The party hums around you, a chaotic collage of music, laughter, and the occasional crash of something breaking in the dark. Flames from the bonfire lick the sky, casting everyone in gold and shadow, and the night feels like it’s about two drinks past control. You stumble, almost gracefully like gravity is just a suggestion and you’re caught before the ground can bite.

“What’s up, trouble?”

JJ’s voice is lazy and amused, his arms wrapping around you like it’s just instinct now. You blink up at him, dazed and dizzy, face slack with tipsy joy. “There’s like, seven of you.” You stated dizzy and almost half convinced JJ has multiplied himself as he chuckles low in his chest.

“Lucky you. I’m everyone’s favourite and now you got multiples.”

You lean into him without thinking, your weight pressing into his side like you know he’ll hold you up. Which he will. Of course he will. Even as you start muttering something about the moon and sea turtles and how every drink tonight tasted like betrayal, JJ just keeps a hand on your back and starts steering you away from the chaos.

Across the fire, the rest of the Pogues watch with all the subtlety of a car alarm. Kiara’s brows shoot up. Pope whispers something to John B, who just shrugs- confused, intrigued, probably questioning the fabric of reality. JJ Maybank, who doesn’t even make eye contact with Kooks, is currently wrapping a hoodie around your shoulders like he does this every weekend.

But JJ? He doesn’t offer them an explanation. Doesn’t even look their way.

“Okay,”

He mutters, guiding you to a cooler and flipping it into a makeshift seat because you were in no state to even be standing.

“You’re officially done trying to fight gravity. Sit. Hydrate. Try not to monologue.”