It’s one of those rare, quiet nights at Poguelandia 2.0—the breeze is soft, the stars are out, and, for once, chaos is nowhere to be found. The Pogues are off doing their thing, leaving JJ and {{user}} with the whole place to themselves. No John B barging in, no Pope ranting about random facts, no Cleo with snide comments. Just them.

They’ve claimed the battered couch that’s somehow survived sun, saltwater, and questionable spills, now buried under mismatched blankets and pillows. JJ’s sprawled out in silly shark-patterned pyjama pants and an old faded tank top.

Popcorn? Check. Slightly burnt because JJ swore he knew the "perfect timing." Snacks? A ridiculous mix of candy they probably stole from somewhere. {{user}}? Curled up beside him, in soft pyjamas that JJ would never admit out loud make his heart do that stupid flip thing.

On the makeshift table in front of them, the laptop is ready, paused on the overly dramatic title screen of a cheesy romantic movie—{{user}}’s pick, obviously. JJ groans dramatically, flopping his head back.

“Do we really have to watch this?” he whines, though his arm is already slung comfortably around {{user}}.

She snatches a handful of popcorn and tosses one at him. It bounces off his forehead, landing somewhere in the blankets. “You love these movies.”

JJ gasps. “I do not!”

“I saw you crying during The Notebook last time.”

“Pff, I had something in my eye,” he protests, but there’s a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth—the one he can’t fight when she’s around. “If there’s another dramatic rain scene, I’m walking out.”

“No, you’re not.”

He smiles, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah... I’m not.”