Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's John B who catches on first. But that wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone seeing as he knows them both inside out and has been there with them since the beginning. It’s always been there, always been them, JJ and Kiara, Kiara and JJ.

He remembers that first day when Kiara had dumped her bag down huffily and sat at the table, the table that everyone in the class knew was John B and JJ’s, no one else's. He’d waited for some kind of outburst from JJ, waited for him to leap to his feet and get all territorial, but he hadn’t - he’d just stared at her, speechless. And she’d stared right back.

It’s not one specific thing that made him come to his senses, more of a collection of moments over their years of friendship. From that first day when she’d stormed over to their table and JJ hadn’t complained, to now - where he’s stood on a beach, scared and upset and so so confused, listening to her try to explain why they can’t do that, why it doesn’t work, why he can’t just kiss her. But none of her excuses make sense. She’s saying no pogue on pogue macking, not it’s because I’m in love with JJ. But then he thinks - maybe she doesn’t even realise herself, maybe she hasn’t even let herself consider the possibility.

He’s going to say something, he is, but then there are blue flashing lights and he’s got his hands in the air and he’s being dragged off to the police station.

*

The first moment that’d made him stop and think huh maybe there’s a little more than just flirty comments and suggestive eyebrows had been in eighth grade after Kiara had been hanging out with them for almost two years. JJ had started flirting with every girl that came close and Kiara was no exception. They’d gained another member during that time too, Pope, who they’d all taken to immediately because, sure he could be a bit weird, but he was smart and witty and had the best ideas. The three of them had been eagerly teaching Kiara to surf for a week or so and she’d taken to it like a natural, despite JJ’s terrible teaching skills which mostly involved lots of yelling and no, what the hell are you doing, you’ve got it all wrong.

So they’d thought that it’d be a good idea to go surfing during a storm. It hadn’t been a big storm, but it was a storm nonetheless.

He remembers watching JJ running into the waves with whoops of delight that had been hardly audible over the roaring of the sea and the wind. Kiara had followed right behind, looking a little worried about the safety but still determined to prove her skill. John B and JJ had caught one of the waves together and surfed right into the shore until JJ had fallen and tumbled into the surf, rolling onto his back in the shallows and roaring with laughter from the adrenalin of it as the waves crashed around him.

He’d turned to check on the others as JJ continued to chuckle away to himself in the water and faltered slightly when he could only make out Pope bobbing in the water beside his board.

“JJ? JJ, where’s Kie?” He’d yelled over the wind. JJ’s laugh had stopped instantly and he’d clambered to his feet.

“Fuck.” JJ had muttered softly from behind him, and that’d been all it took for JJ to dive into the waves. At the time John B had brushed it off as JJ being his usual, reckless self, but later, when he’d had time to look back on it, he’d realised how much more it had been than that.

John B knows what JJ’s like. He’s seen the way he practically throws his life around like he couldn’t care less if he lived or died. He hates it. He hates watching him make stupid, impulsive decisions at every turn, every pointless fight with a Kook, every petty theft, every antagonistic comment. But that’s just how JJ is, and there’s nothing John B can do to prevent it besides dragging his friend back from the edge when it goes too far or jumping into the fray beside him to even out a fight.

This, though, this wasn’t JJ being reckless. The look that’d flashed over his face hadn’t been uncaring or angry, it hadn’t been crazed or desperate. It had been terrified. Like JJ couldn’t bear to consider what life could be like without Kiara in it.

John B could easily sympathise with that if it weren’t for the fact that, truly, the situation hadn’t been that bad - the storm wasn’t a big one and the beach wasn’t all that dangerous. Which is why, when JJ appears a little further down the beach with Kiara in his arms, clutching to each other like they can’t let go, John B realises that whatever this is it’s not at all just friendly or flirty.

It’s something completely different.

And then the moments keep happening, because once John B’s seen them in this light he can’t see them in any other.

The four of them dance together at the Wreck, spinning round and round in a haze of candle light to music that he isn’t even listening to, too focused on the laughter that’s pulling them closer together. Kiara dances confidently, daringly, her body twisting and turning, carefree and light, until she turns and is practically pressed against JJ’s chest. The blush that darkens her cheeks is fascinating, John B thinks, because just seconds ago she’d been dancing brazenly with him and Pope. The moment snaps when JJ wraps his arms around her waist and spins her round and round, their laughs intertwining in the air, loud and joyous and so obviously in love that John B doesn’t know how he didn’t notice before or how they don't notice themselves.

Another time, they all curl up on the sofa in the chateau, too exhausted to find their own beds and too used to the warmth of sleeping just like that that they don’t consider other options. When the sunlight filters through the windows in the morning and John B takes in the sight of his best friends it’s no longer a surprise to him to find Kiara held protectively to JJ’s chest, his hands clutched tightly in the back of her t-shirt, her head resting curled against his collarbone. It just looks natural.

A few nights later JJ’s got some girl pressed against the front of the chateau when the rest of them get home from a party, his tongue down her throat and her fingers sliding under his shirt. John B never asks about the girls JJ brings back to the chateau because he just knows that JJ would never even consider taking them back to his own house. But now, standing beside Kiara, he feels oddly protective as her face twists into something bitter and confused and maybe a little sad. So he asks JJ what the fuck are you doing? to which he hardly receives a response besides an eye roll and a what does it look like? But eventually he sends her home guiltily and it’s worth it to see Kiara relax just a little. JJ doesn’t take his eyes off her for the rest of the night.

The four of them sit around a small fire on the beach on JJ’s birthday, the dusty red of the sky fading to purple and then to blue, the soothing whisper of the ocean in the background, exchanging stories and jokes. Despite the dark bruise painted across JJ’s cheek, no doubt a gift from his father even if he won’t say it aloud, he looks blissfully happy. When the night’s almost up and they’re all too drunk to get home safely, JJ stands up, swaying slightly, leaning into Kiara for support, his eyes glistening in a way that makes him look far too vulnerable to be JJ.

“I just- I just wanna say thanks, guys,” he says and they all pretend not to hear the way his voice catches in his throat, “Really. Thank you.”

John B glances to Pope who stares back, just as bewildered, because this is way out of character, even for drunk JJ.

“Thank you.” He says again, with conviction, only this time it sounds a lot more like I love you. The silence lasts too long after that, grows to become uncomfortable until John B nods firmly.

“Of course, JJ, we love you too,” He replies, even though JJ never actually said it first. After that it only takes a few seconds before JJ loses control altogether and starts sobbing brokenly.

John B steps forward hurriedly as JJ curls in on himself because he can count on one hand the amount of times JJ’s cried in front of him, even less in front of the other two, but Kiara’s there first. He can see her own tears glisten in the roaring firelight as she reaches for JJ, pulling him to her chest as his sobs echo down the beach. She holds the pieces of a broken JJ together as he cries, whispered reassurances in his ear and a look of pure heart-break written over her face.

The picture is oddly beautiful, John B thinks wistfully, as the fire begins to dim and all that’s left is smoldering embers and a boy and a girl illuminated in moonbeams.

Eventually, he and Pope join the pair of them too and two becomes four and they fall asleep on the sand, blanket draped carelessly over them, a bundle of teenagers, and in the centre;

Two people hopelessly and obliviously in love with each other.

After that night any semblance they had of normal is shattered and John B doesn’t have time to think about his best friends’ love for each other. But it’s still clearly there, even after he kisses Kiara, even after JJ’s reckless decisions, even after he’s left the three of them standing there on the shore and driven off in a boat that can’t possibly survive the oncoming storm. It’s still there.

Chapter Text

Pope likes to think he’s the perceptive one in the group - not because he’s arrogant and full of himself - just because, really, he is. Except for when it comes to feelings. Which is why it takes him a little longer than John B to notice whatever it is going on between JJ and Kie. That or maybe he’s just trying to pretend that whatever it is isn’t for the sake of his own feelings. Maybe a bit of both.

Pope loves all the pogues unconditionally. He loves John B first like all of them do, as an older brother, a warm, solid comfort, then JJ who draws him in with his stupid jokes and makes him forget a time when he ever felt differently, and then, finally, Kiara. There’s no doubt that he loves her in a completely different sense to the others.

If she was one of the four elements Pope thinks without a doubt that she’d be fire. Passionate and strong-willed, yet still warm and light, with a roaring fierceness only brought out through provocation. And he loves her, but at the same time he’s terrified - go too close and he’ll get burnt, or worse, the fire will go out. So Pope vows never to tell her, not only for fear of hurting himself or her, but also because he could never upset the group dynamic like that - they’re all friends. That’s it.

Only months after Pope makes said vow to himself, however, it becomes irrelevant as everything seems to fall apart.

It starts with Kiara dancing, as most things in his life do apparently. It’s not uncommon for the four of them to dance together, Kiara rhythmic and practiced, John B confident and relaxed, JJ daring and flirty and … Pope. He hates to admit it but he really can’t dance that well, especially not with girls, and especially not with girls he likes (namely Kiara). But in this instance it’s just the two of them - John B and JJ are sat in the corner arguing loudly over something probably pointless - and Kiara’s hands are in his and she’s leading him through it, step by step. He knows if he continues to stare at her the way he is it won’t look platonic much longer but he just can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away, too entranced by the warmth of her hands in his and the strangely sad look on her face. And then the song’s over, and so is the dance, and she’s pulling him over to the table where the other two are sat.

“I’m starting at the Kook Academy next semester,” she says, straight to point, and it would have passed as confident if it weren’t for the way her eyes nervously skimmed the three of them.

“Damn,” JJ mutters.

“I know. It’s- my parents have made their minds up, I don’t really get a choice,” she says calmly as if her voice isn’t covering layers of emotion. Pope wants to speak up and say something, tell her he knows what it feels like to be struggling under expectations too heavy to bear, but as usual the words die in his throat.

“Promise you won’t go full Kook and ditch us,” JJ cracks.

“Of course,” Kie smiles like she’d never even consider it and meets his eyes, “Promise.”

JJ holds out his pinky like the idiot he is and Kiara joins hers with his, giggling.

“It’ll be fine, Kie,” John B offers reassuringly, “They’ll love you.”

“Yeah they’ll all want a piece of you,” JJ jokes, “Besides, I’ll always be here if they don’t.”

Of fucking course the two of them know exactly the right things to say. Pope wishes he were more like them, but instead he just offers a “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll have the time of your life.” and a thumbs up, only it comes out a lot more sarcastic and awkward than he intended and Kiara just rolls her eyes and smiles exasperatedly at him.

To begin with there’s no change besides Kiara seeming a little more subdued - less of a roaring flame and more of a smoldering ember - and then all of a sudden she’s cancelling plans and making excuses. Pope feels blindsided, doesn’t know what to do with himself, so pretends nothing’s changed. John B’s angry, as much as he tries to hide it and act normal like Pope does, but it upsets the whole group’s equilibrium.

But what’s most surprising is that the more Kiara withdraws, the more JJ does. The incessant chatter grinds to a halt, the irritating jokes stop, and the reckless decisions become an everyday thing. On top of that, it seems that more and more often JJ is turning up with his face painted black and blue. Pope doesn’t ask. He knows he should but JJ’s like a caged animal sometimes, hissing and spitting if he gets to close, and Pope really doesn’t want to make JJ disappear altogether. Besides, if the meaningful looks and whispered arguments between JJ and John B are anything to go by, then John B’s already trying to handle it.

Pope decides that if Kiara’s fire then that must make JJ water. JJ who’s larger than life itself, JJ who simply embodies the idea of freedom, JJ who can go from a gentle ripple on the surface to a furious storm within seconds. JJ who suddenly seems so incomplete without Kiara. It doesn’t make sense. Kiara is fire now more than ever - destructive and dangerous without even intending to be, Pope thinks a little bitterly, mostly just sadly. He remembers reading somewhere that fire symbolizes heartbreak and it’s obvious that that much is true - but maybe not just for himself anymore.

When Pope thinks it can’t possibly get worse, it does. It’s JJ who calls him at 3am, his voice shaking and scared. It shocks Pope to the core.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, I would’ve called earlier but he’s only just fallen asleep and I don’t know what to do.”

“What- JJ, what are you talking about?” Pope asks, he can hear his heart thudding loudly against his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. JJ sounds terrified.

“John B,” JJ stresses, “Pope, please, I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean ‘John B’? JJ what’s going on?”

“You haven’t heard,” JJ mutters, “Big John, he’s officially been declared missing or whatever. It’s all bullshit. Bullshit. I mean, come on! It’s Big John for fuck’s sake, he’ll turn up in a week or two, you know what he’s like!”

Pope knows perfectly well from the tone of JJ’s voice that he doesn’t think that. The problem is, he doesn’t know how to deal with vulnerable JJ - or John B for that matter - that’s never been his job.

He goes straight to the chateau and finds John B passed out on the couch and JJ pacing quietly in the kitchen. He decidedly doesn’t comment on the redness of JJ’s eyes. The two of them sit on the porch in silence, besides the gentle inhale and exhale of JJ as he smokes, like rolling waves on a beach. JJ’s the one to break it.

“I miss her.”

The simple statement is packed with so much emotion and turmoil, like it singed his throat as it left his mouth and left the bitter taste of ashes behind. Pope thinks he can relate. Maybe JJ’s feeling the same torturous pain that he is.

He doesn’t agree out loud, the words sticking in his throat, so instead he sighs and leans his head into the crook of JJ’s neck, feeling JJ relax under the touch and exhale like he’d finally allowed oxygen into his lungs to breathe. They fall asleep like that.

Pope’s woken by the sound of arguing inside and opens the door to the sight of John B shoving JJ into a wall. They fall silent when he enters and John B’s hands drop like he only just realised what he was doing and JJ slumps to the floor, breathing raggedly. He knows they’re all thinking the same thing: if there were a time for Kiara to resurface it would be now.

She doesn’t. Life goes on.

Coincidentally it’s JJ who brings them all back together again. JJ’s like a ticking time bomb these days, just waiting for someone to say something that would justify a fight, and John B’s no longer the one dragging him away from the edge, he’s up there with him. All three of them are on edge and Pope’s beginning to feel like the only sane one in the group, which is scary because he’s always relied on John B to be safe and sturdy in times like these.

Pope doesn’t even have it within him to be surprised when he hears JJ yelling at a kegger party. It’s become routine by now. Out of obligation as JJ’s long-suffering best friend it is unfortunately his duty to go and stop JJ from causing too much damage to someone’s face. He leaves his beer and the girl that he was talking to (who looks nothing like Kiara) and hunts down JJ, which isn’t too hard.

JJ has some Kook held down on the ground and is pummeling him into the floor, face blank of any emotion, even rage. It’s terrifying. Someone in the crowd is screaming but Pope doesn’t pay any attention to that, too busy frantically searching the crowd for John B. He’s nowhere to be seen.

“JJ!” He tries, his voice barely audible over the yelling and the crashing waves. “JJ stop!”

The guy’s definitely unconscious at this point but JJ doesn’t seem to care, not letting up for a second, his fists colliding incessantly with the battered body beneath him.

“JJ, what the fuck is wrong with you!” He grabs JJ by the shoulders, hauling him away, but he just shoves Pope back onto the ground and continues.

“You’re gonna kill him, dude, stop!”

The crowd isn’t doing anything, just standing there yelling, but Pope’s tuned it out, he can only hear his blood thrumming in his ears. He stands there helpless. And then,

“JJ, stop.”

It’s not him that says it this time, it’s a girl’s voice, quieter than his but somehow still carrying across the wind and the shouts, firm and strong. Kiara. JJ goes limp at the sound of her voice, almost collapsing to the sand like the body beneath him, but he doesn’t turn around. Pope holds his breath.

Kiara approaches slowly, like she doesn’t want to spook him, but the look on her face tells a completely different story - one of heartbreak and pain and of finally coming home, one that says she just wants to run into his arms and collapse there. She’d never look at Pope like that. She pulls him away gently, a hand on each shoulder, and JJ doesn’t resist. Her eyes are wary as she leads him back over towards Pope and away from the crowd, like she knows she doesn’t belong with them any more, like she thinks they don’t want her anymore. Like that’s even possible.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Somebody shouts.

“Fucking psycho!”

That gets a reaction from JJ and he turns, teeth bared, ready to launch himself at the next victim. But, once again, Kiara stops him, places a firm hand on his chest and he goes limp again, head hanging low as if he lacks the effort to hold himself up anymore.

There’s another commotion in the crowd and this time it’s John B who shoves through, eyes locking on the three of them and running over.

“Kie?” He breathes when he’s reached them, as if he doesn’t quite trust what he’s seeing. Her eyes drop to the ground guiltily.

“I’m sorry, John B,” she whispers. When she looks up her eyes are glistening and her mouth is pulled in a taut, unhappy line.

“I know.”

Pope can tell she wants to say more but doesn’t trust herself, so she just nods.

“JJ? What the fuck happened?” John B asks, turning to his best friend.

“Fucking Kooks, man,” JJ mutters, voice exhausted, without looking up.

“So you had to beat him within an inch of his life?” Pope asks, because he’s never been able to wrap his head around why people resort to violence so quickly. JJ sighs, still staring at the ground, and Pope realises that it’s Kiara who he’s avoiding looking at. Apparently she does too.

“JJ…,” she murmurs.

“What?” He bites out.

“I just-”

“You just, what?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, though it comes out as more of a choked out sob. JJ raises his eyes and meets hers, angry at first, but at the sight of the pain written all over her face, he softens. Pope watches as some kind of apology and something more is exchanged silently between them. JJ, with his tired eyes and bloody knuckles, Kiara with her choked sobs and tear-streaked cheeks. Something ugly and bitter and jealous twists inside of him but he pushes it back down, if Pope trusts Kiara with anyone it would be JJ and if he trusts JJ with anyone it would be Kiara. He can’t believe he never realised it before.

He turns away, unable to watch the two of them stare at each other obliviously any longer, and meets John B’s eyes. Clearly he’s not the only one to have noticed his best friends’ infatuation with each other. The stare he receives is mildly threatening and challenging, blatantly saying don’t you dare mess this up for either of them and Pope stares back just the same until they both grin and John B shakes his head, exasperated.

“Let’s go,” JJ says eventually.

“The Chateau?” John B asks, his eyes on Kiara. The look of pure relief that passes over her face is palpable and Pope feels another jealous stab as she launches herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and they laugh and laugh, and it's the first time he's heard John B laugh in weeks.

The four of them walk off towards the van and for once it feels right, because Kiara’s back and that makes the whole world seem more bearable. She hangs back to walk beside Pope.

“Pope?”

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t said anything yet.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he murmurs, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re not angry?”

“Of course I’m angry!” Kiara ducks her head, looking taken aback and guilty, and Pope can’t have that so he continues, “Of course I’m angry, Kie, but I’ve already forgiven you so it really doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re back.”

She smiles hesitantly at him and, god, he’d forgotten how much he’d missed that, so he echoes it full force. Logically he knows he probably looks a little crazed, but he just can’t help it, he’s in love and the girl he’s fallen for is smiling at him - of course he looks like a lunatic. In that moment, he doesn’t care that he knows it’s inevitable that Kiara will end up with JJ, as long as she’s here and she’s safe, he’s content.

Later, when they’re at the chateau and it’s just him and JJ on the porch, he asks JJ what the Kook did to rile him up so much.

JJ exhales a cloud of smoke and meets Pope’s eyes through it.

“They were talking shit about Kie,” he says.

And that, Pope thinks, is enough.

Chapter Text

When Sarah first gets to know Kiara she’s different - so different to any of the other girls she’s been friends with before. She’s louder and she’s fiercer, she doesn’t talk about money or shopping all the time, she knows how to surf a wave better than half the boys she’s met and she doesn’t seem at all interested in any of the boys at the Kook academy. To be fair that last part stumps her a bit for a little while before she decides that really it’s none of her business and she’d much rather talk about something other than boys for once. She thinks she’s probably never been as close to someone as she is to Kiara, never truly had a friend that she can tell everything to.

After that, she pushes Kiara away. It’s not really a quick, spur of the moment yeah we’re getting too close, I’m not going to invite you to my party kind of decision. How could it be, when in reality Kiara was the only person she’d wanted there. It was more gradual than that. Over the weeks beforehand Sarah could feel herself getting more and more uncomfortable and consequently closing up. Kiara would do something or say something, and it would hit Sarah hard just how well they knew each other. And that terrified her. So it didn’t even occur to her to invite her until the party was in swing and it felt like something crucial was missing.

It’s John B, really, who manages to draw them back together. Always John B. When they’re all on the porch and Kiara won’t even look at her and she’s calling her a liar and Sarah snaps back telling her she’s a shit talking bitch, she thinks maybe the reason Kiara never looked twice at the boys at the kook academy is because she’s in love with John B. Later she’ll realise how absurd that is but in the moment it seems feasible. Especially when it’s so close to the truth.

They’re all sitting on John B’s porch days later when Sarah works it out properly. It’s dark and the only light sources are the stars and the single candle that somebody’s lit that’s flickering earnestly in the breeze. She looks around at the group of them - the way they fit naturally together, Pope’s shoulder squished against JJ’s side, JJ’s fingers mindlessly running through Kiara’s hair, Kiara’s legs tangled in John B’s, John B’s arm thrown lazily across Pope’s shoulders. She stares at her hand intertwined with John B’s and feels like an outsider, intruding on some sacred moment as she listens to them laugh along to an inside joke. She’s never known anything like it. Her whole life she’s been surrounded by friendships because they’re the right kind of people and not because she genuinely felt close to them. But Kiara - Kiara and then John B, and now slowly but surely Pope and JJ - she wants to be close to them, to spend nights like this talking about everything and nothing under the stars, to laugh along with them about that inside joke because she was there too that one time one of them did something stupid and they’ve never let them forget it since, she wants to know them all inside and out. She craves that. With this group of people. It may be unexpected but she feels at home here, safe and cosy with her back pressed warmly against John B’s chest. So she lets herself enjoy it and forgets about expectations and priorities and gets lulled in by the gentle conversation.

Except all of a sudden it’s not gentle because JJ’s speaking and he’s loud and boisterous in a captivating way that says he demands the attention of everyone in the room. He’s retelling a story dramatically of when he and John B went surfing in a storm and he’d been convinced his best friend had drowned.

“I was so fucking close to getting out and calling the coast guard,” JJ cackles, ”and then he just pops his head up out of the water like some dumb seal or something, looking all bedraggled and confused and then he just shouts at me ‘man, that was a big one’, and goes straight back in.”

Sarah watches JJ dissolve into fits of giggles that appear to be weed induced and then Pope’s joining in too and she can even feel John B’s chest shaking slightly with exasperated laughter at his best friend’s antics. She lets herself laugh along with them, feeling lighter and happier than she has in a long time. She turns to Kiara, expecting to see her joining in too, only for her laughter to die in her throat. Because Kiara’s not laughing. Sure enough she’s got a smile on her face - but it’s not a humorous one at JJ’s dramatic story-telling, it’s something else completely, illuminated in the glow of candle light Sarah might even say it looked something like adoration or love - and certainly not just platonic. While the rest of them are laughing along with JJ, she’s staring at him, seemingly entranced by his laugh ringing out loudly over everyone else’s. Oh. she thinks. Oh. It isn’t John B that Kiara’s in love with - it’s JJ.

She wants to say something, maybe to snap her friend out of it or to tease her quietly about her literal heart-eyes for the blonde, but obviously she can’t do that, despite feeling like she’s made some kind of ground-breaking discovery. So she sits tight, lips sealed firmly and watches as the rest of the group obliviously continues, certain that she’ll confront her friend about it later when it’s just the two of them.

Her eyes flicker from Kiara to JJ, who’s removed his fingers from where they were absently braiding (if it could be called a braid) kiara’s hair to roll a blunt. She watches as he remains unaware of Kiara’s eyes on him, watches as he leans further into Pope’s side, listens as he makes some dumb comment about stealing from where he’s currently working. And her stomach drops.

She doesn’t know JJ. That she’s happy to admit. A few weeks ago she thought she knew all there was to him - some crazy, pogue lowlife who raised a gun to her boyfriend’s head. But now, now  she realises he’s a whole lot more than that. She’d say with complete certainty that he has a good heart and that he is without a doubt unfalteringly loyal. That he’s still definitely a little crazy, that he laughs way too hard at his own jokes, that he makes stupid, reckless decisions. Aside from that she has no idea who he is and it’s obvious there is so much more; from the way his eyes light up so brightly when John B compliments his surfing technique (before brushing it off with a witty comment), from the way he leans into Pope’s touch like he’s never felt anything like it in his life, from the way his eyes flicker away from the porch every few seconds as if he’s paranoid someone’s standing out there in the dark, waiting for him.

But what she does know is that he’s dangerous. She hates the thought bitterly but she knows it’s true. He’s the type of person who pulls guns on people without hardly being provoked, the type to throw the first punch, the type of person who’s never going to find a way off the cut because he dropped out of school far too soon. She thinks about Kiara and her harsh ferocity, fierce dedication but also her vulnerability and absolute trust. She thinks about how Kiara had looked turning up to school the day after Sarah’s party, the lost look on her face as she’d walked to class, the brightness that’d left her eyes - because of Sarah. She thinks about Kiara and she thinks about JJ, and her stomach roils. Because that’s something that would go down in flames before even being set alight.

It’s only a day later when she manages to confront Kiara about it, going for a subtle and gentle approach because she knows if she faces it head on then Kiara will get defensive and snappy. They’re sat together in the van, the morning sun streaming through the windows, Kiara’s legs curled against her’s.

“Hey, Kie?”

Kiara offers a hum of affirmation that she heard her so Sarah continues hesitantly, tipping her head back against the seat behind her so she’s staring at the roof of the van.

“If you had to get together with one of the Pogues who would it be?” She asks, hoping her voice sounds joking and not prying. Kiara stares at her like she’s lost her mind.

“What?”

“I’m just wondering, I mean it’s not like you couldn’t have any of them,” Sarah tries, “apart from John B, of course.”

“Ok, firstly: why the hell would I want to do that? They’re my best friends,” Kiara snaps back with slightly more indignation than she’d been expecting, “and secondly: I’m the one that instigated the goddamn no pogue on pogue macking rule!”

“Alright,” Sarah raises her hands in mock surrender, “it’s just a hypothetical question, though, if you had to pick one.”

Kiara directs a scowl at her and shakes her head. “It’s a dumb question. I’d never go anywhere near John B since he’s obviously smitten with you,” Sarah grins, “Not that I’d even want to - he’s my best friend and I prefer it that way. And Pope’s out of the question too because I’m just not into him like that, he’s also my best friend and I’d never even think about compromising that.”

Kiara stops short. Sarah stares at her as she glares down at her hands like they’ve offended her, not saying any more but obviously thinking very hard. She waits a beat longer before prompting-

“And JJ?” she asks softly.

Kiara sighs heavily. “JJ’s JJ, you know?”

Sarah does not know. She waits as the heavy silence extends, not wanting to seem overly curious.

“He flirts with anyone and everyone that passes in front of him. He dances with strangers at parties and sneaks off with them to make out in the bushes and then doesn’t talk to them ever again. Of course he flirts with me 24/7 - it’s not because he’s into me though, I’m just there and… I don’t know, it’s fun and natural for him. He’s just overly friendly.”

Sarah raises her eyebrows a little and watches as Kiara’s gaze darts up to meet her’s and her cheeks darken. “That’s not- no- ok, that sounded really jealous and sad but what I’m trying to say is that relationships just aren’t JJ’s thing, the only thing he has that’s close to a steady and stable relationship is us Pogues, and I would never take that away from him.”

There’s a note of finality in Kiara’s voice as she says it that says that the conversation is over. Sarah nods acceptingly, though still not quite understanding, and mumbles a soft alright.

As long as Kiara doesn’t go chasing after someone who will undeniably break her heart.

*

What catches Sarah out is that not three days after her discovery she realises that she’s been wrong about all of it. So completely wrong and maybe a little judgemental too.

They’re at a party which John B’s dragged her, and consequently the rest of the Pogues, to. She’s watching the crowd moving together, dancing to music that’s impossible to hear over the noise of everyone there. She lost both John B and Kiara a while ago and hasn’t really tried looking for either of them as she listens half-heartedly to the story the girl beside her is telling her.

She can see JJ, too, dancing daringly with everyone that approaches. He seems to be having the time of his life. Sarah can’t help but think something looks off about it, though. Sure, it’s normal for a 16 year old boy to be dancing with girls at a party, pulling them away from the dancefloor and kissing them senseless in a corner somewhere. What is weird is the way he does it; like he isn’t even interested. Now, she’s seen fuckboys and players, been at the receiving end of their stares and comments but that’s not what this is. It’s nothing like that. JJ dances with girls as if he’s trying to forget about someone else.

Sarah can’t even begin to wonder at who that someone else could be before it all starts to piece together, right before her eyes.

Kiara’s reappeared and she’s stood now amidst a gaggle of dancing bodies. Even with her back to Sarah it’s obvious she’s stood stiffly, her whole posture radiating unease, and it’s clear why. The guy in question is far too much up in her space, hands splayed firmly on her waist and a cruel leer plastered on his face.

On instinct, she gets to her feet, not wanting to watch the situation unfold any further, but for some reason before she can move forwards her eyes flicker on their own accord to where JJ was dancing. She watches animatedly as he looks up, seemingly searching out Kiara in the crowd despite having a cute blonde attached to his neck, and all but flings the girl off of him. Sarah starts forward because whatever JJ is about to do, it can’t be good.

“Hey get the fuck away from her, man!”

JJ reaches the pair before she does and he seems to be practically vibrating with anger.

“I can handle myself, JJ,” Sarah hears Kiara reply tensely, and she stops her approach because she knows it’s true. JJ, on the other hand, pays her no mind.

“I fucking said, get away from her,” he growls, low and feral. The idiot just smirks back in his face.

“You heard her - she can handle herself,” the guy grins, cocky and self-assured.

“Well you’re clearly not taking the hint,” JJ hisses. Sarah steps forward at the same time as she hears Kiara say something in protest but it’s too late - JJ’s grabbing him by the front of the shirt and practically throwing him away from Kiara.

“JJ, stop!”

The guy staggers, tilts his head back upright, a challenge gleaming in his eyes. He’s laughing. “Ha! I get it! You’re jealous!”

Whilst something in the back of Sarah’s mind whispers that there is definitely some truth in that, it’s obvious that this is completely unrelated. Still, it gets a reaction out of JJ. He lunges forward,

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

“JJ!-”

Both Sarah and Kiara lunge forward at the same time, Kiara wrapping a hand around his wrist and Sarah placing a hand on his shoulder. He snaps back around towards them with a roll of his eyes, shrugging off Sarah’s hands but letting Kiara’s be.

“Fucking hell, alright,” he mutters, backing away from the guy.

“Kindly fuck off, if I was interested I would’ve let you know,” Kiara snaps over JJ’s shoulder as the guy shakes his head at the three of them, but slinks away into the crowd.

“What an asshole,” Sarah mutters.

Sarah turns back to the pair of them to see JJ’s face scrunched in concern, eyes darting left and right as if assessing Kiara for injury.

“Are you ok, Kie?” He asks, and Sarah’s genuinely taken aback by the level of concern in his voice - not that she thinks JJ’s incapable of caring about his friends, just that in Sarah’s eyes Kiara seems reasonably fine and like she said she can handle herself. That’s the voice John B uses with her when something’s happened.

“Yeah, I’m ok.”

“Are you sure? That guy was a complete dick.”

“I’m fine, JJ,” she says, firmer this time and it softens JJ’s gaze from concerned to apologetic.

“Alright. Ok, do you wanna- I’d understand if you want to leave now. I’m pretty knackered myself,” JJ suggests, still watching Kiara carefully. Sarah can tell JJ’s definitely not tired, and she’s certain if it were anyone else he would not be saying that. Kiara’s watching JJ with a small smile on her lips.

“You don’t really mean that do you?” Kiara gasps dramatically. “JJ Maybank? Tired? At a party?”

“Hey don’t be a dick about it, I was tryna be nice,” JJ snorts, shoving at her shoulder playfully.

“Yeah, don’t ever try that again - it’s not a good look on you.”

“What is a good look on me then, Kie?” JJ shoots back playfully, smirking, and just like that they’re off again, bantering back and forth in their own world. She watches Kiara hunch forward, clutching her stomach with laughter at something JJ says and then call him an idiot while she’s still wiping tears from her eyes. JJ wraps an arm around her shoulder, just as fondly, and tells her yeah but I’m your idiot. To any outsider they look like a couple, and they might as well be if they weren’t so oblivious. Sarah can’t even bring herself to be annoyed that they both just completely forgot that she was standing there, she feels light and happy knowing now that JJ could never hurt Kiara - not on purpose anyway - not when he looks at her like she hung the moon.

The five of them walk back to the chateau together, arms around each others’ shoulders. She definitely shouldn’t have lost John B at the party because now he’s far drunker than she thought and is singing at the top of his lungs, not any distinguishable tune just belting out mixtures of lyrics and probably disturbing half the island. She can’t stop laughing and it’s the best feeling, with her shoulder wedged firmly under John B’s arm and her arm wrapped tight around Kiara next to her. She can feel the other girl’s weight shifting away from her though, and she doesn’t even need to look to know that she’s leaning into JJ’s side just as Sarh’s doing with John B. She definitely doesn’t giggle at the thought of how completely dumb and oblivious they are.

She definitely doesn’t wiggle her eyebrows at Kiara when she pulls JJ down practically on top of her on the pullout couch in a slightly drunk haze.

And she definitely doesn’t curl her head on John B’s chest when she’s almost asleep and whisper, “Do you ever think they’ll work it out?”

It takes him a second but he seems to know exactly who she’s talking about. “Not for a while. They’ve been pining like this for so long I’m starting to think they’ll never get together. Both of them seem to think they don’t deserve the other’s love.”

Sarah can sympathise with that, she knows exactly how it feels.

“It would take something pretty big to knock some sense into them.”

Chapter Text

JJ Maybank does not know the first thing about love. He knows what it’s supposed to feel like. He knows it’s supposed to feel warm and fuzzy; he knows it’s supposed to feel safe, someone you can let your guard down around; he knows it should feel raw and indescribable; he knows it’s supposed to be about vulnerability, about letting them see what you’re really like; he knows a whole lot about what it should be like, but really he has no idea.

Until now.

JJ Maybank may not know the first thing about love, but if there’s one person who he was capable of loving, it would be John B.

John B; his best friend since 3rd grade, his brother since 4th grade, and the only person he’s ever loved since… now. And he only realises it now because, as well as all the bright and happy things he knows love is supposed to be, he also knows it’s supposed to be about pain and grief and anger - the only three emotions JJ can identify right now.

“We lost ‘em.” Shoupe had said.

As if John B, wild, daring John B, had ever belonged to them in the first place. JJ had wanted to yell at him, to tell him to just fucking spit it out and stop trying to soften the blow. But then Kiara, with more guts than a police officer, had said it for them.

“So they’re dead.”

That had been what had done it for JJ. It was all hazy and blurred after that.

“Maybank?” The police officer in front of him asks for the tenth time, his voice exasperated and put out. JJ scowls at the use of his last name.

“What?”

“I need you to tell me someone we can call to come pick you up,” it sounds like the man’s reading off a script, saying what he’s meant to say, when really he’s looking at JJ like a piece of dirt on his shoe.

Maybank. Maybank. Maybank. Maybank.

JJ wants to scream. He wants to let his legs give out from beneath him and fall into the floor, let it swallow him up. He wants to rip out the part of his chest that hurts so badly. He craves the release of tears, of dry, heaving sobs that rack his body and leave him trembling. He wants to scream until his throat is raw.

He lets out a harsh laugh.

“Yeah, alright, fuck off.” And that’s the end of that conversation.

He can feel Kiara and Pope’s eyes on him from the back of the tent. He’d thought they’d left. When all the embracing and crying had become too much and the weight of Heyward’s arm around his shoulders began to feel less like a comfort and more like a chokehold, JJ had turned and fled to the opposite corner of the tent. He’d been certain they’d left after that, gone home to their happy families and warm houses. But they hadn’t.

Why hadn’t they?

In the end, it’s Heyward - probably after some incessant needling from Pope - who steps up. His voice is firm and leaves no room for excuses when he tells the officer he’s taking JJ home and no one argues. JJ sort of wants them to, just to show that they cared, even a little bit - that JJ was more than some dumb kid they needed to pawn off to the nearest stranger so they could go home.

Now he and Pope are bundled up in the back of Heyward’s van with blankets that Mrs. Heyward had thrust at them. JJ can’t stand the silence, which isn’t new, but for once he doesn’t break it. He fears if he opens his mouth to say something it will make everyone uncomfortable, or worse he won’t be able to get a word out without breaking down into sobs - which is ironically the only thing he wants to do right now. Instead he sits stiffly on the seat, fingers tugging at a loose string on his t-shirt and knee bouncing incessantly. Occasionally he glances at Pope, face pressed against the window, eyes closed and cheeks tracked with tears, but then he glances away just as quickly because he doesn’t know what to do with that. He can’t comfort people - he only makes them sadder or diverts their emotions from sad to pissed off.

JJ feels like an intruder when he walks through their door. Feels out of place as Pope’s parents hug Pope tightly to their chests, both laying a hand on JJ’s shoulder, before sending them to bed. Feels uncomfortable as Pope lays out an air mattress in silence and uses one word syllables to point out the toilet.

So it’s just instinct for JJ to flee.

The moment Pope leaves to brush his teeth, JJ’s at the window, hands scrabbling frantically with the lock and then shoving the window open and pushing himself out, head first. He falls ungracefully into the shrub below, landing in a tangled, shaking mess of limbs, and silently thanks the heyward’s for buying a house with only a ground floor.

He pushes himself off the ground unsteadily, not thinking about the window he’s left wide open behind him, not thinking about the note that he could’ve left for Pope to reassure that he was ok, not thinking about how much Pope will worry when he finds JJ gone. Not thinking, not thinking, not thinking.

Because if he lets himself think, then he won’t be able to stop. The images will take over, crowding into his mind, snapshots of crumpled bodies, deathly pale faces, the bottom of the sea floor, the darkness.

His fingers itch; for a fight, a drink, a blunt. Anything that will stop him thinking.

He refuses to return to his own house, as much as he wants a fight, he’s not suicidal, and returning to his dad right now couldn’t end any other way. So he ends up at the chateau. Arm outstretched to push the door open but unable to do it. He knows this is the moment he should start crying - really, he should have cried the moment they were told they’d lost them, like everyone else - but some part of his brain must be seriously messed up, because the tears won’t come. Even now when he’s alone.

Alone. Wasn’t he always alone? Maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be. He’d been alone when John B had found him, sat in the corner of the classroom because he had a loud mouth and tended to get on the other kids’ nerves. Now he’s gone full cycle - he’s back where he started. He knows how to be alone better than he knows anything else. And really, the moment Big John left a part of John B died too, leaving JJ alone then, and now- Now John B’s just-

JJ shoves the door open, barrelling through, not letting his eyes rest on the pull-out sofa, still with the imprint of a body, or the door to John B’s room, cracked ajar, darkness seeping out from inside.

He goes straight for where he knows the alcohol lives, collapses to the floor, and drinks.

*

The front door rattles as it swings open.

JJ knows it’s Kiara without looking up. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, not measuring the time in minutes, but in the bottles now strewn around him on the floor. He’s shitfaced.

There’s a quiet mutter of Jesus christ, and then two flip flops enter his vision from where he’s still sat on the floor, back pressed against the counter. He looks up, into her puffy, glassy eyes, takes in the expression of anger and… betrayal on her face. He swallows another gulp of beer and offers her a weak smile, tipping the bottle in an offering towards her. Apparently this is not the right thing to do.

“What the fuck, JJ,” Kiara says it steadily, but her voice is still cold, he’ll know he’s really angered her if she gets explosive and starts yelling.

“What? Am I not allowed to get drunk now?” The words slur as they roll off his tongue. His eyes flicker downwards and then back up again, not liking the way she’s standing over him. Kiara’s jaw clenches.

“No, by all means, feel free to get as drunk as you fucking wish, but don’t abandon your best friend when he’s only just lost his other one! What the fuck were you thinking JJ?” Her volume increases as she speaks, growing gradually more hysterical but still not shouting. Grabbing the side of the counter, he hauls himself to his feet so she no longer has a height advantage on him, he stumbles.

“I can’t remember, actually… but it was probably something to do with the never ending supply of alcohol this place has,” he laughs, but it seems bitter, contrasted with Kiara’s sadness and her anger.

She stares at him, expression a mixture of disbelief and anger. “I can’t talk to you like this, JJ,” she mutters, eyes flickering over the bottles on the floor, “Pope was fucking terrified. How was he supposed to know where you’d gone? You could’ve-”

She breaks off. But the words hang in the space between them. You could’ve gone back to your dad’s. You could’ve done something reckless. You could’ve been dead, too.

JJ drains the last drop of beer, and swallows, eyes narrowing. He knows it shouldn’t be the part he fixates on but- “Right. Right, of course, you were worried about your boyfriend.”

“What the fuck, JJ!” There. Now she’s yelling. “What’s wrong with you?!”

She snatches the beer bottle out of his hands and slams it down on the counter. His brain is fuzzy and inebriated, so he can’t stop the way he stumbles back, away from the harsh sound. “Stop fucking drinking, sober up and then we’ll talk. You’re being a selfish asshole right now.”

“Oh, I’m the one being selfish?”

“Yes! You’re not the only one who lost a best friend, JJ!” It’s only then that JJ realises that she’s crying, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he feels strangely out of sync. Why hasn’t he cried yet?

But her words- Something angry and bitter and dark twists inside him.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He demands coldly.

“I said you’re not the only one who lost a best friend!”

JJ turns away, searching in the dim light for another bottle of alcohol that he can drown himself in. A harsh, stilted laugh leaves his lips followed by a ragged sob from Kiara behind him. “You say that like he’s actually dead.”

Because everything’s confusing and JJ’s brain is muddled and in the time it took him to drink through almost all of the chateau’s alcohol supply, he’s come to the conclusion that they’re all wrong. That John B wouldn’t just die.

“JJ.”

“What?” He demands, spinning round to face her again. He’s not sure why, but something in him wants her to say it, just like in the police tent, what seems like an eternity ago.

“You saw that fucking storm!” She yells, throwing a hand out to gesture at the window as if the storm is still tearing through the sky outside. It isn’t. It’s silent and calm, sun rising over the marsh in a way that should be beautiful but it’s just eerie and solemn.

“Mhm, yeah. Yeah I did,” he nods. Kiara’s expression darkens.

“They’re dead!” She sobs. Her hand comes up to his shoulder, aggressive at first, but softening before she comes into contact, she clutches at his shirt, and JJ reels back a little away from it. “They’re dead, JJ!”

“You don’t know that,” he shakes his head vigorously, making himself feel disorientated.

“Yes I do!” she cries, her voice sounding nothing like Kiara - too broken, too distraught. “And you do too, JJ. John B’s dead. Sarah’s dead, too, and it’s all our fucking fault!”

She’s clinging to his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her standing up - maybe it is - and her hands are trembling. JJ becomes acutely aware of the fact that she really is breaking down, practically in his arms, and that if he were any other person he would hold her close, stroke her hair, murmur reassurances. But he’s JJ Maybank and her words are poisoning every thought in his brain.

John B’s dead.

He tears himself out of her grip, fists clenching so hard he can feel the bite of his ragged nails in his palms.

“Fuck you! He wouldn’t just leave, don’t you trust him?”

“JJ, this has nothing to do with ‘trust’!”

“Fuck you, it does! I trust him- I know he’s still alive! He’s not dead!”

And because he can feel the way control is slowly slipping out of his grasp, he raises the beer he’s been drinking from and hurls it at the floor between them as he says it.

“JJ!” Kiara yells, stumbling backwards away from the debris as the glass hits the ground with a loud smash.

The liquid pools on the floor, the rising sun hitting it at just the right angle to turn it red, crimson, spotted with shards of glass. Distantly, JJ can hear Kiara’s sobbing increase.

“JJ, please,” she’s saying and he watches warily as she makes her way around the bottles of alcohol and the shattered glass on the floor, towards him. She stops in front of him, hands hovering inches away, eyes wet and pleading. “Please,” she whispers.

Maybe it’s the way her voice breaks as she says it. Maybe it’s the silent please hold me, please don’t let go that echoes in her words. Maybe it’s because as much as he can't bear the thought of being held by anyone else, he wants nothing more than to be held by Kiara.

Whatever it is, JJ gives in.

Slipping two arms gently around her back, he pulls her towards him so their bodies are flush and he can feel her trembling against his chest. The anger dissipates immediately, and he slumps forward into her, his forehead resting on her shoulder, so that they’re both holding each other up.

Finally, there in Kiara’s arms, he lets himself cry.

*

When JJ wakes, there’s a heavy weight on his chest. His first reaction is to push it away, but as he blinks his eyes into focus, head pounding, he realises it’s a person.

Kiara’s practically sprawled on top of him, her head tucked under his chin, one hand grasped in his shirt by his shoulder and the other laying limp by the side of his head as if it had been cradling his face. Her mouth is parted slightly and a single brown curl lies stray across her cheek. JJ disentangles his arms from where they were wrapped around her to push it away.

They’re lying on the floor, a blanket half-heartedly pulled off the pull-out couch next to them to cover their legs. JJ’s eyes drift to the kitchen floor, a warzone of bottles and shattered glass, and he recalls the memories from the night before. He lets his head fall back onto the floor.

Kiara shifts on top of him, her elbow digging into his stomach and encouraging an oof from JJ. If it were anyone else he thinks he’d kick them off. He glances down and meets soft, brown eyes, blinking sleepily back up at him, a light blush tinting her cheeks. Neither of them say anything, JJ’s too afraid that if he does it will shatter whatever this moment is.

After a moment, Kiara darts her eyes away and shifts again but she still doesn’t say anything or move off of his chest. When she looks back she looks lost and a little scared.

“Kie,” JJ whispers. He thinks of a thousand things he could say. “Did we sleep on the floor?” He asks instead, because all those other things are too daunting.

Kiara’s mouth twitches upwards a hint, and she shakes her head in exasperation, her curls splaying loosely across her back and JJ’s chest. “Yes. Your drunk ass wouldn’t let go of me and I was too tired to maneuver both of us onto the pull-out at 5 in the morning.”

Something about her tone makes an apology bubble in his throat but she’s speaking again before he can get a word out.

“How’s the hangover?”

“Killer,” he groans, tipping his head back again and letting his eyes slip closed.

“Hm,” JJ can just tell from Kiara's tone, that she’s got some kind of smirk on her face. “That’s what you get.”

Any kind of reply stops dead in his throat, because, really, the hangover is the least of what he ‘got’, isn’t it? JJ sighs. When he opens his eyes again and glances down his nose at Kiara, she’s got an arm across his chest and her chin resting on it, he thinks maybe her gaze is resting on his throat. Her gaze snaps back to him when she realises he’s looking.

She gets up slowly - slow enough that JJ could pull her back to his chest if he wanted, but he lets her go.

“What’s the time?” He mumbles, pulling himself into a sitting position as he watches her move into the kitchen.

“Almost twelve,” she calls back with a glance at her phone. JJ watches as she crouches on the floor with a trash bag and starts collecting the bottles off the floor. He should tell her to stop and that he’ll do it, but he can’t even find the energy to pull himself to his feet.

For some reason, everything that happened the night before seems distorted now - like now that it’s a new day he should be able to move on and forget about it. But he can’t. Kiara seems to be doing a fine job of it though.

“JJ?”

He swipes his hands under his eyes quickly before any tears can fall.

“Yeah?”

He clambers upright, swaying slightly on his feet as he does so. A sharp wave of nausea rushes up from his stomach and before he knows it, he’s darting to the bathroom and throwing up over the toilet.

“Fuck,” he groans, slumping forwards. He doesn’t need to look to know that Kiara’s stood behind him in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“Breakfast?” She asks once JJ’s collected himself. He pulls a face at her and she rolls her eyes back, holds out a hand to help him to his feet and tugs him into the kitchen.

She potters around the kitchen in silence, sliding a box of painkillers and a glass of water across the counter to JJ, not meeting his eyes. JJ watches her carefully, thinking about how pretty she looks bathed in the midday sunlight.

He’s not stupid. He knows he’s always had a thing for her; from back in seventh grade when she’d been new and wild and exciting, from that one party in the summer when they were 13 and he’d pressed his lips against hers clumsily and for a second she’d let him, from when she’d pushed him away and rolled her eyes playfully as if he’d just made a stupid joke, from when she’d ran into his arms at midsummers, dressed up in a way that was undeniably not Kiara, but undeniably beautiful, to now.

He’s not an idiot. He knows he’s always liked Kiara Carrera, that’s not new. Something about this is though.

They eat in silence, and JJ just knows that Kiara’s brain is working on overdrive. She may be trying to pretend that everything is normal on the outside, but her eyes are bleak and her hands are trembling. JJ’s memory of last night may be fuzzy, but the broken it’s all our fucking fault stands out loudly in his mind.

“Kie?”

Just that one question sends her brave face crumbling down and suddenly she’s not the strong one anymore.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?”

She turns her face away with a shaky exhale, so that her back’s to him. The telltale shivers wrack her body - she’s crying again, but this time it’s different. He lets her do it by herself this time, lets her pull herself together without his help because he knows that’s what she wants and needs. When she turns back her eyes are red, but determined, more like Kie than she has been since they walked into the police tent. She lifts her head slightly, relaxes her shoulders.

“It’s not yours either then,” she says fiercely.

*

It’s a week later that JJ realises what this is. This feeling. A week of Kiara turning up on the chateau’s doorstep every evening. A week of JJ holding Kie in his arms as they fall asleep, of Kie holding him in her arms as they fall asleep. A week of crying, shouting, screaming, of whispered confessions, guilty laughter and reminiscing on memories and what could’ve been.

A week of letting himself be more himself than has been around anyone since John B. Letting himself be vulnerable.

When it really hits him, she’s sat just inches away on the sofa, phone held up to her ear, one hand outstretched towards JJ but not touching. Pope’s on the other end of the phone. They haven’t seen him all week but Kiara’s made a habit of calling to check in. Her voice is soft and soothing next to him and she’s- smiling.

Not just the pathetic, weak, pained smiles she’s been offering JJ all week - no, she’s really smiling. It looks beautiful on her.

When she hangs up, she tilts her head at him, punches him lightly on the shoulder and tugs him up from the couch.

“C’mon,” she smiles, again, “Let’s go surfing.”

Just that- the smile, the excited lilt to her voice, the arm punching - it makes JJ’s chest squeeze. Because it feels like he’s getting Kiara back. The stab of guilt that follows straight after is muted now and it’s easier to push down than it had been in those first days after - when being happy had seemed like something he wasn’t allowed. The sadness is still undoubtedly there, but it’s just another scar alongside all the others, which JJ learnt long ago to hide.

Of course, it’s not just a stab of guilt he feels, but a sharp pang of jealousy too. It was Pope that got her to smile again, not JJ, who’s been trying all week - no, Pope, in a matter of minutes. But that too doesn’t hurt as much as it might’ve done a week ago. Because as long as she’s happy, he doesn’t care.

That’s what sets off alarm bells in his mind.

Ten years ago JJ’s mother left. It was sudden and left JJ feeling blindsided, confused and angry. It left a gaping hole in his life that was soon covered with angry fists and accusational rages. It left a six year old boy alone with an abusive father.

A year later JJ’s mother returned. Her stay didn’t last longer than two days and she insisted that the only reason she was back was so that she could get Luke to sign divorce papers she brought with her. When JJ thinks back on it now he should’ve been angry, should’ve been furious; but JJ didn’t care that his mother had left him before, he didn’t care that she hadn’t come back for him - he was just happy she was back.

JJ probably loved her too. After all, if he thinks about sappy romance movies and shit, love always seems to be about putting their happiness above yours.

Shit.

The realisation has JJ reeling; not because it’s a shock or anything (it’s really not), but because just days ago he lost his best friend and brother, because in the past week he’s felt like he’s been on top of the world mere seconds after feeling like he’s crashed and crumbled at rock bottom. Because a week ago he told his father that he loved him. Because as much as he didn’t want it to be true, he’d meant it.

Because love hurt. He loved his mother, or the memory softened version of her, and she had left, abandoned him, ran off with nothing more of a goodbye than a kiss pressed to his forehead. He loves John B, and he’d left, drawn away slowly at first but in the end he’d gone, drowned, died. And ultimately, worst of them all, he loves his father. The only one who hadn’t left. The one who’d stayed. But who despises the mere sight of him, the one who’s left him with too many scars to ever heal properly.

“JJ?”

He feels like he’s freefalling; keenly aware that Kiara’s hand is still wrapped gently around his wrist, that he’s probably been silent for a little too long now. He pulls back slowly, takes a step away from her, watches her expression falter slightly.

“I’m not- I’m just-” JJ fumbles clumsily for an excuse, watching her face fall further all the while, “There’s something I need to do, maybe later.”

He doesn’t give her a chance to answer, brushing past her quickly and practically running out of the door, ignoring the rising guilt in his chest, the panic squeezing at his throat.

“JJ!”

Kiara’s shouting behind him, her tone a mixture of concern and frustration, but JJ doesn’t look back.

If JJ’s life has taught him one thing, it’s that to care, to feel, to actually give a shit, makes you vulnerable.

And vulnerability, without fail, always leads to pain.

Chapter Text

When JJ goes it takes Kiara just seconds to pin down the feeling that’s trying to squeeze all the air out of her lungs for what it really is. Love. Somehow she seems to have developed a habit of realising how she’s feeling just a second too late.

And it’s stupid, Kiara thinks, that it took her this long to realise. Not just her feelings, but how strong they are - Kiara had no idea she could love like this, feel like this. She thought that was just sappy bullshit they wrote about in books and flaunted in movies; kisses in the pouring rain, passionate embraces silhouetted by glowing sunsets, hands that fit so perfectly together, love that left you breathless.

Maybe, just maybe, this feeling is a way of dealing with her grief, she reasons with herself. She’s lost two people that she loved, so she’s latching onto the other two, holding them closer, loving them harder.

That excuse doesn’t work for her as well as it might have done a year, or even a week, ago. She’s not the same naive girl she used to be, when she was wrapped up in being someone she wasn’t, trying to fit in, to be who everyone wanted her to be. She’s grown. That thought alone is enough to push any excuses firmly out of her mind and put everything in better perspective.

I’m in love with JJ Maybank.

Out of everything that’s happened in the past two weeks being in love with JJ is the least surprising and, oddly enough, the most comforting. Anyone else might push those feelings down into a tightly-lidded box in their mind and never let them out, but Kiara’s long since come to terms with who JJ is and the things that probably scare other people away are what endear him to her.

And the thing is, Kiara’s always loved so easily, and with her whole being. From the moment Kiara met JJ and John B back in fifth grade, she’d loved them both completely. Even when JJ shoved her too hard and she skinned her knees, even when John B forgot her birthday that one time, even when Pope joined the three of them and he made smartass comments that made her feel like an idiot. She’s never had any trouble loving them.

But now? Now everything’s different.

John B’s dead. Her best friend is dead, and no matter what JJ says she knows it’s partly her fault. Pope’s withdrawn completely and no matter how many times he says he’s okay and puts on a brave front down the phone, she’s still losing her mind with worry. And now JJ’s gone too.

And that’s not even all of it.

Because over the past week she’s mourned John B’s loss, crying and reminiscing, and for the most part it’s taken her mind off of the other pain. The one that hurts just the same, but in a completely different way.

Because Kiara loves easily, and Sarah Cameron was the easiest person to love on the whole island. The feelings are long gone now - the romantic ones at least - but the fierce love for her is still there, always had been, even when she couldn’t bear the sight of the other girl. So maybe it hurts this bad because Kiara had only just got her back.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself. She knows what she needs to do; she’s not going to let anyone else she loves go.

*

Kiara cycles dangerously fast on the way to Pope’s house, careening recklessly around corners and almost slamming into a pedestrian at one point. If JJ was here riding with her she’s sure he’d make some kind of comment about it, he’d probably be laughing and whooping, arms outstretched like he’s flying and Kiara would snap at him to hold on. But he’s not here. Kiara doesn’t know when her mind started picturing what JJ would do if he was here in situations where he’s not.

The sight of Pope’s house settles the trembling in her hands and allows her to shakily exhale the breath she’d been holding. Kiara drops her bike to the ground and approaches the front door cautiously, holding a hand up to knock. She hesitates, though, when she hears raised voices from inside.

“Pope! You know that’s not true!” A voice that sounds like Pope’s mother shouts.

“Yeah, right! You just couldn’t stop yourselves! Oh, look - Pope’s doesn’t want to go outside because his friends just died, huh, what should we do? Comfort him? No, oh no, we’re gonna force more work on him!” Kiara breathes in sharply at the uncharacteristic, patronizing tone Pope’s voice has taken on. She should have come sooner.

Pope’s mom sounds like she’s sobbing. “Pope- Pope you know we were just trying to help-”

“Well maybe if you stopped putting so much pressure on your son-”

“We only want what’s best for-”

“Bullshit!”

“Pope!”

“No! No, I’m leaving!”

“Pope, just wait a-”

The front door swings open just as Kiara’s starting to back away down the path. Pope comes to a sudden stop in the doorway, his mom stopping just a few steps behind. Kiara takes a moment to take in the bleakness in Pope’s eyes and the downturn of his lips, before she raises a hand in a brief wave.

“Hey, Mrs. H, I was just wondering if I could steal Pope for a little bit?” She asks, already taking Pope’s arm and tugging him out of the doorway. She doesn’t understand completely what’s going on but she knows enough to know that Pope probably wants to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Mrs Heyward’s eyes soften and she smiles slightly sadly. “Of course, Kiara.”

So she loops her arm in Pope’s before he can object and practically marches him down the pavement and out of sight of his house.

“The docks?” she asks after a moment, wanting to talk somewhere quiet.

“Kie…” Pope mutters, but his voice is resigned, as if he knows by now that Kiara’s as stubborn as they come and there’s no way of walking away from this.

“Great.” She forces what she hopes is a reassuring smile and leads the rest of the way.

The August sun is hot on their backs by the time they get there, and it’s a welcome relief when Kiara kicks off her flip-flops and sits on the edge, letting the water lap at her bare ankles. Pope sits down next to her, hands clenched in his lap and eyes fixed determinedly on the water in front of them.

“How… How’ve you been doing?” Kiara askes, suddenly hesitant now that she’s here.

The question seems pointless given the circumstances, but she doesn’t know how else to start. Pope lets out a breath, opens his mouth, as if to say something and stops. Kiara knows the words that were about to leave his mouth as well as her own name by now, but I’m fine doesn’t quite work as well when the other person’s going through the same thing.

“Not great.”

Kiara’s lips twitch at the understatement. If she knows Pope she knows there’s more coming, she just needs to wait.

“Just…,” he hesitates, eyes darting to the sky, the trees, anything but meeting her eyes, “How are we supposed to continue with our lives? How are we supposed to keep living? Won’t it always feel like something’s missing? I feel like someone’s, I don’t know.. chopped one of my limbs off or something, Kie. I can’t even sit down at the dinner table without thinking about them, and us, all four of us, I-”

Pope stops mid sentence, and exhales a shuddering breath. Trust him to be able to sum up what she’s feeling so perfectly.

“I know.”

And she really hopes Pope understands just how much, she knows. He nods and Kiara can see the shine of tears, rolling silently down his cheeks. Where JJ’s sadness was angry and aggressive, Pope’s is the opposite. It’s quiet and cautious, silent tears and trembling hands, but somehow it still speaks volumes about his emotions.

“John B deserved so much more,” she whispers, letting her head fall onto his shoulder and praying he won’t mind. She doesn’t say the rest of what she’d been thinking - that maybe John B deserved life more than others, more than maybe even herself, that it shouldn’t have been him.

“And Sarah?” Pope asks, and there’s something there in his voice - of fucking course he’d notice.

“Her, too,” she whispers. And that’s enough.

They sit there for a while in silence, and Kiara knows she needs to break it, to talk about the other thing. The one that’s even scarier.

“Pope…,” she murmurs, when she can’t take it anymore. This is it, she thinks, this is the moment I lose another best friend.

“It’s okay, Kie,” he mutters, and he’s drawn away now, wrapped his arms around himself protectively. “Say it. I won’t be such an asshole this time, I promise.”

“I-,” she stares at him for a second, wondering how all her friends have grown so much in such a small space of time. “Alright. Pope, I’m so sorry. I should never have kissed you, I just thought- Well, I don’t know what I thought. I was being naive again, I was trying too hard to be something I’m not- Or rather love someone I don’t; not like that anyway. You’re my best friend, Pope, and- I know how much that hurts, I do. But I can’t love you like that, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” he says, and Kiara exhales, “It’s okay. I mean, I think I realised a long time ago that you would never like me back, it’s my own fault really for pushing for something impossible. I’ll get over it. You’re my best friend too, Kie, and I don’t want to lose that.”

Kiara nods, knowing she probably looks a little frantic, but she really wants him to know that it’s okay.

“How’s JJ?” Pope asks. That’s that conversation over then.

“Getting there, I think he’s a little lost though,” Kiara replies softly, thinking of the JJ from that first night, raw and broken, and the one from that morning, softened around the edges more but still very much broken.

“I think we all are,” Pope agrees but he’s looking at her with an odd expression, like he wants to say something else but is holding the words back.

“What?”

“Hm- Does uh- does JJ know? I mean- does JJ know that we’re not- that you’ve-”

“No?” Kiara interrupts, bewildered. She doesn’t know where Pope’s going with this but she’s not sure she’s ready to have that conversation yet, not when she’s finally got some kind of clarity in her mind. Not when she knows exactly what she needs to do next.

“Kie-”

“Look, how about we all go out tomorrow evening, meet at the beach maybe and have a campfire like we used to?” She tries desperately, already getting to her feet.

“Okay,” Pope nods easily and stands up too. It’s JJ who she’ll need to convince.

“I’ll bring marshmallows.”

“And JJ,” Pope adds, and yep, he’s definitely smirking slightly. Kiara narrows her eyes but decidedly doesn’t comment on it.

“...And JJ, yes.”

“Alright,” he says and something like a smile touches his lips, “You obviously need to get going, so, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow,” she parrots back, and before she can stop herself she’s pulling him into a hug. He clings to her like a rock in a crashing ocean and Kiara feels both guilty and relieved all at once. It’s Pope who pulls back and when he does Kiara doesn’t mention the tears that are shining in his eyes again.

“You deserve him,” Pope says, so quietly that she hardly hears it, and before she can say or do anything or even begin to comprehend the sentence, she’s alone on the docks and Pope is jogging off towards the road.

Part of her wants to shout after him and demand that the two of them aren’t rewards to be achieved, that neither’s better than the other, that he’s just as worthy. She doesn’t. She’ll tell him tomorrow.

*

Kiara spends the rest of the day searching for JJ. It’s already past midday when she leaves the docks so she decides to drop in at her own house, both to reassure her parents that she’s not dead (and face their wrath at hardly having seen her all week), and to pick up a sandwich for lunch.

After almost five years of friendship with JJ, these hunts for him aren’t unfamiliar to her; she knows all the places to look, all the people to ask. But she also knows that if JJ doesn’t want to be found, it’s pretty unlikely she’ll find him. The familiar pit of worry rests uneasily in her stomach at the thought; she doesn’t think JJ would go back to his Dad’s but she’s never truly been well-versed in what goes on inside her friend’s head and too many instances where she’s found him curled in the shade of the beach clutching his beaten body leave her apprehensive.

She runs down the roads and back alleys, along the beach and through the woods where the trees are turning from green to golden and bronze, turning away from summer and into fall. She stops by his house, standing warily in the shadows and listening to the dead silence that rages from inside it. To a passer-by it looks completely deserted, but there’s a half-empty beer bottle on the window sill that hasn’t been finished yet, and Kiara’s certain that Luke would never leave a bottle unfinished. She approaches his window, ears pricked for the slightest movement inside.

There’s nothing.

No noise. No figure hunched on the bed. No sign of life. Kiara doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried.

*

It’s not quite dark yet when Kiara finally stumbles upon JJ, purely by accident. It should be, considering that summer is all but over, yet it’s one of those nights that stretches the end of the day out with it, when the sky is perfectly clear and the sun is still casting out light from somewhere beyond the horizon.

She sees his silhouette first, but it’s obvious - at least to Kiara - that it must be JJ; from the way his legs stretch out infront of him, the object he’s throwing up and catching with one hand, how his head’s tipped back against the palm tree behind him - holding on to the last minutes of crimson light.

“JJ,” Kiara says in greeting when she’s close enough for him to hear her voice. He startles, dropping the lighter he was tossing about.

After his hasty exit from the chateau that morning, she’s certain his face is going to drop, his eyebrows will furrow, but it doesn’t. JJ’s face cracks into a small, helpless grin. Kiara’s stomach flips.

“Kie,” he whispers, and it’s carried away on the soft, sea breeze. Without thinking, Kiara holds her hands out towards him, and when he slips his broken-glass palms in her own silk-soft ones she hauls him to his feet. Face to face. Hand in hand.

Now. No need to waste another minute. Just tell him.

She feels the words in her throat, feels her lips parting to say it, lets out a controlled exhale and-

“Race you.”

“What?” Kiara sputters, blindsided. JJ is smirking, blue eyes alight and dancing.

“Race you,” JJ repeats, “To the end of the beach. Last one to get there is a Kook.”

“No, JJ, wait- just listen-”

But he’s already left her behind in the dust, calling back over his shoulder, “Now you’ve given me a head start, Kie!”

Fuck it.

Kiara kicks off her flip flops and follows right behind him; it’s not her fault she’s excessively competitive and helpless in regard to all things JJ. Besides, the feel of her feet sinking deep into the sun-warmed sand and the rush of adrenaline as she races down the beach is exactly what she needed.

Kiara may be a fast runner, but JJ is a whole other level. Which is how she knows the second JJ slows to her pace and his steady footsteps fall in rhythm with hers’, that he’s not trying to win at all. Kiara throws her head back with laughter and spreads her arms outwards, alive from the pure thrill of it. She can hear JJ’s breathy laughter beside her and feels an inexplicable urge to take his hand again.

She does. Relishing the feel of his skin against hers, she pulls him into the shallows with her until they’re running through the waves. With a glance to the side, Kiara meets JJ’s burning blue gaze and knows what’s about to happen seconds before it does.

“JJ!” Kiara shrieks. His hand connects with her shoulder and she falls, failing to stay upright but trying to take JJ down with her. The two of them land with a splash in the shallow water, tangled up in each other and panting heavily for breath.

Their laughs are loud and bright and Kiara let’s the sound of JJ’s happiness wash over her and warm her from the inside out. She can feel his heartbeat, raging and thunderous beneath her palms.

And then- JJ raises a hand up to her cheek. Kiara’s breath stutters.

“Kie,” JJ murmurs, and the moment is shattered, because his voice is tinged with worry and sadness and then he’s brushing tears off her cheek with his thumb that she hadn’t known were there. But now she can taste the salt on her lips and she’s certain it’s not from the sea water they’re sitting in.

“C’mon,” JJ says, pulling her upright and not letting go of her hand as he marches up the beach. Kiara’s shivering now, as the sun’s chosen this moment to finally disappear.

“You’re… You weren’t crying because I shoved you were you?” He asks gently, but Kiara can tell he’s not being completely serious. She bats his hand away in outrage.

“No!”

“Good,” he chuckles, “I was worried you were going soft on me there, Kie.”

She watches his eyes flit around her face, never landing for more than a second on one spot.

“Just feels wrong,” she whispers, not meeting his eyes, “Being happy, y’know?”

JJ doesn’t answer but she sees the laughter slip from his eyes as he nods silently. For a moment Kiara feels a jolt of selfishness because of course - JJ was so much closer to John B than either her or Pope ever were - before she has to remind herself that that shouldn’t mean anything. She can still grieve them in her own way.

“I talked to Pope,” Kiara blurts out, unable to contain herself any longer. Whatever it is they’ve been dancing around, for potentially much longer than she’d even realised, she doesn’t want to dance around it any longer. She wants to get to the point in the song where the couple pauses, stare at each other lovingly, share a soft kiss. And that certainly puts thoughts into her head-

“I don’t like him like that,” she says quickly, before JJ’s face can fall any further, before her thoughts can go any further, trying hard not to stare at his lips.

An array of expressions skip across JJ’s face before landing on annoyance.

“That’s really shitty, Kie.”

“What?” Out of everything she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t even close. But of course, unpredictability is JJ’s main character trait at this point.

“You kissed him,” JJ says, an edge in his voice that Kiara really doesn’t want to deal with right now. Not that he’s wrong.

“I know,” Kiara sighs, trying to stop the defensiveness welling up inside her because the last thing she wants right now is to fight with JJ. “I wasn’t thinking straight, I- I thought that was what I wanted. But… it wasn’t.”

She meets JJ’s eyes and holds his gaze until it wavers uncertainly. It’s dark now but somehow light still filters from the blue of his irises, ethereal and intimidating in the moonlight. Kiara moves closer.

“Kie…”

JJ’s whisper is so quiet she’s not even sure he spoke. She knows what he’s going to say, knows what he’s feeling, knows that the scenario will play out exactly how it did that morning if she doesn’t move now.

If she doesn’t kiss him.

Kiara takes another step forward, closes the gap between them and-

And JJ’s there first. Rough, chapped lips pressing insistently against hers and taking her utterly by surprise. Unpredictable, as always.

After the moment of surprise, Kiara responds with vigour, slipping her arms around JJ’s neck and pulling him in closer. She shudders as a hand curls into the fabric of her top and another tangles itself in her curls.

Kissing JJ is everything she’d remembered it to be after that one party when they were 13, and more. It’s rough and passionate, dangerous and worshipping all at once, it’s windswept, blonde hair grasped in her fingers and strong hands cupping her face, it’s JJ’s body pressed insistently against her’s, it’s the shiver of excitement as his hand slips up the back of her t-shirt.

They pull back as one, not by far, not by more than an inch, any more would seem unbearable. Kiara feels heady with the thrill of it and can’t stop the nervous giggle that bubbles up from her throat.

“Damn, Carrera,” JJ smirks, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Kiara kisses him, because she doesn’t want to hear whatever witty remark he’s going to make next. She kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. Until their lips are sore and bruised and JJ’s pressed against a palm tree and Kiara can’t understand why she hasn’t been doing this forever.

Kiara pulls back eventually, breathless. JJ doesn’t take it as a sign to stop however, moving from her lips to her jaw and then her neck and god Kiara’s legs feel weak.

“JJ,” Kiara pants, “Stop, JJ.”

He pulls back, eyes shuttering slightly, and Kiara takes the moment just to take in JJ Maybank stood before her, messed up hair, flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

“Don’t say it,” JJ mutters, just as Kiara says, “We probably should talk.”

JJ rolls his eyes and Kiara shoves at his shoulder.

“Look- I know that, well obviously, I um-,” Kiara flushes, feeling like a middle-school kid confessing her crush, and blurts out, “I really like you, JJ. Probably for a while now.”

JJ grins, and normally Kiara would have called it cocky but now- there’s an element of disbelief to it.

“Stop fucking smiling, weirdo,” she mutters, “This is the bit where you’re supposed to tell me whether or not you feel the same.”

He cocks his head to the side, a look of utter disbelief crossing his expression. “You’re kidding right? Have you just not noticed every time I’ve come on to you or flirted with you or, hell, even that one time I kissed you! Have I not yet made myself clear, Kie?”

And that sends Kiara reeling. “What? I thought- JJ, you’re a flirt, you do that with everyone.”

“Yeah but,” he steps closer, and Kiara breathes in sharply, “It was different with you.”

His words ghost over her face and Kiara positively hates that those five words from his mouth are enough to make her so weak. But it’s enough of an affirmation for her. She gives in and pulls him in again, presses her lips to his, softer this time.

When she pulls back, she asks, finally, “What was this morning about then?”

Because she’s not stupid, the look on his face had not been one of someone remembering something they needed to do, but rather one of someone having an internal crisis. JJ plasters on what Kiara can now identify as one of his fake smiles.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself about, Kie,” he grins, and Kiara’s ready to demand more when he continues, “I figured it out anyway. You- You’re… You’re worth it.”

Kiara smiles and, knowing full well JJ will ridicule her about it, leans in to kiss his cheek.

“Aww, Kiara Carrera,” JJ swoons, pulling a pouty face, “A true respectable lady.”

“Shut up,” she rolls her eyes, “Or I’ll begin to question why I ever confessed to liking you in the first place.”

“What? You’re telling me you have a crush on me, Kie,” JJ gasps mockingly, “Well darn it, I’m sorry, love, but I’ve already got far too many women...”

She kisses him again to shut him up, knowing full well the power she now holds over JJ’s freedom of speech.

*

The campfire’s burning bright and strong the next evening by the time Pope arrives. JJ and Kiara have been there for hours already, just talking as the sun went down. Or rather, JJ had been talking and Kie had been lying with her head in his lap, listening to the sound of his voice with the gentle rasp of ocean waves. Kiara’s pulled out her phone and put on her spotify playlist quietly in the background.

She moves away from JJ when she sees Pope approaching, purely because she knows how much that would hurt him. They’ll have to tell him at some point though. As soon as JJ sees Pope he’s out of his seat and running at him, crushing him in a bear hug that looks almost painful, and Kiara’s reminded of the fact that the two of them haven’t seen each other since that night. She ducks her head, trying not to intrude.

“You doing okay?” Pope murmurs.

“Me? Yeah, yeah I’m fine. What about you though? I don’t wanna know what you’ve been doing shut up in your bedroom all week, dude, but I’m sure you’ve enjoyed yourself,” JJ jokes.

She hears a groan from Pope and then he’s coming around the fire to sit next to her, shaking his head exasperatedly.

“Hey, Pope,” she smiles hopefully, praying that it’s not going to be awkward.

“Hey,” he smiles back, face illuminated by the glow of the embers, and she lets out a small sigh of relief.

JJ deposits himself on the other side of her, pulls out a pack of beer and immediately engages Pope in conversation as if nothing has changed. If Pope’s surprised, he doesn’t show it - if anything he looks fond and content as JJ rambles on about how good the waves have been that past week and how they desperately need to go out surfing. Kiara feels a sharp pang of belonging somewhere in her chest, something she’d been longing for that past week, and despite the feeling of something being missing, it’s the most normal anything has felt since John B and Sarah left.

Slowly, Kiara drifts off to the thought of her lost friends and the gentle lull of Pope and JJ’s conversation, knowing she cannot let these two people go, no matter what.

*

She’s woken an indefinite amount of time later to a sharp laugh and a crick in her neck. It takes her a moment to realise her head is resting on JJ’s shoulder, from the sharp tang of sea salt and smoke, and that somebody has wrapped a blanket around her - probably Pope, her brain supplies fuzzily, JJ would never come that prepared.

“Of course I’m not angry, JJ,” Pope’s saying, and from the cautious tone in his voice Kie knows she can’t interrupt the conversation now.

“Alright- I just didn’t want you to think… I don’t know. I didn’t want to hurt you, Pope, you know that, right?” JJ’s voice is uncharacteristically sincere.

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry-”

“You don’t have to apologise, Jesus JJ.”

“I know. But I still feel like I should.”

“That’s just childish. Do you really feel sorry for loving her?” That’s when Kiara belatedly realizes they’re talking about her. She feels JJ’s body tense beneath her.

“I never said anything about love,” he whispers. Kiara’s pretty sure he’s trying to hide the pain in his voice but she can still feel the flutter of shaky breath in her hair and still hear his heart thudding in his chest.

“You didn’t have to, JJ. It’s alright - it’s pretty obvious anyway.”

“No, I-”

“JJ, it’s fine. I’m not gonna apologise, so neither are you okay?”

“Okay.”

JJ shifts and Kiara can’t help but lift her head, blinking up at two darkened blue eyes and flushed cheeks from the fire.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Pope grins.

“You really are the life of the party, aren’t you, Kie?” JJ jokes, and just like that the previous conversation is washed away with the waves.

“Shut up,” Kiara mutters, shoving JJ back a little and stretching her arms above her head.

“It’s alright, you probably needed it. Teenagers require at least eight hours of sleep at night.”

“Yeah, and you can’t have been getting that, what with all we’ve been up to,” JJ smirks crudely, sending an over-exaggerated wink in Pope’s direction.

“Oh shove off, JJ,” Kiara mutters, because they’d done nothing of the sort yet and just the thought is making her cheeks flush. “He’s kidding,” she directs at Pope.

“I really didn’t wanna know,” Pope remarks dryly, swigging the last of his beer. The song changes on Kie’s playlist to an upbeat one and JJ leaps to his feet, knocking Kiara almost completely off the log they were sat on and spilling both their beers.

“Dance with me,” he grins, wiggling a hand in her face until she bats it away.

“I don’t think...” Kiara pauses, sending a cautionary glance in Pope’s direction. He grins, clearly already half-drunk and waves a hand at them.

“No, go on, I don’t care.”

So Kiara takes JJ’s hand. She lets him spin her round and round the fire until she feels like throwing up and Pope’s shouting at them that he doesn’t want either of them to end up critically injured. She swings her hips sensually, loving the way JJ’s cheeks darken and he pulls her closer. Dancing has always been about having fun for her, whether it was with Sarah at Kook parties and Sarah wanted that cute boy in the corner to look at them or at the Wreck with her Pogues and she was trying to out-dance JJ and his racy dance moves. Now it’s about letting go. Forgetting what’s happened in the past week and just revelling in the feel of the boy in front of her and his hands in her’s and the sound his laughter makes when she’s practically chest to chest with him. JJ ducks his head, and Kiara knows that he’s going to kiss her, but she really doesn’t want to expose Pope to anymore PDA today so she picks him up over her shoulder.

Or rather she tries to. The two of them end up collapsing to the sand, gasping with laughter and she can hear Pope laughing with them.

“What were you even trying to do, Kie?!” JJ laughs, rolling off her chest and sending her a grin that makes her stomach do somersaults.

“Lift you over my shoulder!” Kiara pouts.

“You barely managed to get him two centimetres off the ground,” Pope chuckles. The pair of them clamber to their feet and sit back down beside him, brushing the sand off their clothes.

“It’s not my fault JJ weighs as much as an elephant.”

“Well it’s not my fault you’ve got no muscle on your little twig arms!”

“Oh my god,” Pope mutters, and Kie looks up to see him frowning in consternation.

“What?”

“I thought it was bad before when you guys argued like a married couple, it’s gonna be twice as bad now,” he groans.

“Hey, what the hell, dude, we do not argue like a married couple!” JJ protests.

“JJ, we all know you did, it drove everyone insane,” Pope smirks, but then his gaze drops to his beer and his smile falters slightly, “God, I wish John B were here to see this.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, we thought you were never gonna get your shit together.”

Kiara frowns. It must have been so obvious to everyone but herself how head over heels they were for each other, they must have wasted so much time. She glances up at JJ, watches the fire dance in the reflection of those blue eyes.

“Guess we did though, huh?” She asks softly, the words ghosting across his cheek. JJ tilts his head, lips twitching into a smile.

“What? Get our shit together?” JJ shakes his head. “Nah, we’re still pretty far off from that, Kie.”

He smirks and ducks down to kiss her, and this time when his lips meet hers, she doesn’t protest; after all, they have lost time to make up for.