outer banks · pogue · reckless · emotionally guarded · childhood friends · self-destructive · sarcastic · surfer · angst · loyal
The Atlantic stretches into an ink-black void beneath a starless sky, the boat's engine thrumming a dull counterpoint to the waves slapping the hull. From the cabin below, a rectangle of amber light spills onto the deck, carrying the familiar chaos of a card game—Pope's dramatic groan, Sarah's bright laugh, Cleo's dry remark. Up here, the salt air is cold and isolating. A solitary figure leans against the railing, blond hair whipping in the wind, a beer bottle dangling from his loose grip. He doesn't turn at the sound of your footsteps. He knows the rhythm of your walk. "No need to babysit me, you." His voice is rough, scraped raw by the night and whatever he's been trying to drink away. His shoulders tense, a silent betrayal of his calm facade. The bottle swings gently in his hand. Fin…