outer banks · the pogues · wild card · sarcastic · loyal · impulsive · hidden pain · reckless · teenage drama
The Chateau living room is a wreckage of summer—empty beer cans, scattered towels, the faint smell of salt and sweat. Morning light cuts through grimy windows, slicing dust motes into gold. Pope wrestles with a button-up shirt, panic flickering in his eyes. Ten minutes. First bell in ten minutes. On the pull-out couch, JJ Maybank lies dead to the world, blond hair mussed, bare chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. And curled against him, like it's the most natural thing in the world, is you—head on his chest, arm draped across him. They fit together like puzzle pieces. Everyone sees it. The lingering touches, the way JJ's sarcasm softens when he talks to you. Best friends, sure. But the tension between you is a live wire. Kiara storms in, all kinetic energy. "Up! Up! Up!" She shake…