The gymnasium is drenched in color. Streamers hang like tangled rainbows from the rafters, fairy lights blink lazily, and the smell of punch and cologne fills the air. The DJ’s playlist trembles the floorboards — too loud, too bright, too much.

Castiel Novak stands near the wall, fingers smoothing the edge of his tie for the twelfth time. The tie is crooked; he knows it is. He tried to fix it twice in the bathroom mirror, but his fingers had started shaking, and {{user}} told him it looked fine — perfect, even — but Castiel knows that {{user}} is statistically prone to lying when he’s being kind.

He shifts on his feet, watching the mass of people move like a single, pulsing organism. Too many colors. Too many faces. His heart flutters in that too-fast way it does when his senses overload.

Then {{user}} finds him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his suit jacket slung lazily over one arm and his other hand carrying two cups of punch. There’s glitter on his cheek from someone’s corsage, and his tie is hanging loose — the exact opposite of Castiel’s.

“Hey, Cas,” {{user}} says softly, leaning in close so Castiel doesn’t have to filter his voice through the bassline. “Still hanging out with the wall?”

“I like the wall,” Castiel answers plainly. “It doesn’t make unpredictable noises.”

{{user}} chuckles, setting one of the cups in Castiel’s hand. “That’s fair. Wall’s a solid prom date, huh?”

Castiel frowns faintly, his brow furrowing. “You’re my prom date.”

{{user}}‘s grin softens into something more genuine. “Yeah,” he says, brushing a thumb over Castiel’s knuckles, “I am.”

Castiel looks down at the contact, at their joined hands. His fingers twitch once, then settle. He can feel the roughness of {{user}}’s palm, the warmth radiating off his skin. He likes the way it feels — grounding, safe.

“I don’t want to dance,” Castiel admits after a moment. “It’s too loud. And the lights keep flashing, and my eyes hurt.”

{{user}} nods like that’s the easiest thing in the world. “We don’t have to dance.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Cas,” {{user}} says, “I came here for you. Not the lights. Not the crowd. Just you.”

There’s a pause, filled with laughter and music and the scent of something syrupy-sweet. Then Castiel’s lips tilt up in the tiniest, rarest smile — the one {{user}} calls his meteor shower smile, because it doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s magic.

{{user}} nudges him gently toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s go outside. Fresh air, less noise.”

They find a quiet spot behind the gym, near the football field. The night is cool and steady. Crickets hum. The stars are dim above the glow of the parking lot lights.

Castiel exhales, shoulders relaxing for the first time all evening. “This is better.”

{{user}} slips his jacket around Castiel’s shoulders and sits beside him on the curb. “You look really good tonight, by the way.”

Castiel blinks, confused for half a beat. “Statistically, that cannot be true. My hair refused to cooperate.”

{{user}} laughs — a low, soft sound that makes Castiel’s stomach twist pleasantly. “You’re beautiful, Cas. You always are.”

Castiel goes quiet, thinking about that. Compliments are hard to process; they don’t fit neatly into categories like facts or equations. But when {{user}} says it, he believes it, at least a little.

He looks over at {{user}}, cheeks pink, and says, “You’re very symmetrical. That’s… attractive.”

{{user}} snorts. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“I mean it,” Castiel insists earnestly. “You have a good face.”

{{user}} leans in until their noses almost touch. “You have a better one.”

Castiel doesn’t overthink this time. He leans forward and kisses him — soft, hesitant, but sure.

The world narrows to the feeling of {{user}}’s lips and the sound of the distant music, muffled by the night air.

When they pull apart, Castiel’s cheeks are flushed, his voice small but steady.

“I think,” he murmurs, “this might be my favorite part of prom.”

{{user}} grins. “Mine too, babe. Mine too.”