~𝒪𝓊𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈~
I never knew it could feel so good to be somebody's Star
John b x OC
Cover made by @disney_fanatic36
Season 1- ✅
Season 2- ✅
Season 3- ✅
Season 4- ✅
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It's been a month on the island.
Thirty days of sunburnt shoulders and salt-stiff hair and nights where the fire crackles like it's trying to talk. I've loved almost all of it.... But the quiet leaves too much room for the wrong thoughts.
Every time the wind shifts, I think of my dad.
Every time I blink too long, I see him coming back.
The monster in my shadow.
Some mornings I wake up thinking I hear a boat engine. Some nights I swear I feel hands reaching for me in the dark, jolting upright before I even remember where I am.
Today isn't any different.
I'm staring out at the water, the sunlight glittering across it. For a second everything looks normal — peaceful even — until something shifts. A shape. Tiny. Almost nothing.
But I see it.
My pulse spikes, my whole body going rigid before my mind catches up.
"John B?" I say, barely loud enough.
"Yeah?" He answers, walking toward me, brushing sand off his hands. "What's up?"
"Do you see that?" I point, breath catching in my throat.
"See what?"
"That boat." I take a step forward, squinting. My chest tightens like a fist is squeezing it.
"Boat where?"
"Right there! Eleven o'clock. Just under the horizon."
He squints but I already know what he's going to say before he says it, some part of me bracing for the dismissal even as I hope he'll see it too.
"I think it's just the whitecaps on the reef."
He doesn't see it. He never sees it.
Only I do.
Because I know him - I know my dad.
"You don't know that. It's right there. I see it," I whisper, my voice thin with something close to panic.
"Stella Stella hey hey hey," his voice softens instantly. He steps closer.
"What if it's—" I start but the words choke off, my throat too tight to finish.
"No it's... it's not your dad." He wraps his arms around me from behind, trying to anchor me. "It's not your brother. Okay? I promise."
"No I'm sure," I whisper.
Promises feel fragile — like brown glass — but I lean into him anyway, needing the warmth of him more than I need to be right.
"Trust me. It's okay," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of my head.
