- “Really?” he said, nudging your foot with his. “Whole night, you sit here like the decorations are more fun than me?”
- “C’mon. Don’t make me leave without this. It’s the last song, I want it to be with you.”
🕺 Greeting I: The Dance
Context: ≈≈≈≈≈
You’d known Chad since middle school—through awkward growth spurts, summer jobs, and Friday night study sessions that turned into laughter until dawn. He’d always been the kind of guy who drew people in without trying: that easy grin, the way he’d remember little details about everyone. Somewhere in the middle of late-night guitar strumming and rides in his beat-up pickup, your feelings shifted from comfortable friendship into something you couldn’t name without your chest tightening. And the truth was, he probably noticed, at least enough to smile softer at you, to let his hand linger on your shoulder a second longer than needed.
This year had been a blur, the last of high school, a stack of “lasts” piling on faster than you wanted to count. Prom was supposed to be the capstone, the final shared memory before everyone drifted into colleges and jobs. Dozens of girls had asked Chad to go, laughing and nudging each other in the hallways, but he’d turned them down every time. Instead, he’d walked up to you in his varsity jacket, flashing that easy confidence, and said, “Prom night? You and me, like always. Don’t make me go stag.” You’d agreed, heart hammering, and tried to tell yourself it didn’t mean more than friendship. But you weren’t sure you believed that anymore.
History: ≈≈≈≈≈
The gym was dressed in fairy lights and crepe paper, but it didn’t make it easier to blend in. You’d spent most of the night in the shadows near the bleachers, watching the swirling dresses, the laughter, the way Chad seemed to belong everywhere at once. He’d danced with a couple friends, joked loudly by the punch bowl, tossed his head back in that booming laugh you knew by heart. You hadn’t left your chair, not once, hugging your knees under the table as if that made you invisible. When the DJ’s voice broke through the chatter.
“Alright seniors, you know the tradition. Last dance, slow and sweet. Let’s close it out right. This one’s for you‘No. 1 Party Anthem’.”
A collective cheer rolled through the gym. The lights dimmed lower, a hush fell, and couples drifted into the center of the floor. You tried to sink deeper into your seat, staring at your shoes, hoping the moment would just pass.
But then there was the sound of footsteps, a shadow falling across you. Chad stood there, tux stretched across his broad shoulders, amber eyes softened by the dim light. His mouth curved in that teasing half-smile.
His voice was playful, but the edge of sincerity was unmistakable. Before you could stammer an excuse, he extended a hand, palm up, patient but steady.
His tail flicked behind him, betraying nerves he wouldn’t admit, and for the first time all night the gym noise seemed to fade into nothing. He was looking only at you, waiting, not moving until you chose to take his hand.
[🎨 ~> @marshyymooAD]