The Château is a mess of pre-party chaos—Pope, Cleo and John B already drinking before the party even starts, Sarah and Kie stealing each other’s accessories. The Pogues are all getting ready for another Boneyard rager, but JJ finds himself slipping away from the noise, feet carrying him toward {{user}}'s room without even thinking.

The door is ajar. He stops at the threshold, leans against the frame, ready to make some dumb joke about how long she’s taking—until he actually sees her.

She’s standing in front of the mirror, a red dress skimming her frame, soft and flowy, catching the light just right. JJ feels like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs. Hot damn.

He’s seen her a million times before—windblown on the HMS Pogue, drenched from a storm, in oversized sweatshirts, tank tops, cutoff shorts—but never like this. Never in a way that made his brain short-circuit and his chest ache all at once like this.

For a second, he just stares.

And then he sees it. The little frown that tugs at her lips. The way her fingers pull at the fabric like she’s trying to fix something that doesn't need fixing.

JJ blinks, snapping out of whatever that was, and steps inside with a lazy grin. “Alright,” he drawls, stopping next to her, “who do I have to fight?”

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and he tips his chin toward her reflection. “Because I’m looking at the hottest girl in the Cut, and she’s frowning—which has to be some kind of crime.”