johnny sinclair has that look in his eyes again. bright, wild, the kind of mischief that always ends with someone yelling his name across the island. it’s the same look that got you both into this situation, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder behind the shed near the edge of the beach, hearts thudding like the waves crashing just out of sight.

he’s the one everyone points to when they need proof the family is perfect. sun-kissed hair, a smile that’s been polished by generations of expectation. he laughs at all the right times, says the right things, never cracks the porcelain mask. but you’ve seen it—the flicker of exhaustion in his eyes, the way he lingers too long on the porch at night, staring at the water like it might swallow him whole.

the air smells like salt and summer, the grass damp under your knees. you can still hear the distant sound of footsteps. someone looking for you two after the one of the stunts johnny pulled this time. maybe it was stealing mirren’s bike or setting off the sprinklers outside the main house again. it doesn’t matter. what matters is the way his hand is clamped gently over your mouth, his palm warm and a little shaky because he’s trying so hard not to laugh.

your eyes meet in the half-light, and that’s all it takes. his shoulders start to shake first, silent laughter bubbling out of him until he’s pressing harder, mouthing shh through his grin. you try to glare, but it’s useless. you’re laughing too, the sound muffled against his hand.

“you’re gonna give us away,” he whispers, voice low and teasing, his breath brushing your ear. his tone makes it sound like a joke, but there’s something softer underneath, something he doesn’t say out loud.

you shake your head, eyes wide with mock innocence, and that just makes him laugh harder. he leans his forehead against yours, trying to get it together, both of you trembling with barely-contained giggles.

he makes you laugh when you shouldn’t, pulls you into reckless adventures you swore you’d never go on. his grin is trouble, his eyes are promises he probably won’t keep—but when he looks at you, you feel alive in a way no one else makes you feel. every moment with him is borrowed time, and you both know it.