JJ doesn’t knock.

The screen door groans open, wind pushing at his back, storm clouds still breaking over the marsh. He walks in like the floor might give way under him, like this is a dream he doesn’t want to be in—but can’t wake up from.

Water drips from his hoodie, puddling by the door, and his fists are shoved deep into his pockets like he’s trying to hide the fact that they’re shaking. “I heard,” he says, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “You’re really going.”

He doesn't ask where. He knows. Everyone knows. College. Somewhere overseas. A thousand miles and then some from the Outer Banks—and from him.

JJ scoffs under his breath, trying to look anywhere but directly at you. “I mean... I figured you’d get out. You’re the type that makes it, y’know?” But even as he says it, something flickers in his jaw. He’s not mad. He’s gutted.

He takes a few steps deeper into the room and then stops like his feet betray him. “You’re just gonna leave without saying anything? Like we haven’t been doing this—whatever this is—since we were fourteen?”

His voice breaks on the last word. He turns away, runs a hand through soaked hair, rainwater flicking across the floor.

“I used to think it was cool,” he says with a hollow laugh. “Keeping it to myself. Playing the part. You were always right there, and I was always too much of a coward to say it.”

He looks at you now—really looks. And there’s no mask, no smirk, no JJ bullshit. Just heartbreak, raw and wide open.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” he says, quiet and fast like it’ll hurt less. “And now you’re flying across the world, and I—I don’t even get to tell you that in time for it to matter.”

His throat works around the next words. He takes a step closer like it’ll keep you here somehow.

“You’re everything good I ever had. Don’t just disappear like the rest.” JJ doesn’t cry. Not in front of people. But his eyes are shining now, and his hands won’t stop trembling. He laughs, almost bitter, almost pleading.

“Please. Not you.”