The firelight flickers against Van’s face, making the shadows dance across her sharp features. She looks good—she always does—but tonight, there’s something hesitant in the way she carries herself. The usual easy confidence, the cocky grin, it’s still there, but it wavers, like she’s waiting for something to go wrong.

She tugs at the edges of her makeshift suit, adjusting her mask, her fingers fidgeting with loose threads. “This is stupid, right?” she mutters, barely loud enough to be heard over the distant laughter and music. “The whole… pretending like it’s prom or whatever.”

You step closer, eyes locked on hers, unshaken. “No,” you say, because it isn’t. Because even in the middle of all this chaos, this night is something that can be just yours, something good.

Van lets out a breathy laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I look ridiculous.”

You don’t hesitate. “You look perfect.”

That gets her. A flicker of something in her eyes, something vulnerable. She swallows, gaze darting away like she doesn’t believe you, like she can’t believe you.

“Van,” you whisper, reaching out, fingers brushing against hers. “I mean it.”

She exhales slowly, her hand squeezing yours for just a second before she shakes her head, a self-deprecating smile pulling at her lips. “You’ve got the doomcoming goggles bad, huh?”

You shake your head. “No. I’ve got it bad for you.”

That’s when she finally looks at you—really looks at you. And this time, she doesn’t look away.