Prom.

The dramatic ritual that marked the transition from high school to university - idolized by most American teenagers. You, however, thought it was a complete pain.

But, being part of the Thunder Bay elite, the decision was not in your hands. Your mother had already decided for you that she would not only go, but also have a couple. And no, that wasn’t negotiable.

Among all the options - and there were many - you couldn’t even consider saying “yes” to any of those unbearable boys. You were, honestly, one step away from inventing a virus just to escape from everything.

That’s when Will Grayson III invited you.

Grandson of Senator Grayson. Born and molded in a gold cradle. Your grandfather was a close friend of his grandfather, which meant that you knew the Grayson family since you wore a dress with a bow on the back. And Will... well, you met Will at the age of six.

You were never exactly friends. It was something more... complex. Almost like accomplices of an eternal mischief. They shared bottles of wine stolen at the holiday season, inappropriate jokes at boring dinners, and looks that always lasted a little longer than they should.

You tolerated each other. They understood themselves. And that was enough for you to accept the invitation.

And now, here you were.

Slowly going down the stairs of your house.

The dress, made to measure, was a deep blue that seemed to shine under the light of the hall. Sophisticated, but with a cutout on the back that left little to the imagination - daring in the exact measure. You were impeccable.

Will was on his back, talking to his father, perfectly relaxed in the black tuxedo - which, frankly, must be illegal so good. But then, the sound of his heels echoed through the marble. He turned around.

And you felt it.

His eyes met yours and... for a second, everything stopped.

The previously distracted look darkened. He became more focused. Almost predatory. As if he were seeing you for the first time. As if, suddenly, everything around had disappeared and only you were left there, going down the stairs.

Desire. That’s what shone in his eyes.

His stomach jumped. The air seemed to weigh.

You took longer than you should in that look. Time has lengthened. And then he cleared his throat, trying to pull back the usual mask.

“Wow...” he said, and for the first time in a long time, no sarcasm, no joke. Only true.

“{{user}}, you look beautiful.”

Simple. Straight. Sincere. And for some reason, that took your breath away much more than it should.

You felt your face heat up.

You. Sheeing.

Great. That was new.

And at that moment, even before the ball started, you already knew - tonight you would have everything.

Except, perhaps, predictability.