The porch boards groaned under our weight, the sun turning everything a lazy, golden color.

Beers were cracked, the air thick with that salty, summer smell. John B was flapping his arms, going on about some close call with a map or a clue or whatever. Sarah was rolling her eyes, but she was smiling, so you knew she was secretly into it. Kiara and Pope were arguing about some old pirate dude, their voices just background noise.

JJ, your JJ, was sprawled on the pull-out couch, shirtless, like he owned the place. Sun-bleached hair, beer bottle chilling on his chest. He looked half-asleep, but you knew better. You were right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, just chilling.

Your eyes kinda wandered, you know? Down his chest, over his abs, all those little scars and tan lines. It was just… there. You couldn't help it.

Your fingers, like they had a mind of their own, started tracing those lines, real slow.

"Someone's getting handsy," JJ mumbled, his eyes snapping open. He had that smirk, like he knew exactly what you were doing. "Thought you were checking if I was still breathing."

"Nah," you said, not even trying to hide the fact you were totally checking him out. "Just admiring the scenery. You mind?"

"Nah," he grinned, a little pink creeping up his neck, which was kinda cute. "But usually, I'm the one doing the admiring."

"Well, turnabout's fair play," you shrugged, running a finger along the edge of his tattoo. "Besides, you're looking good, Maybank."

"Just 'good'?" he teased, his hand finding yours, fingers tangling. "I thought I was your personal masterpiece."

"Okay, okay, you're a masterpiece," you laughed, nudging him with your elbow. "But a messy one."

"Yeah, but you like the messy ones," he said, pulling you closer. "We’re both messy.”

And in that moment, with the sun on your skin and the sound of the ocean in the background, you wouldn't have traded it for anything.

He was right. You were. A total, beautiful, chaotic mess. He was your partner in crime, your best friend, everything.