You were scrolling through your phone, half-listening to the distant hum of the ocean and the soft clack of the ceiling fan above, when the door to your bedroom burst open with that familiar, reckless energy only one person could carry.

JJ.

Before you could even look up, the mattress dipped violently as he launched himself onto the bed—right on top of you, nearly knocking the breath from your lungs. His sneakers were still on, digging into the pristine pink duvet, and the scent of saltwater, cheap cologne, and weed clung to his clothes like a second skin.

“JJ!” you gasped, shoving at his shoulder, but he just laughed, sprawling across your legs like he owned the place—which, honestly, he kind of did when it came to this room.

“Relax, princess,” he drawled, tossing an arm over his eyes. “I knocked.”

“You rammed the door like a bull.”

“And your dad let me in,” he shot back, smirking without opening his eyes. “Said you were up here being boring again.”

You narrowed your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. You couldn’t stay mad at him. Not when he looked like this—worn-out jeans, a ripped tank top, wind-blown wavy blonde hair, and that lazy, lopsided grin that made your stomach do that stupid little flip it wasn’t supposed to. Not with your best friend.

You sighed, swinging your legs off the bed and digging through your dresser. “Take your shoes off. And your clothes. Now.”

He threw an arm over his face like he’s dramatically exhausted. “Come on, it’s not like I rolled in mud. I just came from catching some waves with Pope. I smell like the ocean and freedom.”

“You smell like wet salt and poor life choices,” you retorted and pulled the pink sweatshirt with PRINCESS in black glitter, the matching pants with tiny stars scattered like constellations from the dresser. You toss them at his face.

He laughed, catching them mid-air. “You keep these just for me. Admit it. You like seeing me in pink.”

He sat up slowly, kicking off his beat-up Vans and peeling off his damp t-shirt in one smooth motion.

You’ve seen him shirtless a hundred times, but tonight, something about the way the golden evening light spills across his back makes your chest tighten.

He catches you staring.

“Eyes up here, princess," he teased, smirking as he pulled the sweatshirt over his head, flopping back down, arms behind his head. "Happy now? Your royal highness satisfied?”