Chapter Text
The car had started to smell like stale fries, warm plastic, and hot breath somewhere around hour six.
By hour eleven, no one was speaking. Not even Olly, who usually had commentary for everything.
Charlie had his forehead pressed lightly against the window, watching the scenery blur past. The sights in front of him felt strange. Too open. Too green.
On the other side, Tori sat with her legs pulled up slightly, earbuds in, staring forward with the kind of stillness that meant she was deep in thought.
Oliver, wedged between them, had long since lost whatever patience a seven-year-old could reasonably be expected to have. His sneakered feet kicked idly at the back of the seats, and Mom and Dad had given up on telling him to stop hours ago. His voice cut through the silence every few minutes with another question.
“Are we there yet?”
“Nope,” Charlie muttered, not looking at him.
From the front seat, Dad shifted, stretching slightly before glancing back.
“Alright, update—we’re about two miles from our exit. Then it’s, uh…” he checked his phone mounted on the dash, “…about twenty-five minutes to the house.”
Oliver perked up instantly.
“Twenty-five minutes?! That’s so short!”
Tori didn’t move, just continued staring into the distance.
“There’s still time to turn back.”
Charlie let out a quiet huff of a laugh through his nose.
Twenty-five minutes. Less than a half hour until they reached their new home—No, not home, house—in South Carolina.
Great.
The car slowed, turning off the main road, and everything changed again. The pavement narrowed, then broke off into a long stretch of dirt road, dust kicking up behind the U-Haul trailing behind them.
Trees pressed in closer here, taller, thicker. The sky seemed bigger somehow. It was almost a little intimidating.
Charlie shifted in his seat, glancing out the window.
No buildings. No people. No corner shops or traffic lights or anything that felt familiar.
Just trees. And space. And silence.
He hated it already.
“Look!” Oliver leaned forward between the seats, pointing. “There’s so much grass!”
“Thrilling,” Tori said flatly.
Charlie huffed another quiet laugh despite himself, then dropped his gaze again.
He wasn’t ready for this.
Not the quiet. Not the distance from everything he knew. Not… everything else.
Being gay in New York City had been—if not easy—at least seen as relatively normal. Safe.
Here? He swallowed, pressing his lips together. Yeah. No. Not so much.
After a few more turns, the car slowed again.
And then—
“There it is,” Dad said.
The house came into view all at once, sitting back from the road just enough to be able to hide behind a few trees.
It was… big. At least compared to their old apartment.
Wide and low, stretched out with red brick and pale trim, a long porch running across the front. Three small dormer windows peeked out from the roof, giving it a slightly watchful look. The yard was massive—an open sweep of green that felt almost unreal after a lifetime of sidewalks and concrete.
It was the kind of house that belonged in a movie about families who actually wanted to move somewhere like this. Quaint.
Charlie blinked.
“…okay,” he admitted quietly. “It’s… kinda cute.”
Tori snorted.
“Isn't it, though?” Mom cooed.
The car rolled up the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires before finally coming to a stop. The engine shut off, and for a second—
Nothing. No honking. No voices. No distant sirens. Just the faint rustle of leaves and the ticking sound of the engine cooling.
Charlie opened the door.
The air hit him first—warm, at least sixty degrees, despite it being January, soft, carrying the smell of grass and dirt and something faintly sweet he couldn’t place. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't awful. He'd smelled much worse in the subway.
It was too quiet, though. Unsettlingly quiet.
He stepped out slowly, stretching after hours cramped in the car, his eyes scanning the space. The yard stretched out on either side, bordered by trees. The nearest neighbors were barely visible through them—far enough away to feel like they didn’t exist at all. A few acres, at least.
“Charlie, grab a box when you’re ready,” his mom called, already moving toward the back to start opening the U-Haul.
Dad was unbuckling Oliver from his booster. He was practically vibrating with excitement.
“Can I run around? Can I go look? Is there a lake? When do I get to ride the bus?”
“Unpacking comes first,” Julio said, gently. “Then we explore.”
Charlie barely heard them. Tori had come to stand beside him. They watched the house in silence for a moment.
Then, in the most completely deadpan voice imaginable, she said, “Nine hundred and… thirty days.”
Charlie blinked.
“What?”
“Two years, five months, and seventeen days,” she clarified. “Until I graduate. And then I’m going back to New York.”
Charlie turned to her slowly.
“You are going to leave me here? Alone? In the land of—” he gestured vaguely at the yard, the trees, the… everything “—cow shit and, like, men who wanna fuck their tractors?”
“Absolutely,” Tori said.
Charlie stared at her.
“For a whole year?”
“Every man for himself, little brother.”
He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Wow. Okay. Cool. Love that for me. Solidarity is dead, I guess.”
Tori glanced at him, just briefly, something softer flickering behind her eyes—but it was gone just as quickly.
“You’ll be okay here, Charlie,” she said.
Charlie looked back at the house. At the too-big yard. The too-quiet road. The place that didn’t feel like his life.
“…yeah,” he said, not actually convinced at all.
Oliver darted past them, already running onto the grass like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.
Charlie watched him go. Then he sighed, long and low.
“…I’m going to die.”
—
Charlie’s room was… almost right.
Not home, but closer than everything else around him.
Most of the boxes had been emptied, flattened and shoved into a corner behind his electronic drum kit, leaving the space feeling less like a temporary stop and more like somewhere he could sort of exist. His posters were up—Radiohead, The Clash, and one of his favorite books, Brideshead Revisited—slightly crooked, familiar enough to settle something uneasy in his chest.
The yellow neon MUSIC sign glowed softly above his bed, casting a warm haze over the walls that made everything feel a little less foreign.
And the bookshelves— Charlie paused, a book in his hand, glancing at them again, now more than half way full.
They were built into the wall. Floor to ceiling, solid, actually really nice. He hated how much he actually loved them.
“…and it smells weird,” he was saying, shifting his phone slightly so Tao and Elle could still see him as he slid another book into place. “Like—grass and dirt and something vaguely swamp-adjacent? And it's so quiet. I’ll have to keep my music on all the time, or I'll actually go nuts.”
On his screen, Elle looked thoughtful rather than horrified.
“That sounds kind of peaceful.”
Charlie turned, giving her a look.
“Elle Mary Antoinette Argent, you cannot be serious.”
She laughed.
“Not my middle name, and I am serious,” she said, smiling softly. “It sounds calm. Like… you could actually hear yourself think.”
“That’s the problem,” Charlie said immediately. “I can hear myself think. Constantly. There’s no background noise. No traffic, no people—nothing. It’s like living inside a pause. A smelly one.”
Tao leaned closer to his camera, eyes lighting up.
“That sounds incredible.”
Charlie narrowed his eyes.
“Not you too.”
“No, listen—” Tao insisted, already getting carried away. “When we come to visit, we have to film something there. Like an indie horror. Low budget, atmospheric—something with cryptids, maybe? Like—small town, something’s lurking in the woods—”
“Oh my god,” Charlie groaned, turning back to his shelves.
“I’m serious!” Tao insisted. “The isolation? The setting? That’s cinematic!”
Elle laughed quietly, shaking her head as she dodged Tao’s arm that he had thrown dramatically above his head.
Charlie turned back toward them, exasperated.
“Can you both just—please—for like, one minute, be pessimistic with me?”
Tao didn’t even hesitate.
“I hate it. I hate that you’re there. Worst place on earth.”
Charlie squinted.
“That felt insincere.”
“It was sincere,” Tao said, softer now. “I hate that you're not here. I hate that you moved so far away from us.”
“Mm,” Charlie hummed, turning back to his books. “Me too.”
Elle softened a little, her expression gentler now.
“We just don’t want you to be miserable, Charlie.”
He paused, fingers resting on the spine of a book.
“I’m already miserable,” he muttered.
“Well, don’t be,” Tao said immediately.
Charlie turned slowly.
“Oh, wow. Incredible advice. Thank you.”
“I’m serious,” Tao went on, undeterred. “The mind shapes reality. If you decide this place is terrible, it will be. But if you—”
“Tao,” Charlie cut in, tired. “I love that you took your mom's advice and started seeing a therapist and you're all insightful now, but I'm not in the mood for maturity and wisdom, so if you finish that sentence, I’m hanging up.”
Elle snorted.
Tao held up his hands.
“Fine. But I’m right, and Geoff is a genius.”
Charlie sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, glancing around his room again. The shelves. The posters. The soft yellow glow. It was getting there. He was trying to focus on the good. At least his room was good. Maybe he could shape some things, at least.
A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts.
“Charlie?” his mom’s voice came through. “The pizza’s here!”
Charlie perked up slightly despite himself.
“Oh—okay. Yeah, I’m coming.”
He looked back at his phone.
“I’ve gotta go.”
“Fine,” Tao sighed, “go enjoy your swamp pizza.”
Elle smiled.
“Text us later, okay?”
Charlie nodded.
“Yeah. I will.”
There was a brief pause.
“Love you,” Elle and Tao said in unison.
Charlie’s expression softened just a little.
“Love you guys.”
—
Downstairs, the kitchen felt louder. Warmer. More chaotic. A bit more normal.
Charlie slid into his seat at the table just as Oliver launched into what could only be described as a verbal sprint.
“There’s a creek out back and I saw like, three frogs and I think one of them was a baby and there’s rocks and we can probably build like a dam or something and can you come look with me later? Please? Please please please?”
Charlie blinked at him, pausing to make sure he was finished, then smiled, because—yeah. There was no saying no to that happy little face.
“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”
Oliver beamed like Charlie had just given him the best news of his life.
“Okay, but you have to be careful because it’s slippery and also I think there’s bugs but not any scary looking ones—”
“Calm down a bit and eat first, please,” their mom cut in, setting down the pizza boxes. “And remember, early night tonight. You all start at your new schools tomorrow.”
Charlie immediately dropped his head onto the table.
“Please don’t remind me. I’d like to live in denial for as long as possible.”
“Not an option,” she said lightly.
Tori, who had already grabbed a slice, took one bite and immediately froze, pulling a face.
“Oh… this is awful.”
Their dad looked up.
“It can’t be that bad.”
Their mom nodded.
“It’s pizza.”
Tori just held the slice out slightly to gesture to their plates.
“Try it.”
There was a brief moment of hesitation, then a bite and a pause.
“…oh,” their dad said.
Their mom made a face.
“Yeah… that’s… not great.”
Charlie reached over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. He chewed, swallowed the thick, soft crust and overly sweet sauce, then leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
“…another thing for the list of things New York does better.”
“I like it!” Oliver announced immediately, his face already covered in pizza sauce. “Pizza is pizza! It’s all good!”
Charlie looked at him. Then at the slice in his hand. Then back at Oliver.
“…you know what,” he said finally, nudging Oliver’s shoulder lightly. “I respect that take.”
Oliver grinned, entirely unbothered, and took another huge bite.
Charlie glanced around the table—at his family, at the unfamiliar kitchen, at the life he hadn’t chosen. Then he sighed.
Here we are, I guess.