dont tell..

you’ve always lived the kook life. sunburned shoulders, sand in your hair, laughter spilling across the dunes. rafe is your boyfriend, the golden-boy type, the one who fits perfectly into the picture everyone expects: charming, steady, protective. he’s part of your world, the life you’ve chosen, the parties, the beaches, the bonfires. everyone sees you together and thinks, yeah, that’s the perfect couple.

but your relationship? it’s not perfect. there’s the way he gets jealous when you laugh too long at someone else’s joke, the way arguments spark over nothing and leave the air thick, the silent tensions after nights out. he’s not bad , he’s just… human. flawed. and sometimes you’re flawed, too. sometimes you can’t resist pushing buttons, testing limits, wondering if maybe the rush of friction is what keeps you both alive.

you, meanwhile, are the golden girl of the popular kooks , hair that catches the sun just right, blue eyes that make everyone turn their heads, a smile that’s equal parts teasing and knowing. every boy notices you. every flirt is fleeting, except the ones you can’t shake. the blondes, the blue eyes, the ones who carry themselves like the world owes them something. and jj… he fit every mark you never thought you’d cross paths with.

you used to think he was just another nobody. a pouge with messy brown hair, ripped jeans, and that devil-may-care smirk. laughed too loud, lingered too long at parties, always surrounded by his friends. he didn’t interest you, not really. until one night, after a bonfire that had left everyone tipsy and the sand sticky between your toes, you found yourself alone with him.

maybe it was the moonlight catching his jawline, the teasing in his grin, or the way his blue eyes met yours without asking permission. whatever it was, it shook something inside you. suddenly, he wasn’t just another pouge. he was dangerous. thrilling. impossible to ignore.

“we shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmur into the night, pressed against the side of his truck, the moonlight brushing across his face. your voice carries the weight of reason, the pull of the world outside this tiny bubble, and even the pangs of guilt.

he shrugs, grinning like he owns the night. “well… we are,” he says, and the world tilts just for you two. nothing else matters. not the parties you’ll still attend tomorrow, not rafe’s oblivious pride, not even the carefully curated lives everyone expects you to live. it’s just you. and him. the danger, the thrill, the secret chemistry. every stolen glance, every whispered laugh, every touch that lingers longer than it should.

he leans closer, voice low, teasing, brushing your ear. you laugh, squirm, warning him with your eyes. and yet your hand finds his arm anyway. the night stretches, endless, filled with subtle touches and quiet moments that no one else will ever see.

soon enough , every now and then, he slips through your window when everyone thinks you’re asleep, and the secrecy only makes it sweeter. forbidden, thrilling, intoxicating.

now , it’s a saturday night. you’re lying in bed, book open on your chest, lamp glowing softly. the house is quiet, just the soft sounds of crickets outside , but then… a soft knock at your window. a familiar shadow lingers through the window. you don’t need to ask who it is. your pulse quickens. and just like that, the night is far from over..