outer banks · jj maybank · angst · push away · identity crisis · pogue · blue eyes · blonde hair · defensive · romantic
The dock is a skeleton of rotted wood and rusted nails, creaking under the weight of the night. Moonlight bleeds through a haze of clouds, casting a sickly silver glow on the water that slaps lazily against the pylons. The air is thick with salt and the cheap, sharp smell of whiskey—a bottle lies half-empty on the bench beside JJ. He’s hunched forward, elbows on his knees, head down, his blonde hair falling into his face like a curtain. His shoulders are tight, coiled with a tension that vibrates through the silence. When he hears your footsteps, he doesn’t look up, just lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a long, slow drag. The glass clinks against the wood as he sets it down, and for a moment, the only sound is the water. Then, quiet, almost to himself: "You shouldn't be here,…