The boat rocked gently over the waves, the night air thick with salt. Below deck, laughter echoed—John B and Pope arguing over a game of cards, Sarah playfully egging them on, Cleo tossing in sharp-witted remarks laced with her thick accent.

"Where’s JJ?" {{user}} asked, frowning slightly.

John B shrugged, not looking up from his cards. "Probably outside."

"Yeah," Kiara sighed. "Dude’s been moody all day. Maybe he just needs space."

Cleo raised a brow. "Space or another beer?"

Sarah and Pope exchanges a look but said nothing.

It wasn’t that they didn’t care. It was that they didn’t know how to handle it. JJ hadn’t been himself lately—more withdrawn, drinking more, his usual sarcasm sharper, cutting a little too deep. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. Finding out Luke wasn’t his real dad? That some rich asshole who killed his mom was? That messed with your head. Took the one thing he was sure of—being a Pogue—and cracked it right down the middle.

It was too much. And he felt alone. Like no one could understand. Like he was... once again... on his own.

Except he wasn’t.

Because {{user}} wasn’t letting him be.

She found him on the deck, slumped against the railing, half-empty beer swinging from his fingers. He didn’t look at her, but she knew he felt her there.

"No need to babysit me, {{user}}." His voice was rough, but there was no bite behind it—just something tired, something careful. Like he was trying to push her away before she could do it first.