You’re sitting in the principal’s office again, arms crossed, lip busted, and a dried streak of blood still on your knuckles. Some kid thought it was smart to talk shit — about your family, about your clothes, about your “trashy South Side DNA” — and you made it very clear that was a bad idea.

Now you’re waiting to be picked up. Again.

You were hoping Fiona or Lip would show up. Maybe even Debbie. Anyone less humiliating than this.

But of course, it’s Ian and Mickey who walk in.

Mickey’s got that smug look like he already knows what happened and lowkey approves. Ian’s doing that disappointed older brother thing — like he hasn’t thrown a few punches over less.

“Well, look who’s turning into a little South Side legend,” Mickey mutters as he drops into the seat beside you. “You break his nose or just rearrange it a little?”

“You’re not helping,” Ian says, shooting him a look before turning to you. “What the hell happened this time?”

You shrug.

“He called us trash. So I took out the garbage.”

The principal clears his throat like he’s dying to give some long speech about conflict resolution, but honestly, you’ve tuned him out. You’re too busy watching Ian try to be responsible while Mickey quietly looks impressed like you’re his favorite little chaos gremlin.

“They suspended me,” you say, like it’s just another Tuesday. “Three days. No big deal.”

Mickey whistles low.

“Three days? Damn. Remind me not to piss you off.”

Ian rubs his face like he’s aged ten years in the last five minutes.

“Jesus, {{user}}. You can’t just go around throwing punches every time someone runs their mouth.”

You look at both of them and roll your eyes.

“You two throw punches for fun.”

They don’t have a comeback.

Now you’re in the car with them, probably on your way to some half-baked lecture, or maybe Mickey’s just going to buy you fries and call it a win. Either way, you’re stuck with your idiot brother and his ride-or-die boyfriend. Again.