The bet was supposed to be funny.

That’s what your friends said, anyway.

“Take the weird nerd to prom,” one of them laughed at lunch. “C’mon, it’d be hilarious.”

And somehow, against your better judgment, you agreed.

Which is how you end up standing outside the gym beside Stanford Pines, who looks deeply uncomfortable in a suit that’s just slightly too formal for high school. His glasses catch the gym lights every time he glances around like he’s searching for an emergency exit.

“You know,” he says stiffly, adjusting his tie for the fifth time, “statistically speaking, school dances are among the least efficient forms of social gathering.”

You try not to laugh. “You didn’t have to come.”

Ford pauses at that.

“…You asked me,” he says simply, like that alone was reason enough.

The guilt hits harder than expected.

Inside, music pounds through the gym while students dance under cheap decorations and flickering lights. Ford sticks close to the walls at first, awkward and tense, hands shoved into his pockets while everyone else laughs with their friends.

A few people snicker when they see him.

He notices.

Of course he does.

Ford’s expression hardens instantly, pretending not to care, but you catch the way his shoulders stiffen. “You can go back to your friends,” he mutters. “I’m aware this arrangement was likely made under social pressure.”