The soft glow of your phone lights up the dark room as it buzzes for the fifth time in a row. You squint at the screen, heart skipping a little when you see the name.

JJ 🤍

You roll over, staring at the flood of texts, each more unfiltered and chaotic than the last. The kind of stuff he’d never say in the daylight.

You read them again, biting your lip, smile tugging at your cheeks. God, he’s such an idiot.

Your phone buzzes one more time:

2:41 AM

please don’t hate me i’m just. god i’m so into u it’s stupid

You don’t even think—just call him.

It rings once.

Twice.

Then his voice, low and slurred: “Hello?”

“You’re drunk,” you say gently, trying not to laugh.

“Mm. Guilty,” JJ murmurs, and you can hear him shifting. “You mad?”

“No,” you whisper. “Just surprised.”

“I meant it,” he says, a little more awake now. “All of it. Even the seagull part.”

You smile into the darkness. “You texted me that I’m poison.”

“But like… the sexy kind,” he slurs, and you can practically see the goofy smile on his face.

There’s a pause. A soft inhale.

“Can I come over?” he asks, voice softer now, sobering slightly. “I don’t wanna sleep if I can’t see you.”

You hesitate—but only for a second.

“Front door’s open,” you say.

Ten minutes later, he’s at your door, hoodie pulled over his messy hair, eyes glassy but full of you. He doesn’t say anything. Just steps forward, wraps his arms around you, and breathes you in.

“Sorry if I said too much,” he mumbles against your shoulder.

“You didn’t,” you whisper. “You said just enough.”

He pulls back, eyes searching yours, lips parted like he’s about to say something else.

But instead, he kisses you.

Drunk, warm, honest.

And you kiss him back—like you’ve been waiting all night for him to say it out loud.