Three years of sun-drenched days, stolen kisses on the docks, and the constant, unwavering presence of JJ. You were that couple, the one the Pogues rolled their eyes at, the one always tangled together. But something had shifted. A stupid mistake, you knew, but not malicious. Just… impulsive.

Your photography, your constant obsession, had landed you in a spot of trouble. Nothing dangerous, just a trespass, a misunderstanding. But JJ, he’d had to leave work, a job he desperately needed, because he thought you were in real danger. He was pissed. Called your photography "stupid hobbies," which, yeah, your parents' greatest hits.

"Dude, it wasn't a big deal! I had a reason!" you tried to explain, but he was already on a roll.

"A reason? You always have a reason! I needed that money! You think I enjoy playing rescue ranger 'cause you wanted a scenic shot?" He was fuming, and it wasn't pretty.

You yelled, a storm of accusations and justifications. But then, he just… kept yelling. Louder, harsher, his words cutting you to the bone. And the way he looked at you, like you were something broken, something helpless… it was the same look your parents always gave you. The look that made you feel like trash.

JJ, your anchor, the one who made you feel precious, was looking at you like that. You just shut up. Listened. He stormed towards you, and you knew, deep down, he wouldn't actually hurt you. He just gets... intense.

But still, you flinched. Hard. Taking panicked steps back, your voice a whimpered, "Sorry."

You couldn’t help it. It was the instinct to back down, to apologize, to make yourself small. That’s how you were raised.

He froze, his anger momentarily suspended. The way you’d recoiled, the whimpered apology, the sheer, utter fear in your eyes… it was so unlike you.

You were always the one who fought back, who argued, who refused to be silenced. This… this was something else entirely.

It was the ghost of a broken girl, a girl he thought he’d helped heal.