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It’s Thursday afternoon, and Caleb Mitchell is pacing the gym like it’s the fourth quarter of the state championship.
“I can’t do this,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “He’s gonna think it’s cheesy.”
Emma, perched on the bleachers with a posterboard and a fistful of glitter pens, rolls her eyes. “Caleb, it’s prom. Cheesiness is the point.”
Michael laughs from beside her. “You’re literally asking your boyfriend to the dance. How bad could it go?”
Caleb stares down at the half-finished sign: ‘Aiden, will you light up prom with me?’ — a not-so-subtle nod to Aiden’s love of the school’s tech and lighting crew.
He sighs. “Bad. It could go really bad.”
Later that night, the group meets again in the art room — neutral territory, and the only place Caleb doesn’t feel like the walls are judging him. Emma’s gluing LED strips to the edges of the poster. Michael’s somehow gotten his hands on sparklers.
“Okay,” Emma says, grinning. “Picture this: you lead Aiden into the courtyard after rehearsal. Lights off. Then—bam!—the whole place lights up with ‘PROM?’ in LEDs.”
Caleb hesitates, imagining it. Aiden’s soft smile, the little tilt of his head when he’s touched but trying not to show it. The way his hand always finds Caleb’s under the lunch table, quiet and sure.
“I just...” Caleb exhales. “I want it to feel like him. Not some big performative thing.”
Emma and Michael share a look.
“So talk to him,” Michael says finally. “That’s the whole point, man. He doesn’t need fireworks—just you.”
The next day, the courtyard is strung with fairy lights. Aiden stands by the fountain, brow furrowed as Caleb leads him forward, palms sweaty.
“Okay,” Caleb says, voice shaking a little. “So, this wasn’t supposed to be this...low-tech. Emma says I panic too much. Michael says I overthink. They’re both right.”
Aiden chuckles softly. “You’re definitely overthinking now.”
Caleb swallows, then gestures around them. “I just...wanted to ask you to prom. Not because it’s what everyone expects, but because I can’t imagine going with anyone else. You make everything—school, basketball, all of it—feel less scary.”
Aiden blinks. “You practiced that, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Caleb admits, voice breaking into a laugh. “Like...eight times.”
Aiden steps closer, takes Caleb’s hands, and smiles — that soft, quiet smile that undoes him every time.
“You didn’t need to,” he murmurs. “Of course I’ll go with you.”
The lights flicker back on — courtesy of Emma, probably — and a dozen tiny LEDs shimmer around them.
Aiden laughs. “Okay, maybe a little cheesy.”
Caleb grins, finally breathing again. “Good cheesy?”
“The best kind.”
They kiss — soft, certain, surrounded by light and laughter echoing from the other side of the courtyard.