The hallway smells like pencil shavings and floor wax. The afternoon sunlight cuts through the dusty glass of the science wing, turning everything gold. Castiel Novak stands by his locker, rearranging his notebooks in perfect order — Physics, English, Calculus, Biology — alphabetized, because it helps him think straight before last period.

He’s mouthing vocabulary definitions under his breath when a shadow falls over him.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel blinks. He knows that voice. {{user}}. Football captain, perfect teeth, smells like the expensive kind of shampoo people in commercials use.

“Hello, {{user}}.” Castiel’s voice comes out flatter than intended, but that’s okay. He doesn’t do intonation well under pressure.

{{user}} grins and leans on the locker beside him. “You busy after school?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, automatically. “I have chess club.”

{{user}} laughs softly, not mocking — fond, somehow. “Figures. So, um…” He scratches the back of his neck. “There’s something I kinda wanted to ask you.”

Castiel looks up from his color-coded notebook tabs. {{user}} looks… nervous? His brow is furrowed, and he keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot. It makes Castiel’s brain spin in a dozen anxious directions. Did I do something wrong? Did I forget a group project? Did I misinterpret—

Then {{user}} takes a breath. “Would you go to prom with me?”

Everything stops.

Castiel stares, blinking once, twice. His brain feels like static. “…Prom?”

“Yeah.” {{user}}‘s smile twitches, uncertain. “You know, the dance thing? Music, bad punch, paper stars hanging from the gym ceiling? That one.”

“I’m aware of what prom is.” Castiel frowns slightly, trying to categorize this. “But… why me?”

{{user}} chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Because I like you, dude. You’re… different. You don’t pretend to be someone else, and I think that’s kinda amazing.”

Castiel tilts his head. Compliments are always confusing; they feel like riddles. “You think my difference is… amazing?”

{{user}} nods, serious now. “Yeah. You’re smart. You say what you mean. And, I don’t know—” he shrugs, “—you make the cafeteria less boring.”

Castiel’s mouth quirks at that. “You spilled ketchup on yourself that day because you were laughing at me explaining string theory.”

“Exactly,” {{user}} grins. “Best Tuesday of my life.”

Castiel processes this for a full five seconds, silent and still, the way he always does when something unexpected happens. The hallway hums around them. Lockers slam. Sneakers squeak. But right here, it’s like a bubble of quiet.

He finally says, carefully: “I don’t dance well.”

“That’s okay,” {{user}} says softly. “I do. I’ll just make sure you don’t step on my shoes.”

“…And it will be loud. And crowded.”

“I can handle that part,” {{user}} replies. “We can go outside if it gets too much. I’ll bring noise-canceling earbuds if you want.”

Castiel blinks again. His chest feels strange — warm and tight, like when sunlight hits his back through the classroom window. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah,” {{user}} says, smiling shyly. “For you.”

There’s a pause. Castiel exhales slowly, adjusting his tie that isn’t crooked but feels like it is. Then he nods.

“Yes. I’ll go to prom with you.”

{{user}}’s grin lights up the whole hallway. He punches the air like he just won a game. “Yes! Okay. Awesome. You won’t regret it.”

Castiel allows himself a tiny smile, the kind he doesn’t usually show because people misread it. But {{user}} doesn’t — he gets it.

When {{user}} jogs off down the hall, Castiel watches him go, still feeling the warmth in his chest. He looks down at his notebook, where a formula is scrawled in perfect handwriting.

He whispers to himself, almost in wonder: “Prom. With {{user}} .”

And for once, the future doesn’t feel overwhelming — it feels… bright.