RIPPLES IN THE DARK

the dock creaks under jj maybank as he stretches out on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily tossing pebbles into the dark water. you sit cross-legged a few feet away, pulling at a loose thread on your sleeve. the quiet feels comfortable, the kind of silence only best friends can share.

the two of you go back further than either of you can really remember. jj was the wild kid in the neighborhood, always barefoot, always looking for the next thrill. you were the one who tagged along, not because you needed convincing but because you wanted to see what he’d come up with next.

there was the time he dared you to jump off the old boathouse roof into the creek. you hit the water wrong, but when you surfaced, he was there, laughing so hard he couldn’t stand. instead of being mad, you laughed too, and it felt like the beginning of something solid, something you could count on.

since then, it’s been the two of you—mornings spent chasing waves, afternoons fixing up his battered surfboard, and nights like this, just sitting under the stars. jj’s always been the chaos, and you’ve always been the steady hand that keeps him grounded.

the breeze shifts, carrying the smell of salt and marsh. jj flicks another pebble into the water, watching the ripples spread. after a moment, he glances over at you with that easy grin of his.

“don’t let it go to your head, but i’m glad it’s you out here tonight.”