Y/N Y/LN shifts in her uncomfortable wooden seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs as Professor Harrington drones on about socioeconomic disparities in healthcare systems. Her pen taps against her notebook, creating a quiet rhythm that matches her increasing impatience. Three classes back-to-back on Thursdays always drain her, especially when the last one stretches fifteen minutes over its scheduled end time.

Around her, other students begin the subtle dance of packing up notebooks sliding into bags, laptop chargers being unplugged, phones checked for messages. Y/N’s own phone buzzes against her thigh, and she slides it out just enough to glimpse the notification.

outside waitin on ya mama. hurry that pretty ass up

A small smile tugs at her lips. JJ. Always impatient. Always crude. Always exactly what she needs after a day like today.

Professor Harrington finally concludes, and Ivy wastes no time gathering her things. Her textbooks and laptop disappear into her designer tote, a gift from her mother last Christmas that screams old money Georgia in a way that makes Y/N both proud and slightly embarrassed. She pushes her long blonde hair back, securing it with sunglasses perched atop her head, and makes her way down the aisle toward freedom.

The heavy door of Foster Hall pushes open, and the late afternoon air hits her face. April in North Carolina isn’t quite like Georgia’s heat, but the humidity wraps around her all the same. Y/N pauses at the top of the stairs, green eyes scanning the parking lot until they lock onto exactly what, who, she’s looking for.

JJ Maybank leans against his motorcycle, one boot propped against the kickstand, scrolling through his phone with casual disinterest. Even from here, she can appreciate the sight of him, faded jeans worn in all the right places, white t-shirt stretched across shoulders broadened by years of manual labor, blonde hair falling across his forehead in perpetual disarray. His forearms, tanned and marked with the occasional scar or tattoo, flex slightly as he shifts position.

Several girls walking past steal obvious glances. JJ notices, of course he does, and offers them that lazy half-smile that suggests trouble wrapped in charm. But then his eyes lift, catching Y/N at the top of the stairs, and everything else falls away. His smile changes, deepens, becomes something meant only for her.

Y/N steps quicken despite her exhaustion. When she’s close enough, JJ straightens, pocketing his phone and opening his arms. She walks straight into them, burying her face against his chest and inhaling the scent that’s become synonymous with comfort: salt, sandalwood, and something uniquely him.

“Thought your class ended at four,” he murmurs into her hair, his arms tightening around her waist.

Y/N sighs against him. “Harrington went over. Again.”

“That old man needs to learn how to tell time.” His fingers run up and down her spine, gentle despite their roughness.

She pulls back just enough to look up at him, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the permanent tan from years on the water, the impossibly blue eyes that first caught her attention across a crowded frat house. “How long have you been waiting?”