ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤThe morning sun bore down mercilessly on the emerald expanse of the golf course, its heat seeping into Lyra’s skin and making the fabric of her polo shirt stick uncomfortably to her back. Her high ponytail, which had seemed like a good idea earlier, now felt too tight, pulling at her scalp in a way that only added to her growing irritation. A few rebellious strands had broken free, fluttering against her cheeks every time she moved—not that she was moving much, aside from swinging and missing and embarrassing herself repeatedly.

ㅤㅤShe let out a sharp breath, adjusting her grip on the golf club for what felt like the hundredth time. The smooth metal felt foreign against her palms, an extension of her arms that refused to obey her. In front of her, the tiny white golf ball mocked her from its spot on the tee, completely still, unmoving.

ㅤㅤ“Okay,” she muttered under her breath, trying to summon some last shred of patience. She squared her stance, bending her knees slightly in an attempt to copy her father’s practiced posture. With one final inhale, she lifted the club and swung—

ㅤㅤThunk.

ㅤㅤThe ball barely wobbled before rolling pathetically forward, stopping just a few feet away like it had lost the will to go on.

ㅤㅤLyra closed her eyes for a second, inhaling through her nose. The sound of her mother’s polite silence, her father’s barely concealed exhale of dismay, and—of course—Klyd’s soft snicker, only made it worse.

ㅤㅤTwo hours. Two excruciatingly long hours of watching her mother, father, and brother dominate the game while she flailed around like a complete idiot. Her mother, ever composed, was at least kind enough to offer a small, encouraging nod whenever Lyra tried, but it did little to ease the humiliation curdling in her stomach.

ㅤㅤMeanwhile, Klyd was practically basking in his own superiority, reveling in the morning's warm sunlight that cast a golden glow over the golf course. He had been landing perfect shots all morning, each swing of his club marked by a fluid grace that made it look effortless. With every successful drive, his grin widened, a mixture of pride and mischief lighting up his features. 

ㅤㅤ And he was enjoying every moment of watching Lyra struggle.

 ㅤㅤLyra stood a bit off to the side, her focus shattered by the familiar sound of his club slicing through the air. She barely glanced up in time to see the sharp, clean thwack as his ball soared across the course, arcing gracefully before landing with a soft plunk just inches from the hole. 

ㅤㅤKlyd exhaled in exaggerated satisfaction, stretching his arms high above his head as he turned to face her. “Wow,” he drawled, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “Another perfect shot. I mean, I knew I was good, but this is getting ridiculous.” His eyes gleamed with amusement, and he sent her a sidelong glance. “How’s your game going, Ly?”

ㅤㅤLyra shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel, gripping her club so tightly that her knuckles turned ghostly white. “Don’t talk to me,” she shot back, her voice low and menacing.

ㅤㅤKlyd clucked his tongue, feigning sympathy with an over-the-top expression of concern. “Aw, come on, sis. Don’t get all pouty. Some people just aren’t meant for sports, and that’s okay! You’ve always been more of a—what’s the word?” He tapped his chin in mock contemplation, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Spectator.”

 ㅤㅤA vein in Lyra’s temple pulsed with ire. “Dad, can I go home now? I’m useless, here!”

ㅤㅤHer father’s calm, neutral voice cut through, “Elyra, don’t say that about yourself,” Adrian said, stepping back after finishing his turn. “Also, ask your mother.”

 ㅤㅤLyra pivoted sharply toward her mother, her expression practically pleading for support.

ㅤㅤ Kate, watching the playful banter with mild amusement, lifted her water bottle to her lips for a sip before setting it down. “Don’t you want to try again?” she asked gently, though Lyra could sense her skepticism.

ㅤㅤBefore she could respond, Klyd—who clearly hadn’t had enough fun yet—chimed in again. “Let her go, Mom.” He waved a dismissive hand, his grin widening. “She’s awful at this. Actually, scratch that—she’s awful at every sport she’s ever tried. Volleyball? A disaster. Basketball? She couldn’t make a shot even if the hoop was lowered. Frisbee? You’d think she was hurling a brick instead of a disk.” He let out an exaggerated sigh, relishing every moment of their rivalry. “Honestly, I think she’s setting records for being the most uncoordinated person to ever exist.”

ㅤㅤSomething inside Lyra snapped, a burst of frustration igniting within her.

ㅤㅤWith a fierce growl, she hurled her golf club at him. 

ㅤㅤKlyd, ever the athlete, reacted in an instant. His hand shot out, effortlessly catching it midair as if it were nothing more than a feather. A slow smirk spread across his face as he tossed it lightly in his palm. “Nice aim,” he mused, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe baseball’s your sport.”

ㅤㅤLyra’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached, and an exasperated groan escaped her lips. 

ㅤㅤTheir mother, who had been biting back laughter, finally succumbed to it, a warm, genuine chuckle bubbling up from her chest like a fizzy drink. 

ㅤㅤLyra let out a long, dramatic sigh, dragging her hands down her face in defeat. “Mom, is it too late to wish I was an only child?”

ㅤㅤ Klyd slung an arm over her shoulder, his grin ever-present. “Aw, but then who would you take all your aggression out on?”

ㅤㅤShe shoved him off with a look of pure disdain. “You. But with actual violence.”

ㅤㅤStill wearing that infuriating smirk, Klyd secretly scooped up the golf cart keys from the basket near their mother’s chair, twirling them around his fingers like a magician. 

ㅤㅤ“Mom, Dad,” Lyra huffed, brushing stray blades of grass off her sneakers, “can I please go home now?”

ㅤㅤKate exchanged an amused glance with Adrian before nodding in understanding. “Sure, honey.”

ㅤㅤRelief washed over Lyra, and she reached for the keys—it was already in Klyd’s hand. “Not so fast, little sis,” he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Winner of rock, paper, scissors gets the cart.”

ㅤㅤLyra groaned, throwing her head back in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

ㅤㅤKlyd only grinned wider. “Rules are rules, Ly.”

ㅤㅤ“Rules are rules,” Lyra says, with a mocking tone. With narrowed eyes, she wasn’t about to back down from this challenge. They locked stares, hands poised and ready.

ㅤㅤRock. Paper. Scissors.

ㅤㅤA tense beat of silence hung in the air like a stretched rubber band. Then Klyd whooped, holding up his winning scissors while Lyra’s defeated paper drooped in the aftermath of their competition.

ㅤㅤ“Damn it!” she groaned, collapsing into a nearby chair as Klyd jingled the keys mockingly, triumph radiating from his every move.

ㅤㅤ“Well, looks like you’re walking home,” he declared gleefully.

ㅤㅤLyra shot him a glare sharp enough to slice through the tension around them. “I hate you,” she spat.

ㅤㅤKlyd smirked back, unfazed. “You already said that.”

ㅤㅤWith a frustrated huff, Lyra began walking away, the midday sun beating down mercilessly. She vowed to herself that she would never play golf again.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

ㅤㅤFive minutes after stepping off the sun-drenched golf course, Lyra’s path intersected with Rafe and Topper beneath the glaring orange sky. 

ㅤㅤRafe, his usual swagger muted by the relentless heat, held up a chilled case of beer, droplets of condensation trickling down his sun-kissed forearm like icy tears in the sweltering summer air. Topper hung beside him, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other, his eyes darting between the open case and the approaching figure of Lyra.

ㅤㅤA faint twitch played at the corner of Topper’s mouth, barely masking his discomfort. Rafe, however, met her gaze with a casual grin—crooked and nonchalant, yet somehow lacking the warmth that usually accompanied a smile. 

ㅤㅤ“Hey there, Lyra.” His voice oozed the kind of smooth arrogance that had always sent an unsettling shiver down her spine. He popped a bottle free from the case and extended it toward her in a lazy, almost taunting gesture. “Thirsty?” He tilted his head slightly, a gesture that was both inviting and condescending. 

ㅤㅤLyra fought the urge to roll her eyes; the oppressive heat radiating from Rafe felt far more suffocating than the sun itself. Her gaze flickered to the offered bottle, watching the condensation slide down the glass in sinuous trails reminiscent of summer’s oppressive humidity.

ㅤㅤShe scoffed, a sound laced with disbelief. “The sun’s barely set, Rafe. You’re already planning on getting hammered?” From the corner of her eye, she caught Topper’s discomfort peaking; it was evident in the way he clenched his jaw and avoided eye contact, seemingly willing himself to vanish into thin air.

ㅤㅤTurning her attention to him, she probed, “Where did you even get that?” Her voice was sharp, laced with suspicion that cut through the warm evening air.

ㅤㅤTopper hesitated, leaning toward Rafe and mumbling something inaudible. Whatever it was, it only elicited a low, careless chuckle from Rafe, as if he found amusement in the very idea of being questioned.

ㅤㅤ“Relax, Monroe. I ordered it, and they delivered,” he replied, shrugging off the inquiry with a nonchalance that only heightened Lyra’s unease.

ㅤㅤ“That doesn’t sound convincing at all,” she shot back, her tone flat as the evening sky began to deepen into twilight.

ㅤㅤThe amusement faded from Rafe’s face, irritation flaring momentarily across his sharp features like a storm cloud brewing on the horizon. He opened his mouth to retort, but Lyra was already finished with the exchange. Casting Topper one last look—a knowing, disappointed glance tinged with a sense of betrayal—she turned on her heel.

ㅤㅤRafe’s voice pursued her, an echo of condescension and bravado, but she refused to look back.

ㅤㅤThe heat pressed against her, sweat clinging to her skin as she quickened her pace. Rounding a corner, she barely registered the way the world tilted—how the lazy hum of the island air seemed to hush all at once.

ㅤㅤHer breath stuttered.

ㅤㅤ“Pope?” 

ㅤㅤThe name slipped from her lips, hoarse and strangled.

ㅤㅤHe was curled on his side, his face contorted in pain. A deep, ugly bruise bloomed across his cheekbone, skin split at the temple where a crimson stain painted his dark curls. Around him, groceries lay scattered—cans rolling aimlessly, fruit crushed against the concrete, a torn plastic bag flapping weakly in the evening breeze.

ㅤㅤThe sight sent a cold rush of fury through her veins.

ㅤㅤShe didn’t need to ask what happened.

ㅤㅤShe already knew.

ㅤㅤThe image of Rafe, smug and buzzed off stolen liquor, flashed through her mind. The entitlement. The sheer audacity. Her fists curled at her sides, nails digging into her palms. No wonder Topper couldn’t look straight in her eyes.

ㅤㅤIt would be so easy—turn around, storm back, grab Rafe by his stupid shirt—if she could. Make him see that no matter how much money he threw around, no matter how untouchable he pretended to be, she saw him for who he really was. A coward.

ㅤㅤHer legs twitched.

ㅤㅤBut then Pope groaned beside her, shifting weakly on the pavement, his face screwing up in pain.

ㅤㅤThe anger snapped like a rubber band stretched too thin. Rafe could wait. Right now, Pope needed her more. She dropped to her knees beside him, barely noticing the grit biting into her skin. “Rafe and Topper did this, didn’t they?” The words left her lips in a furious rush.

ㅤㅤPope flinched. His good eye squeezed shut, his jaw locking in a way that made her stomach turn. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to.

ㅤㅤLyra exhaled sharply, forcing herself to unclench her fists. She reached out, fingers ghosting over his forehead, brushing away a stray curl damp with sweat and blood. Nearby, his baseball cap lay forgotten, dusty, and bent at the brim. She picked it up, pressing it back into his trembling hands.

ㅤㅤ“Ly…” His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. His fingers twitched toward the last intact plastic bag. “Can you help me…?”

ㅤㅤLyra’s heart clenched. “Oh, Pope,” she murmured, her voice thick with quiet concern. “You don’t have to ask.”

ㅤㅤRelief flickered in his eyes, but it was faint, swallowed by exhaustion.

ㅤㅤTogether, they gathered the scattered groceries in silence.

ㅤㅤBy the time they reached the weathered bungalow near the beach, the scent of salt and earth was thick in the humid air. The grocery owner stood on his porch, arms crossed, his expression hardened into an impatient scowl. But the moment his gaze landed on Pope’s face, his concern slipped. “What the hell happened to you, son?”

ㅤㅤPope, ever the smooth talker, scrambled for a response. “Tripped on some rocks,” he muttered, voice strained but steady.

ㅤㅤThe man didn’t look convinced.

ㅤㅤShe studied Pope from the corner of her eye—the way he held himself stiff, like even breathing hurt. She wanted to press him, to make him tell the truth. But Pope had practically begged her not to. So, for now, she let it go. 

ㅤㅤAs they stepped away from the porch, Lyra turned to him. “You should come by the house after this,” she said quietly. “I can help clean you up.”

ㅤㅤPope hesitated. Then, with a weary sigh, he shook his head. “It’s not necessary, Lyra. JJ’s probably waiting for me at the dock. I have to go.”

ㅤㅤLyra frowned. “Pope, this isn’t—”

ㅤㅤ“It’s fine,” he cut in, the plea in his voice laced with exhaustion. “Just let it go, okay?”

ㅤㅤLyra’s jaw clenched. Frustration twisted inside her, but she saw the stubborn glint in his eyes—the same one that told her arguing was useless.

ㅤㅤ“Just please, go with me.”

ㅤㅤSo she nodded.

ㅤㅤThe walk to the dock was slow, Pope’s limp growing more pronounced with each step. Lyra kept a steady grip on his arm, holding him up when he stumbled.

ㅤㅤStill, her mind spun. 

ㅤㅤFor the past few days, Lyra had come to a realization. She was a fool.

ㅤㅤA complete idiot for not recognizing her feelings for JJ sooner. The signs had been right there, practically screaming in her face. She should’ve known the moment he answered that stupid Truth or Dare question. Kiara, he had said without hesitation, because Lyra was like a sister to him. The words had rolled off his tongue so easily, so thoughtlessly, and yet, they had landed like a punch to her ribs.

ㅤㅤThere had been a strange, unwelcome pang in her chest—a tightness that hadn’t made sense at the time. And now? Now it made too much sense.

ㅤㅤShe should’ve known from the first time her stomach flipped at the sound of him calling her by that stupid nickname he had given her. From the way her heart picked up speed when he slung an arm around her shoulders, too close but never close enough. From the way she felt relieved—when John B offhandedly mentioned that JJ used to have a crush on her when they were kids.

ㅤㅤThe realization was like a slow-burning fire in her chest, heating her from the inside out, impossible to ignore. And she hated it.

ㅤㅤWhatever feelings had been creeping up on her, whatever stupid hope had been lingering in the back of her mind, it had to go. Before it ruins their beautiful friendship. Before it ruins everything. 

ㅤㅤSo she buried it. Packed it away, and pushed it so far down that it couldn’t touch her anymore.

ㅤㅤOr so she thought.

ㅤㅤAnd then JJ’s voice rang out, slicing through the thick haze of her thoughts like a knife. 

ㅤㅤ“That was the best hundred bucks I have ever made!” His tone was inflected with that reckless, carefree energy that had always defined him, reverberating with a sense of triumph that seemed effortless, almost natural—like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t completely knocked the air out of her lungs just a few days ago.

ㅤㅤLyra clenched her jaw, forcing her expression into a mask of indifference as she watched him swing himself effortlessly into the cockpit. His movements were fluid, practiced—he belonged here, among the rolling waves and the radiant sun that caught glimmers in his tousled blond hair, making it shimmer like spun gold against the cerulean sky.

ㅤㅤDon’t look at him like that. She told herself.

ㅤㅤHer nails bit into her palms as she stiffened her spine, bracing herself against the onslaught of memories and emotions. But then, unexpectedly, his gaze landed on her, and for just a fleeting moment, something in him faltered, like a candle flickering in a gust of wind.

ㅤㅤ“Lyra?” 

ㅤㅤThe usual cocky ease in his voice wavered, just slightly, as his brows knitted together in a mixture of surprise and concern. That trademark smirk of his flickered to life for the briefest of moments before he wrestled it back into place, trying to regain his usual charm. 

ㅤㅤ“What—what are you…” He hesitated, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his tone that made his voice sound almost vulnerable. His eyes flitted between her and Pope, confusion settling in like a fog rolling in over the ocean. There was something else lurking in his gaze—wary curiosity—as if he wasn’t quite sure which version of her he was about to confront.

ㅤㅤHe hadn’t expected to see her here. Not when the air between them still crackled with leftover tension.

ㅤㅤLyra exhaled sharply, forcing herself to meet his gaze with a semblance of indifference, wrapping her voice in a cool detachment. “I didn’t come here for you,” she stated, her words coming out flat and dull. It was the best she could manage under the weight of her emotions.

ㅤㅤIn that moment, JJ went still.

ㅤㅤFor someone whose energy rarely allowed for moments of quiet—always fidgeting with his rings, tapping his fingers against his thigh, shifting his weight from one foot to the other—the sudden stillness was jarring, like the world had paused around them.

ㅤㅤHe hated how uninterested she sounded. The way she barely even glanced in his direction. The overwhelming sensation that, in that moment, he might as well have not existed at all. And maybe, just maybe, he deserved that feeling.

ㅤㅤA muscle in his jaw twitched, but before he could say anything else, his gaze drifted to Pope—and instantly, everything changed.

ㅤㅤHis entire body tensed as his brows snapped together, sharp and focused. Without a second thought, he reached up and yanked Pope’s cap off, revealing the angry red welt on his temple.

ㅤㅤ“Yo, what happened to your face, dude?”

ㅤㅤLyra watched as JJ’s expression darkened, his blue eyes hardening into something sharp and dangerous. His hands flexed at his sides, knuckles whitening as his fingers curled into fists.

ㅤㅤPope clenched his jaw. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, edged with exhaustion. “Rafe and Topper jumped me.” A pause. His grip tightened around the wheel. “They said no Pogues on their side of the land.”

ㅤㅤThe words settled over them like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive.

ㅤㅤJJ’s breathing had changed.

ㅤㅤIt was subtle, almost unnoticeable, but Lyra caught it—the way his chest rose and fell a little too sharply, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he was already itching to do something about it. The easygoing boy from moments ago was gone, replaced by something sharper, something reckless.

ㅤㅤLyra knew exactly where this was going. She didn’t realize she was moving until her hand landed gently on Pope’s back, grounding him. A silent reminder that he wasn’t alone.

ㅤㅤThe boat rocked slightly beneath them, the only sound the soft lapping of waves against the hull.

ㅤㅤThen, finally, Lyra broke the silence. “So.” She exhaled, her fingers still pressed lightly against Pope’s back. “What are we gonna do now?” Her voice was steady, even as everything inside her felt anything but.

ㅤㅤBecause she already knew what JJ wanted to do.

ㅤㅤAnd one way or another, she will be involved and it won’t end well.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

ㅤㅤLyra couldn’t tear her gaze away from Topper’s 2020 Malibu 24-MXC, a vessel that screamed money and privilege. It sat there, pristine and untouchable, like a blatant reminder of the social divide that had always ruled this island.

ㅤㅤThe world had always been unfair, but it was moments like this—when Pope stood there with bruises on his skin while Topper’s boat gleamed in the sun, untouched, untouchable—that the weight of it pressed down on her.

ㅤㅤAcross from her, JJ practically vibrated with pent-up anger. His hands twitched like he was holding himself back from something—pacing, running a hand through his hair, clenching and unclenching his fists.

ㅤㅤThen, with a flick, he yanked a familiar blue bandana from his pocket and tied it around his head. It wasn’t just a habit; it was a statement. A warning. The sunglasses came next, slipping over his eyes like a final layer of armor, a shield to mask whatever storm was brewing beneath.

ㅤㅤLyra, mirroring his movements but with a vastly different emotion, reached for Pope’s cap and tugged it lower over her face. A sigh left her lips as she ran a hand through her hair, her fingers catching on tangled strands—like the knot of worry twisting tighter and tighter in her gut.

ㅤㅤ“This is war, Pope.” JJ’s voice was tight, words cutting through the tension like a blade. “They hit us, and we hit them.”

ㅤㅤThere was no hesitation. No room for debate. Every syllable dripped with vengeful intent.

ㅤㅤBeside her, Pope, oblivious to the emotional battles raging around him, stripped off his shirt in one fluid motion. A whoop of excitement escaped his lips before he launched himself into the water, the splash breaking the tense silence.

ㅤㅤLyra’s stomach churned as she watched the ripples spread out across the ocean’s surface.

ㅤㅤShe swallowed. “Are we sure about this?” The words came out quieter than she intended, barely more than a murmur against the vast expanse of the water. But JJ heard her. Of course, he did.

ㅤㅤA scoff, sharp and dismissive. “Elyra Blair Monroe-Aragon, always the goody two shoes,” JJ muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Then, with a forced smirk, he added, “Makes me wonder why we’ve been friends for so long.”

ㅤㅤThe words landed differently than he probably intended.

ㅤㅤA strange, uncomfortable weight settled in Lyra’s chest, sinking deep. She shouldn’t have cared—not about the teasing, not about him—but for some reason, she did.

ㅤㅤ“Why?” she asked, her voice quieter now, but carrying an undeniable edge. “Do you regret being friends with me?”

ㅤㅤJJ tensed. His jaw tightened for half a second before he snapped back, “No! I just mean—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to physically rid himself of whatever was messing with him. “Let him have his revenge. Don’t be a party pooper.”

ㅤㅤLyra let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Because that’s all I ever am to you, huh? A party pooper?”

ㅤㅤJJ winced. Shit.

ㅤㅤ“What? No! That’s definitely not what I meant.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up, his frustration bleeding through.

ㅤㅤ“But that’s what you said.”

ㅤㅤThe words hung between them, heavy and unrelenting.

ㅤㅤSilence.

ㅤㅤA beat passed. Then another.

ㅤㅤJJ exhaled sharply, tilting his head back toward the sky before dropping his gaze to meet hers again. This time, when he spoke, his voice was softer. Steadier. “No one is getting caught, Lyra.” Something in his tone shifted—not cocky, not reckless, but certain. Like he was trying to convince her of more than just this plan.

ㅤㅤ“If we did, we’d deny it.” His voice dropped a little lower, just for her. “We’ll protect each other no matter what.” A pause. “We never leave a Pogue behind, do we?”

ㅤㅤLyra wanted to fight him on it. She wanted to argue, to push back—to ask what happened when the thing you needed protecting from was him. But she didn’t.

ㅤㅤInstead, she let out a slow breath, her fingers tightening around the brim of Pope’s cap. “We don’t,” she murmured.

ㅤㅤAnd that was the truth.

ㅤㅤEven when it hurt, even when it was messy, they didn’t leave each other behind. No matter what.

ㅤㅤFor a moment, something in JJ’s expression shifted. The sharp edges of his frustration dulled, replaced by something else—something close to regret.

ㅤㅤHe exhaled, glancing away. “I was an ass.”

ㅤㅤLyra arched a brow. “You think?”

ㅤㅤJJ let out a low, humorless chuckle. “No, I know.” He hesitated, then looked at her fully, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean it. What I said that night… It was bullshit. And it was mean.”

ㅤㅤLyra said nothing, just stared at him.

ㅤㅤJJ swallowed. His fingers fidgeted with the ends of his bandana, an old nervous habit. He hated apologizing—it wasn’t something he ever really had to do. But Lyra wasn’t just anyone.

ㅤㅤShe was his Lyra. The girl who put up with his reckless shit. The girl who still stood by him after everything. And he hurt her. He could see it in her eyes.

ㅤㅤ“I don’t regret being friends with you, Ly.” His voice was earnest now, raw. “I’d never regret that.” A pause. “I was just pissed, and I took it out on you. And that’s not fair. You’re—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “You mean a lot to me, okay? And I’d never say something like that if I actually meant it.”

ㅤㅤLyra’s arms were still crossed. She wasn’t letting him off that easily.

ㅤㅤJJ stepped closer, dipping his head slightly, trying to meet her gaze. “Please don’t be mad at me anymore,” he muttered, almost desperate. “I hate it when you’re mad at me.”

ㅤㅤLyra sighed, looking away. “JJ, it’s not just about what you said. It’s the way you just—” She shook her head like she was trying to rearrange the mess of emotions inside her. “You never think before you speak. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

ㅤㅤJJ opened his mouth, but Lyra held up a hand.

ㅤㅤ“No, let me talk.”

ㅤㅤHe clamped his jaw shut.

ㅤㅤ“You just… You don’t get it.” Lyra’s voice softened, but there was an edge to it, a quiet frustration she’d been biting back for too long. “I know I’m not as reckless as you, or as fearless. I know I think things through more. But you say it like it’s a bad thing. Like I’m less of a Pogue for it.” She hesitated. Then, quieter, “And that sucks, JJ.”

ㅤㅤ“No, Ly, that’s not what I—” He groaned, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t think you’re less of a Pogue. I don’t think that at all.” His voice softened as he stepped closer, careful now. “You’re smarter than me, Ly. You think before you act. You stop me from doing dumbass shit that would probably get me arrested.” A small smirk tugged at his lips before it faded. “And I need that. I need you.”

ㅤㅤLyra’s breath caught.

ㅤㅤJJ dragged a hand down his face, exhaling. “I’m sorry. Really.”

ㅤㅤLyra chewed on her lip, hesitating.

ㅤㅤJJ, sensing she was almost there, groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “C’mon, Ly, what do I have to do? Get on my knees? Beg? Kiss your feet? I’ll do it.”

ㅤㅤLyra snorted despite herself. “Please don’t.”

ㅤㅤJJ grinned, catching the shift. “But you’re not mad anymore.”

ㅤㅤLyra sighed. “Oh, I’m still mad. What you said to me that night crushed me.”

ㅤㅤ“But like, a little less?”

ㅤㅤLyra rolled her eyes. “Maybe.”

ㅤㅤRemember what she mentioned earlier? She completely inhaled every word of it! Can you blame her? Everyone knows she has a soft spot for JJ.

ㅤㅤJJ’s grin widened. “I’ll take it.”

ㅤㅤOnce Pope had finished his task, they agreed to keep it between them. With everything settled, the three of them decided to head toward the Boneyard, where they figured John B and Kiara were.

ㅤㅤ“You sure you don’t wanna come?” Pope asked, tilting his head.

ㅤㅤLyra shook her head. “Mom and Dad want some ‘quality time’ before they jet off again.”

ㅤㅤPope shrugged. “Fair enough. You sure you don’t want us to walk you home?”

ㅤㅤ“I’m good, but thanks,”

ㅤㅤJJ smirked. “Hey, Ly, tell your mom to stock the fridge. We’re raiding it tomorrow.”

ㅤㅤLyra rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small grin tugging at her lips. And then—without thinking—she turned and hugged Pope. A quick, grateful squeeze.

ㅤㅤThat was normal. That made sense.

ㅤㅤBut before she could process it, she spun—and did the same to JJ. The moment her arms wrapped around his waist, warmth seeped through his thin t-shirt, and realization slammed into her like a freight train.

ㅤㅤWhat the fuck am I doing?

ㅤㅤJJ stiffened. Just for a second. Then, before he could even think about it, his arms slid around her, pulling her in. He’d had Lyra’s arms around him before—she’d grabbed him in drunken excitement, steadied him when he was a reckless idiot, and even fallen asleep against him once or twice when exhaustion hit too hard. But this?

ㅤㅤThis was soft. Slow. This was her holding on.

ㅤㅤAnd JJ felt it. In his chest. In his goddamn bones. So he did the first thing that came naturally. He dipped his head and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the crown of her head.

ㅤㅤThe second his lips touched her hair, Lyra froze.

ㅤㅤHer entire body went rigid.

ㅤㅤJJ kissed her head.

ㅤㅤJJ. Kissed. Her. Head.

ㅤㅤWhat the hell was that?

ㅤㅤPanic shot through her veins like a lightning bolt. She jerked away so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. “Bye!” she blurted before practically sprinting away, sand kicking up behind her.

ㅤㅤJJ just… stood there.

ㅤㅤStaring after her retreating figure. Because what the fuck just happened?

ㅤㅤHis arms still felt warm where she’d been. His chest still buzzed from the way she’d melted into him for half a second before bolting like she’d just committed a crime.

ㅤㅤAnd for the first time in a long time, JJ didn’t know what to do with himself.

ㅤㅤA slow, creeping realization curled in his gut.

ㅤㅤThis, whatever’s going on between him and Lyra was going to wreck him.

ㅤㅤAs Lyra disappeared over the crest of the dune, Pope let out a low whistle. “Soooo… we’re just gonna pretend that didn’t happen?”

ㅤㅤJJ blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. “What?”

ㅤㅤPope smirked, crossing his arms. “You know. The part where Lyra threw herself at you like a lovesick fool.”

ㅤㅤJJ shot him a glare. “She did not throw herself at me.”

ㅤㅤ“Right. My bad. She just leaped into your arms. Totally different.”

ㅤㅤJJ opened his mouth to argue, but Pope held up a hand.

ㅤㅤ“Oh, and then she ran. Like, full-speed fled. Because that’s a completely normal reaction.”

ㅤㅤJJ exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “She was just… overwhelmed.”

ㅤㅤPope snorted. “Yeah, overwhelmed by the fact that she just hugged the guy she was mad at five minutes ago.”

ㅤㅤJJ shifted uncomfortably, doubt creeping into his chest.

ㅤㅤ“Hey, JJ.”

ㅤㅤJJ snapped out of his thoughts, glancing at Pope, who was watching him with a knowing look.

ㅤㅤ“Do you like Lyra again?”

ㅤㅤJJ’s stomach did a weird, uncomfortable flip. “What? No. What kinda dumbass question—”

ㅤㅤPope held up a hand, grinning. “Okay, let me rephrase. Did you ever stop liking Lyra?”

ㅤㅤJJ felt his throat tighten.

ㅤㅤBecause shit.

ㅤㅤHad he?

ㅤㅤThe silence stretched between them before JJ scoffed, shoving Pope’s shoulder. “Shut up, Pope.”

ㅤㅤPope just grinned wider. “Oh, this is gonna be so fun.”

•─────⋅☾ 𝔫𝔶𝔵 ☽⋅─────•

hello, everyone! sorry for the long wait. let me hear what your thoughts are on this one.

although i love a family drama and parental issues, but those themes won’t be in lyra’s life. imo, we’ve seen it on almost every kid in OBX, let’s cut lyra and klyd some slack. obviously, she won’t be free from her personal issues.

thanks for reading, have a nice day <33