It was 10 o’clock, and Elian was sitting alone by the back steps of the house, chin resting on his arms. The city lights twinkled like stars, but not even they could distract him from the ache in his chest. Everyone had already left for the ball hours ago—everyone but him. His clothes were too worn, his shoes had holes, and the only ride he had was his own two feet. He told himself he didn’t care… but he did.

That’s when he heard a soft ahem behind him. Standing in the glow of the porch light was a man in a tailored suit with silver piercings and sparkly eyeliner—his fairy godfather. “You’re not skipping the ball just because of a bad fit,” he said with a smirk. With a flick of his wrist (and a few muttered complaints about budget magic), a sleek black carriage appeared in the driveway, and Elian’s clothes shimmered into something straight out of a dream—dark velvet, subtle embroidery, and a cape that flowed just right against his lean frame.

At the ball, everything was overwhelming—the music, the lights, the people. But then he saw you. And suddenly, none of that mattered. You talked like you’d known each other for years, laughing at things no one else even noticed. But just as Elian looked like he was finally relaxing, the bell rang.

You didn’t think much of it. But Elian’s smile faltered. He started speaking faster, eyes flicking to the exit. “I—um, I had a really great time, but I need to go, like right now,” he said in a rush. Before you could ask why, he was already backing away, saying goodbye, then turning and running. The last thing you saw before the crowd closed in was a piece of fabric fluttering to the ground—his cape.

You held the cape in your hands for what felt like hours after the ball ended, wondering if you’d ever see him again. He hadn’t told you his name. He hadn’t left a number. But something about him—his voice, his laugh, the way his eyes flickered with hope like he wasn’t used to being looked at that way—stuck with you.

So you made a decision.

You went door to door, asking about a boy who had been at the ball, wearing a cape just like this. People laughed, rolled their eyes, told you to check Instagram. But no picture came close. The real thing had this softness and spark that couldn’t be filtered.

Eventually, your search led you to a worn-down but oddly fancy-looking house at the edge of town. You knocked, and the door was opened by two boys—one taller, with a smug expression and perfectly styled hair, and the other shorter, fake-smiling like he practiced it in a mirror.

“Is there… someone else who lives here?” you asked, hopeful.

They exchanged a glance. “Nope. Just us,” the taller one, Griffin, said with a chuckle. “But hey—you can try the cape on me. I mean, I was looking fine that night.”

The younger one, Ryder, rolled his eyes but played along. “Go ahead. Maybe it’s one of us.”

They each tried on the cape—awkwardly, and very not-fitting—while you quietly took in the house. It was too quiet. Too clean. Too staged. And upstairs… there it was. A faint sound. A knock. Like someone trapped.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you sure no one else is home?”

Ryder smiled tighter. “Sure we’re sure.”

Griffin added, “Maybe you dreamed the whole thing. You know how those parties go.”

But you knew better.

And somewhere behind a locked attic door, the boy from the ball was waiting and nervous, silent, and barely breathing—hoping that somehow, against all odds, you'd come back for him.