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“Hey, dude, how’s it going?” Ragh claps his hand against Gorgug’s, pulling him into one of those bro hugs Gorgug has perfected over the last year and change he’s been an Owlbear.
“I’m good, I’m good. You?”
“Fuckin’ hoot growl, man. Hoot growl.”
Ragh’s grinning when he pulls away from the hug, still with an arm slung around Gorgug’s shoulders, and Gorgug lets himself melt a little bit, smiling back in a way that’s probably much too sweet for a bro hold. Whatever, bros can be sweet, and Gorgug’s been told he’s one of the sweetest, so it’s at least on brand.
The hallway bustles around them, but they tower over most of the other kids, and, even though Gorgug’s still just a sophomore, no one bothers them or gets mad that they’re stopping the flow of traffic like a particularly ill placed insulator. Gorgug’s got, like, three minutes to get from this hallway in B-Wing outside of his Pre-Calc class all the way over to E-Wing for In Distress: How to Tell If People Are Fine On Their Own Or If They Need Immediate Assistance, but it’s fine, because Ragh’s smile is crazy bright and crazy big and Gorgug’s a little bit entranced by it. And he thought he was the spellcasting multiclass.
“So, dude, I have a proposition for you,” Ragh says, spinning Gorgug around by the arm across his shoulders and walking them in the opposite direction from E-Wing.
“A proposition?” Gorgug asks, and does his best not to overthink whether or not he should also put an arm around Ragh’s shoulders. Do bros do that? Bros might do that. Gorgug is realizing he doesn’t know what bros do, all he has is Ragh (touchy) and Fabian (didn’t-hug-until-literally-one-of-the-worst-days-of-their-lives) to go off of. Riz is definitely one of the bros but he’s not A Bro. Or, well, he’s not an Owlbear MVP Bro. There’s a difference.
Gorgug settles for putting his hand on Ragh’s waist which, oops, bad idea, because that’s Ragh’s waist. Gorgug doesn’t want to be weird and that’s decidedly weirder than shoulders. Is it bad if he immediately moves? Worse if he stays? Oh Cass, friends are hard. Especially friends who are big and strong and brave and funny like Ragh.
“Yeah, bro.” Good, good. still in the bro zone. “Okay, so, like, you know how I’m gonna graduate now? Because I went on that quest with you guys?”
“Yeah, dude, I’m super proud of you.”
“Awh, man, thank you, means a lot,” Ragh squeezes him closer and Gorgug ducks his head to hide a blush. “But, yeah! So, I’m graduating, which is just baller, dude, like hoot fuckin’ growl, right? But that means I get to go to prom. And you know, like, my prom last year fucking sucked, man.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Gorgug nods, and pats awkwardly at Ragh’s waist. Prom had sucked last year, and Gorgug can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like for Ragh.
“Honestly, the best part of that was you, right? Like I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t kissed me and, like, snapped me out of that headspace.”
“Oh, uh, no problem. Uh,” Gorgug says, but it’s mostly just a few mumbled vowels because his sensory memory is kicking in and he can hear the sounds of battle, see the hot lights of the gym, taste the blood pooling in his mouth, and feel Ragh’s rough lips as he rammed their mouths together.
“So, uh, shit, why are we walking?” Ragh stops them, and then turns Gorgug bodily so he’s got two hands on each of his shoulders and is staring right up into his eyes—Gorgug’s, like, four inches taller than Ragh now, which is nuts when will he stop growing, and oh, whoops, crap, Ragh looks like he’s about to say something important. “Okay. Uh. Dude. My man. Gorgug.”
“Yeah?” Gorgug blinks, and has absolutely no control over what his face is doing, probably something dumb and smiley.
Whatever it is, Ragh’s shoulders lose some of their tension, and he grins at him, tugs him in just that little bit closer so it feels like it’s just the two of them in the middle of the crowded hallway. “Would you go to prom with me?”
“What? Yes. Absolutely,” Gorgug says, immediately, not even thinking about it, not even knowing when prom is or if he’ll be on tour by then or anything. Ragh’s smiling at him, and Ragh’s asking him to go to his senior prom, and Gorgug can’t say no to that.
A tabaxi junior next to them overhears, starts clapping, and their friend catches on. Pretty soon the whole hallway is stopped in their tracks, clapping for Ragh and Gorgug and, like, Gorgug doesn’t understand the whole social thing around prom and prom dates and he’s a little cowed by the attention, but Ragh is fucking beaming and launches at him in the biggest hug Gorgug’s ever had.
“Dude,” Ragh shouts, right next to Gorgug’s ear. Gorgug just buries his head into Ragh’s shoulder, smiling because he can tell Ragh’s happy and he loves it when Ragh is happy. “We’re gonna go to prom!”
“Yeah,” his voice is a little shaky, but hopefully he makes up for it by breaking out that eighteen strength and lifting Ragh up into an even tighter hug.
“Hoot growl, hoot growl, hoot growl!” Ragh chants, still right next to his ear.
Gorgug can’t help but chant along, and soon the whole hallway is shouting with them, until it all descends into laughter and rushed footsteps when the teacher on hall duty finally tries to quiet everyone down.
Ragh pulls away from the hug, grinning so wide around his tusks that Gorgug gets that dopey smile again. “You’re fucking amazing.”
“Oh, dude,” Gorgug says, and ducks back in for another quick hug.
The bell rings for third period.
“Oh, shit, I gotta go,” Ragh says and squeezes Gorgug one last time. He pulls away, pointing a finger directly at him, “You? Fuckin’ incredible, dude.”
“Um, uh, you too,” Gorgug gets out, as Ragh lumbers away.
When he ducks into a Common classroom and his red letterman jacket disappears, it’s like the spell is broken, and Gorgug starts, hiking his backpack up onto his shoulders and bolting down the hall towards E-Wing. He’s going to be so late for class.
Ragh’s big smile flashes in Gorgug’s mind, all crinkled up eyes and huge tusks and dimples and joy. Whatever, this was so worth it.
Fabian’s pouting.
“I’m not pouting,” Fabian huffs, looking gloomily away from Gorgug.
“He’s just jealous,” Kristen says, going to pat at Fabian’s arm.
He nearly falls off the bench in his effort to jerk out of her reach. “No, I’m not.”
“I’m sorry,” Gorgug says, and tries his best to hide how much Fabian’s mood is upsetting him, sinking a little bit deeper into his hoodie and shoveling a dejected spoonful of fake cafeteria mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“Ugh, Gorgug, no. It’s fine.” Fabian huffs again, kicking at Gorgug’s leg from under the table and misjudging the distance, hitting him really hard in the shin.
“Ow,” Gorgug mutters, and Kristen slams her hands on the table.
“That’s it, no violence at the lunch table.”
Fabian shoots Kristen a deeply unimpressed look as a table behind them lights up with a tiny, errant fireball.
“Okay,” she amends. “No violence at our lunch table.”
“I can tell him I can’t go,” Gorgug offers, because he'd do pretty much anything to alleviate the most immediate unhappiness.
“If you do that, I’ll duel you,” Fabian says before slumping down in his seat, picking at his apple slices. “No, I just thought I’d be the only Bad Kid at senior prom.”
“Oh, you’re going?”
“No.”
“Ohhhhh.”
Kristen successfully worms her way over to Fabian, getting at his shoulder in what is more of a slap than a pat before getting shoved away again. “There, there, you can hang out with me and Tracker.”
“Um, hard pass.”
Kristen makes an offended sound right as Fig slams her tray down beside Gorgug, sending her slightly too green peas scattering across the table. They got lucky this semester, and only Riz and Adaine don’t have lunch with the rest of them. Gorgug had been alone at lunch the whole first half of the year, which was fine in retrospect, but had sucked at the time.
“I hear you’re going to prom,” she crows, shoving her elbow into Gorgug’s side and making him laugh and shove her back.
“Yeah, Ragh invited me.”
“Are you guys like prom dates, like,” she nods her head and lowers her voice in a barely passable impression of Ragh, “prom dates, or,” she wiggles her eyebrows wildly and then breaks out into a huge grin, “prom dates?”
“Um.” Gorgug says, flustered, “the first one. I think.”
“You think?”
“I mean—”
“Oh my god, do you have a crush?” Kristen squeals.
“Can we go back to comforting Fabian now?”
“Gorgug, you had a crush and didn’t tell us?!”
“I knew,” Fig crows, and gets another jab to the side for her troubles.
“I did too,” Fabian says, shrugging, still a little sad. “I mean, it’s Ragh. Not, uh, not a hard leap there.”
“Yeah,” Gorgug concedes, blushing so hard he double checks that Fig didn’t cast a fire spell on his face.
“Wait. Are you guys doing the, like, whole nine yards thing with a limo and flowers and everything?” Kristen asks, leaning across the table now and stealing one of Fig’s chicken nuggets.
“Um. He just asked me this morning?” He says it like a question because, really, he does not understand why prom is such a big deal to the average person.
What it means to Ragh, though, he gets. Ragh went through literal hell last year at prom, and Gorgug will do anything to make sure that doesn’t happen again, crush or no crush.
“This is kind of a lot,” Gorgug mumbles into the table, overwhelmed by the attention and the decisions swiftly coming and how Ragh chose him, him, to share something so important.
“Hey, Gorgug, listen.” Fabian kicks Gorgug’s shin in a much more comforting, much less painful way than he had before. “Don’t stress out about it. You’ve got, like, a month or so to work everything out.”
“Right, right.”
“But, if everything goes well and you do wind up getting your kisses in on prom night, don’t tell me,” he crosses his arms. “This is unfair enough as it is.”
“Awh, Fabian,” Fig croons, “you’re pouting.”
“I am not pouting.”
Gorgug laughs into his mashed potatoes.
“Could you pass me those pliers?” Gorgug asks, hunched over his desk.
Zelda wordlessly hands him the pliers without looking up from her sketchbook, brow furrowed and pen hand scratching against the page.
“Thanks,” he says, and gets back to curving the sheets of metal in front of him.
It’s starting to look like… something. Not quite the metal flowers he’s going for, but, then again, the scale he’s working on is so small compared to his hands and he’s just proud he’s got something vaguely petal-like going on. These are for Ragh, though, so they can’t be passable, they have to be perfect.
“I’m thinking, um, of putting a daily use Guidance on them?” Gorgug asks, using one of his fingers to smooth over a particularly bumping spot in the metal.
He doesn’t have the spell yet, but he’s been trying to learn, because Kristen and Fig and now Fabian all have buffers and not having any makes him feel a little… weird? Useless? Something else that doesn’t make sense anywhere but in his brain? Gorgug just wants to… he wants to help his friends. One lonely trip through his nightmares was enough for Gorgug to decide that he’s never leaving their sides again, not if they need him. And for Ragh, who was so alone and hurting and vulnerable every day before his junior prom, and who has been so warm and open and kind every day since, Gorgug wants to give him something to fall back on, something to remind him that he isn’t alone. Not anymore. Not if Gorgug has anything to say about it.
“That sounds really nice,” Zelda says, finally looking up from her sketchbook all soft eyed and sweet.
Gorgug pauses a moment in his tinkering, putting his tools down so he can lean over and tuck a strand of Zelda’s hair behind her ear. She smiles at him, and he feels his breath catch a little in his throat. They’ve been dating over a year now, but something about Zelda Donovan looking at him like that still makes his brain need to reboot. “I’m, um, really grateful that you’re so supportive,” he says, hand cupping the side of her head.
Zelda rolls her eyes a little, reaching up and placing her hand over his, leaning into it. “Of course, silly. I, like, love you.”
“I, um, love you too.”
Zelda leans in and kisses him, right on the corner of his mouth. “Gah, you’re, like, stupid cute.”
“Oh,” Gorgug says, laughing a little and looking down with a smile.
She smirks, making that face he knows comes with some sort of crush-related teasing, “Ragh definitely thinks you’re stupid cute, too.”
“Zelda, I don’t know, he’s—”
“He has eyes, Gorgug.” Another kiss. “Anyone would be lucky to be loved by you.” Gorgug does that looking-away-smile again, and Zelda reaches up to pull his face back to hers. “I’m, like, so serious.”
“I love you,” Gorgug says again, because it’s the first thought in his brain and Zelda’s still looking at him like that and he’s a bit beyond functioning, a bit too far into the Ragh nerves and excitement and the Zelda comfort and compliments.
“Oh my god, you’re literally so sweet,” Zelda gushes, smiling, and Gorgug tries to tamp down on the puppy eyes, he really does. She kisses him again and pats him on the arm, “Keep working on your project. Ragh’s going to love it.”
“I hope so,” Gorgug says, but he’s still watching her. He has trouble paying attention to anything else, when Zelda’s so close to him.
Zelda blushes again, like she can feel his eyes on her even as she looks back to her sketchbook. “And he’s going to love you, and you’re going to have the best time at prom, and you’re going to tell me all about it, and I’m not going to, like, get kidnapped by a dragon objectifying minors’ sexual histories again.”
Gorgug snorts, reaches out and pulls her into a hug, with his chin tucked on the top of her head. “Zero dragons this year, I promise.”
“I mean, I just got back from a spring break killing them, so.” Zelda burrows her head into his chest, “Hopefully that, uh, did the trick.”
Gorgug blinks, thinks about Zelda and her blades, tries not to blush any more than he already is from the proximity. “You’re really awesome.”
Zelda laughs nervously, except she’s not nervous, just that specific Zelda brand of social awkwardness that Gorgug still manages to match and outpace. “You are too. And I’m, like, so happy for you and I hope everything works out with Ragh.”
Gorgug just smiles and holds her a little bit tighter.
Prom is going to be awesome, and he can’t wait to tell her all about it.
“Holy shit,” Ragh shouts from the porch of Morded Manor as Gorgug pulls up in the Hangvan.
He’s already grinning so big it hurts when he throws the van door open, although… it doesn’t really look much like a van anymore. Fig and Adaine and Ayda had spent the whole afternoon casting an illusion charm on the van to make it look sort of limo-like—sleek and black and fancy in a way Gorgug has only gotten used to in the last half a year he’s been a national rock star. He could have bought a limo, much less rented one, but Ragh had clapped Gorgug on the back about a month ago and told him not to spend any money, “It’s just prom, dude, don’t sweat it,” but it’s prom and Gorgug is going to sweat it, at least a little bit.
So. Homemade limo it is.
“Fuckin’ hoot growl, dude, what the fuck?!”
“Hey,” Gorgug says, going for nonchalant but failing because he’s trying not to freak out at the sight of Ragh in a suit.
He’s so handsome, bounding down the ramp to meet Gorgug on the lawn. They’re both wearing black suits and different shades of purple ties, Ragh’s closer to lilac and Gorgug’s a deep plum color, and Ragh has pins on his lapels—a little rainbow flag and his bloodrush number on the left side, and an owlbear on the right. Gorgug stares at them instead of how the suit hugs Ragh’s shoulders, or the way his tusks glint in the evening sun’s light, or the swoop of his hair, because if he payed any sort of attention to any of those things he might just swoon.
“Dude, what is this?” Ragh asks, coming to a stop in front of Gorgug but still bouncing slightly, hands knocking against his legs in excitement.
“I, um, enlisted the help of our magic users,” Gorgug says, shrugging but still smiling so wide he’s sure he looks a little stupid.
“Yes, he did!” Fig crows from the porch, where the entire family is waiting to see them go.
Gorgug had already spent about thirty minutes trying to extricate himself from the Thistlespring Tree, insisting that it wasn’t his prom as Digby and Wilma cooed over him, and he can tell it’ll be even longer here. He waves, awkwardly, at Lydia Barkrock, who smiles back at him from her wheelchair.
“Dude,” Ragh says again and pulls Gorgug into a hug, squishing them together and then immediately pulling back, squinting at Gorgug’s face. “Are you wearing makeup?”
“Um. A little.”
“Dude.”
Gorgug blushes, despite himself, looking off to the side, and Ragh gets one of his big hands on Gorgug’s chin and turns him back to face him.
“Woah. You’re gorgeous.”
“Aw, man,” Gorgug says.
“I’m serious. Like, hoot growl. Wow.”
“Thanks.”
“Gay!” Kristen shouts at them.
“And fuckin’ proud of it, dude,” Ragh yells back.
Ragh’s still got his hand securely on Gorgug’s face, and Gorgug’s a little too excited right now to watch his expression, so he’s momentarily caught between not wanting this moment to ever end and wanting it to be done right the fuck now, if only so he doesn’t betray anything in front of both Ragh and their family. C’mon, think. Except urging himself to think just makes him focus on the calluses on Ragh’s hand, on the way his thumb is just a centimeter away from Gorgug’s mouth. And, okay, yep, mission failure, abort, abort.
“Oh, um,” Gorgug says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little box, “I made this for you.”
“Woah, what?” Ragh takes the box gently from Gorgug’s hands, pries the lid off and, whoops, Gorgug had a hard time with how small it was, so of course Ragh is going to have trouble with it too.
“Here, let me,” Gorgug says, wincing slightly at himself and cupping his hand underneath the box in case Ragh accidentally tips it over.
Ragh peels back the tissue paper Digby had folded for him, stares down at the box for half a second, and looks back up at Gorgug, eyes wide, “Dude.”
“Ha, um. They’re earrings? For you.”
“Bro.” Ragh carefully picks up the silver rose studs, cradling them in his palm.
“I put, um, there’s a Guidance spell on them. That you can use once per short rest. Hopefully, um. It’s my first time doing something like that.”
“Why are you so awesome?”
“Oh, uh, I’m not.”
“Don’t downplay yourself, Gorgug!” Adaine says, also on the porch.
“Yeah, you’re great!” Fig calls out, flashing him a thumbs up from over Ragh’s shoulder.
“Thanks, guys,” he yells, and looks back at Ragh, sheepishly. “I hope you like them.”
“Like them? I love them, this is— You’re doing way too much, dude, I’m the one who asked you to prom.”
“Yeah, but it’s, like, your senior year.”
“Pictures, guys,” Sandra Lynn says from the doorway. “Or you’re going to be late.”
“Right, right,” Ragh says, still bouncing, but fumbling to exchange his plain black studs for the roses.
“Here, um,” Gorgug slips the box back into his jacket, grabs the side of Ragh’s head, and takes out his earrings. This is once again putting himself in a compromised position, because Ragh’s hair is so soft underneath Gorgug’s hand, and his pierced ears look absolutely stunning. At least, now, Gorgug is the one who has something to focus on, so he tries his best to switch out the earrings quickly, even though he takes a moment to brush his fingertips through the buzzed sides of Ragh’s hair. Ragh stands silently, barely even breathing, and Gorgug pats him awkwardly on the cheek when he’s all done, roses gleaming against Ragh’s green skin. “There.”
“Thanks, dude,” Ragh says gruffly.
“No, uh, no problem.”
They step away from each other, turn to the stairs and their family, and then go through the motions of picture-taking and memory-making. Lydia wheels down the ramp, poses with Ragh for a few, pulls him in for a hug and whispers something that Gorgug can’t hear but makes Ragh tear up and hold onto her tighter.
Fig tugs on Gorgug’s hair. Adaine fixes his tie. Jawbone hugs him. And then Ragh is pulling him towards the Hangvan. Gorgug slides into his comfortable, familiar seat behind the wheel, Ragh rolls down the windows, and they’re off to senior prom.
There’s near constant chanting of “hoot growl, hoot growl, hoot growl” the entire way to Augefort. Gorgug smiles even bigger, his cheeks starting to hurt in earnest now, and when he looks over at Ragh it’s to find him already staring back, grinning and fist pumping and ready to conquer the world. Ragh looks so happy already, and Gorgug… Well, Gorgug doesn’t want to take all of the credit for that, but he allows himself a little pat on the back. As a treat.
They’d established over a very awkward text conversation, two days after Ragh asked him, that this prom dates thing is a friend-level affair. And Gorgug’s fine with that! Gorgug feels lucky, immeasurably lucky, to be Ragh’s friend. It sucks, a little, to constantly be thinking about kissing said friend or holding his hand all the time, or getting distracted in the middle of Mordred-lawn bloodrush scrimmages because said friend is just insanely attractive and very good at sports. But Gorgug can handle it, if it means he gets to see Ragh grinning at him like that. If it means he gets to share prom with Ragh, gets to support him when he needs it and pat him on the back when he’s winning Morded-lawn scrimmages.
So, Gorgug is happy. With this whole arrangement. Because why wouldn’t he be? But then the setting sun strikes through an open window at just the right angle and lights up a portion of Ragh’s face, makes his earrings gleam, and Gorgug has to forcefully clench his hands around the steering wheel and look back at the road because he’s driving and he can’t afford to do something stupid right now like. Like. Like reaching out and cupping Ragh’s cheek. Or kissing his ear. Or kissing his mouth. Yeah. Definitely can’t do any of that.
After the nightmare that is parking in the school lot, it’s pretty easy to get into the building. Ragh takes him by the hand and pulls him along, and they slap the backs/get back slapped by other members of the Owlbears waiting to get in. At the door, Porter takes their tickets and nods to them. Gorgug tries not to get nervous about how he’s sort of maybe skipped every single one of Porter’s classes since Spring Break.
Once they get inside, Ragh leans up and mutters in Gorgug’s ear, “Damn, I thought he wasn’t going to let us in. I haven’t been to his class in literal years, dude. Literal years.”
Gorgug laughs, squeezes his hand a bit tighter.
There’s that moment in the doorway where they pause for a second to take everything in. This year’s theme is… Gorgug doesn’t actually know what the theme is, even though it’s been advertised around the school for weeks, but there’s soft red lights moving in slow circles from the ceiling, and arrangements of flowers around the gym, and a big tree that the druid department must have worked on—branches blooming and petals dropping in slow motion, only to rise back up to the tree the second they hit the floor.
“Woah,” Ragh says. “This is epic.”’
“You’re epic,” Gorgug says before thinking.
“What?”
“Um. Nothing.”
“Alright, dude. Hey, wanna see if anyone’s spiked the punch bowl yet?”
“Definitely, sure.”
“Baller.”
The punch bowl is sadly nonalcoholic, but Ragh gets distracted and enthused by the tiny tea cakes next to it anyway. (“Dude, we must have done so much fundraising, look, this one’s a tiny triangle!”) Gorgug stands to the side, quietly, like he usually is, and smiles when Ragh looks over at him expectantly and definitely doesn’t imagine what it would be like to kiss Ragh right now, leaning against the food table on the edge of a crowd of barely-adults-mostly-kids.
It turns out that when you’re both (more than) vaguely popular, prom is kind of just a steady stream of familiar faces complimenting your outfits and pulling you into their groups and inviting you to sit at their tables. Gorgug handles this for about two hours, as he and Ragh get passed between friends and Ragh lights up brighter and brighter every time they talk to another person, but then he crashes, just slightly, slumping down on a plastic sheet-covered table as Ragh shouts along with a kid who he’d apparently gone to school with since first grade but Gorgug has never met before.
“Hey, dude,” Ragh says, poking Gorgug in the arm. “You doin’ okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Gorgug says, but he kind of wants a nap, which is stupid because he’s a rock star and can handle crowds and this is Ragh’s night anyway.
“Do you want to dance?” Ragh asks, and the hand that had been poking him slides around and grips his arm now, comfortingly.
“With, um, sorry I didn’t—”
“Isaiah’s not into dancing,” Ragh says, nodding to the guy he’s been talking to. “It could just be the two of us.”
“Really?”
“Yeah!”
“Okay,” Gorgug says, already pushing himself up. Dancing should get him out of this half-sleepy, overwhelmed feeling, and he doesn’t even consider the fact that he’ll be dancing alone with Ragh until it’s too late and they’re already on the floor.
It doesn’t… Okay, it’s prom, right? And in general prom is just classics from their parent’s childhoods and current top forty pop hits. So, again, in general, there’s a lot of teenagers dancing like they think they’re cool, regardless of whether they’re actually cool or not. Ragh, however, is cool, and Gorgug has been (illegally, but whatever) dragged to a few gay clubs with Fabian and Ragh since Spring Break, so he knows for a fact that Ragh can dance.
Gorgug finds that it’s easier to focus, when it’s Ragh he’s focusing on. And when Ragh is smiling wide around his tusks and grabbing onto Gorgug’s hips to the guitar riffs of Fantasy Queen—which Fig has been talking about doing a tribute show for and, yeah, that would be a really good idea—it’s easy to lose himself in Ragh’s dark eyes and forget that he’s in the middle of a crowded dance floor. So easy, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice when the song fades into the next and they slow to a sway, Ragh’s hands still on his waist and Gorgug’s falling easily to Ragh’s shoulders as the song slows and people split off from their larger groups.
“Um, hey, dude,” Ragh says, and his voice is so deep Gorgug has to blink hard to handle it.
“Hey.”
“I hope it’s okay. To, like. Slow dance. Together.”
“Um. Is it okay with you?”
“Yeah, more than okay,” Ragh says, dips Gorgug back slightly, and Gorgug is grinning up at him before the words register.
Oh. Oh. Maybe…? Hm. Gorgug could… Gorgug is brave, in ways that others are not, so maybe, maybe he can… Yeah. He’s gonna go for it, at least.
“Ragh?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course, bro.”
“Alright. Um. Okay.” Gorgug takes a deep breath, moves just a little bit closer to Ragh so their chests are pressed together. The feeling of his muscles up against Gorgug’s is comforting. And Gorgug decides to be brave. “So. I don’t know if I’ve, like, ever explicitly told you before, but I’m poly.”
“Super cool, dude.”
“Yeah,” Gorgug says, cracking a smile. “And Zelda is, like, okay with it, um. And I’m not just into anyone, there’s, uh, there’s one person. In particular.”
“Oh,” Ragh says, shoulders sinking slightly even as he continues to sway with him. “I’m happy for them.”
“Yeah. So. I like this one person, and I don’t know if he likes me back. But he’s got, like, absolutely gorgeous hair and the best smile and he’s so kind and brave and strong.”
“Wow, sounds like a great guy.”
“Um. Yeah. He is. And this person, um, this person is kind of dancing with me right now, and I wanted to ask, you know, if he likes me, but I’m kind of going about it weirdly. So. Do you, um. I like you, Ragh. And I was wondering if you—?”
“What?” Ragh asks, stopping their swaying and looking up at him with the biggest eyes.
“I. You’re the person I like.” Gorgug’s heart hammers in his chest, so fast and so quick it makes him feel like they’re still moving in slow circles, even though they definitely aren’t. It’s just the world that is swaying around him, out of focus compared to Ragh. To everything about Ragh.
“Really?” Ragh asks, again, face slack.
“Yeah. Really. I… I really like you. And I don’t want to pressure you, but, um. God. You look so handsome right now and I couldn’t—”
“Dude.” Ragh says, loudly, hands squeezing at his waist.
“What?”
“I literally can’t believe this. I like you too. Like. So fucking much.”
“Really?”
“Fuck yes, dude.”
And Gorgug looks at him, at his expression of shocked joy, and, well… Gorgug just kisses him. He can’t do anything else but kiss him.
Ragh’s lips are rough like he remembers, and their tusks bump, and it’s perfect. The lights glow reds and purples overhead, but Gorgug can’t see them because his eyes are shut, memorizing what Ragh’s suit coat feels like under his hands, what Ragh’s lips feel like in these first few moments.
When Ragh pulls away, breathing heavily, Gorgug lets his eyes slowly slide open, and he’s rewarded by just the most gut-dropping expression of awe on Ragh’s face. One of his hands had moved from Ragh’s shoulder to cup his cheek, just like he’d wanted to do in the car, and he pushes his fingers through Ragh’s hair, runs his thumb over the silver earring in his ear.
“Woah,” Ragh says.
“Ha,” Gorgug says back, not really an actual laugh, but not just the word either. More… gaspy, because he can’t really handle all of this right now. It’s too good.
“I’ve wanted to do that all year, dude.”
“Me too.”
Ragh leans up and headbutts him gently, “I can’t believe you confessed to me at prom.”
“Sorry?”
“No. No, listen. This is, like, the absolute best thing that could have happened tonight. Like. You’re so. Woah. I just, I know it’s too soon to break out the L-word but.”
“Lesbian?”
“Stop it, I knew we shouldn’t have watched that movie,” Ragh shoves him, as much as he can without actually moving his hands from Gorgug’s sides.
“You said I remind you of Fantasy Michael Cera,” Gorgug says, shrugging and lightly brushing his knuckles over Ragh’s cheek. His brain isn’t quite functioning at full capacity right now, because he was just kissing Ragh, so, maybe that at least somewhat explains the Fantasy Scott Pilgrim reference. Somewhat.
“I can’t remember if that was supposed to be a compliment or not. But. Anyway. Dude. Bro.”
“Yeah?”
“This is literally the best prom ever.”
Gorgug smiles, kisses Ragh again. “I think so too.”
“Hoot fuckin’ growl, man.”
“Hoot growl.”
And then Ragh is the one kissing him, dipping him back again as the slow song winds to a close and the dance floor begins to stop its gradual spinning. But Gorgug can’t focus on anything except for Ragh, and he lets himself get dipped back, smiling against Ragh’s lips.
Okay. Maybe he understands the prom hype after all.