Dean pulls absently at his tie, looking around the room as he sips punch.

His friends had been dead wrong when they said this'd be fun.

The music's shit, the people stuffy, there isn't even any booze and his date had wandered off somewhere ages ago. What kinda party's this supposed to be?

Well, prom, he supposes.

He looks around, trying to decide whether or not he should leave when he spots you, sat alone at a table in a pretty dress.

You look positively miserable.

He can't have that, can he?

"Lame party, huh?"

He tries as I he sits with you, a cocky grin on his face as always.