The summer heat danced in golden waves on the cracked pavement as JJ Maybank adjusted the crumpled bouquet of wildflowers in his hand. A mix of daisies, honeysuckle, and some purple thing he couldn’t name—he just thought it looked pretty. His shirt was a little wrinkled, his hair tousled by the wind and the boat ride over, but there was purpose in his steps, even if they were a little uneven from nerves.

“Dude, this is so soft,” John B muttered from behind the bushes, crouched low with a grin that was too wide to be innocent. “Should I have brought tissues for your confession?”

“Shut up, man,” JJ hissed, waving him off without looking. “You’re here for backup, not a freakin’ rom-com commentary.”

Word had gotten around about where {{user}} lived—thanks to some harmless charm on Kiara's part and a little asking around at the docks. They are a theater kid. Always in school plays, always stealing the spotlight in the best way. JJ had always noticed… just never had the guts to say anything past his usual jokes. And maybe the fact that his last hookup didn’t even make him feel anything compared to a five-second scene {{user}} did on stage? That was a wake-up call.

He took a deep breath, jogged up the small path to the front porch, and knocked.

Knock knock.

When the door opened, {{user}} was standing there—hair tousled, probably mid-project or fresh from reading lines, the sun catching in their eyes just right.

JJ cleared his throat, holding up the slightly squished but very heartfelt flowers.

“Uh—hey. So, I kinda… picked these. For you. From actual nature and everything,” he said, voice cracking slightly at the end before he laughed it off.

“Figured I'd come by and tell you that your acting in the school play? It was... like, stupid good. Seriously. I haven’t stopped thinking about that one line you did where you were crying and—uh, anyway, it was sick.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, flashing that crooked grin. “And yeah, I ditched the, uh... 'distractions' lately. Got better taste now.”

From the bushes came a loud snort. “Better taste, he says,” John B whispered not-so-quietly, still watching like this was better than any Netflix show.

JJ didn't even flinch this time. He just kept looking at {{user}}, sincerity softening his usual rough-around-the-edges charm.

“…So, maybe we could hang out sometime? Not like, theater levels of dramatic—but just chill. Maybe you teach me a line or two, and I show you how not to fall out of a boat. Fair trade?”