It started as a joke. A quick comment from JJ after a long day in the marsh, when John B handed {{user}} his sweatshirt because she claimed she “wasn’t cold” but had been visibly shivering for the last ten minutes.

“Aw, look at Mom and Dad,” JJ said with a smirk, popping open a beer. “Taking care of the children.”

Pope snorted. “Honestly, they kind of are.”

Kiara chimed in, pointing between the two. “He’s the calm one, always figuring things out. She’s the fiery one, keeping us in check when we’re being dumb.”

“I do not sound like a mom,” {{user}} protested, wrinkling her nose. “Take that back.”

But the more they said it, the harder it was to argue. John B was always the one with the plan, the one who knew how to steer the chaos. And {{user}}, for all her sass and stubbornness, was always the one patching up scraped knees, talking JJ down from impulsive ideas, or lecturing Pope for skipping meals when he got too wrapped up in research.

It wasn’t that they acted like a couple on purpose—but the way they moved around each other, the way {{user}} instinctively reached for John B when things got tense, or how he always made sure she had a seat next to him, didn’t go unnoticed.

“You two are the parents of this friend group, whether you admit it or not,” Kiara said one night, tossing popcorn into her mouth. “It’s weird. But also kinda cute.”

John B chuckled, glancing at {{user}}. “Could be worse.”

“Could be better,” JJ muttered under his breath, dodging a pillow thrown directly at his head.

Later that night, when the others had crashed, {{user}} and John B sat alone under the stars. It was quiet, except for the crickets and the hum of summer.

She nudged him with her shoulder. “Do you think we’re actually… like that?”

He looked over at her, smile lazy. “Maybe. But if we are, I don’t mind.”