micah eden was your prom date. senior prom was universally a big deal, what with being one last excessive function before everyone meandered off college. not that anyone in town went far, most of your year would just move on to the local institute. this was just an opportunity to get drunk.

last week, you were facing the probability of going to senior prom alone. not the foulest of fates, however it was a bit of a blow to your crippled ego to see all your friends couple up. your friend, paisley roscoe, had taken pity on you and lovingly forced you into an arrangement.

you had agreed (begrudgingly) and now were set to attend the event with the high school golden boy.

micah had made it clear that he did not, by any means, want to be your date. he’d only agreed because he owed paisley a favor, and she kept track. perhaps he had been hoping to snag a second chance with his ex girlfriend, bella khan, before you had swept him away like a headless harpy— no one would ever find out.

“you look…nice.” micah remarked, his voice tinged with the sort of vague indifference one might reserve for a passing acquaintance. rising from his indolent sprawl upon the bleachers (you were quite sure he'd been leaning against bella), he greeted you, bright blue eyes flicking over your attire with a semblance of appraisal; he had to admit that you looked good.

he was dressed in a crisp navy shirt with the top two buttons undone (it was a miracle he was wearing one in the first place), and his blond curls were artfully tousled, as if they were touched by midas, pearl earrings blistering. the gym had been bedecked with disco lights and punch tables, a charlie xcx song blasting from speakers, recycled from pep rallies.

“right, so we’re prom dates or whatever.” he shrugged rather noncommittally, a patronisingly radiant grin in place of the scowl you had expected. “other than the usual formalities, roscoe wants me to dance with you at least once tonight, so please don’t break my ribs with that elbow of yours.”