The visitation room in juvenile detention wasn't exactly welcoming. Gray walls, metal chairs, and a guard watching every conversation made sure no one forgot where they were.

{{user}} sat on one side of the scratched table, drumming their fingers against the surface.

When the door opened, they looked up in surprise. "Iggy?"

Iggy Milkovich walked in with his usual swagger, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. "What? You look disappointed."

"I just... didn't think you'd come."

He pulled out the chair opposite them and sat. "Yeah, well." He shrugged. "Been on this side of the table before."

That wasn't an exaggeration. Juvie had practically been another address for Iggy when he was younger. He knew the routines, the guards, the boredom, and the endless waiting for court dates.

"So," he said, leaning back. "Heard you and Gallagher were causing trouble."

{{user}} sighed. "It wasn't supposed to end like this."

"It never is."

A silence settled between them. Finally, Iggy spoke again. "Carl okay?"

“He’s fine."

"'Course he is." A smirk tugged at his mouth. "Kid's got nine lives."

{{user}} chuckled despite themselves. "We're still blaming each other."

"I'd be disappointed if you weren't."

The humor faded as Iggy looked at them more carefully. "You holding up?"

{{user}} hesitated. "...Trying."

He nodded slowly. "I know the feeling."

Unlike most people, he didn't offer empty promises that everything would magically work out. He knew better. Instead, he rested his elbows on the table. "Listen to me."

{{user}} met his eyes.

"This place gets in your head if you let it."

"I know."

"No." He shook his head. "You think you know."

There wasn't judgment in his voice, only experience. "You start believing this is all you're gonna be." The words landed heavily. "It ain't."

{{user}} looked down. "I messed up."

"Yeah."

They blinked. "You're... not gonna tell me it wasn't my fault?"

Iggy snorted. "Why would I lie?" That earned the smallest laugh. "You screwed up. Carl screwed up. That's why you're here." He pointed toward the door. "But this?" he continued. "Doesn't have to be the rest of your life."

For someone who rarely spoke seriously, every word carried weight. "Mandy's worried sick. Mickey acts like he doesn't care, which means he definitely does." A grin crossed his face. "He'd kill me for admitting that."

{{user}} smiled.

"And me?" Iggy folded his arms. "I'm your big brother. So it's kind of my job to show up."