Jack Skye

The yacht rocks gently over calm blue water, sunlight spilling through the huge cabin windows in warm golden stripes. Your shared room feels warm and lived‑in — three beds, open suitcases, clothes everywhere, and the faint smell of ocean breeze drifting in from the balcony door. You’re curled up in the swing chair by the window, swaying lightly with the rhythm of the waves. Kade is sprawled across his bed, blanket half off, hair sticking up like he fought a storm in his sleep. The bathroom door opens softly. Jack steps out — shirtless, towel over his shoulder, hair damp. He pauses, gripping the doorframe. He’s pale. He’s tired. He’s absolutely motion sick. He takes a slow breath, steadying himself before walking toward you and Kade