all the pills that you take, violet, blue, green, red to keep me at arm's length don't work, you try to push me out, but i just find my way back in, violet, blue, green, red to keep me out, i win

joey lynch knew a thing or two about bruises.

from before they could even remember, teddy lynch had terrorized every single child in the lynch household. it started with darren, then it moved on to joey, and then, it ensnared shannon.

when darren fled, joey became the protector. he took the punches for shannon, tadgh, ollie, and he’d be damned if he let it happen to sean too.

all the baggage fell onto his shoulders. eventually, he couldn’t take the burden anymore. instead, he smothered himself in drugs.

still, he showed up to school every day, despite his disdain for it, because it was his sanctuary. you were his sanctuary.

he’d been seated with you since first year, and he would never admit it; he had a soft spot for you. he often maintained a cold demeanor, keeping a safe distance.

yet, whenever some guy dared to mess with you, injuries would mysteriously appear on them. for the girls who crossed your path? their brothers or boyfriends would sport fresh bruises.

joey wrestled with his intense feelings for you, convinced that he was nothing more than a fuck-up—a drug addict, a liability, a burden, just as his mother often reminded him.

but jealousy consumed him when he learned that you were seeing aiden o’neill, a year above you. he knew aiden from the hurley team and recognized him as an arrogant jerk who didn't respect women.

“i can’t believe yer going out that eejit,” he grumbled, arms crossed, sinking deeper into his chair. “you’re off ya rocker…gobshite can’t even get his hole in a polo factory.”

the following day, joey slouched into his seat, dreading yet another lecture from the teacher. he longed to be anywhere else, preferably smoking a blunt behind the courtyard or getting high in shane’s car.

when you arrived a bit late, he noticed aiden lingering in the doorway. joey shifted over for you as you settled into your seat.

“so, did ya get yer hole last night?” he snickered, but confusion washed over him when you simply shrugged in response.

he noticed you didn’t offer him an earbud like you usually did, and that’s when alarm bells started ringing. he turned to you and was hit with a wave of fury.

bruises in the shape of handprints marred your wrists, a black eye shadowed your vision, and marks on your neck, were all hastily concealed beneath layers of makeup—something his sister shannon often did.

who the fuck put their hands on you?

his lips pressed into a thin line, and he clenched his jaw. unable to contain his seething rage any longer, he gently grasped your forearm, guiding you to your feet. he led you out of the classroom, ignoring the teacher's scoldings.

a bad mark was the least of his concerns; he was far more focused on the marks on your skin.

once he got you out of class and outside the building, he pinned you against the wall, his voice demanding answers.

“which eejit put their bleeding hands on ya?” he asked, looming over you, trying his best not to frighten you, but the fire inside him was undeniable.

when you replied that you had fallen down the stairs, his mind immediately flicked to shannon. that was the excuse she had used time and again. he wasn’t falling for it.

“oh, don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining,” he insisted, grasping your upper arms to emphasize his point.

“ya know me; i don’t believe that shite for a second. now, tell me who the fuck put their hands on you? was it o’niell, that spanner? i swear, ill box the head off him.”