JJ Maybank wasn’t exactly known for restraint. So when he looked at you with that signature smirk, shirt halfway off, drawling out, “Ain’t nobody comin’ back for a while, baby,” you knew better… and still went along with it.

Now here you were, tangled up on the couch in Poguelandia, clothes askew, breathless, and very much in the middle of things—when the front door burst open.

“DUDE. NO.” John B stood frozen, jaw dropped, still holding a case of beer. Pope blinked rapidly, dropped his snacks, and turned around like his life depended on it. Sarah shrieked and shielded her eyes. “Are you KIDDING ME?!” Kiara? She stared in stunned silence, clearly debating whether to scream, laugh, or just move out.

You and JJ both froze. Well—you froze. JJ? He had the audacity to grin.

“Y’all ever heard of knockin’?” he said casually, like it was no big deal you were half-naked in a communal space.

“JJ!” John B snapped. “That is a SHARED couch!”

JJ just shrugged, still not even reaching for a shirt. “Relax. We wiped it down after. Probably.”

Pope made a pained sound. “I am never, ever sitting there again.”

Kiara shook her head, laughing despite herself. “This is why we don’t leave y’all alone.”

And Sarah, eyes still covered, groaned, “I need bleach. For my brain.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. JJ, on the other hand, looked smug—like he’d just achieved something worth celebrating.

The Pogues slowly backed out of the room, traumatized and yelling over each other about couch rules, sanitizing, and boundaries.

JJ leaned back against the cushions, turned to you with a lazy grin, and said under his breath:

“Worth it.”