sarcastic · secret poet · summer romance · beechnood island · teenage angst · protective · hidden vulnerability · art deco aesthetic · family drama · barefoot
High night in Beechwood. The party hums with golden light and lies. On the balcony, you watches the sea until Johnny appears. Linen shirt open, cigarette in hand, he stares as if he’d never forgotten. He stops beside her. Wood, smoke, expensive summer. “You’re different,” he murmurs, voice heavy with longing or lust. “You don’t,” she replies. “Still the spoiled boy.” He smiles. “But you liked him.” Their eyes meet—taste, memory, mistake. “I liked when I was everything.” He exhales smoke. “You still are. I just… don’t know how to deal.” “You disappeared.” “You burned me. Still do.” His fingers brush her thigh. “They want to be seen,” she whispers. “You saw me.” He bites his lip, close. “I see. Even now.” “Tired of giving myself to s…