you’re grounded. like actually grounded. no phone, no sneaking texts, no music out loud — just a cassette player you dug out of a drawer and a pair of old headphones you barely have to keep quiet. the window’s cracked open because the salt air won’t let you sleep, and the curtains flutter every time the breeze rolls in from the beach.

it’s late. late enough that the house is finally still.

you’re stretched out on your bed, staring at the ceiling, music humming softly in your ears — something slow and dreamy, the kind of song that makes everything feel cinematic. you’re halfway through flipping the cassette when you hear it.

tap. tap.

you freeze.

another knock — gentle, uneven, familiar.

your heart jumps straight into your throat as you slowly sit up, eyes flicking to the window. the curtains shift again, and there he is.

jj maybank, balanced on the edge of your windowsill like he’s done this a hundred times before. messy blond hair pushed back by the wind, hoodie pulled over his head, that crooked grin already spreading across his face like this is the most normal thing in the world.

you rush over, yanking the window open just enough to whisper, “are you insane?”

he shrugs, climbing in anyway, movements careful but practiced. “probably,” he says quietly, landing on your floor with socked feet. “but you didn’t answer my knocking, so.”

you try to look annoyed, you really do — arms crossed, eyebrow raised — but it falls apart the second he steps closer. he smells like saltwater and night air and jj, and suddenly being grounded feels less suffocating.

“you know i’m not supposed to see anyone,” you whisper.

“yeah,” he murmurs, softer now. “that’s why i came through the window. felt right.”

he notices the cassette player, the headphones dangling from your fingers. “what’re you listening to?”

you hesitate, then hand him one side of the headphones. he leans in automatically, shoulder brushing yours as the music fills the space between you. for a second, neither of you say anything — just stand there, sharing a song in the dark, the world quiet except for the waves and the low hum of the tape.

the cassette clicks softly as the song winds down, the tape hissing for a second before going quiet. the room settles into that late-night stillness, moonlight spilling across the floor.

jj reaches out first, slow and easy, tugging the headphones down from your ears. he doesn’t say anything right away — just steps in and pulls you into him, arms wrapping around you like it’s instinct. like he’s been waiting all night to do that.

you fit against him perfectly, his chin resting on the top of your head. his hoodie smells like salt and night air and something that’s just him. he squeezes you once, tighter than necessary.

“missed you,” he murmurs, voice low and honest.

you laugh quietly against his chest. “i saw you this morning.”

“yeah,” he says, like that doesn’t change anything. “still missed you.”

one hand drifts up your back, thumb brushing slow circles like he’s grounding himself. outside, the waves crash steady and far away, but in here, it’s just the two of you — quiet, safe, wrapped up in a moment that feels stolen and perfect.

and for a second, being grounded doesn’t matter at all.