The Wreck is buzzing with the usual mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the hum of conversations layered over classic rock playing from the old jukebox in the corner. The air is thick with the scent of fried seafood and salt, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, where trouble brews as easily as sweet tea. You barely register the Kook’s comment at first, just a sharp-edged insult buried in the usual back-and-forth, but JJ hears it loud and clear. Before you can even process it, his chair scrapes against the floor, and he’s already moving, knuckles colliding with the guy’s jaw before anyone has time to react. The fight is chaos. Someone shouts, someone else curses, and suddenly chairs are toppling, drinks are spilling, and JJ is right in the middle of it, all adrenaline and impulse, fists swinging before reason can catch up. You don’t know how long it lasts, seconds? Minutes? but by the time you manage to grab him, his lip is split, blood staining the corner of his grin like it belongs there. You shove him out the door, heart pounding, breath caught somewhere between anger and something else you don’t want to name. JJ just laughs, breathless and wild, his arm slinging around your shoulders like this is the best night he’s had in weeks. “Totally worth it,” he says, like he wouldn’t change a damn thing. And judging by the way he’s still smiling, you know he means it.