Chapter 4: Don’t Trust Guys Named Joey
•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•
As I stepped past a small group of people and into the building and into my dorm hallway, the smell hit me, strong and undeniable...no longer just faint and distant. It felt like it had woven itself into the very air, as if it had no plans of clearing out anytime soon. It clung to everything, the walls, the floor, the entire space and while it wasn’t as sharp as it must have been earlier, it was enough to make everything feel all too real, something the phone call had failed to convey.
The hallway felt... wrong.
Not completely wrecked or anything dramatic enough for the news, but damaged in that uneven way that somehow stung even more. One part of the wall was darkened with soot, paint warping and peeling in spots, while the rest looked exactly as it always had, creating a jarring contrast that highlighted where everything had gone sideways.
There was debris scattered across the floor...mostly small bits of broken or misplaced things and as I walked closer to my room door, it became painfully clear that "kind of caught fire" was an incredibly generous way to put it.
I opened the door slowly.
For a brief moment, I just stood there, taking it all in.
Because there was no way this was what he meant.
The room wasn’t completely destroyed—not in the catastrophic way my imagination had conjured up, but it was bad enough that the specifics didn’t really matter. One side was visibly damaged; the walls stained dark and uneven, parts of the ceiling showing marks where heat had lingered too long.
The furniture that still stood looked like it barely made it out alive, while everything else was either out of place, broken, or covered in a thin layer of ash that made it all feel... distant.
Like it didn’t belong to me anymore.
I let out a slow breath, stepping further in as my gaze drifted over the remnants of the room, taking it all in bit by bit without really knowing what I was hoping to find.
I thought he said the fire wasn’t severe.
My eyes landed on the area that had clearly suffered the worst damage, and a tightness settled in my chest...not quite panic, but heavy and persistent.
The room was almost gone.
"...I’m going to fucking kill him."
The words slipped out quietly, more like a fact than anything, as if I’d already accepted that this was the path I was on.
"Okay, before you do that, l–let me just say I’m really sorry, and I brought you something—"
Joey’s voice cut in before I could even turn to face him, and when I did, he was already halfway through the doorway, slightly out of breath, arms loaded with things that made absolutely no sense together.
He was holding a toaster, a single sneaker and what looked like half a pillow. I stared at him and he stared back.
"...Why are you holding a toaster?" I asked slowly, my brain refusing to process anything else until that question got answered.
"It survived," he said immediately, as if that explained everything, pushing his curly blond hair away from his face as he stepped further inside. The ends were slightly frizzy, making him look even more like the kind of frat boy he definitely wasn’t, and his blue eyes were wide, like he’d been talking himself through this for a while.
"That’s what you decided to save?" I waved vaguely at the toaster. "Not, I don’t know, anything useful? Important? Mine?"
"I panicked!" he insisted, shifting the pile in his arms awkwardly. "And, in my defense, you have a ton of stuff, and fire is really distracting."
"You think?"
"I grabbed what I could!"
"You grabbed a toaster and one shoe, Joey," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose briefly before dropping my hand again. "Unless you were planning to start a very specific bakery, I’m not seeing how this helps!"
"It’s a good toaster," he muttered, carefully setting it down like it was something precious.
I just stared at him for another second, then let out a breath that was way too close to a laugh, even though the situation was anything but funny.
"Tell me," I said, crossing my arms as I studied him properly now, "did I not warn you about trying to cook when you’re terrible at it?"
He winced immediately.
"That depends on how much detail you want to get into—"
"Did I," I repeated, my tone sharper this time, "or did I not tell you not to tell you to wait for me until I got back from work, then I’ll cook dinner?"
"You did," he admitted quickly, raising his hands in surrender. "But I didn’t think cooking was this dangerous!"
"You were using an electric stove, Joey."
"Yes, but—"
"And oil in a building with already faulty wiring."
"That part was an accident."
"It’s all an accident," I said flatly. "Your entire existence is one long accident."
"Wow," he muttered, looking mildly offended despite everything. "That’s pretty hurtful. I said I was sorry."
"...Yeah, that was pretty harsh. I’m sorry." I said, my voice a lot softer now. "I didn’t mean it."
"It’s alright."
Because beneath all of this, underneath the absurdity of the situation and the rhythm of bickering with him like we had a million times before...something else sat there, refusing to leave.
My gaze drifted away from him without me intending to, resting on the far side of the room where some of my things had been pushed together, gathered or at least attempted to be. I stepped closer, focusing as I looked through what remained, trying to make sense of it all.
That’s when I saw it, a notebook or what used to be one.
The edges were darkened and slightly curled, showing it had been too close to the heat, and when I picked it up carefully, ash flaked off lightly from the cover, falling away in small, quiet pieces.
I turned it over in my hands, my thumb brushing the worn edge where, not long ago, pages used to sit neatly together, filled with notes, schedules, random thoughts I’d never shown anyone.
Now, some of those pages were gone. The rest were barely holding together.
I didn’t say anything.
I just looked at it a moment longer than I probably should have, then set it back down gently, as if it might disintegrate if I kept holding it.
Behind me, Joey shifted slightly, the movement subtle but enough to notice, as he seemed to realize this wasn’t something he could joke his way through.
"Alright," he said after a beat, his voice quieter now but still holding that familiar forced optimism. "So, uh... I’ve got good news."
I didn’t turn around.
"That phrase from you has never once led to anything good in my life," I responded, my tone dry as I glanced back at him. "Every time you say that, my life gets worse."
"This time is different," he insisted quickly, straightening up a bit like he was gearing up for something important. "I have a solution."
"That’s exactly what you said last time you tried to fix the sink."
"And technically, I did fix it."
"You flooded the bathroom."
"It stopped leaking!"
"Because there was water everywhere, Joey."
"Details, can’t you forgive and forget?" he muttered, waving a hand dismissively before refocusing. "But this is actually good, I swear. I pulled some strings."
I raised an eyebrow. "You don’t have strings."
"I do," he argued. "I know people."
"You know idiots."
"They still count," he shot back defensively. "Anyway, one of them owed me a favor, and I may or may not have cashed it in."
"That already sounds illegal."
"It’s not illegal," he clarified quickly. "It’s just... unexpected."
"Joey."
"Okay, fine," he exhaled, running a hand through his hair again. "I got you a place to stay."
I blinked at him. "...You what? Already?"
"A place," he repeated, nodding like that made it more believable. " but it’s temporary. Just until this gets fixed."
"For free?" I asked immediately, since that was the only thing that mattered.
"For free," he confirmed.
I just stared at him.
Then I laughed, not loudly or uncontrollably, but enough that it escaped before I could stop it, because there was no way this was real.
"Okay," I said, shaking my head slightly. "Sure. Of course you did, let me guess, it’s a closet? A storage room? Someone’s couch that I’ll get kicked off in two days?"
He didn’t laugh, though, he just looked at me seriously and that’s when something shifted.
"...Where?" I asked slowly.
"Preston Hall."
The name hung between us, heavy with meaning, because I felt it right away.
Everyone knew Preston Hall, It wasn’t just a dorm. It was THE dorm.
The kind of place people like me didn’t even think about, reserved for students who’d never had to worry about rent or bills or whether they could survive on instant noodles for a week.
The dorm for the elites. The richest of the rich kids in this school.
For a moment, I just stared at him again, waiting for the punchline, tIt didn’t come.
"Are you joking?" I asked, though my certainty was wavering.
"I’m not," he replied.
"That’s not possible."
"It is."
"How?" I demanded, the question spilling out before I could hold it back. "Why? Who approved this? You can’t just put someone in Preston Hall, Joey, that’s not how it works."
"I told you," he said, holding his ground. "I know a guy."
"A guy doesn’t get people into Preston Hall for free."
"This one does," he insisted.
I rubbed my face, exhaling slowly as I tried to wrap my head around what he was saying, because none of it made sense, not with everything I knew about that place, about the kind of people who lived there, about the kind of money it took just to survive in that environment.
And somehow, I was supposed to fit into that?
"Okay," I finally said, lowering my hand as I looked at him again. "Let’s say, hypothetically, I believe you for a second."
"Good start."
"Who’s the roommate?"
Joey didn’t answer right away, and hat was the issue. Because Joey never hesitated unless he had a reason to.
I narrowed my eyes slightly, watching him as he suddenly found the floor incredibly interesting, his earlier confidence beginning to waver just enough to confirm my suspicions.
"...Joey," I said slowly.
He winced, and just like that, I knew.
Whatever he was about to say next...It wasn’t going to be simple.
