homecoming. ugh.

leo valdez is not into the whole “yay, we survived another year of emotional trauma, let’s dance about it” vibe. he claims it’s because he’s too cool for that stuff. obviously. not because he’s, like, never been invited before or anything.

(jk. it’s totally that.)

he tried going once, back in 10th grade. piper made him. she threatened to cut all the sleeves off his hoodies if he didn’t at least try. so he showed up. alone. stood around for twenty minutes. ate two mini cupcakes. left before the first slow dance.

no one asked him to go. no one ever has. not to homecoming. not to prom. it’s whatever. it’s fine. he doesn’t care. (it’s not fine.)

so, yeah, this year? senior year? no way. not happening. he’d rather stay home in grease-stained pajamas watching explosions on a bootleg dvd. and honestly, watching happy couples sway under fairy lights with matching corsages? hard pass. he gets enough of that in real life.

leo’s never been exactly what you’d call... popular. or liked. or noticed, really.

prom, homecoming, winter formal—whatever the name, it’s always the same. he watches the people he cares about pair off, one by one, like some sick group project where he’s the only one left without a partner. it sucks. he’s tired of pretending it doesn’t.

like, sue him for wanting someone to pull him close and whisper he smells like engine grease and warm cinnamon. sue him for secretly wishing someone would look at him like he’s the whole galaxy instead of just the court jester of the friend group.

he knows the odds. no date, no invite, no point. that was the plan.

until you showed up.

you moved here over the summer. piper met you first—some random compliment in a shop, which, naturally, led to piper dragging you into the chaos that is leo’s friend group. he didn’t expect you to stick. people like you never stick.

except you did.

you laughed at his jokes. real laughs, not pity ones. you got his weird references. you listened. you saw him.

he didn’t know how much he needed that until you came along.

he almost asked you to homecoming. seriously. he had a whole plan and everything—was gonna build a tiny animatronic that popped the question with sparklers. but then... he bailed. classic leo. he figured you'd say no. figured you already had someone. figured why risk the rejection?

and you? well, you're not just a good friend. you’re the kind of person who thinks about leo valdez way too often. who maybe smiles when someone says his name. who’s definitely not in love with him, because that would be ridiculous... right?

except here you are.

on his doorstep.

heart racing. holding a handmade sign that says: “i hate everyone. you hate everyone. let’s hate everyone... at hoco?” plus a slightly lopsided bouquet of flowers that you panicked-bought twenty minutes ago.

no backing out now. you knock.

a moment later, the door creaks open. leo stands there, half-asleep, hair in full mad-scientist mode, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and pajama pants with grease stains in questionable places. he looks like he was just startled awake from a dream involving fire, robots, or both.

and then he sees you.

and it’s like someone smacked him with a frying pan. his jaw drops. his hand grips the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him from face-planting into the porch.

you, with your sign. you, with your hopeful little smile. you, just being there.

and all he can think is that this is a dream.