Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts Tuesday morning. 

She arrives at Poguelandia, ready for another day, only to find the place void of her friends. It’s odd. She got there late and Pope and Cleo had promised to be the first ones the day before. But maybe something had come up. Pope, especially, seems to be always busy. If it isn't Poguelandia and it isn't school, it’s his parents needing a hand. So yeah, it isn’t weird, not at first. 

What follows, though—that is another story.

Kiara keeps herself busy through the morning. By the time the clock hits 1 p.m., she realizes she’s been waiting for Sarah to text her about lunch, or waiting for one of the Pogues to arrive. But lunch hour comes and goes, and —nothing.

It still isn’t weird. Pogues are hardly known for sticking to plans. They take days off whenever they want. It’s one of the benefits of being your own boss and all.

Although usually when they don’t show up, they drop a message in the group chat.

Nothing today though. Not a word.

By mid-afternoon, she gives in and sends a message:

“who is coming to Poguelandia today?” No one replies.

By 5 p.m., Kiara is more than ready to clock out, but she can’t leave. The bar manager has a day off and she needs to leave one of the Pogues in charge. It’s already 6 p.m. when she finally spots Pope’s car pulling into the lot. She hurries to say goodbye to the bar staff and walks outside. She isn’t surprised when she sees Cleo stepping out of the car.

No, she’s surprised by Cleo herself.

Kiara isn’t the most observant person. She’s also not the most aware. That’s Sarah. Sarah is the one who takes the crown for being able to pick up on the tiniest shifts in other people’s moods. She has a weird way of knowing what someone is feeling before that person figures it out themselves. But Kiara? She’s not the kind of person who immediately knows when the vibes are off or whatever. Well, she once was, but it was with one single person. The person she could read like a book, even from afar, even when apart. The person she won’t get to see again.

Other people though? Cleo Anderson especially? Nope. She cannot read Cleo Anderson. She just can’t.

But this?

She doesn’t need to be Sarah to immediately know something is off .

The way Cleo moves toward her—slow, deliberate, as if Kiara that might shatter at any moment—freaks her out. And her eyes, the look on her face… Kiara knows that look. It’s the look people gave her when JJ died. Cleo used to give her that look all the time. The look that says you poor thing. You poor, sad Kie.

She hasn’t seen that look in a long time. But here it is, back again. Heavy and suffocating.

Just like that, one Tuesday afternoon, the look comes back.

What the fuck?

— Hi — Cleo says, not quite meeting her gaze, like she just can’t stand to look Kiara in the eyes. 

— Hi… I was starting to think no one was coming. —

The words sound brittle even to herself.

And Cleo just stares at her with her big and pitying eyes, saying nothing. Saying absolutely nothing. 

— Where were you, anyway? — Kiara asks, her tone a little sharper than she intends. Why isn’t Cleo replying? — Is Pope coming today? —

Cleo stares at her some more. She definitely has a look. It’s so obvious Kiara can’t help but acknowledge it. It’s as if Cleo isn’t even trying to hide it, or as if the pity is just too much—so much pity—that she can’t hide it. Kiara doesn’t know what’s better or what’s worse. 

She also doesn’t know what she has done to deserve Cleo’s pity. 

She’s happy again, fucking finally. She’s working hard, she has a great relationship with her parents, and things with Rafe are going just well .

And then she thinks about the conversation she had with Sarah the day before.

That’s it , she thinks. Sarah must have told Cleo—and probably Pope and John B, too—about what she said. About the guilt she admitted to still feeling. That has to be it. She can’t see Sarah gossiping about her behind her back, but then again, the Pogues sometimes treat her like a group project. If Kiara spiraled, then they all magically find out, and they all try to fix her in their own ways.

That’s it, right?

Cleo must notice Kiara freaking out because she finally speaks.

— Sorry, girl. Providers kept me busy all day. Pope’s coming later. Our apartment’s electricity went out, and he had to deal with the landlord. —

Oh. So that’s it.

Maybe she misread the look on Cleo’s face. Or maybe there was a look, but it wasn’t pity. And even if it was pity, it likely has more to do with JJ’s second death anniversary creeping closer.

Still, the weirdness doesn’t end there.

The following days are exactly the same. Every morning, she arrives at Poguelandia to find her friends absent. The days stretch out with no sign of them. She sends messages and memes to their group chat, but only Cleo or Pope reply—and even then, it is just the occasional short message.

Sarah and John B are completely MIA. Sarah, who usually bombards her with texts and cringy memes, hasn’t been online since Monday evening. 

And as much as Kiara tries to convince herself otherwise—to tell herself it’s all in her head—the doubt persists. It clings to her like a storm cloud, heavy and inescapable.  It tastes like doom.

///

By Saturday, her patience ends.

She calls Sarah. Lets the phone ring until the call goes to voicemail, then she calls again. She calls again. And again. Four times, until the embarrassment is too much. Then, she switches tactics and decides to shoot John B a message.

John B is her best shot. He’s the weak link, and if they are ignoring her—God, she hopes they fucking aren’t—then he will be the one to crack.

"John B! Can I come over today? I’m missing my godson and I’m missing you guys :("

It’s shameless, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Her phone vibrates less than ten minutes later.

"Sorry, Kie. Jackson’s sick :( We’re quarantining"

And seconds later, John B sends another message to their group chat.

"Pogue hangout canceled until further notice. Jackson is sick :("

Kiara has no choice but to swallow the story. She tells herself it’s reasonable, believable. She hopes it is the end of the weirdness.

But when she tries reaching out to Cleo and Pope, suggesting the three of them hang out, they leave her on read.

////

Another week and a half drags by without a single glimpse of her friends.

Kiara is done .

Sarah? Fallen off the face of the Earth. John B? Now claiming Jackson is fine, but he and Sarah have caught something instead. Cleo and Pope? Gone on a sudden vacation to celebrate Pope finishing finals—except days later, Candace comments about spotting Pope buying clothes in the Outer Banks Mall.

Kiara confronts him about it when he finally dignifies Poguelandia with his presence. Pope brushes it off. “ Oh yeah, it was a one-day vacation. Forgot to tell you. ”

And the next day, when she goes to Heyward’s to buy something, he mentions Sarah, Cleo, John B, and Pope coming in earlier that day. All of them.

That’s it. The final straw.

It isn’t just suspicion anymore—it’s a fucking confirmation. They are ignoring her.

The question isn’t if but why .

She has gone over the why a hundred times. Why the fuck are they ignoring her?

It’s driving her insane. Pogues don’t keep secrets from each other. That is their number one rule, the foundation of everything. So why does it feel like her friends are hiding something huge from her?

By Thursday evening, Kiara can’t take it anymore.

Over dinner, the words spill out before she even realizes what she’s saying.

— I think the Pogues are ignoring me —

Rafe blinks, confused. — What do you mean? Those Pogues of yours adore you — he says simply. No mockery, no disdain like there used to be, just stating a fact.

The sky is blue. Water is wet. Kiara’s friends would move mountains for her.

But right now? It doesn’t feel like it. 

The concern must show on her face because Rafe’s expression softens. He leans back, thinking, before letting out a sigh.

— Do you want me to ask John B tomorrow? He’s coming with me to meet some investors. —

— Please —

It is settled. Rafe will talk to John B, and Kiara will finally know what the fuck is going on. 

Rafe is like his sister in that way. He notices stuff. He pays attention to every detail. If something is wrong, he will find out.

///

Rafe leaves early next morning, kissing her goodbye and promising to get to the bottom of whatever is happening with the Pogues. Kiara spends the day at ease, knowing he’ll handle it. That’s what Rafe does. He solves her problems for her.

By the time she comes home, she is almost giddy with anticipation. Surely, everything will be alright now.

The moment she steps into the house and sees Rafe, her excitement dies. He is sitting at the top of the stairs of the back porch, his back to her. There is something in the way he sits that sends a shiver down her spine.

Kiara pushes the door open loudly, hoping to draw his attention. He doesn’t move.

— Rafe? — He hears her—she knows he does—but he remains still, staring out at the horizon. 

She sits down beside him, close enough that their arms brush. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t even look at her either.

— Are you okay? — she asks, her voice softer now, not wanting to make whatever it’s wrong worse for him.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. When he finally turns to her, his eyes catch the colors of the sunset, shades of amber reflected in blue. 

His expression is hard to read—until it isn’t.

She sees it.

Fear. 

Dread. 

Pure raw fear .

— I talked to John B — 

— Okay — Kiara leans, searching his face. — What did he say? —

Rafe hesitates, his jaw tightening. — Everything’s okay. They were busy. It was nothing —

Kiara lets out a dry and cold laugh. She knows Rafe too well to fall for that. He is clearly shaken, and her friends have been acting far too weird for her to accept this excuse. Does he really want her to believe everything is fine?

— It’s true, Kie. — He tries to hold her gaze, but fails. — They’ve been dealing with their own shit. It’s got nothing to do with you. —

— Then why have they been ignoring my calls? My texts? Why does it feel like… like...—  

Like they don’t want to see me.

Rafe sighs, dragging a hand through his blond hair. — Why don’t you ask them tomorrow? — he says, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. Pleading for her to just drop it — John B said Sarah wants to hang out. They were supposed to message you about it —

That stops her short. Her irritation melts as she pulls out her phone. Sure enough, there is a message in the group chat from Pope.

"Tomorrow at our place!!"

John B: 

Sarah Jackson and I will be there

Pope: 

Kie, you coming right?

Kiara’s lips twitch into a small smile as she quickly types back:

coming :)

— Thank you — She leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Rafe’s cheek. — I’ll talk to them tomorrow —

Rafe nods, but he still doesn’t meet her eyes. His gaze drifts back to the horizon, to the sea that stretches out endlessly before them. 

The shadow of doom that has been following Kiara around seems to have caught up with him.

— You sure you are alright? — 

He doesn’t answer right away. And when he finally speaks, his voice is low and anxious and pleading .

— You know I’d do anything for you, right? —

— Yes — 

Because she does know. She knew it when he risked his life just so she could complete her vengeance quest. She knew it when he was ready to die just to save her. She knew it when he fought against sheriffs and insurance companies and inheritance lawyers just so she could be happy. And when that didn’t make her happy, he fought against her, for her.  She knows.

But this feels different.

— You know what that means, Kie? You should know. It’s not a damn secret —

She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

You know what that means?

She knows.

Rafe turns to her then, finally meeting her gaze. And he just looks so, so afraid.

— You know I love you? You should know. It’s not a fucking secret — 

A confession wrapped in barbed wire.

— I know —

Because she knows.

She just wishes she didn’t.

////

It’s Saturday afternoon when Kiara arrives at Pope's and Cleo’s apartment.

From her spot in the parking lot, she spots her friends gathered on the porch. John B is carrying Jackson, Sarah is pacing around with visible desperation, and Pope says something that makes John B shake his head.

Kiara is definitely going insane , because even this far away, she thinks she notices something tense about the group. 

She grabs her bag and starts walking toward them, but before she can even get halfway there, Sarah notices her. 

In an instant, Sarah’s face lights up, and she practically leaps off the porch, sprinting toward Kiara as if her life depends on it. 

— Kie! You are here!  —  

Sarah crashes into her and hugs her way too tightly, as if she’s afraid Kiara might disappear if she lets go. And her voice is bright but also edged with something Kiara cannot quite place. 

Even if Sarah Cameron is synonymous with emotional , this is too emotional. They haven’t seen each other for two weeks, not two fucking years.

— Yeah, I’m here. You can let go now. —

Sarah pulls back but still doesn’t let go completely. 

— I missed you so much. So, so much. It 's been forever —

— It’s been two weeks, Sarah —  Kiara corrects, and she lets the bitterness taint her words, because she’s kinda angry and doesn’t see a reason to hide it — Not like I was unreachable —

Sarah’s grin falters. She quickly recovers, but Kiara doesn’t miss the way her eyes stop shining. It’s almost as if she had put on a mask, and the mask had slipped for a split second. 

— I know, I know, don’t hate me. Please? —

From a balcony on the second floor, Kiara sees Cleo. She’s waving at them.

— Lunch’s almost ready! Don’t keep me waiting! —

/////.

It's been awkward. She can tell her friends are pretending to be chill, but they are in urgent need of acting classes. John B avoided her gaze during lunch. Cleo is awfully quiet. Pope and Sarah exchange glances, forgetting Kiara can see them being weird. Now the girls are out on the balcony while the boys decide to stay inside. They sit awkwardly with drinks in hand. 

For some damn reason, Sarah looks painfully guilty .

 — So, Kie… how’ve you been? —

Kiara’s eyes narrow.  —- You mean since you all started acting weird and ignoring me? Oh, just great. —-

Sarah’s smile drops yet again, and she quickly takes a sip of her drink to cover it. Cleo’s gaze dart to Sarah before landing back on Kiara, her expression carefully neutral.

 — I’m sorry — Sarah explains, her tone shy and laced with guilt. — Life’s been… complicated —

— Yeah, so complicated you couldn’t return a single call? — Kiara shoots back. — Come on, Sarah. What’s going on? Are you going to tell me why the fuck you’ve been ignoring me for almost three weeks?  —

— Nothing is going on! — Sarah says quickly, too quickly. — We just had a few stressful weeks. First Jackson was sick with a fever, and I didn’t want to leave him alone. Then it was John B and then me. And on top of all that, my phone decided to die, and it’s been in the repair shop ever since —

 — And you didn’t buy a new one? —

— You’re always telling us how phones and batteries are bad for the planet. I was trying not to be a consumerist for once! —

— I’ll believe you because I love you — 

She’s lying, of course. She doesn’t believe shit. But she has been feeling isolated for two weeks and she doesn’t want to feel isolated from her friends anymore. So she decides to be the bigger person and simply lets it go. 

After they catch up for a while, Kiara decides to change the subject.

She sets her drink down and takes a deep breath. She doesn’t want to talk about this, but she needs to talk about it. If she doesn’t, she may drown. 

— I need some girl advice. Sarah…  — Kiara begins, her tone mocking — It’s about your brother. So if you want to cover your ears… —

— Oh, God. What did he do? —

Kiara hesitates, because she sucks at communicating her feelings, and it’s never easy to discuss her relationship with Rafe Cameron. But she needs to tell someone this, and she thinks her friends may understand. No, scratch that, she thinks they may be able to help her understand what she’s feeling. She cannot figure this out on her own. 

— Rafe… Rafe told me that he loves me —

It makes both girls freeze. They stare at her with pure shock drawn on their faces for a few long seconds.

Eventually, Cleo shakes her head, letting out a low whistle.

— Well, damn. —

Sarah doesn’t say anything, but her expression betrays her. Kiara doesn’t know how to read people, so she doesn’t know how to interpret the look on Sarah’s eyes, but anyone else would have been able to see the expression for what it was. 

Anger.

— When… When did he say this? —  Sarah eventually asks.

— Yesterday. —

Sarah’s grip on her glass tightens, as if trying to hold herself back. — He told you this... yesterday? —

— Yes, yesterday… Why? — Why would the date matter?

— No reason… And what did you say? —

Kiara groans, rubbing her temples, mortified by the memory of her reaction. — I panicked. He said, ‘You know I love you?’ and I said… ‘I know.’ —

Cleo lets out a snort and laughs, but Sarah doesn’t seem to find it funny. Instead, she looks horrified.

— You know? Kie, you are helpless. —

— I know! — Kiara throws her hands up, exasperated. — I just… I didn’t know what to say. We’ve only been dating for five months. Of course I care about him. — She pauses, struggling to find the right words. — But love? That’s big. And complicated. And I… — 

— You what? — 

— Forget it. I said nothing. —

She’s suddenly not feeling so brave about sharing her feelings. 

What was she thinking? They won’t understand. They will just freak out and make her freak out even more. 

Sarah and Cleo exchange a quick look. Kiara misses the way Sarah’s jaw tightens, her nails digging into her palm. For a moment, it seems like they’re going to press her, but then Sarah forces a small, nervous smile and reaches over to squeeze Kiara’s hand.

— You don’t have to figure out anything right away — 

Sarah retreats shortly after, inside to where John B is sitting. From the balcony, Kiara can’t hear their conversation, but she sees the way Sarah visibly panics . 

John B reacts badly to whatever Sarah is saying. His expression hardens. He swallows, hands on his hair as his gaze lands on Kiara for a split second before he looks away.

Cleo’s voice forces her to look away from the couple. 

— What’s really going on, Kie? — 

— What do you mean? —

— I mean, you don’t seem happy about Rafe saying he loves you. There something you’re not telling us? —

And it’s like she’s saying I fucking caught you .

— It’s complicated, Cleo. You know how messy things were between us —

— Yeah, but love is not complicated. That’s bullshit people say. Love’ a simple yes or no — Cleo presses, her eyes narrowing. — So honest with me, girl. Do you love him? Yes or no? —

Kiara opens her mouth to respond, but the words die on her tongue. How can she put what she feels into words? She can’t. She can’t even put it into thoughts. It is complicated. It is so fucking complicated.

— I don’t know, Cleo. I really don’t. —

Cleo is unconvinced, but she leaves her alone. And she too retreats inside the apartment. She joins John B’s and Sarah’s conversation. There’s an air of secrecy in the way they talk. The same weirdness as before. 

Kiara could follow her friends inside, but she knows they will stop gossiping as soon as she stands inside the room, and she’s so tired of them being this way.

So, so tired of not understanding what the fuck is going on. 

///

The next day, Kiara’s car decides to die.

She’s driving to work and the car just decides to fucking die. 

She is already having such a shitty week —weeks— and her car dying is like a slap to the face. Just when things couldn't get worse, they got worse.

So fucking tired.

She slams the car door shut in frustration and takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Because if she wanted, she could have a mental breakdown right here and now. 

She stands on the paved road for a moment, weighing her options. The walk to Poguelandia isn’t impossible, but it’s long enough to make her late for her shift, and the idea of walking under the heat makes her want to scream. 

So she decides to send a message to John B.

“Car broke down. Near the Chateau. Any chance you or Sarah are home? Need a ride.”

The reply comes almost instantly.

“not home sorry”

“i’ll have one of the employees pick you up.“

“wait there don’t move “

Kiara sighs in relief, but she’s not too happy over the idea of having to wait out there. And the Chateau is just down the road. John B told her not to move, but she doesn’t see any issue with waiting far away from the wilderness. She’s being safe, in fact. By the road a car could run her over. So she heads to the Chateau, cursing the universe for the horrible weeks she has been having. 

Once she gets there, she sees it. 

The glow of the TV, visible through the windows.

Not home , yet the TV is on. Maybe they’d forgotten to turn it off?

Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, Kiara makes her way to the front door. She pauses for a second, half expecting someone to come and stop her, but the house remains eerily quiet except for the faint sound of the TV. 

She uses her key. With a click, the door swings open.

— Just waiting inside — she mutters under her breath, as if needing to explain herself to the Chateau. 

A nature documentary plays on the television, the narrator’s soothing voice describing the migratory patterns of a sea turtle species. 

It’s weird, because Kiara has never been good at reading people, or reading spaces. She cannot tell when the vibes are off. But she steps into the house, and she knows.

She knows. 

Something is off.

She fights against the instincts telling her to fucking leave as moves deeper into the house. The open doorway to the guest room looms ahead, and that’s when she sees it—movement. 

A figure.

A person.

Her breath hitches.

For a split second, she thinks it might be John B, but the way the person stands is wrong . 

The wrong height. 

The wrong wild blond hair.

It takes her a while to understand what’s going on.

To register who is standing in front of her.

He notices her. Slowly, agonizingly, he turns to face her. 

When their eyes meet, the world ends and starts right over.

Those blue eyes—so vivid, so unmistakably his—lock onto hers. 

And she sees him.

She sees him.

— JJ? —

///

JJ Maybank stepped back into the Outer Banks two years after everyone thought he died, driven by one purpose: to get to her. To get to Kiara. Because that’s how it had always been. JJ and Kiara, together. As best friends, as something else, as boyfriend and girlfriend, as anything, but together.

He knows he needs to go to her. But as he drives around the Cut in Barracuda Mike’s car—a car he hadn’t stolen, by the way, he just borrowed it without asking—he realizes something terrifying . 

He isn’t sure where to start. 

The world didn’t stop after he “died”, and when he finally reaches Poguelandia, his stomach drops. 

The place is gone.

Poguelandia is gone.

Instead, there’s a construction site. A dozen unfinished wooden houses stand next to each other. Construction crews move around like they have no clue—or no care—that this land used to be sacred. 

He knows they’d lost it. But a part of him had hoped that the Pogues had found a way to save it. That since miracles existed, then surely a miracle would save Poguelandia. If he could make it back, their home would survive.

But the miracle he’d imagined hadn’t happened. 

JJ swallows hard and shoves his hands into his pockets, his fingers curling into fists. His friends aren’t here. 

Where are they? Where can he even begin to look for them now?

The rational thing to do would be to drive back to Mike and get more answers, but the thought makes him cringe. JJ doesn’t want to find out about anything from Mike. He isn’t sure why, but it feels wrong. JJ Maybank has always been messed up in the head. Even before the treasure hunts, the illegal travels abroad, and the dying, he’d been a mess. His way of doing things rarely made sense to anyone else. It was impulsive and self-destructive. But it was his. And this? 

This is something he needs to do alone.

The thought of the Chateau crosses his mind for an instant. But then reality hits him. The Chateau is gone too. It's long gone.

Where can he go? Where can he find her?

His next decision is reckless. Plain stupid. But if there is one thing JJ Maybank excels at, it’s making stupid decisions and somehow surviving them.

He drives through the Cut, past the streets that had been his playground, and then further, until he finds himself in Figure Eight. Kook territory . He still hates it, but if venturing into this territory is what it takes to see her, then so be it. 

When he finally pulls up to the Carrera residence, he’s feeling dazed. 

Nostalgia hits him like a truck. He can see himself as a teenager, walking these very same streets. Back then, he’d park around the corner, just out of sight, staring at her window. A grin spread across his face as she climbed out and ran . 

Back then, he would have never knocked on the door. 

His place was in the shadows, waiting to take her away from a world that never understood her. Waiting to be her escape.

But today is different.

Today, he knocks.

Once.

Twice.

Three times. Four times. Five times.

He’s ready to knock for the sixth time when the door finally swings open. 

It isn’t her.

Instead, JJ is face to face with Anna Carrera.

His stomach sinks. Of all the people to answer the door, it has to be Anna Carrera the one who welcomes him back. 

Anna’s expression shifts as recognition dawns on her face.

For a moment, she just stares at him, her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes wide with disbelief.

JJ doesn’t move, he doesn't speak. He can’t. The weight of her gaze pins him in place, and for the first time in a long time, he feels truly exposed.

Anna blinks, trying to make sense of the vision before her. 

She knows it’s him. Even if she hadn’t seen that face in nearly two years, even if he’s a little older now, she could still recognize him in an instant. Still, as undeniable as it is, she gasps, her breath hitching as she steps back. Terror flashes through her.

Because the boy she once knew was gone. Dead. Buried in a country thousands of miles away. 

JJ Maybank is dead.

And yet, JJ Maybank is standing at her front door.

— Hi, Mrs. Carrera. I…—

— JJ? — 

Saying his name feels like invoking a ghost, as if uttering it might cause him to vanish into the air and confirm she’s finally lost her mind. Maybe after this she will head to the hospital and get checked for early dementia.

But JJ doesn’t disappear.

— Yup. — His voice trembles — That’s me. JJ —

— But you are… you were… —

— Dead? — 

Anna just nods numbly. 

Dead.

Gone.

Never coming back. 

How the hell was he back?

— I know this is weird. And you probably have a lot of questions. That’s understandable — JJ says, his voice faltering. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck as he searches for the right words. — I’ll explain. I swear. But, I was wondering if… can I see Kie? —

He tries to sound composed, but the second her name leaves his lips, his voice cracks . 

Anna tries to speak, but no words come out. Her eyes dart back toward the interior of the house. For one brief moment, hope flickers in JJ’s chest. Maybe Kiara’s inside, maybe he’s about to see her. But then Anna turns back to him, and her expression is heavy with something he doesn’t recognize. Sadness? Relief? Regret? All at once?

— Mike! Mike, come here. Please, come now! — 

JJ flinches. Anna's gaze softens.

— Do you… do you want to come inside, JJ? —

He nods, words failing him, and Anna steps aside, holding the door open for him to enter. JJ moves past her awkwardly. He feels out of place, like he’s trespassing, even though she invited him in.

The Carrera house hasn’t changed much. He’s been here before—always sneaking in, always staying out of sight. This is the first time Anna Carrera has invited him in. 

It’s weird.

As he studies the Carrera’s living room, he hears footsteps approaching.

— Anna, did you call me? — 

JJ freezes.

Mike Carrera takes some time to process the scene. He looks over to his wife, searching for an explanation.  — Anna? Anna? Is this… Anna, what is going on? What is going on? — 

Anna just nods, as if saying, yes, he’s real. 

Yes, you are not going crazy, I see him too. 

JJ sees Mike Carrera and he expects anger, or maybe confusion, but what he doesn’t expect is the vulnerable emotion that crosses Mike’s face. It makes him stay still and want to run away at the same time.

Mike crosses the room in quick long strides. Before JJ can react, he’s pulled into a hug. He stands stiff. Shocked doesn’t even begin to explain how he’s feeling. And then Anna steps in, wrapping her arms around him as well.

The Carreras are hugging him . 

He had come to their house fully expecting to be turned away, and now they are… hugging him?

They continue holding him for a while until Mike finally pulls back. His eyes are glassy , as if he might cry at any second. He is talking to JJ, but JJ’s head spins. Then Mike retreats to the kitchen, his phone already in hand. 

JJ hears fragments of a conversation.

— Now. Right now. You need to come now . —

Anna stays beside him. She doesn’t speak, but her worried gaze follows his every move. He wants to say something, tell her thank you for not turning him away, ask her if she knows who Mike is talking to on the phone, but the words won’t come.

The silence stretches until it’s broken by the distant hum of an engine. 

He would recognize that sound anywhere.

Mike steps outside as the a pulls up. JJ can’t see who’s driving, but he doesn’t need to. He already knows. 

Two years.

Two fucking years.

The two years sink deep into his chest. They eat him from the inside. He can feel his own heart breaking.

He catches Anna’s concerned look. She’s talking to him.

Are you alright, JJ?

But JJ slips away and travels back to 2017.

He remembers a certain evening. The Pogues were about to start high school. They had gathered at the docks, drinking cheap beer in the Pogue as they fantasized about what high school would be like. John B got drunk fast, as any other 14 year old would. He stood up, shouting to the sky, rambling about the importance of Pogues for Life . He stumbled, falling against the slippery floor of the Pogue, and then he fell into the dark and cold water beneath them. 

JJ had been scared other times in his life, plenty of times in fact, but he had never felt the kind of fear he experienced when he saw John B disappear in the water.

He remembered how the three of them had desperately tried to go after him, only for John B to emerge immediately after, laughing his head off. 

You were scared for me? He had mocked them. JJ was angry at him. 

He was allowed to make stupid mistakes and risk his life over nothing. His friends weren’t. 

You are an idiot . He had told John B. He didn’t tell him how seeing him disappear in the water had been the most terrifying moment of his life until then.

How the thought of never seeing his friend again had almost ruined his short life in an instant. 

Now he’s back at the Carrera’s living room. And he’s thinking about that moment, about what a life without John B meant for him.

John B and JJ, brothers forever. 

JJ stands in the doorway and John B is already out of the Twinkie, walking towards the house. The confusion in his face dissolves into pure heartbreak when he spots him. 

He had seen John B cry countless times before. John B wore his heart on his sleeve. He cried whenever he wanted and he never tried to hide it. But this? He had never seen John B cry like this . 

He drops to his knees, John B drops to his knees against the hot asphalt, and he looks like he’s having a panic attack as he says JJ’s name.

— JJ? — He asks over and over again. It’s broken and vulnerable and desperate. He says JJ’s name and it’s a confession to his pain. 

Grief. Sadness. Anger. Distress. 

JJ. JJ. JJ. JJ.

Anna and Mike nod.

Y es, it’s JJ. Yes, we checked.

John B manages to get up, holding his chest, like trying to hold his heart together, the same heart that’s falling apart, and he runs to him. 

JJ meets him halfway there. 

He’s real . Both think to themselves.

It’s real, and they are real, and it doesn’t make any sense, it shouldn’t be real, but it is.

John B cries, hard, the weight of two years of grief crashing down all at once. He cries and cries and then cries some more. 

It’s real. He’s there. He’s real.

The brown-haired boy is gripping JJ like an anchor, his arms wrapped so tight around him that JJ winces and laughs.

— Man… I need… to breathe —  

It has the opposite effect. Hearing JJ laugh causes John B to hold onto him more tightly. He had dreamed about that laugh. The laugh he thought he would never get to hear anymore. The laugh that plagued his dreams. His wild, beautiful laughter. 

JJ 's laugh. 

After what seems hours, John B finally lets him go. He is still looking at him as he makes his way to Mike, and they hold a short conversation while both staring at JJ. John B hugs the Carreras, and then makes his way back. 

He doesn’t want to be apart from JJ. He clings to him, an arm sling around his shoulders as they make their way to the Twinkie. From a distance, they might look like any other pair of friends. No one would guess that one of them had clawed his way back from death.

Inside the car, John B is still crying, his quiet sobs filling the small space, the sound breaking JJ’s heart in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

— I don’t understand —  John B finally chokes out, his voice trembling, his face wet with tears.

How is it possible?

— I’ll explain — 

John B nods, wiping at his face, and turns the key. The Twinkie sputters to life.

JJ glances out the window, watching the world blur. He remembers the moments from earlier.

— I went to Poguelandia…. It’s really gone — He says.

John B’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. His jaw clenches, his eyes flicking briefly to JJ before returning to the road. Guilt and sadness twist together in his chest, and he cannot stop himself from picturing it—JJ walking through the Cut, confused, seeing Poguelandia gone. 

— We tried to save it. We really did. But the bank sold it to developers before we even had a chance to fight. —

JJ nods. He’d already seen it with his own eyes. But hearing it from John B somehow makes it hit harder.

Especially since it is all his fault.

Don’t go there, JJ.

Questions itch at him—questions about the others, about what had happened while he was gone—but he isn’t ready for more bad news. Not while he is still dizzy and disoriented. He needs to be on solid ground for that. Preferably near a toilet where he can puke once things get too heavy.

So instead, he settles for the most practical question.

— Where are we going? —

A wide and pure grin spreads across his friend’s face. It’s a stark contrast to the sobbing John B from just minutes back. 

— We’re going home. —

JJ tries to mirror his friend’s excitement, but he feels frustrated. Home? The word feels foreign, unknown. Home wasn’t a place. Not for him.

For John B, though, home had always been the Chateau.

The Twinkie comes to a halt in front of a house. JJ blinks. 

It’s the Chateau. 

It isn’t, of course, but it’s so similar he has to look up and demand an answer with his confused eyes.

— We couldn’t get back the old land, it was already sold.  But we found this place and we decided to rebuild it —

The new Chateau is exactly like the former, but better. It is larger, much larger. The paint is fresh. The structure looks sturdy, not put together by years of cheap fixes. The front and back porches are expansive. And the yard is scattered with signs of life: a small slide, a kiddie pool, a set of toddler swings. 

It is, without a doubt, John B’s home.

They climb out of the Twinkie, and John B immediately throws an arm around JJ, his grip firm. The contact is instinctive, almost desperate. Even though he had confirmed JJ is really there , there was still fear—what if he vanishes? What if he lets go and JJ disappears again?

John B leads him inside. The interior of the house is big but warm. Open concept with the living room and dining room in the same space. Toys litter every corner—bright plastic cars, stuffed animals, and building blocks. 

The walls are covered in photos.

JJ’s eyes land on the nearest photo. It is a hospital photo. Sarah lays in a bed, holding a tiny newborn in her arms. John B is beside her, his eyes red from crying for seemingly hours. Pope and Cleo with them, smiling proudly.

— That’s our son, — John B says. A son. They had a son. 

JJ moves to the next photos: John B and a heavily pregnant Sarah sitting on a picnic blanket by the beach, Sarah’s face glowing. The same baby from the hospital photo, older now, splashing in the kiddie pool. Playing in the sand. Wearing a pirate Halloween costume. 

There’s also an old shot of Big John with a tiny John B in the old Chateau. JJ spots pictures of Cleo and Pope, sometimes alone, sometimes with the family. There’s even one of Anna and Mike Carrera holding John B and Sarah’s son. And there’s a photo of Rafe standing next to his nephew, actually smiling.

It takes a while before JJ finally finds her.

The picture is from what looks like the baby’s first birthday party. Blue balloons float in the background, and a turtle-themed cake sits center stage. Kiara is on the floor, her curls swept into a bun, her attention entirely on the baby beside her. The toddler stares at the cake with wide-eyed wonder, but JJ’s gaze is fixed on her. She’s smiling at the boy as if he’s her entire world, completely unaware of the camera capturing the moment.

His Kie.

JJ’s hand trembles slightly as he holds the photo. The world around him fades, and for a moment, it’s just him and the image of her. 

He doesn’t notice when John B reenters the room, doesn’t see the way his friend’s expression shifts from joy to doubt as he notices JJ holding the photo.

— I just called the guys. They’re on their way. — John B says. 

Minutes pass. The faint sound of a car pulling up outside barely registers with JJ, still staring at the picture. At his girl.

From outside, he vaguely hears the slam of a car door and then the front door of the Chateau bursts open.

Sarah Cameron storms in. 

She has barely changed. Her hair is the same and her presence is the same. She even looks the same age as a few years back. The only thing new is the toddler in her arms, his hair a few shades of blond lighter than his mother’s. 

Her eyes lock onto JJ.

She almost falls back, her steps dragging as if she’s forgotten how to walk. Her eyes widen in disbelief, her lips parting but failing to form words.

The first sound she makes is not a word but a broken, choked noise.

Something so raw that slices through JJ like a knife.

— No. — She shakes her head — No, no, no, no . — Her voice is trembling and she’s trembling and the entire room seems to be trembling. She turns toward John B, her expression wild and pleading.

— John B — her voice cracks — What the fuck!? —

John B’s smile is wide and tearful. His voice is gentle, understanding, because he himself went through this just an hour ago and he knows Sarah is having her entire world flipped over.

— Look at who I found out there — 

Sarah crumbles.

A sob rips from her chest as she thrusts the little boy into John B’s arms. She’s already moving, crossing the space to JJ in seconds.

Before he can brace himself, she’s on him. Her arms wrap around him and her small frame vibrates with the intensity of her sobs. JJ stumbles back a step, caught off guard.

For such a small woman, Sarah hugs with a force that feels like it could break bones. 

She cries on his chest, falling apart.

Once she has soaked his t-shirt with her tears, she pul ls back just enough to look at him, her face a portrait of anguish.  Then, without warning, she slams her fists against his chest.

— What the fuck? You were dead!  What the fuck? JJ, what the fuck? —

Her hands push against him again and again, each blow weaker than the last as she continues to sob. 

— What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck!? —

JJ doesn’t move, doesn’t try to stop her. He stands there, taking it all, every scream, every tear.

— It’s okay, Sare —

— No! No, it’s not okay! You were dead, JJ. Dead! — Her voice breaks on the last word — What the fuck are you doing here? How... how... how the fuck? How the fuck!? —

JJ looks over at John B, and the toddler who is puzzled by the scene before him. 

He feels horrible. Horrible for making his friends go through this, and horrible because he’s sure John B and Sarah’s son now has phrase word fuck engraved on his brain. 

— How? —  Sarah finally pulls away, begging him to please say something— How, JJ? How? —

JJ opens his mouth, ready to explain—to try, at least—but before a single word escapes, the door slams open again.

Pope and Cleo march in. Pope’s brow furrows.

How weird.

Pope is looking ahead. He scans everything in. He sees John B and Jackson, and Sarah still sobbing, and he sees JJ, but he blinks, because of course he isn’t seeing JJ. 

No, JJ is dead. Duh . 

Pope has always been a cynical person. He doesn’t believe in miracles or whatever. What he’s seeing? Not real. He knows the human brain, and he knows the brain likes to play tricks here and then. 

But then John B speaks. 

— Pope, look at who I found… —

— John B, shut up — He begins, because he doesn’t want John B to annoy him when he’s mid delusion. 

It clicks. 

Look at who I found . John B sees him too. And Sarah is crying, and Cleo next to him is frozen, looking at the thing that looks like JJ.

They see him too. 

Pope is a science man. He believes in facts. Things that are possible.

And this?

This isn’t possible.

— What is this? Some kind of sick joke? What the fuck is this? —

— Pope…  —

— No! — he snaps, his voice rising as panic laces his tone. — Shut up. Shut up. He’s... he’s dead. We buried him. I... I was there. —

JJ stares at Pope, tears in his eyes.  He stands there, watching as Pope falls to pieces before him.

— NO! — Pope says again, louder now. He laughs, a short, humorless sound, and rubs his hands over his face. Maybe if he blinks enough, if he looks away enough, JJ will disappear — This isn’t real. It can’t be real. — His voice trembles on the edge of hysteria. 

Cleo steps forward, her hand brushing his arm, but he pulls away sharply, like her touch burns him.

— Love, breath —

— Don’t — he says, his voice breaking. — Don’t tell me to breathe. Don’t tell me it’s okay. — His eyes snap to hers, wild and glistening with unshed tears. 

JJ finally speaks.

— Would you please calm the fuck down, man? — 

Those words hit Pope like a freight train. That’s JJ’s voice . That’s actually JJ’s voice.

— No — he whispers one last time, but this time, it’s a plea. Asking the universe to please stop fucking with him, because he’s starting to believe JJ is actually back. And he does and it’s all a lie, a sick game, then he doesn’t know if he will be able to survive that. 

— JJ —  he cries, and suddenly, he’s moving.

The hesitation is gone, replaced by an overwhelming need to close the distance. Pope stumbles forward, nearly tripping over his own feet, and throws himself into JJ’s arms with so much force it sends them both staggering. JJ’s back hits the wall, but he doesn’t care. His arms wrap around Pope instinctively, holding on as tightly as he can. He laughs, pure and boyish. 

— JJ, you were dead —  Pope says as if JJ doesn’t know  — You were fucking dead, man. We buried you. What are you doing here? — And he laughs too. 

Pope laughs. It’s not a crazy or humorless laugh. It’s the most joyous laugh JJ has ever heard. 

Cleo hasn’t moved from her spot. She’s trying to keep her cool, but her eyes betray her. 

She’s falling apart too. 

When JJ finally meets her gaze, her composure cracks. She takes a hesitant step forward, then another, her movements cautious, almost tentative. She stops a foot away, her arms still wrapped around herself, and stares at him.

— You’re real? — 

— Yeah. I’m real, Cleo. —

She’s laughing too, joyous like Pope, and she throws her arms around him, hugging tightly. 

JJ’s ribs may not survive this day. 

Once Pope and Cleo and Sarah have finally accepted the reality of it all, John B brings the toddler who had witnessed the whole ordeal, and introduces him to JJ.

— JJ… This is Jackson —

Jackson. 

The little boy blinks up at him, tilting his head, studying him. JJ’s throat tightens.

— Jackson — he says gently — this is Uncle JJ —

Jackson grins, waving enthusiastically. — Hi, Uncle JJ! —

JJ’s lips tremble as he raises a hand in return. — Hi, buddy —

Sarah breaks down again, ugly crying harder than before. JJ wants to comfort her, but his eyes are locked on Jackson, who’s staring back at him with that innocent, unburdened smile.

JJ’s heart aches—aches in a way it hasn’t in years. He feels alive for the first time since everything fell apart, like something broken inside him has finally snapped back into place. It’s fucking overwhelming. He’s happy, whole, okay in a way he didn’t think was possible.

But the feeling doesn’t last.

It can’t.

Because something’s missing. His girl is missing.

— Where's Kie? — 

The room goes suddenly still. 

His eyes dart around, searching his friend’s faces for some kind of answer, but all he sees are averted gazes. 

JJ’s stomach drops.

— Where is Kie? — he asks again, this time more urgently.

In an instant, he’s freaking out. JJ isn’t the most observant guy, and he knows it. He has never been good at reading people. He was only ever good at reading one person, at reading his girl . But this? He doesn’t have to be a genius to see it. This is impossible to miss. 

He thinks about Kiara missing from the photo of Jackson’s birth and he feels nauseous. 

— Guys — he pleads — where is she? —

John B must see the panic on his face because he rapidly answers.

— She’s at work. She’s fine —

JJ exhales sharply, his panic subsiding slightly. 

— She was here today. Right, baby? Auntie Kie came to visit us today — Sarah says, holding baby Jackson in her arms. Jackson nods enthusiastically.

Okay. Kiara was there today. She was fine .

Sarah announces she’s going to get Jackson ready for bed so they can talk properly, leaving John B to tell JJ about the sleeping arrangements. 

— The guest room is yours now — He tells him and he guides him to it.

The Pogues gather in the guest room once Sarah has tucked Jackson in. Cleo and Pope claim a massive pouf chair in the corner, while John B takes a seat beside JJ on the bed. Sarah joins them last, settling on the other side of JJ.

There’s so much unsaid between them. JJ knows he’s missed more than just a few milestones. He aches to fill in the gaps, to understand and live what he’s missed, but he also knows they are confused. Just hours ago, JJ Maybank was dead. Now, here he is, and it’s surreal, amazing, and terrifying.

— How? — John B asks yet again. 

He has to answer now. 

JJ sighs deeply. He can’t tell them everything. But they deserve something, so he takes a deep breath and the last two years play out.

He tells them about waking up in his own grave. He describes the moment he realized he was alive, gasping for oxygen and feeling the pain of the stab.

How, JJ? How?

JJ shrugs. — I don’t know — Because he doesn’t know. For him, it was like going to sleep and waking up.

He tells them about the Moroccan gang that found him. They’d dragged him across the sand and taken him to a doctor. He spent months recovering, fighting infections and lack of proper care. He doesn’t tell them what happened after. He doesn’t tell them of the beatings and the masked men with guns pointed to his head. He can see the guilt on their faces, the tears as they imagine him lost and alone. So he spares them.

He doesn’t tell them about the other murder attempts. The times he coughed up blood.

He doesn’t tell them about the time he called. 

Instead, he tells them about hearing Groff was in Portugal, how it be came an obsession. Revenge was the only thing that made sense. He tells them about the trying to earn money, which was impossible, because he was a nameless foreigner in Morocco. He tells them about the smugglers, the travels across the Mediterranean. 

Getting to Portugal. 

Looking for Groff.

Looking everywhere, yet not being able to find the man who was supposed to be his father. 

— I looked everywhere — JJ says, his voice cracking. — I spent every cent I had trying to find him. I asked everyone But I just couldn’t… I couldn’t. I couldn’t find him. I tried, fuck , I tried, but I didn’t find him. I... I couldn't... I'm sorry. I’m sorry — 

Finally, he tells them about Antonio, the Consul, the embassy, and the flight back home.

They ask him why he didn’t come to them sooner, he tells them of not having the chance while still in Africa. 

They ask him why he didn’t call while in Europe. He makes up a poor excuse. 

They won’t understand.

Once he’s done telling them “everything”, the Pogues fall into an uneasy silence. It’s weird, bad, weird, but at least the worst part is over.

Or so JJ believes.

Because once he’s finished, he asks for her again.

— When is Kie coming? —

The group averts his gaze. JJ’s frustration rises. He’s not stupid, even if most people think he is. He knows they’re keeping something from him.

— Can y’all stop that? I just want to see her. —

— JJ… — Sarah starts, her voice soft, and JJ hates it.

— No. I don’t want to hear whatever y’all have to say. Just tell her to come. I need to see her. —

— JJ, I know you want to see her, but… — John B begins, but JJ cuts him off..

— But what? —  He snaps. — Where is she? If she’s not okay, just fucking tell me. Just fucking tell me, John B. —

— She’s okay. Stop it, dude. If she wasn’t okay, we would tell you. She’s okay. But JJ… — John B’s voice falters, and to JJ’s horror, it cracks. 

JJ freezes. His stomach twists. Why is John B crying? Why the fuck is John B crying? 

— JJ… there’s a reason you couldn’t find Groff. —

— What the fuck does that mean? — JJ looks around at his other friends, desperate for answers. Cleo looks at him with pity, which makes his stomach turn. Pope won’t even meet his eyes. When he looks at Sarah, he sees tears streaming down her face again. Except this time, they aren’t tears of joy.

— JJ… When you… When we thought you died, Kiara… she wasn’t alright. She was so angry. She wanted to take revenge on Groff. We tried to stop her. We tried to go with her, we wanted to avenge you too, but… —

— But what? — 

— One morning, she was just… gone — 

— Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’, John B? —

— Gone, JJ. We woke up, and she was gone. We tried to find her. We searched everywhere. We also heard about Groff being in Portugal, JJ, but we had no way of getting there. And after a while… we had to go back home —

JJ’s nausea comes back. —- You went home without her!? You left her...! —

— We didn’t leave her! — Sarah breaks. There was a heavy guilt in her voice, a guilt that had been buried and now resurfaced — Do you seriously think we would do that to her? After she had lost you? JJ, we had no choice — 

— Sarah is right, JJ. We had no choice  —John B explains, trying to moderate the conversation — She came back, alright? Months later, she came back. But she wasn’t the same, JJ. We knew something was wrong the moment we saw her. —

— What do you mean wrong ? —

— Wrong, JJ. Just wrong. And eventually we found that… —

JJ stares at John B, his gaze narrowing. He hates how secretive his friends are being.  — Found out what, John B? — 

John B hesitates. He needs to tell JJ, but he’s also afraid of being the one who breaks the news to him. 

JJ angry is volatile. 

JJ angry because of something happening to Kiara is fucking catastrophic .

— John B. Found out what? — 

John B closes his eyes for a brief moment, signing  — JJ, the reason you couldn’t find Groff…— He takes a shaky breath. — It’s because Kiara killed him. —

The words hit JJ like a damn train. 

The world stops around him, and for a moment, all he can hear is his own heartbeat, rising in recognition.

The reason you couldn’t find Groff, it’s because Kiara killed him.

No. 

There was no way.

— No — he finally says, shaking his head. — No, that’s not true —

— JJ… — John B. He speaks to him with caution, and JJ hates it. It’s the way John B would tell him to stop being an idiot. Almost condescending. JJ hates it.

He also hates how John B is lying. He’s lying. He has to be lying.

— Stop lying, John B —

— I’m not lying, JJ. She went after him. Alone. And… she… she did it. —

— No. Fucking stop lying. Kie wouldn’t… she couldn’t — JJ’s words rush out, disbelieving and panicked — Kie wouldn’t —

— She told us, JJ — Sarah is full on crying now. —  She was so sad. She kept saying her life didn’t matter anymore. That since she’d taken a life, hers was worthless… —

— Stop. — JJ’s voice cracks, his chest heaving. He feels the familiar burn in his chest, the burn that tells him he’s about to have a panic attack. 

His hands twitch as if searching for a cigarette. For something to hold and consume. For something to hold and consume him. 

— Just stop — He’s supplicating. 

— She’s better now, JJ. Don’t worry — Pope interjects quickly. He sees it too. JJ beginning to meltdown  — I swear, man. She’s better. It’s okay —

— Is that supposed to make me feel better!? — JJ almost yells. His eyes, wild and desperate, dart to each of his friends, and they are damning. He can’t help but blame them. — You tell me she was saying her life was worthless, and then tell me not to fucking worry, like that’s how it works… —

— No, JJ…  — Sarah starts, but John B interrupts her.

— Look, JJ. Kiara is better now, I fucking promise you. She’s better now, but we all know she still thinks about it. And if she sees you, she’s going to be happy, but maybe she’s also going to feel guilty like before… — 

— Wow, wow, wow , John B. Hold on a damn second. — Cleo says, finally joining the conversation — Kiara is stronger than y’all give her credit for. She doesn’t need to be protected. —

— Are you seriously saying that, Cleo? — John B turns to her, his voice almost mocking. He’s angry and frustrated at the suggestion, as if Cleo had said something truly stupid. — You were there. You know how bad it was. You cannot be serious right now —

Cleo’s eyes narrow. She has to hold back from telling John B to go fuck himself. — Yeah, I was there. But I also saw her get over it. And I see the way she still misses JJ.. Are you seriously saying we shouldn’t tell her he's back? —

— I never said that! —John B quickly clarifies, his voice rising as he runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. — I’m just saying… Why don’t we prepare the soil for a bit? We can figure out a plan, figure out when and how to tell her. Just in case —

— You really believe me being back is going to harm her? — JJ can’t help but sound hurt.

John B hesitates, his jaw tight, then exhales sharply. — JJ… — He trails off, searching for the right words. — She’s going to be so fucking happy, man. But I just think we need to be careful. —

— John B, you know I love you, but you are an idiot. Rude Boy here wants to see Kie. I think Kie wants to see him too. Let ‘em see each other — Cleo says firmly, her disbelief laced with irritation. She can’t fathom why this even needs to be said. There’s no valid reason to keep JJ and Kiara apart.

— Cleo, sorry, but you don’t know Kiara like I do — John B counters, his voice sharp.

Cleo rolls her eyes, more annoyed at John B than before. 

— Fine, dickhead . Do whatever you want. Don’t’wanna hear you crying when this blows up — 

— It’s not going to blow up — John B says, his tone bitter and defensive.

His gaze shifts to Pope and Sarah, silently begging for support. Pope has no option but to speak.

— I think John B’s right — he says cautiously, his voice apologetic as he looks at Cleo — It’s not about keeping you from her, JJ. We just want to make sure she’s okay. —

Cleo lets out a scoff, shaking her head as she mutters something about men being stupid. 

Sarah, silent until now, stares at the wall, lost in thought. But the weight of everyone’s attention makes her look. She fidgets with a strand of her hair, looking torn.

— C’mon, babe. You know I just want what’s best for Kie — John B pleads.

Sarah lets out a shaky sigh.

— I know. Fine — She sounds far from convinced. — If you think this is what’s best for Kie, okay. But we need to tell her soon. And I can’t lie to her. If I see her, I’m going to crack. — 

— Then maybe you don’t see her while we figure this out? — John B says, his tone gentler now, but Sarah looks painfully guilty.

All eyes turn to JJ.

What is he supposed to say? They’re talking about Kiara like they know her better than he does. It destroys him. It also destroys him that they are kinda right, because he has no idea of what’s best for her.

The idea of waiting, of not seeing her right away, feels unbearable. But what choice does he have?

He could fight it. He could refuse to accept their decision until they had no choice but to let him see her. But would it be the best for Kiara? Or would he be hurting her unknowingly?

The thought of the second option causes the panic to come back.

— Fine, whatever. I’ll wait —

He doesn't want them to see him cry over the decision, so he quickly excuses himself and locks himself in the bathroom. It hurts, but John B sounds so convinced about it being the best for Kiara. John B always protected his friends. He truly wanted what was best for Kiara. 

JJ will have to wait. For her, for her sake, he’ll wait. Hopefully, he won't have to wait more than a few days.

/// 

JJ has to stay indoors to avoid people from Kildare recognizing him. He spends most of his time with John B, Sarah, and Jackson. At first, he’s grateful. He cherishes every minute he gets to spend alongside his family. But as days blur into a week, the novelty fades.

He can’t stop thinking about Kiara. He fantasizes about their reunion to an unhealthy point. When he’s bored, he lets the scene play in his head. He pictures her beautiful doe eyes lighting up when she realizes he’s back. He imagines tasting her lips again. He thinks of burying his head in her soft, dark curls and staying there until the world pulls him away.

He asks Sarah about her now and then, but every time, her voice falters. It’s enough to make him stop asking altogether.

Though he does find out they built another Poguelandia. Turns out all the Pogues work there. When he asks John B how they got the money, he stammers and tells him something about a loan.

The second week arrives. JJ starts feeling restless. John B and Sarah sometimes go out and leave him as babysitter. Pope visits as much as he can. He buys JJ new clothes and a cellphone. Cleo drops by with delicious food, joking that she’s “saving him from death by bland chicken.”

Still, the monotony is suffocating. Every time JJ asks about Kiara, the room grows tense. Sarah desperately tries to change the subject and John B looks at him like he’s crazy. He asks when he will be allowed out, they hesitate. He snaps at them several times. 

One afternoon, the sound of raised voices wakes JJ up from his second nap of the day. Sarah and John B start arguing in their room, their words muffled but heated. Soon enough they are both yelling, and he can hear Sarah’s voice begin to crack

— Come on, little man, — JJ says, scooping up Jackson, who had been playing with a toy car on the floor. — Let’s get out of here for a bit. —

Jackson giggles as JJ hoists him onto his shoulders. At 19 months old, the kid is a ball of energy, his tiny hands clutching JJ’s hair as they head outside. They play in the yard, Jackson’s laughter echoing as JJ helps him climb the slide. 

When the shouting inside finally stops, Jackson looks up at JJ with his big brown eyes. — Uncle JJ! I love you! —

JJ freezes, his chest tightening. Curses himself as he almost cries in front of the poor kid.

— I love you too, buddy, — he says, smiling, but Jackson is already running back toward the house, oblivious to the weight of his words.

He follows Jackson inside to find Sarah sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands, trying to calm herself down. There’s tears in her eyes when she notices JJ, and she quickly wipes them away, but it’s too late. He saw it.

— What happened? — He steps toward Sarah, holding out a hand.

Sarah takes it, sniffling. — Kie knows we’re avoiding her… I’m tired, JJ. John B thinks he knows what’s best for her, but I’m starting to think he’s wrong. —

JJ exhales slowly. Kie knows something is wrong. — I just want to see her — He confesses. It’s an obvious confession, but he needs to say it.

Sarah’s hand tightens around his. — I know — 

Shortly after, John B appears through the front door. He and Sarah retreat to the kitchen, their voices gentler now. JJ doesn’t bother listening. Instead, he retreats to his room, lying in bed, staring blankly at the wall as he absently flips a lighter open and closed.

A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts. Before he can say anything, John B steps inside.

— We’re going to meet Kie at Cleo’s and Pope’s place. We are going to tell her — he announces.

The words hit JJ like a wave. Relief washes over him, and for the first time in weeks, he feels at ease. The next day, he spends the hours while his friends are out pacing around the house, too anxious to stand still. Every sound outside makes his heart leap, expecting her to walk through the door at any second.

But when Sarah and John B return, his smile fades. There’s no curly-haired girl with them. Instead, they look somber, and even though it sounds crazy, they seem angry.

— We couldn’t tell her. We’ll try again later this week. —

JJ stares at him, disbelief morphing into resentment. He waited, and he was patient, and they arrived without her — You’ve got to be kidding me —

Without another word, he storms off to the guest room and slams the door behind him.

Sarah calls him — JJ, come on. Don’t do this. — 

But JJ doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. Eventually, her voice dims, and he falls into a restless sleep, his mind replaying every moment of the past two years.

//// 

The next morning, JJ wakes up to an empty house. He lays there in the sunshine that filters through the curtains. The usual sounds of morning chaos—Jackson’s laugher, Sarah’s chatter, John B’s footsteps—is absent.

He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he reaches for his phone. A single text from John B blinks on the screen:

“Took Jackson out for the morning. Be back later. Sorry for yesterday”

He is sorry, but he still won’t let JJ out of this fucking house. 

JJ leaves his room. He turns on the TV and flips through channels, barely registering what is on the screen.

Eventually, he lands on a nature documentary. He is about to skip past it when he hesitates. The narrator’s voice describes the migration patterns of sea turtles.

Kiara would love this , he thinks. He can picture her now—her eyes shining, her hands gesturing happily at the sea turtles on the screen.

The thought makes his chest ache.

JJ sinks deeper into the couch. He isn’t really watching; his mind keeps drifting back to Kiara. What is she doing right now? Is she thinking about him, too? That's stupid. Two years passed. There is no way she is thinking about him still.

Hunger pulls him from his haze. Too lazy to cook, he remembers the sodas he left in his room the day before. Warm, sure, but better than nothing. With a groan, he gets up.

////

JJ is rummaging through the mess on his nightstand, pulling out the less warm soda, when he hears it.

The sound of the front door opening. 

Sarah and John B?

It’s weird that they are back so early, but maybe they had forgotten something. Or maybe they had decided against going out.

Still, something about it feels weird .

He hears footsteps.

The steps grow closer. Sounds like one person. Maybe it’s Sarah?

He exhales. The footsteps sound light. It’s definitely Sarah. He begins to turn around, prepared to see Sarah Cameron and maybe Jackson with her.

But the moment his eyes land on the figure in the living room, he almost falls.

At first, his mind struggles to make sense of what he’s seeing. It doesn’t compute.

The right height.
The right hair

For a second, he actually stops breathing. 

He can’t move, can’t think. All he can do is stare, his eyes locking onto hers, those beautiful brown eyes he knows so well . 

She says his name, and it hurts more than getting stabbed.

— JJ? —

Kiara.