Dean wasn’t the type to get nervous. Usually. But when he spotted you by the vending machines—head tilted, hands in your pockets like you weren’t waiting on anyone—it made his throat go dry. He’d been working up the courage for weeks, rehearsing what he’d say, how he’d say it. Prom was coming up, and you… you were the only person he even thought about asking.

But life had other plans. Plans with tiny sneakers and fruit snack negotiations.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep his voice steady as he approached you. “Hey,” he said, offering a crooked smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I wanted to ask you to prom, but… I’ve got Sammy that night. My kid brother. He’s five. Kinda hard to trade him in for a tux.” He chuckled, soft and apologetic. “Didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to. ‘Cause I do. Just… can’t.”

Sammy was sitting by a bench, eating some snacks, almost being swallowed by his big scarf.