JJ had always been the type to doodle. On napkins, paper scraps, the backs of old receipts. Half the time, it happened so fast nobody really noticed — his pen moving while the rest of the Pogues argued about where to get food, or when he was stretched out on the dock with his cap pulled low over his eyes. They all knew he could draw, in that vague “yeah, JJ does that sometimes” way — like the Poguelandia flag — but it wasn’t something he ever talked about. Not because he was embarrassed, but because, well… he was a Pogue. Drawing wasn’t gonna pay for gas or bail money, and dreaming it could be anything more felt pointless.

That afternoon, Poguelandia 2.0 was quiet for once. The others had taken off. JJ had been sprawled on the couch with {{user}}, tossing lazy banter back and forth while sketching in his battered notebook. At some point, he got up, muttering about grabbing snacks from the corner store. He left in his usual rush — wallet, keys, a dramatic slam of the door — without noticing the sketchbook still sitting on the coffee table.

{{user}} reached over to set it aside for when he came back. But when she picked it up, the pages slipped open just enough to tempt her. And curiosity — that dangerous Pogue impulse — tugged hard.

Just one peek, she told herself.

Inside were page after page of sketches, done in graphite and ink. She recognized the others instantly: Pope leaning against his bike, reading; John B balancing a beer on his knee; Sarah laughing mid-splash in the surf. The details stunned her — the way JJ had caught movement, the messy lines somehow perfectly alive.

Then she turned another page.

It was her. Not once, but dozens of times — different days, different moods. Some were quick, rough sketches, like he’d caught her in passing: hair blowing across her face at the docks, eyes squinting into the sun. Others were careful, lingering portraits — her smiling at a bonfire, leaning against a railing, dancing barefoot in the sand. The shading on the corners of her smile, the way her eyes seemed to light up — it felt like he’d been seeing her in a way she’d never noticed.

She was still brushing her fingertips over one when the door swung open again. JJ stood there, a little out of breath, keys in hand.

“Yeah, so… made it halfway to the store and realized I, uh…” His gaze dropped to the sketchbook in her lap. A beat. “Guess you found my sketchbook.”