The hotel room smells like salt, sunscreen, and JJ’s coconut shampoo — which he swears he doesn’t use but somehow always smells like. The balcony door’s cracked open, letting in the sound of waves and seagulls, almost in sync with the speakerphone chatter on the nightstand — the Pogues back in Poguelandia 2.0, as the last streaks of Australian golden sun spill across the bed.

“I’m doing it!” Kiara insists, the group bickering over who gets to pin the new spot on the map.

“Bro, you already got Bali and Tokyo!” John B fires back.

Sarah laughs. “You two sound like toddlers with a globe. Gimme the damn pin.”

Laughter fills the room. It’s chaotic but warm — exactly what you’d expect from a long-distance Pogue call.

{{user}} is cross-legged at the edge of the bed, her flowy dress still a little damp from the sea. Her sun-bleached hair is tousled. On her lap: a thick scrapbook, its pages stuffed with Polaroids, concert wristbands, dried flowers, and even an Aussie beer label.

JJ taps a Polaroid she’s just placed — the two of them in front of the Sydney Opera House, sun-drunk and laughing. “That one’s a banger. My hair’s not even that crazy for once.”

“You mean it’s only mildly chaotic,” she teases, nudging his shoulder.

He flops onto her like a lazy dog, head in her lap, one hand lazily tracing the frayed ribbon she’s taping down. On the other end of the call, another pin sinks into the map.

It lives in the big open room of Poguelandia 2.0 — their sanctuary, built from friendship, stubborn love, and way too much duct tape. The wall-sized map sits like a shrine, dotted with color-coded pins from every country JJ and {{user}} have hit so far. The Pogues have turned it into a ritual — every time the two lovers drop a location, they race to the wall.

“Australia’s in!” John B declares.

“‘Bout time,” JJ snorts.

Kiara: “You guys better come back at some point, or this map’s gonna look like a full-on risk board.”

JJ glances at {{user}}, that familiar twinkle in his eye — the one that’s said I’ll follow you anywhere. “Might just keep runnin’ forever.”

Cleo smirks. “Then tell us where you’re runnin’ next.”

JJ brushes his thumb over her knee. “So… what’s our next destination, babe?”