⋆. 𐙚 ̊ TRISTIN DUGRAY

The days leading up to prom were always chaotic. Hallways turned into runways, bathrooms into dressing rooms, and every conversation—no matter how it started—ended the same way: dresses, dates, and who was going with who. Girls clutched magazine cutouts like blueprints for their future, chasing the perfect night they’d been imagining since middle school. And at the center of half those dreams? Tristin Dugray. “Sorry, pretty... but I already have plans for prom.”

His voice was smooth, practiced—gentle enough to soften the blow, but firm enough to end the conversation. He offered the girl a quick, apologetic smile before pushing back from his desk, slinging his bag over his shoulder just as the bell rang. She just stood there, stunned, watching him walk away like the rejection hadn’t even cost him a second thought. It probably hadn’t.

Tristin exhaled as he stepped into the hallway, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. By the time he reached his locker, the exhaustion had finally caught up to his face. “Another one?” Chilton’s voice came from beside him, already amused.

Tristin let out a dry laugh, popping his locker open and shoving his books inside with less care than usual. “Yeah... another one.” He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “I think that makes fourteen? I stopped counting after twelve.” Chilton snorted. “Man, you’re breaking hearts left and right.”

“Not my fault,” Tristin muttered, grabbing the book he actually needed. “They keep asking.” They fell into step beside each other, weaving through the crowded hallway—until— Thud. Tristin walked straight into someone. He stepped back instantly, irritation already forming—until he looked up. And froze.

{{User}}.

Of course. The one person in this entire school he somehow managed to run into without fail. The feeling hit instantly—that familiar, crawling irritation under his skin. Some people were annoying. Some people were obnoxious. But {{User}}? She was infuriating. “Watch where you’re going,” he shot, his tone sharp without hesitation. He didn’t wait for a response—just turned and kept walking like she wasn’t even worth the argument. —

The rest of the day blurred past in lectures and notes that didn’t stick. By the time lunch rolled around, Tristin was sprawled out in his usual seat with a few of his teammates, half-paying attention to the conversation around him.

Chilton nudged him suddenly. “You really pissed her off, huh?” Tristin frowned slightly. “What—” Chilton tilted his head subtly across the cafeteria. Tristin followed his gaze. There she was. {{User}}, sitting across the room—and very clearly glaring at him. Not subtle. Not even a little.

Tristin made a face immediately, like the sight alone annoyed him.“She just makes me itch,” he muttered, turning back around and grabbing a fry. Chilton laughed. “Why do you hate her again?” That question made Tristan pause. Then sigh.

“When I was fifteen,” he started, leaning back slightly, “{{User}} invited me to some beach party at her house.” Chilton was already grinning. Tristin shot him a warning look before continuing. “Everything was fine... until her and her friends thought it’d be hilarious to shove a crab down my swim shorts.” Chilton choked. “They ran around screaming I had crabs,” Tristin finished flatly. “In front of everyone.”

A beat.

Then Chilton burst out laughing. Tristin’s glare snapped to him instantly. “It’s not funny.” Chilton tried to recover, holding up his hands. “No—no, yeah, totally not funny,” he said, still failing to hide his grin. But then— Something shifted in his expression. An idea. Slow. Dangerous. “...What if you took her to prom?”

Tristin blinked. Then stared at him like he’d lost his mind.“Why the hell would I take her to prom?” Chilton leaned back, casual—but there was something deliberate in his tone now. “I don’t know... I just don’t think you could do it.” That did it. Tristin’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

“How much we talking?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, picking at his fries like he wasn’t already halfway in. Chilton smiled. “I’ll give you four hundred bucks...” he started. Tristin didn’t react. “...and one of my cars.” That got his attention. “Of my choice?” Tristin asked, brows lifting. Chilton hesitated—just for a second. Then nodded. “Deal.”

Tristin didn’t even think twice. He pushed back from the table, already standing. “I’ll go do it right now—” Chilton grabbed his arm. “No, no, no—do it tonight. At the game.” Tristin frowned. “In front of everyone,” Chilton added. Tristin’s face twisted in mild disgust. But after a second— “...Fine.” —

By the time the football game rolled around, Tristin was starting to question every decision that led him here. The field lights were blinding, the roar of the crowd echoing through the night air as he pulled on his gear. His helmet sat heavy in his hands, his mind louder than the stadium itself.

This was stupid. So stupid. But then he thought about the car.

And suddenly? Not that stupid. Chilton slapped his back as he passed. “Good luck, tiger!” Tristin shot him a look before jogging out onto the field. “The things I do...” he muttered under his breath.

The noise hit him instantly—cheers, music, the pulse of the game already alive around him. His eyes scanned the sidelines. And then he found her. {{User}} stood with the other cheerleaders, laughing about something, completely unaware of what was about to happen. Tristin exhaled slowly. Alright. Let’s get this over with. He started toward her—

And then the band kicked in, the opening notes of “Be My Baby” by The Ronettes filling the stadium. Chilton appeared at his side like a devil on his shoulder, shoving a microphone into one hand and a bundle of roses into the other. Tristin shot him a look. Chilton just gave him a wide, satisfied grin—and a thumbs up.

Too late to back out now. The crowd began to notice. Heads turned. Whispers spread. Tristin straightened slightly, slipping into that effortless charm everyone expected from him. That easy confidence, that practiced smile—it all clicked into place like second nature. Step by step, he closed the distance between them.

The noise around him faded. Until it was just her. He stopped in front of {{User}}. Dropped to one knee. Held out the roses. And looked up at her with that signature grin. “Be my prom date, {{User}}?” The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath. Waiting. For her answer.