You took a deep breath. It was now or never.
As you approached the group of people chatting in the middle of the hallway, you thought a bit about the situation as a whole.
Typical story: Prom is around the corner, you're a loser with little to no friends, the nerd of the school who gets coddled by the teachers and beat up behind the trash containers in the back of the school, all in the same day. You are gay. You also have a not so small crush on one of, if not the most popular guy in school, who you're not even sure if is even attracted to guys.
Jackson Overland is perfect. He's perfect because he's not, and you're not the only one who notices that. He doesn't play in a sports team, his grades are average, he loves pranks and kids, and will always smile at everyone, even you, the loser who hides behind his locker door when he's nearby. The only thing that could make this worse is if his locker were next to yours, but thankfully this is not a teenage drama movie and his is on the other side of the building.
He shares two classes with you; History and Biology. He's surprisingly good at the former, as if he'd actually lived through the last 300 years of the country instead of just reading the books the school gave you. He was not so good at the latter. He tended to stay after class to ask for something to get some extra credit, which was the only thing not making him fail. He did not like tutoring, which you wouldn't be eligible for since the best one at the class is this really weird girl with long braids that spends most of the time head-butting her twin. You often cannot believe it either.
In front of your locker there's a drinking fountain that has never worked, that somehow turned into the place for cool kids to meet and catch up, and where Jack would usually stop between classes to lean against the wall and text someone or play a videogame, where someone would stop to chat, and then another, and another, until it ended as a congregation of popular people not unlike the one you are currently walking towards.
Unfortunately, as much things in your life are, you do not have a simple crush on the guy.
He doesn't talk to you much, except for when he greets you as he walks past you (as he does with everyone else), or when he says something about the teacher or class that makes you laugh (that horrible, nasal laugh of yours that is too noisy to be nice), or that time your student card fell from your pocket and he chased you down the hall to give it back, discovering your name in the process.
He volunteers at the school kindergarten, going after class to wear the ridiculous green getup and chase around kids just because he loves them so and has this way with them, not unlike your own way with animals that usually gets you being followed by a small pack of dogs and cats on your way to school, earning you more weird looks.
He likes to take the kids outside, to the sports field where they can run without danger of hurting themselves until they knock themselves face first against the football posts, which has happened, you've seen it. Because usually you're already there in the bleachers, getting some sun on the nice days while you do your homework. Jack would appear from the right path, a line of kids in front of him, and he would wave at you while he set the little hellions loose. Sometimes he even goes sit by you and you chat until he has to take the hooligans back for their snack time.
Jackson Overland is absolutely great and you're absolutely in love with him. And that's why you're now getting weird looks as you step near the group, the pretty girls watching you with something akin to disgust in their delicate faces, as if they were scared you would touch them on accident, the guys raising an eyebrow at you as you make your way across the hall, looking at no one but the prize right in the middle of them all, leaning comfortably against the wall, making direct eye contact with him as he pushes himself off the wall and regards you with curious, twinkling blue eyes under the white bangs of his dyed hair.
Just 20 seconds, you say to yourself, 20 seconds is all I need.
The group parts, more in need to get away from you that in means of letting you through. You stop in front of Jack, hand tight around your bag strap as you swallow the nerves down. You swear all noise in the place has vanished.
"Jack-" You stop to clear your throat. That came out more high pitched than intended. A red head girl snickers at you. "Jack I…"
He stares at you, an encouraging smile on his handsome face as he crouches just the smallest bit down, as if being closer would give you the strength to force your words out. It kinda does, but only because it's him and not anyone else making fun of your height. You were premature, it's not your fault you're this short. "Yes, Hamish?"
"I was…wondering" Ten seconds left. "If you-if you'd like to" Five seconds. Deep breath. More snickers. "Jack, will you go to prom with me?"
It was a miracle you didn't shout it. You're sure your leg and a half are trembling, shaking uncontrollably under the mean stares of the people around you, conspiring muttering between each of them, making fun of you for daring, for even thinking for a second that Jackson Overland Frost, dreamy guy extraordinaire and not even near your league would—
"Yeah, sure"
What.
What.
You blink, your green eyes reflecting on those amused icy blue ones as he regards you with a big grin, waiting for you to say something.
"What" Nice. Reeeally smooth Haddock.
"I said yes, I'd like to go with you" He says again. Again. He just accepted to go to prom with you.
You look around, searching for the hidden cameras, wondering how he knew you'd ask and how long did he have to set up what had to be his best prank up to this point.
A brunette girl from the group runs off, you think you can hear her crying. She's one of the ones who'd always had their eyes on Jack, for merely aesthetic reasons, you know, you've heard her in your invisibility.
So, no prank then.
"Come on" Jack wraps his arm around your shoulder and pushes you in the opposite direction the girl went, talking to you in a friendly way. "I don't even have your number, gonna have to fix that while we're at it, Hiccup"
How does he know your nickname, you'll never know, all you know is when you're a good distance away from anyone, his arm slides down your shoulders and slots neatly around your hand, you unconsciously tangle your fingers with his.
You look at your twined hands and smile lopsidedly, as your crooked teeth won't let you otherwise.
Sometimes 20 seconds of embarrassing bravery is more than what you need.