23 homecoming night
Jess has been ready for an hour.
Not dressed-emotionally.
There's a difference, and she's been operating at full capacity since the second she decided this night was important, which was approximately three weeks ago when I said yes under what I still consider questionable circumstances.
"You're doing that thing again," she says from behind me.
I look up from my phone, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "What thing?"
"The pretending you don't care thing."
"I don't care."
"You do," she says easily. "You just don't want to admit it."
Riley, sitting on the edge of Jess's bed, doesn't look up from where she's fixing the strap of her heel. "You wouldn't have tried on six dresses if you didn't care."
"I tried on three."
"You tried on six," Jess corrects.
"I vetoed three immediately."
Jess sighs dramatically, like this conversation is exhausting her personally, then steps closer and adjusts something near my shoulder that didn't need adjusting.
"You look good," she says.
"I look fine."
"You look good," she repeats.
Riley glances up this time, her expression softer. "You look like yourself."
That-
lands differently.
I don't respond to it, because I don't know how.
Instead, I turn slightly, checking my reflection again like I'm looking for something specific I haven't identified yet. The dress sits the way it's supposed to, nothing dramatic, nothing that feels like I'm trying to be someone else.
Just... different enough that I notice it.
"This is still unnecessary," I say.
Jess laughs under her breath. "It's already happening. You don't get to opt out now."
"I could still leave."
"You won't."
"I could."
"You won't," Riley says, calm and certain in a way that makes it feel less like a guess and more like a fact.
I don't argue with that. Because-
she's right.
Jess moves to stand next to Riley, leaning slightly into her without thinking. Riley adjusts automatically, their shoulders brushing like it's something they've done a hundred times before.
"You're going to be fine," Jess says.
"That's not reassuring."
"It's not supposed to be," she replies.
A car door shuts outside.
Jess freezes. Riley looks toward the window.
And suddenly... this is real.
"That's him," Jess says, unnecessarily.
"I gathered that," I reply.
"You should go," Riley adds.
"I am going."
"You're standing still."
"I'm preparing."
Jess grabs my wrist before I can say anything else, pulling me toward the door. "You're overthinking."
"I'm not overthinking."
"You're thinking too much."
I let her drag me down the hallway, out the front door, and onto the porch before I can come up with another argument that doesn't matter.
The air outside is cooler, quieter. And he's-
already there.
Leaning slightly against his car, hands in his pockets, like he's been waiting but not in a way that makes it obvious. He looks up when the door opens, and for a second-
he doesn't move.
It's not dramatic, not obvious enough for anyone else to comment on, just... a pause, like something caught him off guard.
I notice it immediately.
Of course I do.
Jess notices too, which is worse. Riley definitely notices.
No one says anything.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi," he replies.
There's a slight shift in his posture, like he straightened without meaning to.
"You're on time," I add.
"You're early," he says.
"That's suspicious."
"That's what I thought."
There's a small moment where it could turn into something else, something sharper, something more like our usual conversations.
It doesn't.
Jess clears her throat behind me, very intentionally. "We're still here."
"I'm aware," I say.
"Just making sure," she replies.
Riley smiles slightly. "Have fun."
"That's unlikely."
Jess ignores that entirely, stepping forward just enough to give me a look that says don't ruin this, which is unhelpful and unnecessary.
"I'll text you," she says.
"You always do."
"Exactly."
And then they step back, leaving just-
us.
He opens the passenger door without saying anything, waiting just long enough that it feels deliberate but not forced.
I hesitate for a second, then get in.
The drive is quiet. Not uncomfortable, just not filled with anything unnecessary.
The music is low, something I don't recognize but don't mind, and the city lights blur past the window in a way that makes everything feel slightly removed from itself.
"You look-" he starts.
I glance over. He doesn't finish the sentence immediately. Not because he doesn't know what to say, because he's choosing what to say.
"Different," he settles on.
I nod once. "That's the point."
"It works."
"That sounds like approval."
"It's an observation."
"It's approval."
He doesn't argue with that.
When we get there, it's already loud. Not overwhelming, but close.
Music spilling out into the hallway, people moving in clusters, the kind of energy that builds on itself the longer it exists.
The second we walk in together-
it shifts.
Heads turn.
Phones lift slightly.
Conversations dip and pick back up.
I feel it before I fully register it.
The attention.
Expected, but still a lot.
"Stay close," he says, not loudly, not like a command. Just there.
I don't question it, I don't argue, I just... do.
Which is new.
We move through the crowd like it's something we've practiced, like there's an understanding that doesn't need to be explained out loud. His hand brushes lightly against my arm at one point, guiding me without making it obvious.
I don't pull away.
That's new too.
By the time we reach the center of the room, it already feels like something has started.
Photos.
Videos.
People watching.
It's exactly what it's supposed to be. And somehow... we fall into it.
The conversation comes easier here, quieter between everything else, comments that land without effort, timing that doesn't need adjusting.
We're playing the part.
We're doing it well.
Too well.
"You're not messing this up," I say at one point, glancing at him.
"I'm trying not to."
"That's new."
"So are you."
I look away before that turns into something else.
Because it could. Because it's already-
close.
The music shifts.
Slows.
Not enough that it stops the energy in the room, just enough that the movement changes, people adjusting, couples drifting closer together.
I feel it before I react to it.
The shift.
The expectation.
"This is the part," I say.
"This is the part," he agrees.
There's a second where we don't move. Then his hand finds mine. Not abruptly, not dramatically, just... there.
I let him pull me a step closer, the space between us narrowing until it feels intentional.
It starts like everything else tonight. Controlled, measured. A performance.
My hand rests lightly against his shoulder, his other hand settling at my waist in a way that's careful without being distant.
We move with the music, slow enough that it doesn't require thought. And for a moment-
that's all it is.
A role.
Something we're doing because we're supposed to.
Then... it shifts.
Subtle and quiet, the kind of change you don't notice until you're already in it.
The noise around us fades slightly, not gone, just less important. His hand adjusts slightly at my waist, not pulling me closer, just-
steadying.
I look up without meaning to. He's already looking at me. Not like before, not like this is something he's managing. Just... looking. And I don't look away immediately.
That's the problem.
That's where it stops being simple.
Because this isn't part of the plan. This isn't something we discussed or agreed on or built into the situation.
This is just-
happening.
And for a second.... it feels real. Not completely, not enough to change anything, but enough to notice.
The song ends and the moment breaks.
Everything rushes back in-the noise, the movement, the space between us returning to something more reasonable.
I step back first.
"That worked," I say.
"It did."
"That's good."
"Yeah."
Neither of us moves right away, because we both felt it. Even if neither of us is going to say that.
I glance around the room, then back at him.
"This is still fake," I say.
"Yeah," he replies.
And this time-
it sounds less certain.
Which means-
this just got more complicated.