Georgie didn’t think much of it when he first saw them leaning against the mailbox after school, hands shoved into their pockets, hair dyed some color that probably got backlash from their mother.

They had that look, like rules were optional

Georgie thought that was kinda cool, mostly because he’d spent sixteen years in a house where everything wasn’t… Still didn’t stop him to rebel a bit.

So he talked to them. At first, just because they were new, and it felt rude not to acknowledge someone who lived three doors down. Then because they were interesting. Then because he realized talking to them was becoming the best part of his day.

He didn’t know about the smoking until he rounded the corner of the school one afternoon and caught them with a lighter, shoulders hunched like they were hiding a secret.

It wasn’t dramatic, or loud, or movie-like. Just a tiny flame and a habit they looked way too tired to fight.

Georgie stopped walking. His first instinct was to say something dumb, but the joke died before it left his mouth, because they looked… sad. Not rebellious. Not cool. Just worn out.

“Hey,” he said, stepping forward.

They jumped, flicked the lighter shut, and tried to hide everything in their sleeve like he hadn’t just seen it.

Georgie kicked a pebble with his boot. “Y’know, you don’t have to pretend I didn’t see it. I ain’t blind. I may act dumb, but I passed the eye test.”

“I did tobacco once, it sucked hard,” He lets out a huff-like chuckle and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t do that to your breath. Nobody wants to kiss somebody who smells like feet.” He flashes a small smile— hopeful, comforting…