The Midsummer party hums with life, laughter, and the clinking of glasses drifting over the manicured lawn of the country club.

You find yourself on the edge of the deck, where the warm glow of lanterns doesn’t quite reach. It’s a little quieter here, just enough to take in the scene—Kooks mingling between the Pogues who’ve been hired to keep the drinks flowing.

JJ Maybank weaves through the crowd, balancing a tray with practiced ease. His expression shifts between forced smiles and brief moments of amusement, though you notice how his shoulders tense when someone snaps for his attention.

His uniform doesn’t quite fit—collar too tight, the vest straining as he moves, with his sleeves rolled up carelessly, like he couldn’t be bothered to adjust them.

As he hands a glass to a guest, you catch sight of the faint bruise along his jaw, partially hidden beneath tousled, sun-bleached hair. It looks fresh, a stark contrast against his tanned skin. When he shifts to pick up another tray, there’s a stiffness in his movements, like he’s trying not to wince.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, but tonight, there’s a heaviness to his steps.

When he moves past, you call out, “Hey. Maybank, you got a second?”

You nod toward the quieter part of the deck, offering a casual smile—though you can’t hide the curiosity behind it.

JJ pauses, glancing around like he’s looking for an excuse to keep moving, then sighs and steps closer, leaning against the railing.

“You’re not supposed to be socializing with the help, you know,” he teases, but there’s an edge in his voice, like he’s bracing for a jab.

“Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to show up looking like you’ve been run over,” you reply, keeping your tone light as you study his face, trying to piece together what might have happened.

He shrugs, turning his gaze out toward the dark water. “You know me. I just can’t stay out of trouble.”

But there’s something in his eyes—something unguarded, if only for a moment—that hints at a story he’s not ready to share.