Being John B’s older sister meant you were always the one keeping the chaos in check. You’d been the one patching up scrapes, breaking up fights, managing groceries, making sure the Chateau didn’t fall apart after your dad disappeared. Even with the Pogues treating you like one of their own, there was an unspoken expectation—you were the responsible one. The one who had it together. The one who didn’t need help.

Except you did. You just got really good at pretending you didn’t.

JJ saw through it, though. He always did.

You’d come back from a late shift, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, too tired to argue when you found JJ lounging in the kitchen, shirtless, cooking something that probably wasn’t his to begin with. He offered you a plate without a word. You tried to wave it off—like always—but he didn’t let you.

“You don’t gotta play mom with me, you know,” he said casually, handing you the fork. “I can take care of you too.”

That stopped you in your tracks.

JJ didn’t look at you like you were bulletproof. He looked at you like someone who needed rest. Someone who deserved rest.

“You always make sure everyone else is okay,” he added, quieter this time. “Let someone do the same for you.”

Your throat tightened, the unexpected gentleness unraveling something in you that had been wound too tight for too long.

JJ grinned as you finally took the plate. “There she is. You’re not in charge tonight, alright?”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curled despite yourself. “Only tonight.”

He leaned in, smug. “One night’s all I need to prove I’m better at this than you.”