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It's starting to get dark outside, when a limo pulls up outside the Kriegman residence.
Andre steps outside, and his parents quickly follow. "Have fun," his mother pleads, tears streaming down her cheeks. Andre just nods and tells them that the limo is going to leave without him so if they could please go back inside, that he's going to be inside, and he enters the limousine.
"Here," he says, holding out the small, pale purple rose towards Cal, taking a seat beside him. "I got you a boutonniere. I thought a corsage would be too gay."
"Awwww," the resounding chorus of girls in the limo say, smiling. Cal smiles, too, and looks around. He just sits there with the boutonniere in his hand. "Thank you." he says, earnestly, but also visibly confused.
A few moments pass, the limo keeps driving, and Cal remains with the same puzzled expression.
"Cal, you're supposed to put that in a button on your tux."
"Oh," Cal says, face flushing, fumbling to pull the stem through one of the button holes. "Yeah. I should've figured, because, like, boutonniere. Button. You know,"
Andre thinks about how cute Cal is when he's flustered, and smiles.
Someone's holding a video camera and recording the prom lead-up; Andre and Cal are fairly- unusually, actually- quiet. They just whisper back and forth between each other, holding hands until it's time to get out of the limo.
Their school rented out a nice, modest ballroom in town. It lacks the pomp and extravagance of the mental image brought to mind when one thinks "prom", but that's perfectly alright.
It's an okay night. Neither Cal nor Andre expected too much, and they can't say they're let down at all.
"I don't like this song," Cal says, ambling over to Andre. He himself is nursing a cup of (unspiked, thank you) punch, and in his free hand he has a full cup of punch he hands to Andre.
Andre graciously accepts the cup, quickly taking a sip. "I don't like any of this fucking music, actually."
Cal smirks. "I dunno. You look a lot less miserable than you usually do. Are you sure you don't wanna be here?" he asks, putting a hand on his hip. "I bet you're glad i convinced you to skip work."
"Shut up."
Suddenly the lights dim a bit, the song ends, and the music gets slower. Ah, yes; the Slow Dance portion of the prom.
Andre and Cal both groan in disgust. "You wanna blast?" Cal asks, and Andre nods. They walk out of the ballroom, out of the lobby, and to the front of the building, stopping directly before a "No Loitering" sign.
"We have to wait for the limo, it's, like, a round-trip thing," Cal says, finishing off the punch. "It'll be here soon, though, I think."
Andre sighs. "As much as I hate this, I'm kinda glad I decided to go with you." Cal smiles dopily at him, and Andre knows he's about to say something dumb, so he interrupts him before he can even speak.
"I guess this is kind of our last hurrah."
Cal just nods.
Andre looks him in the eyes with an intent, and puts a hand out for Cal to shake. Cal just grabs his hand, holding it.
They both look at the ground, and Andre wraps his thumb around Cal's. They stand there like that; a crowd of clamoring, punch-drunk teenagers exits from the building.
And Andre lets go.