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“It’s gonna be fine,” Kai said firmly.
“Definitely,” Lauren agreed, squeezing his hand. Kai suffered through several humiliating, squishy emotions and did his best not to spontaneously combust.
“Vee’s not gonna be there until after all the rest of the class leaves - Bell won’t, either, but they’ll still be there, just not, like, visible. So if you feel any terrifying hairs-on-the-back-of-your-neck-standing-up feelings, it's probably just them and if it's not, whatever it is, it's about to be super dead anyway.”
“Right.”
“And they’re both gonna look pretty startling at first, but you’ve just gotta remind yourself they’re the same old losers, no matter how spooky they look. You’ve had a head start, so it shouldn’t take more than a couple conversations.”
“For sure.”
On the gravel path toward the field in the rear of Remy's house, Kai stopped, squinting back at Lauren through the dark. She was biting her lip, looking at him all soft and fond and exasperated.
“You’re laughing,” he deadpanned, good-naturedly despite himself. “I’m trying to emotionally prepare you for the fact that Vee and Bell look like sleep paralysis demons and you’re laughing.”
Lauren hid the resulting giggle behind her free hand, and Kai tried not to lose consciousness like an absolute dweeb.
“I promise I will refrain from screaming when I see our friends in person for the first time,” said Lauren. “I met up with an online friend at Matsuricon last year, so I’ve even had practice.”
“You’re hilarious.”
When they finally entered the back field proper, Roman’s head popped up over the crowd, standing on the moonshine truck bed and hopping up and down obnoxiously to get their attention. Next to him, Remy grabbed at his shirt and tried to yank him down, shouting irritably about him knocking over the jars.
They made their way through the throng of people until they reached their friends, crowded around the moonshine truck in lawn chairs and overturned stumps or sitting on the ground. Remy, Roman, Nate, and Elliot were in the truck bed, and everyone else was gathered around it. Polly stood next to the truck, leaning over the side and talking quietly with Elliot.
“Hi Elliot!” Lauren called immediately, letting go of Kai’s hand to dart through their friends like a butterfly. “How’s the party going?”
“Uh, okay. I think,” they said nervously.
“You’re doing great, Annie,” said Polly.
“I mean, you’re all right here, it’s not like I’m actually throwing a party by myself,” said Elliot, whose face was steadily getting more and more red.
“But this is your first batch of moonshine all by yourself! You did a great job and deserve a special day,” said Polly, jostling them gently.
Elliot was looking alarmingly close to actually passing out at the force of Polly’s new Big Sister™ routine, so Kai made a big show of gagging obnoxiously to get the eyes off them for a few moments.
“Oh, don’t make me come over there and baby you too, kid. You’re all toddlers to me.”
From the dark woods on the far side of the truck from the party, there was a low, echoing giggle that sent a shudder through all of them.
“Apologies, oh Spooky Old Wise Ones,” Kai deadpanned, turning to bow dramatically into the woods.
The shudder melted into giggles, and a handful of kisses were blown in the direction of the shadows. There were a few classmates hovering shiftily a couple yards away, like they were coming up to get moonshine and were suddenly much less sure about it.
Everyone but Virgil and Bell had met Lauren by this point, but not everyone at once like this, and maybe Kai had been nervous about it – but it was clear that nothing was going to implode by the time the party started to peter out and wander down the gravel back to the lane. Lauren had taken up residence on Logan’s huge picnic blanket with the man himself and Patton, having a lively discussion about olive oil as conditioner of all things. The only conditioner Kai used was whatever pollution, magical or otherwise, leached into his groundwater, so he was mostly just trying not to stare like a sap at his friends and his girlfriend getting along.
The last handful of stragglers, a couple of Nate’s friends, tossed out hesitant offers to help clean up, but Nate waved them off. He didn’t say it, obviously, but it would have been stupid to let them clean up by hand when not only were Bell or Virgil perfectly capable of wind-sweeping it into a bag with a wave of their hands, but were in fact eager to do so (because waiting for human-speed cleaning was apparently “boring”).
Kai saw them disappear around the house, and the next moment Virgil was worming his way into the spot between Patton and Logan with a face that was definitely pouting. Bell was standing directly over Lauren, bent down, head tilted, and making intense eye contact with a huge smile.
“Hello,” she said cheerfully.
“Hi, Bell!” said Lauren, surprising everyone by launching up from her seated position and giving Bell a hug that would have been rib-cracking on anyone other than a gentry (in spite of being a full two heads shorter). Bell looked absolutely ecstatic.
Sloane clapped enthusiastically before elbowing Emile. “Hey, we still have those Cotton Candy Squad welcome pamphlets, right -”
“Lauren is NOT Cotton Candy Squad,” said Kai.
“Not yet.”
“On what grounds?” said Patton, jokingly indignant.
“She’s a Gamer, like me and Logan.”
“Logan plays Mario in Mario Kart and he gets to be a Gamer?” Corbin demanded.
“I will have you know I am extremely skilled at mobile puzzle games.”
Corbin just gestured even more emphatically at him.
“Mobile games are real video games. Which you would know, if you were a Gamer,” said Kai.
Logan offered Kai a high five, and he took it without looking.
“I like Stardew Valley,” said Lauren, elbowing Logan conspiratorially as she manhandled an obviously-going-along-with-it-for-kicks Bell onto the limited space on the blanket and started imperiously braiding her hair. Bell clearly found this behavior utterly hilarious.
“Hello, Laurel,” said Virgil softly, in that I’m-going-to-try-and-sound-small-and-nonthreatening-in-spite-of-that-being-the-most-absurd-concept-on-earth voice. All it really did was make the gravelly get all whispery and infinitely more creepy, but come on. It was like trying to give acting tips to the world’s sweetest boogieman. Kai was lucky he could keep a straight face around this absolute loser on a good day.
“Hey Vee!” said Lauren cheerfully. There was something just barely hysterical at the very edge of her eyes for a moment, and then she lurched forward, hand stuttering once, and booped Virgil on the nose.
He went cross-eyed, somehow startled, and then laughed and exchanged a delighted look with Bell. They were both so fucking pleased with themselves, not scaring this new apparently-extra-nervy human. Kai hated their guts. He wanted to noogie the shit out of them. Lauren was, of course, the fucking coolest.
“Okay, I get it,” said Remy dramatically. “I see how you’ve ensnared our dear grump-ass Kai with your aggressively sunshiney personality. Can you turn the wattage down, girl?”
“Remy!” Kai gritted out.
“Excuse you,” said Lauren, “but you’re looking at the girl who resulted in two separate prom dates. This thing doesn’t have a lower setting, boy.”
Nate, Polly, Elliot, and Emile all lost it to sputtering laughter, and there was a chorus of “ooooooos” as Remy’s jaw dropped, cheeks pinkening.
“Okay, damn!” he said, raising his hands. “Message received, a very scary sunshine.”
“Oh good,” said Roman, grinning and kicking Remy in the leg. “I knew we needed more girls, Remy’s always forgetting how to talk to ladies.”
“With deep and abiding fear?” said Elliot.
“Exactly,” Roman agreed. “Mamaw has me well trained.”
“The only reason you can talk to girls at all is because living with that woman was like training with Rock Lee weights from birth,” whined Sloane. “And it's so unfair, because you don’t even like girls! Give me your girl skills, you don’t need them.”
“Weird to loudly admit you don’t know how to talk to girls, McLaughlin,” said Roman, who had produced a nail file from …. somewhere. “And besides,” he continued, “we should be grateful to have our very own Helen. Launcher of a thousand ships and so on.”
A chorus of boos and a peal of delighted squeals from Patton echoed through the clearing. Roman bowed shamelessly, rewarded with a big cherry-red blush from Lauren.
“Who is Helen?” said Bell, bright-eyed and curious, and then without pausing, “and why are you booing him?”
“Hold on a moment,” said Logan, and Kai was abruptly reminded of the time in fourth grade when he made himself a “cogitating cap” and made that exact same face every time he put it on. What a dweeb.
“’Ship’ is a slang term for a relationship,” said Logan, “and Helen of Troy is a figure of human mythology, a queen who was described as so beautiful she ‘launched a thousand ships’ when she was kidnapped and her husband and allies went to war to retrieve her.”
“… and this is uncommon?” said Bell, aghast. “So rare is a human king who would wage war for his beloved that you immortalize it in your tales?”
“Humans don’t generally go to war over singular kidnapping victims,” said Emile carefully. “But to be fair, we still feel like. Really bad about it usually?”
“But his wife?” said Bell. “Anyone who dared remove you from the grasp of my friendship would meet a swift end at my blade. If I had a wife, I’d do it with my teeth!”
Virgil choked hard, and Kai had the most amazing, wonderful, fucking hilarious experience of all time as Virgil started absolutely losing his mind laughing and Bell rapidly turned nearly as wine-red as her hair.
“Well, I’m glad you find my lack of ship to be so funny, Your Highness,” she said, sniffing disdainfully. Virgil didn’t stop laughing at all, and she couldn’t even hold onto her anger for longer than a few seconds, giggling in a way that made her look a lot less mountain lion and a lot more young.
Sloane, Corbin, and Lauren, who had all gotten a little squirrely at Bell's words, were mercifully recovered by the time Virgil and Bell had calmed down from whatever weird Unseelie “bonding by openly laughing at each other being cringe and homicidal” ritual they were doing. (Which Kai totally didn’t know about or relate to in any way, nope, not at all.)
“At any rate, describing Laurel as a ‘launcher of ships’ due to her being the unfortunate catalyst for my bringing my partners to prom is not inaccurate.”
“’Unfortunate,’ says the guy who lost on purpose.”
“Prom,” said Bell, the word settling oddly on her tongue. “This is the human revel you are going to in a moon?”
“It's more of a ball,” said Roman, “but yes. There’s lots of traditions caught up in it, but it's essentially a celebration of everyone in a certain age group completing the human equivalent of apprenticeship.”
Bell nodded sagely.
“Public school,” she said solemnly.
“How are you supposed to learn anything at all packed in like sardines with one teacher per dozen students?” Virgil muttered irritably.
“Awww,” said Emile. “It’s cute you think we have that many teachers.”
“And you all learn the same things?” Virgil continued, twitching restlessly. “If I were to make schooling mandatory, why would I waste everyone’s time trying to make the Winters compete against the Summers in ‘gardening class.’”
“Gardening class,” mouthed Remy, gesturing emphatically at Virgil while he wasn’t paying attention.
“The idea is that everyone starts with the same skills, so they’re on equal footing,” said Corbin, squirming around to lay on his stomach and look at Virgil. “Of course, it doesn’t actually work like that. Wait till I tell you about school districts and property taxes.”
“Do not,” said Logan sternly.
“Wait,” said Elliot. “You’re only allowed one non-senior guest to prom. Logan, how are you planning on getting all three of your boyfriends in?”
“There's enough of us that we can take one for the team and get all of them in,” said Sloane, offering Logan a fist bump which he was visibly begrudging in taking.
“Why would you even want to go to prom?” said Nate, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“Yeah, I can’t say it's an experience I’d wanna repeat if I was you two,” said Remy, mood suddenly foul. Everybody but Bell and Virgil winced.
“Why?” said Bell, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s. Thankfully, Remy didn’t seem to notice, flushed with just enough moonshine to make ranting to their two violently protective gentry friends sound like a good idea, like an idiot.
“There was still a gendered dress code last year,” said Remy. “And my birth certificate’s right, but they were just being dicks to me personally. I fought for like, two months to be allowed to wear a suit, and then by the time it rolled around, I was so fucking fed up I didn’t even want to go.”
“It wasn’t bad,” said Emile carefully, taking his hand. “You did end up having fun.”
“Yeah,” said Remy. “Except for the fact that I was on edge the whole time, wondering if the chaperones were going to make a big deal out of it. I just wish I’d been able to relax.”
“What is the purpose of a chaperone?” said Bell, and nobody else seemed to have noticed the way she and Virgil had gone terrifyingly still.
“They’re basically there to make sure nobody spikes the punch or starts a fight,” said Remy, “IE to be buzzkills.”
“And enforce a dress code?”
“Yeah,” said Remy. “And, you know, room for Jesus.”
“I do not know.”
“I think we should make Kai explain who Jesus is to Bell and V, because he definitely only barely knows and it’ll be hilarious.”
“I know who Jesus is,” said Kai, rolling his eyes, keeping Bell’s intent stare at Remy’s face in the corner of his vision so he could tell when she had whatever epiphany she was working her way up toward. “Blorbo from your Christianity.”
“Why does this ‘Jesus’ have a room at this event?” said Virgil.
“Good Lord,” Logan muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose with a huff of laughter. “Jesus Christ is a messianic figure in a different kind of human mythology. Leaving ‘room’ for him between a pair of dancing or affectionate partners is meant to discourage promiscuity.”
“He is not allowed between me and my loves,” said Virgil, frowning furiously.
“Why do you have more than one kind of mythology?” Bell pressed, switching from Remy to watching Logan intently. Kai wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed the flush around Logan’s ears that she’d included him in the ‘you’ of humans, but he just barely managed to contain a very dorky fist pump.
“We have reached the limit of things I can explain in one or two sentences,” deadpanned Logan, “so you should be very sure you want me to continue.”
“Oh, God, I didn’t even think about Vee and room for Jesus,” said Remy. “Changed my mind, unbelievably jealous I can't go and watch Jimmy Marks get the fear of God put in him.”
“Actually,” said Lauren, whose expression had gone very coy and shrewd, “I think – well, not Polly and Nate, obviously, but you’re too old anyway and presumably can’t magic your way out of requiring a state ID like Vee and Bell can – I think we can get everyone there?”
“Wait, what?” said Kai, heart fluttering stupidly. “Everyone where?”
“To prom,” said Lauren. “I was counting - me, you, Sloane, Corbin, and the twins is six, and then Remy, Emile, Elliot, Bell, and the rest of the boyfriend squad – no, shoot, that's seven. We’re one short.”
“Bell doesn’t need an invitation,” said Virgil plainly. “She’s my captain of the guard, she goes with me to all formal functions.”
“Well, I guess it's not like they could stop her.”
“They couldn't,” Bell agreed.
“And you don’t have to worry about a dress code,” said Lauren primly. “I’m on prom committee this year, and I’ve been in a year-long war of attrition against Sadie Wagner - which I most definitely won.”
“We are so very grateful for your sacrifice,” said Sloane, making prayer hands and bowing.
“She argued for an ‘Under the Sea’ theme for two months before I got her to back down.”
“Wasn’t it ‘Under the Sea’ the year before last?” said Remy incredulously.
“Yes,” deadpanned Lauren, “for the second year in a row.”
Giggles spread through the group in response.
“Everyone’s so desperate to have a theme that's as far as possible from Good Neighbors that we’ve basically been coin flipping ‘Under the Sea’ and ‘Roaring Twenties’ for a decade,” said Lauren, “and I think it’s stupid.”
“What’s the theme this year, then?” prodded Nate.
“Wild Mountain Thyme,” said Lauren.
“The folk song?” said Polly incredulously.
“Yeah,” Lauren nodded. “It’s really folk songs in general, but that one’s got a pretty name. We’re even going to pick up an order of real flowers from a florist in Logan, really pretty bundles of heather and thyme.”
“Florist in Logan, as opposed to our flower named Logan -”
“You would think that after eighteen years, everyone would have run out of jokes about me sharing a name with a nearby town, and yet.”
“We should probably pair up now,” said Lauren. “The deadline for the paperwork is at the end of the week.”
There was the briefest pause, and then Logan turned to the truck with a smug expression.
“Remy,” he said, “will you go to prom with me?”
Roman made a sputtering noise of offense, and Remy actually turned slightly red.
“What?” said Logan. “I’m hardly going to choose between the three of you. And I have aesthetic plans Remy is well-suited to.”
“Weirdest way anyone’s ever asked me on a date, Sanders,” Remy laughed. “Sure, I’ll go.”
“Emile!” called Thomas. “Flower crown gay solidarity?”
“Heck yeah!” Emile called back, blowing him a kiss.
“I probably could make everyone’s boutonnieres and corsages,” said Logan idly. “And why not flower crowns? What are they going to do, penalize us for non-standard floral arrangement?”
Feeling oddly hesitant, Kai leaned over and tapped Patton’s knee with his knuckles.
“Blue guy group?” he said awkwardly, cringing and blushing when Patton squealed and scooped up both his hands to rub his cheek on them.
“Of course!” he said cheerfully. “Favorite color buddies!!”
“Uh,” Corbin cleared his throat nervously. “Vee, you, uh. Wanna go with me?”
Virgil turned a look on him that was so heart-meltingly squishy and gross that Corbin immediately covered his face in embarrassment. Virgil leaned over and dropped a kiss on his cheek, grinning.
“I would be honored.”
“Awww,” said Bell, only a little mocking.
Not to be outdone, Sloane scrambled up to kneel in front of Roman and grab both his hands.
“Will you please do me the honor of wearing matching tuxedos with me to prom?” he said solemnly.
Roman cackled, lifting one of Sloane’s hands to kiss the back of it.
“Of course! You know I never turn down an opportunity to dress extra.”
“Ellie Ann!” Lauren said brightly, her eyes crinkled in the corners from the force of her grin. “Saved the best for last, you wanna come?”
Elliot nodded shyly, their cheeks dusted pink.
“Where are you going to get matching tuxedos with less than a full month before the dance?” Nate cut in. He and Polly were watching the rest of them with fond amusement.
“I will make everyone’s clothes,” said Virgil.
“You make half and I make the other half,” Emile corrected. Virgil’s eyes narrowed.
“I make two thirds, you make one. I’m faster than you.”
“Deal!” Emile leaned over to cheerfully shake and then smooch Virgil’s hand. “Can I do yours and Corbin’s?”
Virgil sputtered a little, blushing a lavender-undertoned pink like a fucking Steven Universe character.
“Sure,” he said, clearly trying not to look flustered and failing miserably.
Emile let out a shrill noise of delight, bouncing in place, and then somehow produced an entire sketchbook from his bag like he was Mary fucking Poppins.
“Start now?” he said excitedly, still bouncing.
Kai blinked, and Virgil was basically on top of Emile. He was also rocking a little, which was rarer even than Logan doing it and immediately made Kai want to do something cringe as fuck, like squeeze him til his eyes bugged out.
Lauren cast him smug looks for the rest of the night, and Kai couldn’t even be mad.
Emile was having trouble wrestling the armful of huge garment bags, but he knew it was going to be worth it.
The main issue was that Virgil was about a mile and a half tall, and Emile might be a beanpole but not that bad, so even with the bag containing Virgil’s outfit pulled up over his head, he was still worried about the way the hem was just barely skimming the floor. Especially considering it was white, meaning any dirt was going to be very obvious.
Everybody had something made by Virgil at this point, even Lauren – he just shed knit clothes everywhere he went. Every time he came over to Emile’s house, Emile ended up with more knit silk stockings, complete with the fancy tablet woven garters. He was sure Virgil thought himself very sneaky, but considering Emile had only owned two pairs for Renn Faire costumes before Virgil had taken it upon himself to add to Emile’s wardrobe, he was not half as slick as he thought himself. They were so comfortable they'd basically replaced his use of socks.
“Hey bud.” Mr. Adams opened the door, smiling, with a distracted air around him. There was a middling amount of smoke in the air and the smell of frying bacon, which was pretty typical, but it was always good to check that an increase in smoke was not in the imminent future.
“Everything okay?” said Emile, peeking over Mr. Adams’ shoulder into the hazy kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah, nothin’ on fire,” he said distractedly. “I think most everyone’s downstairs a’ready, you’re one of the stragglers.”
“Oh, stars,” he muttered. “I got nervous, I was messing with the cage this morning and lost track of time -”
“Hey, bud, you’re good,” Mr. Adams assured him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Y’ain’t late, I was just lettin’ you know what you were walkin’ into. No one’s gonna be upset. Head on down, and remember you're supposed to be havin’ fun, a’right?”
Emile nodded, huffing a slow breath, and made his way downstairs.
The room was in a state of chaos, clothes and open makeup scattered around, and most everyone was in a state of half dress. The only one who seemed to be ready was Bell, lounging across one couch with an amused expression and wearing a mix of leather and gold metal armor over a crimson dress so short it made Emile cough in embarrassment and avert his eyes. He heard her huff.
“It’s a leg!” she said incredulously, clearly opening back up an argument that had been ongoing for some time.
“I told you about Puritans!” Virgil laughed.
“We’re not Puritans, we’re in fear for the lives of everyone attracted to women who sees you.”
“Hyperbole?” Bell prompted, sounding alarmingly curious instead of horrified.
“Hey, Em,” said Patton, coming over and taking two of the garment bags as Roman, Bell, and Virgil continued to argue.
“Hey babe!” said Remy, coming over to kiss his cheek. “Which one’s me and the green guy?”
“Here, this is yours,” said Emile, then pointed at one Patton had taken. “That one’s Logan’s, you can take it over to him.
Remy walked off with the two bags, and Emile and Patton made their way to Virgil and Corbin. Emile’s hands shook a little as he offered Virgil the garment bag.
Virgil beamed, full moon-bright, swooped in, and squeezed Emile in an unprompted hug before taking it.
Emile had altered most of the pieces from stuff he’d already had, since they were luckily similar proportions (even if Virgil was much, much taller). The crinoline, petticoats, and pad had only needed a little adjusting and lengthening to fit Virgil. The dress, however, was from scratch, and Emile had been working at a breakneck pace to get it ready in time.
Months ago, Virgil had wistfully mentioned the dress he’d made for his sister’s wedding, and how the dresses human women had worn back then had been so beautiful even if he’d never made one for himself – too impractical, he’d said, laughing nervously. He’d never have been able to fight in one if the need arose. It had pricked Emile like a needle, and he hadn’t gone a week since without thinking of it.
If there was anywhere in the world Virgil wouldn’t have to fight for long enough to wear a fancy ball gown and feel pretty and not worry for just one night, it was a human prom.
So Emile had made him one.
Gauzy chiffon in palest silver, and cut in a turn-of-the-century S-silhouette – the corset had been the hardest part, because Emile had never made one, but he wasn’t sure if the dress would lay right without it, and buying one was out of the question because in no universe was anything that fitted going to fit Virgil off the rack – with a more modern touch of the bottom hem having been dip-dyed a vivid dark purple ombre. It had short, fluttery, layered sleeves and a neckline so low Emile hadn’t been able to believe it was from the nineteen hundreds when he’d done the research and picked the pattern.
Virgil had sketched the wedding dress he’d made during one of their planning sessions, and even though this wasn’t even a fraction as elaborate or elegant, Emile was desperately hoping he’d like it.
Virgil’s brow knit in confusion when he first opened the garment bag and saw a skirt. The fluffy waves of chiffon spilled out of the bag as he fully unzipped it, his mouth falling open in a surprised little ‘o.’
He was silent for one, two, three seconds, enough for Emile’s heart to take up residence squarely in his throat, before his face split into a beaming grin, his eyes practically glittering like a pair of cut amethysts they turned directly on Emile like a laser and maybe Emile choked on his own heart a little, but sue him, okay?
“I love it,” said Virgil sweetly, his voice like snow on New Year’s Eve, soft and dark and ecstatic.
“Babe, how on God’s green earth does this shirt go - oh, damn,” said Remy. “Okay, taking bets on the number of people who pass out when they see Vee in that.”
“Shut up,” said Virgil, flustered and fond.
“It’s a cowl neck,” said Emile, flipping the shirt. “You had it upside down.”
“Oh,” said Remy. “Oh yeah, okay, I see it.”
He slipped the shirt on over his binder – his favorite dark blue one, whose color Emile had matched the shirt so it wouldn't stand out if it showed under the arm hole. His jacket and pants were normal plain black suiting, but the shirt was sleeveless and spangled with gold glitter and stars.
Logan came out of the bathroom then, in a suit of the same dark blue, matching gold constellation patterns embroidered on the jacket. His shirt and tie were plain black, the inverse of Remy’s.
“The embroidery was not necessary, Emile, but - thank you, it’s ... very cool,” said Logan, his cheeks pink. He’d only asked for star print, but Emile hadn’t been able to find anything that was close enough to ‘accurate sky map’ for his tastes, and judging by Logan's softly pleased smile he’d made the right call.
Kai, Patton, Lauren, Thomas, and Roman seemed to be in Remy’s camp of not caring about changing in front of everyone – Kai was helping Patton zip up the most ludicrous, campy, powder-blue 80s prom dress Emile had ever seen on a real person. Kai’s tuxedo was the same color and came complete with a fresh matching dye job and a ruffled white shirt.
“Here’s yours,” said Virgil, a little shy, handing Emile his own garment bag. Emile impulsively kissed him on the cheek in thanks and moved to get in line for the bathroom.
Elliot came out, their dress a pale yellow that faded to gold, orange, pink, and then purple at the bottom hem. Lauren swooped around Emile and caught up their hands in hers, in a vivid sunset orange suit, a purple mock neck blouse, and a gold silk scarf in lieu of a tie. She bowed dramatically at them, and Elliot giggled softly and curtsied a little.
Emile changed into his own dress, a long white and pink floral shift with a ruffle hem and sleeves. He’d seen Thomas's match of it, his shirt the same floral fabric and his suit and tie a shining white silk. When he left the bathroom, he let out a bark of laughter at Sloane and Roman, preening arm in arm, dressed head to toe in red and gold lamé suits like Vegas performers. Virgil seemed to have had the same inverting idea for a two-suit date as Emile had, and Sloane’s was gold with a red shirt and bow tie where Roman’s was the opposite.
“Do not ask what the metal in the lamé is,” Logan muttered in Emile’s ear as he walked past. Emile, wisely, did not.
“Okay, who is doing makeup?” said Lauren, plunking an enormous makeup bag on the central coffee table. Emile scrambled to grab his own, and when he returned Corbin exited the bathroom to wolf whistles that made him roll his eyes fondly. Corbin’s suit lapels and the pinstripes on his pants were the same vivid purple as Virgil’s ombre, the rest the pale silver. He sat just as Elliot also produced a bag. Theirs, in contrast to Lauren’s and Emile’s, was a generic grocery sack.
“What’s that, hon?” said Lauren
“Uh,” said Elliot, “I knew that most of us probably wouldn’t have makeup that matched Vee, and then I also wondered if Corbin had his own makeup, and then I started looking around and realized it's actually a really wide spectrum, of, um, skin tones, between us, so, not knowing who's got makeup, it's just, will any given person’s makeup even work for anyone else -”
They stopped to breathe, and Lauren nodded encouragingly.
“It’s just everything nude they had at the thrift store,” they finished, spilling it out. “You know the one dollar makeup bin?”
“The one full of dented overstock?”
“Yeah, that. I just gave the cashier twenty bucks and she let me take whatever I wanted.”
Bell settled cross-legged next to the coffee table and pulled out a leather ... roll, of some sort, and when she unwound it there were five little wooden pots in pockets, a palette, what must have been an oddly shaped palette knife, and three brushes.
“A powder?” she said, snatching up one of Emile’s highlighters and making him cringe when she scraped some of it with her fingernail. “Oh, sparkly!”
“Is that- magic?” said Lauren, gesturing at Bell's little paints, her voice hiccuping only a little.
“No, it’s makeup,” said Bell, looking around quizzically at everyone else's. Emile also recognized that Bell was notoriously bad at explaining fae stuff, and that what she considered magic and what the rest of them did were not very likely to be the same.
“We would be more likely to call that kind of makeup ‘face paint,’ I think,” said Lauren. “But if we mix both, we could probably do some really cool stuff.”
Emile gasped.
“Oh, babe, you and Logan - you could do some dark blues, and then Bell could do stars -”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
“Um.”
Virgil's voice was uncharacteristically hesitant behind Emile. Across from him, Lauren looked up and started rapidly turning crimson, and when Emile turned around, he found he couldn’t blame her.
Virgil fluffed the feathery layers of gauze, grimacing. In addition to the dress, he’d done something to his hair, a glamorous or a growth spell that made it long, and then swept it up into a pretty Gibson girl bun. “Does it look okay?”
“You are breathtaking,” said Logan plainly, and Virgil laughed, rolling his eyes but turning a little pink in the cheeks.
“Come!” said Bell. “Let me mix up something that matches your dress, Your Highness.”
Bell had already turned around by the time Virgil’s face spasmed a little in clear discomfort, but his face smoothed immediately after, and Emile couldn't be sure he hadn’t imagined it.
Hm.
Emile decided to keep an eye on it.
A circle of partners formed. Emile and Patton giggled through trying to do each other's makeup at the same time, dueling with the brushes. A couple colors ended up in places they weren’t supposed to be, but Emile decided to take a Bob Ross approach and just incorporated them.
Of everyone else’s makeup, Emile’s favorite was Lauren and Elliot, both of them sporting two black and golden sunflowers on their cheeks, courtesy of Bell. They had turned out to be the only ones she had time for after Virgil, on whom she spent almost twenty minutes painting fine-lined purple swirls on every exposed bit of skin. Virgil had then stolen the paints from her and done an intricate pattern of dots, circles, loops and lines from her widow’s peak all the way down the center of her face to the neckline of her gown before coloring her lips in a vivid, bloody red the same shade as her hair and dress. From further away, it looked unsettlingly like she was seamed and coming apart in the middle. He did the same down both of her arms, from just behind her ears down her neck and shoulder to the tip of her middle finger.
Everyone else had more traditional – or at least, traditional for humans – looks, even if the effect was still a bit more like they were a group LARP or a Renn Faire than prom. The image of Virgil at Coachella appeared in Emile’s mind, and he giggled.
Roman was seemingly enchanted by Virgil's makeup, snatching up his hand and lifting it to place a kiss on his knuckles, all storybook-knight chivalrous, only for Corbin to swerve between them. “Are you trying to steal my date, Gage?”
Roman sputtered in offense for a moment before leaning the other way and placing a big smack of a kiss on Sloane’s cheek. Sloane made eyebrow waggles at him, and Roman immediately devolved into laughter.
“Oh no,” said Kai.
“Oh yes!” said Patton, making ridiculous nomming noises and pretending to eat Kai’s head, who was giggling despite his best efforts while trying to shove him off.
“Flower time!” said Thomas cheerfully, bringing down the boxes that had been stored in the big cooler in the barn until now, Logan following behind with the other half.
“What flowers did you use?” said Lauren.
“Oh, um - several,” said Logan, his ears bright pink. “Far too many to explain -”
“The explaining’s the best part!” Lauren needled a little, looking wide-eyed and earnest, and Emile was starting to get the delighted feeling they were all being a little bit played.
“Right, well - Remy’s boutonniere is eastern bluestars, white poppies, and dusty miller flower greens, for the star theme and his ridiculously unhealthy username.”
“Is yours the same?”
“Ye - well. It is made of the same flowers.”
Thomas leaned over and cheerfully dropped a matching crown on Logan’s head. “I insisted,” he said smugly.
Emile listened, increasingly fascinated, as Logan showed them all the flowers. For Emile’s boutonniere, bellflower and white carnation, and Thomas’s corsage the same except the carnations were tiny and pink, plus huge, deeper pink dahlias. Kai’s boutonniere and Patton’s crown were frilly things of blue lace flowers and baby’s breath, Kai’s with one perfect white gardenia and Patton’s dotted with tiny blue and yellow hydrangea. Virgil and Corbin were in sprays of lavender and clematis, framed by lily-of-the-valley in Virgil’s corsage and fluffy with baby’s breath on Corbin’s crown. Roman and Sloane had identical corsages, perfectly round, of three red, orange, and yellow roses with little red pansies crowded around them, and Elliot's crown was safflower, lilac, and huge pink peonies. In contrast, Lauren’s boutonniere was only one small safflower, highlighting the strange shape of a single bird-of-paradise. Lauren took it with the fingertips of one hand pressed to her mouth, eyes wide – the effect was something like a hummingbird drinking from a flower, and Emile had no idea how Logan had done it.
Finally, he offered a large garland of deep red-orange sunflowers to Bell, who clearly hadn’t been expecting flowers and looked indescribably touched. Emile had no idea how it was supposed to be worn until she lifted it over her head and wore it like a shawl around her shoulders.
He was starting to get a picture.
Well – if there was anything they could do about it, they might as well do it tonight.
Corbin had been the final vote on who got to drive, and he did not feel even a little bad about vetoing the moonshine truck. Kai, Thomas, Emile, Logan, and Remy piled into the cab and bed of Patton’s truck, and everyone else followed in Roman’s grandma’s.
It ended up not really mattering that they didn't bring the truck, because Remy set off a giant firecracker as they pulled into the school parking lot. Corbin thought it was courting disaster, cringing when he saw Mr. Kinser coming, too far to hear but definitely not happy.
Okay, he thought. Here we go.
Roman pulled the tailgate down, and Corbin jumped to the ground. Swallowing nervously, he offered Virgil his hand to stand and step after him.
Mr. Kinser must have seen Virgil’s head rise high above all of them, because when Corbin turned back he was gaping openly. Bell, who had insisted on sitting on top of the cab of Patton’s truck, unfolded her legs and leapt to the ground with an arc like a catamount that made all the hair stand up on Corbin’s arms. She set a hand on her hip with a razor-white smile.
“Hello.” she said. “Is there a problem?”
Mr. Kinser’s mouth snapped shut, and he shook his head frantically. He turned on his heel and fled without saying a word.
“... This is who they send as a vanguard?” Bell said dryly. “This is embarrassing even for mortals.”
“Hey!”
“What? You keep all your children in one highly vulnerable and visible place and then don’t place guards? I think-”
“Bell, I cannot stress enough how much you do not want to say things like that in front of our classmates.”
By the time they reached the line stretching from the door through the central courtyard to the sidewalk, the noise had dulled to near silence; about a quarter of the other students had fled while giving them as wide a berth as possible, and the remaining three quarters were staring without a cell of shame.
“They are so not going to let us in,” muttered Corbin, heart rate picking up.
“We have tickets,” said Virgil, his cool hand tucked in Corbin’s elbow and his eyes flitting around. He seemed almost interested in the decorations, which was so absurd Corbin nearly laughed. Lord of the Forest, intrigued by high school prom decor.
Bell tried to stand behind Virgil’s right shoulder, but he grimaced and grabbed her by the arm to pull her level with him. The three of them were last in their line – with a twenty-foot gap behind them to the next terrified students – while Sloane and Roman were in front. The plan was for their best talkers to hopefully finagle all of them in, in spite of the fact that it was painfully obvious that the paperwork Corbin had turned in on Virgil’s behalf had been oh-so-very fake.
When they finally got close enough for Corbin to see the table, he could have slumped in relief. Mrs. Streets was one of the ticket-takers, and there was no love lost there, but Mr. Hatcher was the other, who was known for being an extremely cool office secretary and Emile’s uncle.
Would have been nice to know, Corbin thought, a little annoyed, but when they got to the table, Mr. Hatcher’s smile was genuine, if a little strained at the edges. Corbin handed over their tickets and made awkward smalltalk.
“And you?”
“I’m the Prince’s guard,” said Bell, making that extremely threatening eye contact that made Corbin taste fallen leaf mildew in the back of his throat with a grimace.
“Oooookay,” said Mr. Hatcher, tapping his fingers together. “Well ... I can’t let you in without a ticket-”
Bell stood up straighter, and Mr. Hatcher pointed at her scoldingly, which apparently shocked her enough for her to slump, confused by his lack of fear.
“But,” he said, grinning mischievously, “if I were to, say, close my eyes, and then open them, and you managed to find your ticket – that looks like this – I would of course be able to let you in.”
Bell blinked at him before a slow smile spread across her face. Mr. Hatcher obligingly closed his eyes, and Bell made a painfully graceful motion before pressing the ticket into his hands just as he opened them again.
“Perfect,” he said. “Have fun. And I just stuck my neck out for you, Miss, so I expect you not to cause too much of a ruckus.”
Bell's mouth fell open, seemingly equally delighted and offended.
“Oh, you are a crafty little mortal, aren’t you?” she grinned. “Your Highness, if they're all like this, I may have to pick out some of my own.”
“That would constitute a ruckus, Miss.”
Everyone else was clustered around the entrance, tense, and erupted into ridiculous cheering when the three of them entered.
“Come on, come on, the gym’s this way!” said Sloane, he and Roman coming around to herd the three of them forward. When they entered the gym, Virgil’s mouth pursed in amusement.
“For the course of the stars, you like this,” said Bell incredulously.
“The flowers are nice!”
“It smells like body odor.”
“It's quaint, " said Virgil, exasperated. “Can you tell me you don’t think it’s cute?”
“I can, I will, I shall. Amusing, maybe.”
“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re sooooooo cool,” said Kai, rolling his eyes so hard he looked briefly possessed. “I’m sure your parties are lit by crystal chandeliers made of butterfly wings or whatever the fuck.”
“How can they be both crystal and butterfly wings?” said Elliot teasingly. Kai retaliated by hooking an arm up around their neck and pulling their giggling head down to ruffle their hair.
“Everybody knows high school dances are lame,” said Remy. “The point is that we aren’t lame, so we’re going to improve it.”
“The gatekeeper has extracted an obligation of no ‘ruckus’ on my part,” said Bell, “but he said nothing about you.”
“Oh, you tricky bitch!” laughed Lauren.
“What were you expecting?” said Bell cheerfully, winking at her, and Corbin coughed to cover his laugh at Lauren’s momentary clipped-in-the-head expression.
“Okay everyone, grab a snack,” said Sloane, holding out the enormous purse he carried to all group events. “There will be no fainting on my watch. And take your water bottles. L, Vee, Bell, yours are the ones in the parchment paper.”
“What is it?” said Bell, tapping the carefully folded rectangle.
“Pemmican bars with no salt, and they’re blueberry and deer flavored. Oh, and beef suet. I told my dad I’d have to bring a ton of granola bars to cover you three, and he made this instead. It sounds super gross to me, but I also know V eats raw meat, so.”
Virgil broke off a corner of the bar and popped it in his mouth, grinning.
“Grettie made this sometimes,” he said softly. He leaned over and kissed Sloane on the cheek in thanks. Sloane retaliated by grabbing him around the neck and pressing a bunch of sloppy smacking kisses to Virgil’s face until Virgil laughed and pushed him off.
“I like this,” said Bell, who’d tried hers too. “What would your father ask for a recipe?”
Sloane laughed, pinching Bell's cheek because he had no sense of self preservation. “Nothing, hon, he’ll just give it to you. You’re my friend!”
Bell beamed, the orangey-gold of her eyes sparkling.
“Come on, girlie,” said Remy, grabbing her arm. “You can observe my ruckus.”
“Scandalous!” said Lauren, jokingly fanning herself a little.
“Please do not get me expelled,” said Logan, exasperated.
“I wouldn’t let them expel you, my love.”
“We have tickets!” Bell seconded Virgil.
“Let’s sit,” said Virgil, nodding toward the bleachers pulled out from the gymnasium wall.
“Should we really be leaving Bell and Remy unattended?” said Roman.
“No, you cannot also go.”
Roman caught Logan’s hand with a teasing grin, only for Sloane to swerve between them and steal Roman, making Corbin’s life briefly flash before his eyes because Logan’s head was turning scarlet from the ears out.
“Come ooooon, I’m not stealing him, it’s just my tuuuuuuurn,” said Sloane teasingly. Corbin pinched the bridge of his nose as Logan started making sputtering noises of irritation.
“Let's go make sure your boyfriend doesn't kill mine,” he said, elbowing Virgil.
Virgil’s laugh was one of the loudest Corbin ever heard from him, and he carried the warm glow of that win for the rest of the night.
“Hey babe, you wanna see something fun?”
Elliot looked up at Remy with a wary expression, and Remy just grinned down at them, waiting.
“Fun for who?”
“Both of us,” said Remy confidently.
“Uh, okay,” they said, sounding anything but confident.
Remy beamed, bent over, and hoisted Elliot onto his shoulder.
They let out a tiny little screech of alarm that melted into giggles. They wiggled to seat themself more firmly on his shoulder and held onto his arm and head for balance, and Remy’s heart did a big old cornball awww like he was an eighty-year-old granny.
“Do I get to know why I’m up here?” said Elliot, amused.
“I have to make enough ruckus for me and Bell combined,” said Remy. “It’s like packing a suitcase. Gotta use all the available space, sugar.”
“And you just happened to have an empty slot to fit ‘carry around Elliot’?”
“More specifically, its ‘watch teachers come to tell me off for carrying someone and then swerve us because they realized we’re with the Neighbors’,” said Remy, cackling as he saw yet another parent chaperone do a comically unsubtle one-eighty.
“Oh, oh, us too!”
Remy turned to see Roman tugging Virgil away from Corbin toward them, Virgil smiling fondly at Roman’s enthusiasm. They pulled up level with Remy and Elliot, and Virgil turned, bent forward -
Roman dropped his knees and swept Virgil into his arms, a spill of fluffy silver tulle over his arms like a bridal photoshoot. Virgil was blinking with big eyes like someone had flashbanged a jumping spider, and then he laughed so hard Roman nearly dropped him.
“You’re sweet, my love.” he said sweetly, “but if you drop me, there will be consequences.”
“Noted!” said Roman, far too enthusiastically for flirting done in front of Elliot, in Remy’s professional ‘has a sibling’ opinion.
“Can I carry you?” said Sloane, sounding less like he was asking Corbin’s permission and more like he was pondering his own ability to do so. Corbin made a ludicrously funny karate chop motion in his direction.
“This would constitute getting me expelled,” deadpanned Logan, approaching them and crossing his arms, unimpressed. Remy felt his neck flush a little, but he didn’t put Elliot down.
“The chaperones are shitting their pants in terror at the very sight of us. There is a twenty-foot radius of awe surrounding our section of bleachers. Look around and name one teacher who looks like they have the brass ones to expel you.”
Logan pursed his lips, annoyed.
“Fine,” he said. “Elliot, I’m going to embarrass Remy. Would you like to help?”
Remy sputtered, and Elliot said, “Oh boy do I!” because they were a dirty little traitor. They wiggled in a way that clearly indicated ‘put me down,’ and Remy complied with a grumble.
“Patton, my love, can you come here?”
By this point, everyone still on the bleachers was watching Remy’s half of the group as Patton trotted over, swishing his ruched skirt back and forth.
“What's up, buttercup?”
Logan shuffled, just a little, almost unnoticeable. His ears pinkened, and he raised his chin.
“We’re playing Gaston,” said Logan primly. “Me, you, and Elliot.”
Patton’s face lit up like a sparkler, and he squealed in excitement, running over to stand in front of and to the side of Logan. He gestured excitedly for Elliot, who stood on the opposite side. Roman set Virgil down, looking equally delighted.
“What is playing Gaston?” said Remy warily.
Logan didn’t answer, looking oddly nervous, and Patton just smiled and raised one shoulder, cheerfully unhelpful.
“Roman. What is playing Gaston?”
“Shhhhh,” said Roman, and stuck out his tongue.
Logan got on one knee.
“No fucking way,” said Remy. “Cheating, that’s cheating -”
Patton perched on Logan’s arm, and with a shrug Elliot did too, and then Logan stood up with seemingly no effort.
“I hate you.”
“You don’t,” said Logan, smiling fondly, his ears gone from pink to red. Giggling, Patton leaned over to hug Elliot and press their cheeks, and Remy softened a little even as he crossed his arms grumpily.
“Do they even weigh anything to you?” he whined.
“The weight is noticeable if not straining,” said Logan, his smile hesitantly crooked, and Remy crossed his arms even harder in an attempt not to be endeared. It was nice, really, even if Logan was teasing him, to see him show off something fae with minimal embarrassment.
He seemed to have had as much of being the center of attention he could handle, carefully lowering the two of them to the ground. Patton kissed his cheek in thanks and Elliot hugged his arm.
“Wanna dance?” they asked, and Logan grimaced.
“I can’t,” he said quietly. “I’ll cast a circle.”
“Oh,” said Elliot, unphased. “Can we sit and sway?”
Logan’s jaw dropped just a little, his owl-tilted expression startled.
“I ... maybe?” he said carefully.
“Come on,” said Elliot. “Let’s try.”
Logan hesitated.
“...Okay,” he said softly, and Remy didn’t stop smiling for a good ten minutes.
Sloane had ducked behind the bleachers, ignoring the handful of amorous couples scattered underneath it. He set his purse on a crook in the framing, digging around.
He’d lied, a little, and he was lucky to be good enough at it that weird fae lie detecting had a tendency to fritz on him. Dad hadn’t come up with the pemmican idea on his own. Sloane had begged him, because this was his thing – he was proud and eager to be The Purse Friend, they’d never gone nearly anywhere without Sloane packing his bag of just-in-cases. Water (extra for Logan), food, painkillers and sugary juice boxes. For school dances, where it was hot and overwhelming and flashy and loud, when Sloane had three hypersensitive and particular fae to account for as well, he might have benefited from asking for help, to split this particular duty with someone else.
He’d thought about asking Virgil, who had similar tendencies to over-prepare. But ... Well, this was a little bit for Virgil, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like he’d get any more chances to go to a school dance. And he’d already made the majority of their outfits, including Sloane’s, which was made of an alarmingly heavy fabric Sloane was carefully not thinking about.
He was low on water, but he’d labeled the bottles and asked for them back, so he could refill them in the hall water fountain in a minute. He was half out of pemmican, in its big tupperware taking up the bottom half of the purse, and they were just shy of halfway through the dance. Just close enough to make Sloane anxious about it, of course. He checklisted the rest – the folding brush/mirror and the tiny travel bottles of hairspray and dry shampoo taped to it, his tiny sewing kit and instant hem tape, a cheap MP3 player loaded with white noises, three spare headphones, and a splitter. Hand sanitizer, wipes, and a stick of deodorant. A chafe stick. Eye drops. Hand salve, the good kind, thick and waxy from Beth’s farmer’s market stall.
“What are you doing?”
“Jesus wept!” said Sloane, startling damn near out his socks. Virgil blinked down at him sheepishly.
“Sorry,” he said, quietly. “What are you doing?”
“Checking the supplies!” said Sloane cheerfully. “I gotta go refill the water bottles, but we’re otherwise fine and dandy!”
Which wasn’t a lie, even if it felt a little like one to Sloane.
Virgil frowned.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” said Sloane, not thinking quickly enough to prevaricate, and Virgil frowned harder.
“I am your friend,” said Virgil, sounding oddly ... hurt. “Why are you lying to me?”
Sloane bit his lip, fiddling in the purse.
“I’m sorry,” he said carefully. “Sometimes humans lie about how they're feeling as a… way to make people not worry. It’s meant to be sparing you, not insulting.”
Virgil frown was now an outright scowl.
“I am your friend,” he repeated, firmer. “It is my privilege to worry for you. I know you know that, what else is -” He gestured in frustration at the purse. “- that for?”
Sloane crossed his arms, pouting.
“Okay, fine,” said Sloane. “But we should take turns worrying, and it's my turn, because you're having a special time, and -”
“This is your commemoration of apprenticeship!” said Virgil incredulously. “You mortals are so frustrating. Why are you always overburdening yourselves so terribly?”
“Oh, you are not going to lecture me about control issues, Mr. Lord of the Forest,” said Sloane crossly.
“So you admit it's an issue!” said Virgil, pointing at him triumphantly. Sloane bit his extended finger, which wasn't nearly as satisfying as it should have been, because Virgil just rolled his eyes and didn't even startle.
“You are not having fun,” said Virgil.
“I am having fun.”
“You are not having enough fun, then,” said Virgil. “And...”
Virgil mouth pursed.
“I can help,” he said. “If you want.”
“You don't have a way to carry anything.”
“Not like that,” said Virgil. “Help you relax. To calm down.”
“Oh,” said Sloane. “Okay, sure.”
Virgil flushed across the bridge of his nose.
“I didn’t say what it was,” he said mulishly. “You shouldn’t ever agree with anything a fae offers you without hearing it out first.”
“I didn’t agree with some random pixie, I agreed with you.”
Virgil scoffed indignantly, but that lavender pink didn’t fade. “Fine, you impetuous creature. Come here, then.”
Sloane stepped forward obligingly, and Virgil bent to embrace him. Sloane rolled his eyes a little at the fact that the oh so dangerous offer from a fae turned out to be a completely normal hug, but then Virgil swept him up like he weighed nothing at all and set Sloane to stand on the tops of his feet, turning.
“Oh!” he gasped, looking around with wide eyes. He felt calm and clear-headed and oddly sparkly. He blinked up at Virgil, who was smiling fondly, so Sloane lifted his hand like it was moving through silky-cool water and booped him delicately on the nose. “This is nice. Is this a circle then? Logan’s awful nervous about something not-so-bad.”
Virgil frowned, which was unacceptable, so Sloane grabbed both his cheeks and tugged on them a little until he rolled his eyes again.
“Logan’s less practiced,” he said softly. “It makes him afraid. I don’t want to push him.”
“Hm,” said Sloane, nodding thoughtfully. “Sometimes it's good to push, just a little. But it's hard to know when, really.”
“I prefer for people to come to me first.”
“What do you call this entire interaction, you oblivious cutiepie?”
“Clearly you’re recovered if you have the audacity to be this irritating.”
Sloane laughed, popping up on his toes to turn the dance into a hug and give Virgil a good big squeeze. Virgil released him as Sloane went back down, and the sparkles faded but the calm didn't.
“I appreciated that!” said Sloane sweetly, and Virgil did his best to not look all gooey about it and faaaaaaailed because he was, in fact, a cutiepie.
They rejoined everyone around their claimed section of bleachers just as Remy pulled an opaque water bottle out of his jacket and passed it to Logan.
“No,” said Logan. “I refuse to drink any of that poison -”
“It’s not the mead, calm down,” said Remy, rolling his eyes. “It’s new, and you're all my test subjects.”
Logan took a cautious sip and hummed, pleased.
“It’s applejack,” said Remy, almost shy, and Roman brightened.
“Is this why you asked for our ugly orphans last autumn?” he said excitedly.
“Your what?” said Emile, horrified.
“Ugly orphans,” said Roman, completely nonplussed. “You know, the apples with pits, or the ones too misshapen to sell.”
“You call them ugly orphans?”
“So what I’m hearing is that isn’t the normal name for cast off apples,” said Virgil, his mouth pursed in amusement, “and was in fact just Greta’s morbid sense of humor.”
“Your family has been calling those poor apples ugly orphans for a hundred years?”
“Not all of them!”
Virgil sat, chuckling, and Sloane immediately crowded next to him and scooted even closer just to tease him. Virgil rolled his eyes and bumped their shoulders.
Maybe they could take turns with the control issues, or something.
“Hoo,” said Lauren, patting under her eyes with some wipes Sloane, the blessing, had offered her. She pulled up level with Thomas, joining the circle around where Roman and Remy were having an arm wrestling contest. Remy was slowly but steadily losing. “How am I doing?”
“Great!” said Thomas. “With what?”
Lauren laughed brightly.
“With the date,” she clarified.
Thomas wrinkled his nose.
“Uh, I think Elliot’s having a lot of fun!”
Lauren rolled her eyes fondly.
“I meant the whole date, all of us. I was worried it was, um, overly ambitious.”
“The whole WHAT?”
The circle fell quiet at Thomas’s abrupt outburst, Remy’s hand hitting the bleacher with a sudden slam, and Lauren blinked at Thomas, startled. Everyone was now staring at her along with him.
“Um,” she said carefully, “the whole date. Our date. The - uh. The polycule date? I’m really confused right now.”
“You’re talking about boyfriend squad?” said Thomas incredulously.
“Wh - no,” said Lauren, her heart rate picking up. What was going on? “I’m talking about the whole polycule. All of us.”
A chorus of sputtering reached her ears all at once.
“Lauren,” said Kai, his voice cracking. “Have you thought we’re all a polycule this whole time?”
Lauren frowned, glancing around the circle, and found everyone looking at her with equal confusion.
Uh-oh.
“... Yes,” she said carefully.
“Why did you think that?” said Emile, who was beginning to look more curious.
“Well, I mean, I know who the primary relationships are, but - I mean. Kai told me Logan was the one who made the flowers when he asked me to prom, and that he kissed him about it. Remy and Roman were - were the worst kept secret in the whole school second only TO boyfriend squad, I - Logan’s locker was vandalized last autumn about it! I was there when Sam Faber called you out in front of the whole school and none of you denied it! I’ve been watching all of you kiss each other for the past four hours!”
“Oh, God,” said Corbin, covering his face.
“Oh, yes!” said Patton, giggling madly. “Oh, this is the best, Lauren, you’re an angel!”
“Wait, why do you think me and Elliot are here?” said Thomas incredulously.
“I thought you had a, like, thing with Corbin and Sloane that you weren’t putting labels on. And I thought Elliot was QP with at least Remy, but I was pretty sure like half of everyone else, to be honest? And that Bell was QP with Vee.”
“This is the greatest day of my life,” said Sloane. “Assigned polycule.”
“Wait,” said Elliot. “Laur, are you saying that Kai asked you out and you said yes even though you thought he was part of the world's most lethally magical polycule?”
Lauren put her hands on her hips stubbornly.
“Well, I like him! Are you calling me chicken?”
“Oh, you tricky trickster!” said Emile. “That’s why you were so determined to make everything perfect, you thought this was -”
“Your first date with your entire extended polycule,” finished Roman softly. “I believe Lauren has been attempting to platonically woo her metamours.”
“I am not the crazy one here,” said Lauren firmly. “How was I supposed to know!?”
“Ask?” said Remy through a strangled laugh.
“I thought it was - you know, a little hush-hush, because we don’t want every pixie, gnome, and troll stalking the Spider Prince's favorite people.”
“Presumptuous,” said Vee teasingly, a huge smile on his face.
“I hope you know I spent that last hundred on nothing but candy. You’re an enabler and I’m taking full advantage of it.”
“A sensical choice,” laughed V. “And really, after Lauren’s explanation, I’m not entirely sure we don’t fit the definition of a mortal polycule. I’ve certainly not seen anyone else at this event act like the rest of us have been with each other.”
“We’re not a polycule!” exclaimed Corbin, his voice cracking.
“Is there really such a hard distinction?” said Bell curiously. “If I am understanding the word, are not most friend groups in some way ‘polycules’? What else would you call having amorous adventures together at new moon revels?”
“Do I even want to know what happens at new moon revels?”
“I’ve been repeatedly informed I’m not allowed to talk about it in front of Cricket.”
“I’m having a fun time learning that apparently all fae friendships have a potential for benefits,” said Sloane, wiggling his eyebrows obnoxiously.
“Surely I hope you already knew my presence benefits you,” said Bell a little haughtily.
“It does!” said Sloane, blowing her a kiss, guileless. Bell leaned over to pinch testily at his nose.
“Since the range of species, cultures, and orientations across the entire group are so disparate, I think it would technically be possible for us to both be and not be a polycule at the same time -”
“Logan, you are not about to talk us into being Schrodinger’s polycule,” Kai groaned.
“We can’t break up with Lauren!” said Roman, aghast.
“It’s not breaking up if we were never a polycule!”
“I can’t believe Corbin and Sloane are trying to absorb Thomas into a triad -”
“We are not!” sputtered Corbin, and Sloane was laughing so hard he was clapping like a seal. Thomas had covered his entire face, crimson peeking out around his fingertips.
“I refuse to be embarrassed about this,” said Lauren haughtily, crossing her arms. “It was a perfectly reasonable conclusion.”
“That’s fair,” said Vee, still grinning. The airy skirt gave him the impression of a floating snowdrift stained with purple ink, wind whispering him across the greasy gym linoleum as he came to stand by her.
“I’m honored to have been platonically wooed,” he said, smiling crookedly with just the very tip of his nose pink. “It’s been a lovely date, Laurel.”
He leaned down to press a careful, icy kiss to the crest of her cheek.
“Oh - my - God, even your hands blush!” exclaimed Remy, leaping from the bleachers and grabbing both Lauren’s hands. “Oh that is just too cute, sugar -”
“Shut up. What?” sputtered Lauren. “Shut up.”
“Nope, it’s official, I’m putting her in the Cotton Candy Squad.”
“She’s a Gamer!”
“You can sleep, you know.”
Bellona opened one eye.
“I’m on duty.”
“You know good and well that was an excuse,” said the prince. He lay stomach-down on the carpeted floor, Wren curled against his ribs on one side and Snowmelt plastered to the other. Roman curled around Snowmelt, desperate to be a shield even in his sleep. His Highness propped his chin on his arms, frowning.
“But a true one, Your Highness.”
“You have to stop calling me that,” he snapped, a touch too loud for the sleep of the mortals – Kai twitched, and Thomas let out a soft moan, but they both settled and did not wake.
“Sorry,” he said softly, a wonder every time. Regent, and making himself vulnerable enough for her to do his makeup, to do hers in turn, to go to a silly mortal ball, to say ‘please’ and ‘sorry’ to fae mountains beneath his station and power. Bellona wondered if she’d ever stop being tripped up by it.
“What would you prefer me to call you?” she said. “I meant no disrespect.”
He hesitated a moment.
“I think I’d rather you just call me Virgil,” he said quietly.
A cold wave of terror washed from Bellona’s crown to her toes.
“No.”
The prince flinched like she’d slapped him.
“I will not,” she continued stiffly. “I do not deserve the privilege.”
“As if you can unlearn it,” spat the prince, insulted and clearly furious with her, and the cold terror crystalized into glass clarity.
Whatever happened next, it should not happen here.
Bellona stood, and walked to the steps of the mortal abode. The prince cursed under his breath, Bellona’s terror a tightly smothered shudder. It was easier to pretend she wasn’t afraid of the prince than it had been with the king, mostly because she knew if the prince killed her, it was probably because she deserved it.
Oh well. Time to find out.
She walked well away from the home, kept from the trees, set them in the very middle of the long patch of short grass. Most fae hated them, but Bellona could appreciate the brutal efficiency of such a space.
“What is the matter with you?” hissed the prince. “You - we were talking, Bell, why would you just - get up and walk away?”
“You’re angry.”
“Obviously.”
“So we should be out here,” said Bellona, slowly, because the prince was not, normally, especially stupid, but this seemed relatively straightforward.
“What do those two things have to do with each other?”
“Well, I was mostly estimating your blast radius, but if we need to be further away, by all means guide me. I’ve no intention of evading you, I’m not an idiot.”
The prince went very still.
“Bell,” he said. “Do you think I followed you out here to punish you?”
“No,” said Bellona, “but you probably will.”
“I will not.”
“You,” snapped Bellona, “know nothing.”
He watched her shrewdly, and she smiled the smile that had been the last sight of so many.
“You are too trusting,” she said. “And worse, you think you are not very trusting at all. A million little weaknesses in the wall waiting for anything to slip through. You have been awake from your curse for little more than a year, and you have mere fragment memories of me from before it. As captain of the guard, it is my job to tell you this was a stupid thing to do.”
“So you expect to be betraying me sometime in the near future?”
“I hated that witch so much while you were gone, do you know that?”
He tensed like stone, and Bellona felt her smile carved into half a snarl.
“A single honeyed speech, one careful misdirection, and I believed him. I hated her. I felt betrayed by her in the way only a child who knows nothing of the world can feel betrayed by a hero who never knew them, as if it had been me she’d hurt. Do you have any idea how many mortals I’ve killed? Gleefully? Imagining her face in every one of them?”
She leaned in closer, but he didn’t flinch.
“How many of them were blood to the people in that house?” she continued relentlessly. “Grandparents, uncles, cousins. A great-aunt and any descendants she might have had, snuffed with my boot on her neck. All of them loved. All of them someone’s child, someone’s friend. I laughed when I found out those goblins killed Snowmelt’s grandmother, and meanwhile his mother was an orphaned, motherless newborn with no breast to nurse from. Do you understand? Do you understand how monumentally, blisteringly, unrelentingly stupid you are for trusting me!?”
The prince stared at her.
“You were very young,” he said quietly. “Impressionable.”
“As if that’s an excuse.”
“Loving our friends shouldn’t be a penance, Bell.”
“Nothing else will ever suffice,” said Bell icily. “If I live through their deaths, I’ll consider my sentence complete.”
The prince pinched the bridge of his nose.
“The first thing you did when you saw me back was defy a knight's oath for me and defect,” said the prince slowly. “The second thing you did was get grievously injured in the subsequent fight, and the third thing you did was fall out of bed delirious with blood loss, grab me, swear a fealty oath, and promptly pass out before I could put the other half on you.”
Bell crossed her arms, scowling.
“Bell,” he said, “you’re exhausting me. You don’t have to earn my friendship with moral goodness. You aren’t - you aren’t contaminated by having been my brother's knight first, any more than Roman is.”
“... Roman is different.”
“Not in this,” said the prince firmly.
“He is.”
“I cannot believe -” said the prince, throwing his hands in the air in a very human motion, “that I’m trying to tell you my name and you are arguing with me about it! This is so rude, Bell.”
“I. Don’t. Deserve. It,” said Bell waspishly. “A better knight would have - would have waited for the rightful regent. Rebelled! I should have known, I should have realized she would never - I should have trusted her.”
“I am understanding why you get along so well with Roman in the worst ways,” said the prince, “She wouldn’t have held it against you. I don’t. Roman doesn’t, and he’s the only person in that house whose blood you’ve actually spilled. Who else is there to absolve you, Belladonna? Do you plan to die choking on this guilt?”
Her crossed arms bound up a little tighter, and she did not answer.
“Really understanding it,” he muttered. “Look. If - if you really don’t want to call me by name, I won’t make you. But I don’t want to be your prince, or your liege, or the - the fucking focus of your self-imposed penance. I want to be your friend. Do you - do you not even want to be mine?”
“I already know we’re friends,” she said weakly, rubbing her own arms self-consciously. “I will always be a friend to you.”
“Those don’t mean the same thing.”
I won’t make you, he’d said, as if everything Bellona was had not been carved by one of her Regents. Made a knight, made a weapon. As if he had not laid his hand on her knee-high head as he moved past on a petition day, strong and noble and smiling down at her. Snapped a tiny, perfectly round crystal marble into being and pressed it into her tiny toddler palm, now in a velvet lined box in Bellona’s mother’s hill. A day she knew now that he did not remember and never would, because Bell would never tell him. As if he had not altered her irrevocably before she’d fully grasped the ability to make the sounds of speech.
As if she hadn’t been carrying Knight-Marshal of the Spider Prince carved into the end of her name for months.
A knight, a weapon. It had been a long time since Bell was something else. Perhaps she was still capable of being changed.
“Okay,” she whispered. “V ... Virgil.”
The stutter was embarrassing, but he softened immediately, like the easily manipulated dunce he was. She never would have expected how much of being Virgil’s knight involved saving him from himself. He offered her his hand, and she took it carefully, but they walked only a few steps toward the house before she stopped, her heart steadily picking up in volume.
It was not right to wear half-oaths. Trust could not be less so.
Looking around, her heart in her throat, she stepped as close as possible, her chest and his side pressed together. She cupped both hands around her mouth to hide the movement of her lips, and brought them to his ear.
“Bellona,” she whispered.
He’d crushed her in a hug practically before she’d finished the breath of the word, squeezing around her ribs so she had to wrap her own tightly around his shoulders. He pressed their cheeks together firmly, a bit colder than her Autumn nip. He turned his head just a little to press his forehead to her temple in punctuation before releasing her.
“... I really do still need to call you Your Highness in front of the knights, though.”
Virgil’s laugh carried what felt like miles through the dark night air, turning the whole world silver.