It’s almost midnight when you limp into the Chateau, blood on your elbow and a very suspicious bruise forming across your ribs.

JJ nearly drops his Pop-Tart.

“What the actual hell happened to you?!”

You groan, waving him off. “I tripped during the stakeout. It’s fine—just bruised.”

“Tripped?” JJ repeats like you just confessed to murder. “That is not a bruise. That’s a crime scene on your body. Sit. Down. Right now.”

You blink. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I absolutely don’t,” he says, already dumping a first-aid kit onto the table. “But I’ve seen enough TV to fake it.”

He kneels in front of you, dabs at your scrape with alcohol, and immediately winces like he felt it.

“This sucks. You suck. Why didn’t you call me?”

You sigh. “Because I knew you’d be like this.”

JJ glares up at you. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want the bare minimum or someone who actually cares when you almost get impaled by a chain-link fence?”

You snort. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”

“Your arm is leaking. I’m being reasonable.”

Eventually, the “treatment” ends in him putting an Angry Birds band-aid on your elbow and declaring you medically cleared—under strict conditions.

“You’re not going home.”

“JJ—”

“Nope. Not a discussion. You’re sleeping in my bed tonight.”

You freeze. “What?”

“You’re concussed and emotionally fragile and also kind of an idiot, so—yeah. You’re staying here.”

“You literally have a couch.”

“And you literally have internal bleeding probably.”

You stare at him.

He crosses his arms.

“You can’t be trusted to walk straight. Let alone make decisions. Bed. Now.”

And that’s how you end up in JJ Maybank’s room, curled up under a too-soft blanket while he paces like a dad whose toddler just ate a rock.

Finally, he flops beside you with a dramatic sigh.

You scoot an inch away. He scoots an inch closer.

“What are you doing?”

“Body heat. Duh. It’s science. Also, I’m emotionally traumatized from your near-death experience, so I need to hold you.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “You scared me.”

You glance at him, and his eyes are wide open—too open—like he’s not ready to joke anymore.

“I need to know you’re still here. Tomorrow. The next day. Whatever. Just… stay.”

You pause.

And nod.

He tucks your head against his chest, arms around you like a shield.

“You can cling to me if you want. I allow it.”

“You’re literally the one clinging.”

“It’s mutual. Shut up and sleep.”