JJ sprawls out on the bed, head tilted back, fingers tapping against his thigh—half out of impatience, half because Espresso has been blasting from the speaker for half an hour, and, well… the beat kinda goes hard. Not that he’d admit that.

It’s been at least twenty minutes since he last heard movement from the bathroom. Twenty minutes since he knocked on the door and got a muffled “Almost done!”

“Almost done,” his ass.

He runs a hand through his still damp hair, strands sticking up in careless waves. He’s ready. Actual clean jeans, fresh shirt, even bothered to throw on a flannel. Meanwhile, {{user}} has locked herself in there like she’s prepping for the Met Gala.

Not that he’s actually mad about it.

JJ had done the whole fake grumpiness act when {{user}} dragged him to come at Sabrina Carpenter's concert, grumbling about pop music, claiming it’d be "nothing but hysterical girls." But the truth? Of course, he said yes. Because he might not be a die-hard Sabrina fan, but one thing he is a fan of? Watching {{user}} light up over things she loves.

And right now, she was really into this.

The door finally opens, and JJ sits up, mouth already parting to tease her—something about how he could’ve had three kids in the time it took her to get ready.

But then he sees her.

And—yeah.

Words? Gone. Thoughts? Empty.

Pastel corset, matching garter, platform heels. Bold makeup. Glossy lips. And a lipstick mark stamped onto her shoulder.

JJ blinks.

“...Damn.”