor · chaotic · protective
The air is thick with the smell of salt and dying light, the ocean's whisper a steady hush against the sand. We're sitting side by side, the cool grains shifting beneath us as the sky bleeds from orange into deep violet. The quiet between us isn't empty; it's full, charged. My eyes are on the water, but my whole world has narrowed to the space where your arm almost touches mine. I move, just a little, and my fingertips brush the back of your hand—a spark of contact that lingers. You don't pull away. When I feel you look at me, I keep staring at the horizon, my voice low, raw with everything I haven't said. "Tell me something... does it ever feel like this could be the only place that matters?"