chapter forty three
season two.
The front door creaks open, and Judy hears him before she sees him. His footsteps are light, careful—so unlike JJ Maybank.
She doesn't look up right away.
But then, a throat clears.
Judy finally lifts her head, and there he is, standing in the doorway of the Chateau: hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, ocean-blue eyes unreadable. And in his hand? A crinkled bouquet of gas station flowers, wrapped in plastic, slightly wilted but colourful nevertheless.
For a moment, she just stares. Because of course he would do this. Of course he'd think some sad little bouquet could smooth things over.
The worst part? He's still so fucking hot.
JJ shifts on his feet when she doesn't say anything, lifting the bundle of petals slightly. "I'm wielding my white flag."
Stationary in the hall between her room and the bathroom, Judy quirks a brow, arms folding. "Gas station flowers?"
JJ smirks. "I mean, yeah. But, like, the fancy ones. Premium pick."
Judy exhales sharply, slinking closer. She takes the bouquet from his hands, inspecting it. Some of the petals are browning at the edges, and the plastic is wrinkled, but they smell sweet, and the fact that he even thought to buy them makes her chest ache in a way she really doesn't want to analyze.
Still, she upholds the wall disguising her true reaction. "You think this fixes everything?"
JJ tilts his head, grinning wryly; a dog with his tail between his legs. "Nah. But I figured it might soften you up enough to let me try."
Judy rolls her eyes and turns on her naked heel, heading for the bathroom. "I need to brush my teeth."
JJ follows instantly like a magnet. "Perfect. I'll come with."
Judy snorts. "What, to watch?"
"Obviously," he quips, leaning against the bathroom doorway as she flicks on the light. "Not like I got anything better to do."
Judy ignores him, focusing on uncapping her toothpaste, but he doesn't move. He just watches, arms folded, faint amusement flickering in his gaze.
She meets his eyes in the mirror. "Can I help you?"
JJ shrugs, pushing off the frame and stepping closer—too close. He rests his chin on her shoulder, eyes locked on hers in the glass. "I'm good right here."
Judy stiffens, but not because she doesn't want him there. It's because she does.
She huffs, shoving her toothbrush into her mouth. "Personal space, Maybank."
JJ chuckles into her shoulder. "Never heard of it."
His hands find her waist, fingers hooking into the fabric of her sleep shirt, thumbs brushing over her skin in slow, lazy circles. He's not pushing, but he's there, radiating warmth, settling into her space like he belongs.
A couple of minutes later, Judy spits out her toothpaste and rinses off her toothbrush. "You're really trying, huh?"
JJ's voice is quieter now, softer. "Only 'cause I mean it."
Judy turns around, and he doesn't move back. His hands just shift, resting on either side of her hips. Close. Steady.
"Do you forgive me yet?" he murmurs, voice low.
