It's just so incredibly '80s.

Not that he would know what that's like.

There are paper streamers hanging from the ceiling and some really shit music played by a middle-aged person masquerading as a DJ and halfhearted dancing. A few people linger by the wall.

Amber staggers over towards him, her hair mussed, slouching a little. She hands him her cup of punch.

"I'm not your dog, Amber."

She blinks at him, her lips pursed, before shaking her head. "Jerome, that doesn't even make sense. Dogs can't hold things."

"All the same."

She sets her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. "The boys from one of the other houses spiked the punch," she says.

He flicks his glance towards her face. "If you're going to be sick - "

She huffs, trying to draw herself up to her full height. "I am not going to be sick. Nina, on the other hand - Anyway. Just - take that until I come back."

"Where are you going?"

"Amber and I," Patricia says loftily, draping a friendly arm over Amber's shoulders, "are sneaking out for a cigarette. You want to come?"

"In a bit."

"Suit yourself," Patricia replies. She starts hauling Amber towards the door.

"Drink up!" Amber calls, the sound of her heels retreating into the distance.

He sets Amber's cup of punch down on one of the free tables, invitations and napkins strewn across the top, and goes to pour himself another one when someone knocks into him from behind. Between the starched uncomfortable tux and his complete sobriety at the moment, he isn't quite sure this prom could get any worse.

"Jerome!" Mara squeals, throwing her arms around him.

He turns, cup and punch ladle in hand. He finishes pouring himself a cup and gulps it down.

Strong.

It's very strong.

The boys from the other house clearly wanted to erase all memory of terrible paper decorations with absurd amounts of alcohol.

"Mara!" he says, hoping he doesn't look quite as surprised as he feels. "You are - " She gives him one of the perfunctory twirls to show off her dress. "Very drunk."

She shoves him roughly. "I'm not that bad. Give me some credit."

"And I thought we had seen the last of rebel Mara with those terrible spiderweb tights."

Mara grins, taking another sip of her punch. "They were Patricia's."

"Well, I didn't exactly think they were yours." He makes a show of looking around. "Where's Mick?"

And time for another drink.

"Where d'you think? Gone out to the pitch with some of the boys." She grabs his hand and tugs him over to one of the many empty tables before she plops into a chair with a giggle. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you all evening. I was starting to think you weren't going to show."

"Of course I'd show. It's not like there's that much to do 'round here anyway."

Her expression then changes to super serious and he finds himself stifling a laugh. The alcohol's starting to set in, his body growing warmer.

"You are having fun, Jerome, aren't you?"

"Yes," he says, hoping he looks reassuring. "Loads."

She kicks his foot. "Liar."

The ever-so-cool DJ starts playing S Club 7. He can't even help the wince the second time. It's practically required.

"You think you're so cool," she says, gulping down another bit of punch.

"I am so cool."

She rolls her eyes, reaching for his hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you uncool."

He stands awkwardly, downing the rest of his drink, before letting her lead him out towards the hallway.

"Where are we going?" he says, eyes flitting to the dance floor.

"Outside."

"Why are we going outside? You want to meet up with Amber and Patricia?"

They head towards one of the smaller clearings outside. In the distance, he can hear loud shouting and a caterwauling that sounds vaguely like singing.

"You know," she says, playing with one of the strands of her hair, "I never got to - I haven't really spoken to you since the election."

She reaches for his hand again.

He can't even bring himself to look at her. She's just so Mara right now, all forgiving and just good.

She squeezes his hand. "Jerome?"

"I'm sorry," he says, clearing his throat. "About what I did during the - I'm sorry."

She grins. "You apologizing? It's like a prom miracle."

"Shut up."

She stifles a small laugh before shifting closer, giving him a quick hug. "That was really sweet, Jerome. Honestly."

He leans in then, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. She leans in briefly, kissing him back, before pulling away.

"Jerome," she says.

"I know."

He stands then, holding a hand out to help her back up to her feet. "Would you want to dance?"

She smiles. "You really are a marshmallow under all that cactus."

He arches a brow. "I'm a marshmallow cactus?"

She slips her hand into his and pulls him back towards the dance. "It's a decent metaphor!"

"Sure."

"You know," she says, with a slight smirk, "you didn't even compliment me on my dress."

"Fishing for compliments, are we?"

The dance has wound down a lot by the time they return, most of the others gone out to the clearings, most of the chaperones sitting exhausted in the corners. The DJ's got some old ballad on, and Mara just winds her arms around his neck and sways him onto the dance floor.

"See, it wasn't so bad, was it?"

"What?"

"Being social. With people who are not Alfie."

He laughs.

Amber bursts through the door then, barefoot, shoes in hand, yelping, "Mara, Mara, Mara, Mara, Mara!"

She stills, pulling away from him as Amber attacks her in a hug.

"What?" she laughs.

"I was just telling Patricia," Amber says, breathlessly, "that I haven't seen you in ages, and it was terribly stupid of us to have a friend breakup over a guy, wasn't it? That's like pure rom-com no no."

Mara blinks, confused. "Sure."

"Anyway - hello, Jerome - "

"Hello."

"We've run out of alcohol and I think Mick and the other boys are doing some sort of weird footballer tribal dance thing and I just wanted to let you know that I love you."

"Sure," Mara says, giggling, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

"And you too, Jerome," Amber finishes. "Sort of."

"Thanks, Amber. Means a lot."

And then Amber's stepping in close, fishing something out of her pocket. "Saved one for you."

Mara grins. "You're an enabler is what you are."

"I'm a friend, Mara. A friend."

And then Mara's fiddling with a cigarette between her fingers. And looking up at him, she says, "Want to go outside?"

"We just were outside."

Patricia gives a cackling sort of laugh. "Mara, how d'you spend any sort of time with Jerome at all? He's a bit of a shit."

"I'm right here, Patricia."

"Like I care."

Amber pats Patricia's shoulder consolingly. "Oh, come on, Patricia. Jerome's not that bad." She pauses, looking him over. "Well, he's not as bad as he used to be!"

"See you around, Mara, yeah?"

"We're going to head back to the house."

"What," Jerome says, feigning shock. "So soon?"

Amber rolls her eyes. "The boys are all drunk and acting like idiots. We're going to bed."

Mara's toed her shoes off by then, slipping quietly out towards the back door. He trots after her as Amber and Patricia disappear back towards the house. He trots after her.

It isn't until they're outside that he hears her swear for possibly the first time he can remember.

"Fuck," she says. "Jerome, you don't happen to have a - "

He lights the cigarette for her.

She grins. "You've got everything."

"Just the vices," he says.

She passes him the cigarette then, hopping around on her toes.

"What's with you?" he asks, taking a drag.

She shrugs.

"Aren't we supposed to be having some really deep meaningful conversation?"

"Go on then. You start."

"Well," he says, handing her the cigarette, "for one, I wouldn't have taken you for a smoker. You are full of surprises."

"I don't do it much. None of us do. Just, you know, every so often." She hoists herself onto the low stone wall, kicking her feet. "I'm not what you expected?"

"No," he says. "You aren't."

She grins, handing the cigarette back to him with a wave. "It's good to be surprising, I think. Keeps people guessing. Means they never get tired of you."

He stubs the cigarette against the wall.

"And who could get tired of you?"

Her laugh comes out a little nervous.

"D'you want to walk back together?" she asks.

"You tired?"

"Nah," she says. "Have to make sure Amber isn't asleep in the toilet."

He takes her hand and they start to walk slowly towards the house. "You don't want to put your shoes on?"

"It'll be fine." They walk in relative silence for a bit when she calls his name.

"Hm?"

"We're friends," she says, haltingly, "aren't we?"

Everything feels dizzying, like drinking too much soda and then riding a roller coaster. It hurts and feels vaguely nauseous but exciting all at the same time.

"Yeah," he says. "We're friends."

She giggles.

"What?"

"The Odd Couple."

In the morning, he's watching TV when Mara, Amber, and Patricia come down for breakfast at around lunch time, all in a line, eyes fixed to the floor.

Alfie leans toward him, humming, "Someone's hungover..."

"Shut up, Alfie," Patricia calls.

"Here, what's all this?" Trudy calls, walking in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

"Toast, Trudy," Mara says. "Please."

"And tea, Trudy?"

"And bacon!" Amber calls.

Jerome fixes her a cup of tea, sets it down on the table for her.

"What," Patricia says, indignant, "Just for Mara?"

"Patricia," he says, loudly, relishing her wince. "If you want, I can get you some yogurt."

She grimaces. "No, thanks."

Mara takes a sip of her tea, peering at him from beneath her fringe. "Thank you."

Halfway through Alfie's impromptu rendition of That's What Friends are For, Mara sets her hand on his.

"Just promise me," he says, with dramatic seriousness, "that next time, I won't have to pretend that S Club 7 is still relevant."

"Excuse me!" she says, biting into her toast. "I used to really like them."

He stifles a laugh and she elbows him roughly. He can't really figure out whether or not this new actual friendship thing is a good thing or not, but Jerome's always been the kind of person who deals with things when he gets there.

"You don't still like them, do you?"

She throws the salt shaker at him.