Chapter Text
The trailer park always smelled of smoke. It didn’t matter the source—cigarettes, weed, or somebody’s half-dead charcoal grill sputtering in the distance—the scent was baked into the gravel, into the metal siding, into the fabric of Joel’s sheets. It clung to everything, clung to him. He’d grown up breathing it in, and now he didn’t even notice it unless the wind shifted and made the air heavy. To Joel, the smoke wasn’t pollution; it was just home.
It was barely dawn when he heard the tapping on his window. At first, he ignored it, pressing his face deeper into the warm spot on his pillow. He’d only just crawled back into bed after his early-morning bathroom trip. His eyelids were still thick with sleep, and for a moment, he thought he’d dreamed the sound. But then the tapping came again—louder this time, insistent—and Joel groaned, shoving his face into the mattress.
“God damn it,” he muttered into the fabric.
He could’ve ignored it if it’d stayed gentle. But when the tapping turned into rapid, echoing bangs, panic jolted him upright. If his parents woke up, they’d both be upset—not mad, but Joel couldn’t handle disappointment so early in the day. So, Joel dragged himself to his knees, reached over his bed, and yanked the curtain aside.
Outside, the dawn was pale, the sky still gray enough to feel like night hadn’t fully given up yet. Down below on the gravel stood a short, scrawny blonde with messy hair and too much energy for the hour. Grian was grinning up at him, his hands cupped around his mouth like a megaphone.
“Hi, Joel!” He shouted, voice muffled through the glass.
Joel scowled down at him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He let the curtain drop shut again and flopped backward onto his bed.
The tapping resumed instantly.
“Go away,” Joel hissed, voice cracking from disuse. He kicked at the window in frustration. The plastic frame made a dull pung! and somewhere outside, Grian yelped in surprise. Joel smirked into his pillow. Served him right.
—
Joel slung on his backpack, bounding down the stairs of his trailer and shoving the door open with his shoulder. He hopped down onto the gravel, catching the door before it could bang, and quietly shutting it.
Immediately in his face is Grian, still with that wide grin and bouncing feet. “Morning!” He chirps.
Joel shoves his face away with a groan. “What’re you so bloody chipper about?” He grumbles, dragging a hand through his messy hair, his voice still thick with sleep and irritation.
“Mashed potato bowl for lunch today,” Grian says without hesitation, as if that explained everything. He falls into step beside Joel, sneakers crunching on the gravel.
Joel snorts despite himself, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?” He teases, slinging an arm lazily around Grian’s shoulders. “Simple man. Simple pleasures.”
“Oi!” Grian scowls, batting his hand away. “I can be happy if I want! Sorry not everyone wakes up hating the world, you prickly twat.”
Joel laughs, rough and low. “Am not.”
“Are too.” Grian grins, shoving him playfully.
Joel shoves back, and within seconds they were shoulder-checking each other down the path like kids again, laughing under their breath so the neighbors wouldn’t yell at them.
That lasted right up until Grian gave a harder push and sent Joel stumbling into the street—just as an old rusted pickup barreled by, missing him by less than a meter.
“Jesus Christ!” Joel barks, stumbling back to the curb, his heart hammering.
Grian’s grin only widens. “Chicken.”
Joel folds his arms across his chest, puffing himself up. “I’m going to ignore what you’ve just said, because I am a mature man,” he announces with mock dignity.
“Sure you are,” Grian says flatly, rolling his eyes.
“Morning, boys.” An amused female voice calls from just a house or two down the street. The two teens turn towards it, spotting pink popping against the dull.
A basic, small white house comes into vision. The building is just like every other rundown house on the block. Lizzie Fata is leaning against the chipped railing, somehow trusting it to not collapse under her weight. Her pink hair catches what little light the sun had to offer, a strange pop of color against the dull palette of rust and gray that surrounded her house. She’s wearing a faded tank top and cutoff shorts, the kind of casual grace that makes it look like she belongs there but also somehow doesn’t. Even her chipped nail polish matches her hair. Her eyes are warm and her smile soft, even as she takes amusement in Grian and Joel’s bickering.
Joel straightens immediately, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. “Good morning, beautiful,” he calls, flashing his best grin. He stays on the sidewalk, though. He knows better than to get too close—standing on the ground made her taller from the porch, and that always made him feel like a kid again. Not that he’d ever admit it.
“Hello.” Lizzie hums, a teasing grin on her face. “Jimmy will be out in a moment.”
“And what if we were here to see you?” Joel raises an eyebrow.
She laughs—quiet, breathy, soft enough that it shouldn’t’ve hit him like a punch to the chest. “Then you wouldn’t be standing all the way down there,” she teases, resting her chin on her hand.
“I’m not scared,” Joel says quickly. Too quickly. His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and his cheeks flush hot.
“Sure you’re not,” Grian mutters, smirking as he plants a hand on Joel’s back and gives him a shove.
Joel stumbles forward, catching himself on the side of the porch with a sharp thunk! His knee connects with the paneling, sending a crack through the already weak wood. “Sorry!” He squeaks, immediately pulling back, mortified. He could hear Grian snickering behind him.
Lizzie just laughs again, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry about it. Everything around here’s on its last limb. A gentle breeze could take the whole place out.”
Then, to Joel’s utter disbelief, she reaches down and brushes a stray lock of hair out of his face. Her fingers are warm, faintly smelling of smoke and lilac conditioner. “You okay?”
He just nods, scared of his own voice, and ignores Grian’s snort from behind him.
The torn screen door of the house flies open, slamming into the wall and groaning worrisomely. Jimmy stumbles out, barely holding onto his backpack by his fingertips as he narrowly avoids a hole in the porch. The door slams behind him, the screen of it flopping down from its tear. The sound so familiar none of them even flinch.
Joel finds annoyance bubbling up at the ruined moment with Lizzie. “Morning!” Jimmy grins, a cut on his cheek stretching at the action. And Joel finds himself softening, like he always does around Jimmy. Not that he’ll ever admit it.
Joel frowns at the cut, it looks fresh. “Mornin’, lad.” He tilts his head in greeting, glancing at Lizzie. Her smile faltered when she noticed the cut. For a moment, there was something heavy in her eyes—something protective and tired—but she masks it quickly, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease.
“Good morning, Jimmy!” She says brightly, despite definitely having seen him earlier, exhaling a thin plume of smoke.
Joel fishes through his pockets for his own pack, but before he could search for a lighter, Jimmy tosses him a wrapped muffin. Joel fumbles the catch, managing to grab it just before it hits the ground. “Cheers,” he mutters, tucking a cigarette between his lips. He looks up at Lizzie with a smirk, ignoring his two friends just a foot away. “Have a light?” He cocks an eyebrow.
Lizzie plucks the cigarette from her own lips, blowing the smoke right into Joel’s face, causing him to blink furiously. She grins, and leans down, cupping her hand around Joel’s mouth, using the burning ember from her own cigarette to light Joel’s.
Joel has definitely crushed the muffin in his hand by the time Lizzie pulls away. He falters for a moment, before quickly taking his cigarette in between his fingers, pulling it away and coughing. He turns away, fist hitting his chest and cheeks flushed bright.
“Well, I’m gonna get my own breakfast.” Lizzie announces, a smug smirk on her lips as she stubs her half a smoke on the railing. “Have fun with those crumbs.” She chuckles, eyes flicking down to the ruined muffin in Joel’s hand. Her hair flips just barely as she turns, the front door closes with a loud creak, and the screen one with a slam.
For a long second, nobody said anything.
“You’re pathetic.” Grian deadpans, thudding his palm on Joel’s back, before stealing the cigarette from his fingers and taking his own drag of it.
Joel groans as Jimmy hooks a hand around his wrist and starts dragging him down the cracked sidewalk. “Pathetic,” he echoes, shaking his head. “Absolutely hopeless.”
Joel rolls his eyes, reclaiming his cigarette and blowing a plume of smoke into the air. “Shut up,” he murmurs.
“Seriously, though,” Grian says, bumping his hip against Joel’s as they walked. “This has been going on for what? Ten years? And you still haven’t made a move?” He raises an eyebrow, smirk on his lips.
Joel glares at Grian, blowing smoke directly into the blonde’s face. “We’ve had dinner together.” He argues, not bothering to fight when Grian steals the cigarette from his fingers again.
“Wow,” Grian deadpans, taking his own drag from the stick. “You’ve done something Tim’s done with her a billion times.”
Jimmy snorts, and Joel shoves him hard enough to make him stumble into a hedge. “Not the same,” he says defensively, though his voice lacks conviction.
Joel had fallen for Lizzie when they were kids, when she was the pretty older girl who’d bandaged his scraped knee and called him “handsome” just to make him blush. She’d been the light in a place that never had much brightness to begin with. And she still was. Looking back on those years made him cringe a little, cause he definitely just looked like an annoying little kid, copying and following.
“You’re just jealous she actually likes me.” Jimmy snarks, swatting at Joel’s shoulder once he’s gotten his balance back.
Lizzie was… different. Everyone else in this shitty part of the town felt like the same story rewritten—burnt-out, angry, exhausted. But Lizzie had this impossible calm about her, like she’d figured out how to smile despite everything. Joel didn’t know how she did it, but sometimes he caught himself trying to imitate that same easy confidence.
Joel barks a laugh, taking the last drag of his cigarette before flicking it onto the sidewalk and grinding it under his sole. “Yeah, right.” He exhales a curl of smoke into the morning air, mirrored by the own curl of his lips.