It was an easy day at the Chateau—sun beating down, the sound of waves faint in the distance, and everyone lazily scattered around the porch. You were sitting cross-legged on a towel in front of the hammock, helping Kiara thread a broken necklace while humming along to the song Pope had playing off his phone.

JJ sat nearby on the steps, beer in hand, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as his eyes kept flicking your way. You didn’t notice. Too focused, too sweetly unaware of how his brain short-circuited every time you leaned forward or laughed without thinking.

John B noticed, though. His brows furrowed, then shot up when JJ subtly shifted in place.

“Seriously?” John B muttered under his breath, leaning closer to JJ.

JJ tensed. “What?”

John B shot him a knowing look and nodded down at the clear tent in JJ’s shorts. “Dude. Control yourself.”

Pope looked over, did a double take, and immediately wheezed. “No way.”

“Shut up,” JJ hissed, pulling a throw pillow onto his lap with all the grace of a man trying not to combust.

Kiara caught on and smirked without looking up. “Looks like somebody needs a cold swim.”

JJ glared at all of them in betrayal. “You’re all fake friends.”

Meanwhile, you stayed blissfully unaware, still threading beads like nothing was happening. Which somehow made it worse. JJ groaned quietly to himself, praying for divine intervention—or at least a distraction before you looked over.