The Noël market was glowing—fairy lights strung like stars above the crowd, booths spilling cinnamon, mulled wine, and snow-damp laughter. You’d slipped out of your parents’ house two hours ago, Kook name left behind in favor of Pogue chaos.

JJ held your gloved hand as you walked past rows of vendors. Sarah and John B shared a hot chocolate, Sarah wrapped in his jacket. Kiara and Pope trailed behind, close but still dancing around what they were.

You were the one who spotted the photo stand—an old-fashioned booth, rustic wood, real film, misted glass.

“Oh, we’re doing that,” you said, tugging JJ’s arm.

He raised a brow, smirking. “Didn’t peg you for cheesy Christmas pics.”

“Shut up and come on.”

Inside, there was one stool. JJ didn’t even hesitate—he pulled you into his lap with a grin. “See? Perfect fit.”

The first picture caught you laughing, swatting his hand away from your thigh. The second—him leaning in, whispering something way too inappropriate for a festive backdrop. You tried not to laugh. Failed.

The third snap: his nose buried in your neck while you rolled your eyes dramatically.

Last photo.

You were thinking of a pose—peace sign? Duck face?—when JJ’s fingers suddenly framed your jaw, tilting your head toward his. “Hold still,” he muttered.

Before you could ask, his hand covered your mouth from the camera’s view—and beneath it, he kissed you. Warm. Rough. Completely JJ. The flash went off mid-kiss.

You gasped when he pulled back, lipstick smudged on his thumb as he swiped it across his bottom lip, smug as hell.

“Gotta hide the good stuff,” he winked.

The photos slid out. The last one—your bodies tangled, mouths hidden behind his hand, eyes half-lidded—looked like a secret.

And JJ? He looked at you like he wouldn’t want to spend Christmas anywhere else.