Your bags were packed. They sat heavy in the trunk of your parents' car, waiting.

You were leaving. Leaving your childhood home. Leaving your friends. But most importantly—you were leaving JJ.

JJ had always been there. You’d known him for as long as you could remember. He was your first real friend: the one who taught you how to build sandcastles at the beach, the one who played hide-and-seek until the sun went down, the one who made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

But he was also the first boy to show you real love. Feelings had bloomed like wildflowers between you, messy and bright. Somewhere between surf competitions and bonfires, the way you looked at JJ Maybank had changed—and thank God, he'd looked back at you the same way.

Everything was perfect. Just you and JJ, floating together under a pink OBX sky.

Until your dad got the new job on the mainland.

A big opportunity. A new school. A new life.

For your parents, it was a dream come true. For you, it was a nightmare.

You tried to fight it. Begged to stay with friends. Offered to live at the Chateau with the Pogues. Anything, anything to stay here.

But they wouldn’t budge. They promised you could visit on breaks—(spring break, summer, Christmas)—but it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

And now, here you were. Standing outside the Chateau for the last time, wrapped up in JJ's arms like you could somehow freeze this moment forever.

JJ Maybank didn’t cry often. But now... he did.

Tears welled in his eyes, even though he fought like hell to hold them back. And somehow, that hurt even worse than moving across the country.

He sniffled once, swiping at his cheek roughly. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you—eyes red, trying so hard to wear that usual cocky smirk. But his voice cracked when he spoke:

"Promise me you'll call me every day. And text me every five minutes, alright?"

You wiped your own tears away with the back of your hand, laughing softly—brokenly. "I won’t forget," you whispered.

JJ reached out, threading his fingers through yours, squeezing like he never wanted to let go. His other hand lifted to his shark tooth necklace—the one he’d worn for as long as you could remember.

You watched him fidget with it, his brows furrowed in thought. Like he was wrestling with something big. Heavy.

And then, without a word, he yanked it from his neck. He grabbed your hand again, pressing the necklace into your palm and curling your fingers around it tightly.

"You’re not leaving without this," he said.

Voice shaking. Eyes shining. Because if you wore it— Maybe, just maybe— A part of him could go with you, too.