the day had been long — the kind that left your skin sun-warmed and your hair smelling faintly of salt and sunscreen. the pogues had spent it bouncing between the boat, the beach, and wherever the wind felt right, chasing that easy kind of freedom that only came with summer. now, the air outside the twinkie was tinted gold, the kind of soft, fading light that made everything feel slower, quieter, like the world was taking a breath.

you and your boyfriend, jj, were laying in the backseat of the pogues’ van, the twinkie. the windows were half-down, letting in the hum of cicadas and the faint scent of the ocean that still clung to your clothes.

jj was asleep against you, laying in between your legs with his face buried in your stomach. his arms were wrapped around you as he lay stretched across the backseat, occasionally mumbling something inaudible or letting out quiet exhales. his hair tickled your skin when he shifted, his breath warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.

the rest of the pogues and sarah were scattered through the van, their laughter softer now as the day wound down. pope was driving, his hand hanging loosely out the open window, while kie sat beside him in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio. john b and sarah were tucked together behind them, her head resting on his shoulder, the light from the sunset catching in her hair.

“check out the sunset,” kie remarked, glancing over her shoulder at everyone before pointing out the window.

the van seemed to pause for a moment — the golden light flooding through, stretching over the worn leather seats, the curve of jj’s arm around you, the lazy comfort of it all — the kind of moment you wished you could bottle up and never let go.