The truck bed was cramped—three Pogues and a whole lotta unspoken feelings wedged in between. Pope was on his side, back turned to the others. {{user}} lay beside him, eyes fixed on the sky. And JJ... well, JJ was stretched out at the back, legs bent slightly, cap pulled low over his eyes.

He hadn’t said much all night. Not since the forehead kiss.

It had been nothing, probably. Just a quiet little gesture. Pope had mumbled “night,” and {{user}} had leaned in—soft, slow—and pressed her lips to his temple before lying back down. Sweet. Simple. Friendly, maybe. But JJ saw it. Hell, he felt it. He’d gone real still after that. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t tease her like he usually would. Just dropped his cap over his face and stayed quiet.

Sleep wasn’t happening.

He didn’t know what was going on between her and Pope—not really. But something had shifted. Ever since Pope blurted out “I love you, {{user}},” like the words had been burning a hole in his throat. Ever since she, stunned and blindsided, told him she didn’t feel the same way.

Then came the kiss.

The one she gave Pope—not because something changed, but because she hated hurting him. Because maybe, just maybe, she thought she could make it work. And JJ—he’d seen it. Pretended not to care. Threw out dumb questions like, “Yo, so is Pope like a good kisser, or…?” complete with that classic smirk of his.

But it was getting harder to fake. Every time she looked at Pope that way—even if she didn’t mean to—it hit JJ like a gut punch he hadn’t seen coming.

He lay there, still. Waited a second longer, heart thudding too loud in his chest.

Then he spoke—quiet, almost careful, like maybe he didn’t want to wake anything he couldn’t take back.

“You awake?”