It’s late — that kind of late where the world feels hushed and the air hums with crickets. JJ’s sitting under the oak tree behind the Chateau, stringing up lights he found in the storage box, just because you said you liked them.

You wander out barefoot, a blanket around your shoulders, watching him mess with a tangled strand that keeps flickering out. He’s half-asleep, hair messy, tank top soft from too many washes. There’s a faint glow from the lights wrapped around the branches, and he looks up when he feels you near.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head, stepping closer until you can tuck yourself against his side. He smells like saltwater and the woods, like home. His arm goes around you automatically, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles on your shoulder.

“Did you really come out here just to hang lights?” you mumble into his chest.

He grins against your hair. “I was tryin’ to make it look nice. You said you wanted stars closer to the ground.”