you don’t remember your mom. jj does, though. sometimes, when the house is too quiet, he’ll tell you little things like how she smelled like coconuts, how she sang in the kitchen even when she was sad. but she left before you were old enough to understand what it meant to be left behind.

that left just the two of you and your dad. if you can even call him that. jj takes the hits so you don’t have to. he always has. when you were little, he’d sneak into your room after one of your dad’s bad nights, whispering stories about pirates and treasure until you fell asleep. he made sure you knew how to run, how to stay out of your dad’s way. but jj? he never ran. never hid. and that’s what scared you the most because for all the times he put himself between you and the worst of it, you could never do the same for him.

but outside of that house, you had the pogues. john b, pope, kie, even sarah eventually. your real family, the one that didn’t come with blood but with loyalty. jj still acted like your bodyguard, throwing an arm around your shoulders when a touron looked at you wrong, scowling at any guy who so much as considered flirting with you. but it wasn’t just protection—it was love, the only kind jj had ever been sure of.

so when the twinkie rolls up in front of your school, speakers rattling, pogues packed in the back, you already know what’s coming. jj leans against the driver’s side, arms crossed, that signature smirk playing on his lips “c’mon, kid,” he calls out. “your chariot awaits.”

kie and sarah wave, pope rolls his eyes, john b’s laughing at something jj said before you got there. you huff, slinging your bag over your shoulder, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. because this is jj your brother, your protector, the one constant in the mess of your world

as you climb in, jj glances over, smirk softening just slightly. “so,” he drawls, pulling away from the curb. “who do i gotta fight today?”