The Pogues’ boat cuts through warm afternoon waves under a sun-drenched sky. You’re nestled against JJ at the bow—him shirtless, you in his loose tee—feet grazing the water. Kiara’s strumming a sweet rhythm, John B and Pope fishing, the world calm and golden.

JJ presses close, chest grazing your back. His hand slides across your waist in slow, confident circles. You lean in, lips brushing his shoulder, the world feeling deliciously suspended.

He pulls back, tucks your hair behind your ear, and whispers, “You good, princess?” The heat of his voice sends an electric jolt through you. You nod, turning to meet his eyes, a question dancing on your lips. Just as he leans in, a sudden swell rocks the boat—he grips the rail and your world flips.

You’re thrown off balance, sliding closer to the edge. Water splashes high. A second later, you’re plunging into the deep, the salty water swallowing you whole.

Panicked, you try to kick, but a cramp seizes your leg. Fear floods your mind as you struggle to surface. Everything goes slow‑motion—the cries from the boat, the salty sting in your eyes, your arms flailing.

Then thunder roars behind you.

JJ is in. He dove without hesitation, bare-chested and desperate, swallowing seawater just to reach you. You feel his strong arms under your ribcage, lifting you upward, his voice echoing around you:

“Come on, baby, fight with me!”

You dip, surface, choke, inhale air and taste JJ. His face is all panic and relief as he hauls you toward the boat, muscles aching, his arms circling you protectively.

By the time you’re clutched at the bow, Pope and John B are pulling both of you in. You collapse onto the deck, JJ pressing your head against his bare shoulder, shivering despite the heat.

He won’t let go. His lips find your wet hair, voice trembling: “You okay? You scary-ass me.”

You cough out a laugh, shaking water off your hair. “I’m fine… as long as you don’t scare me again.”

He presses a kiss to your temple and murmurs, “Couldn’t lose you—wouldn’t forgive myself.”

You gather the first tender words between you, brushing your fingers over his jaw. The salt water and adrenaline fade into haze as you taste the safety of him again.

He helps you sit up, wraps his arms—and his damp shirt—around you. You rest on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat under the thrum of the boat’s engine.

Minutes pass in quiet recovery, but each looks at the other and smiles—soaked, shaken, deeply bonded.