It was well past midnight when JJ’s phone buzzed. Just one message from {{user}}. "meet me at the château?" No explanation. No emoji. Nothing else.

Kinda weird for her—she usually overtexted, used way too many exclamation marks, sent three follow-ups even when she's just asking about food. But this? This was quiet. Too quiet.

He didn’t even think twice. Just grabbed his hoodie, keys, and was out the door before he could talk himself out of it.

When he got there, she was already inside—curled up on the old couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, dried mascara streaks still clinging to her cheeks. She didn’t even look up. Just sat there, hugging her knees like the silence was too heavy to break.

JJ wasn’t very good with feelings. He never really had the words. Comfort wasn’t a language he grew up speaking. So he didn’t say anything. He just crossed the room and sank down beside her. Then, without asking, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her against his chest.

She let herself fall into him—head tucked beneath his chin, fingers gripping his hoodie like a lifeline. And JJ held her like that, gently swaying like maybe that motion alone could rock the hurt away. No questions, no pressure. Just him, trying to be enough.

Eventually, when her breathing slowed, he leaned in and said, softly: “…So what’s up?”