Chapter Text
Amelia was not good at dating.
It wasn’t a dramatic truth—just one of those quiet facts about herself that she’d learned to live with, like her inability to whistle or how she always cried when she was furious. The few times she had tried to date, it had ended either with the other person dumping her or her walking away, feeling emptier than she had when she started.
After Billy Stratford, she made a silent pact with herself and decided that was it. No more dating. Not for a while. Not until she could stomach the idea of maybe, just maybe, being seen like that again.
Billy hadn’t been anything special. She knew that now. He was shallow and self-obsessed, and the only time he seemed genuinely interested in her was when they were somewhere public, and he could drape his arm around her like she was some accessory. She’d had a crush on him for the longest time—back when he was just a boy who smiled like he owned the hallway—but by the time they dated, that shine had worn off. It became clear within a week that the relationship was more about nostalgia than reality. And then he dumped her. Loudly. Dramatically. In front of the school cafeteria, every pair of eyes seemed to zoom in on her like cameras in a reality show.
It wasn’t the breakup that got to her but the spectacle—the stares. The whispers started before she even left the room. She’d gone home early that day and pretended to be sick. And for a while, she had been. Sick of herself. Sick of him. She was sick of how easily people could laugh at things that hadn’t happened to them.
She told herself it wasn’t even the worst thing. Betty Owen had it worse when she’d thrown up all over herself at the Winter Dance. That poor girl had tried to act cool, chugged too many drinks, and ended up a cautionary tale about mixing cheap vodka with rum punch. People still talked about it. But at least Betty had the excuse of alcohol. Amelia had just... existed. That was enough to become a joke.
Now she sat in the library, hunched over a book she wasn’t reading, half-listening to the quiet hum of gossip that drifted around her. Some of it, she was sure, was about her. She could tell by how some voices dipped and the heads turned slightly, but not enough to be noticeable. She ignored it—or tried to.
Instead, she focused on her notes, making sure they were neat enough to please Miss Donovan, the kind of teacher who circled commas in red ink and wrote sarcastic comments in the margins. Miss Donovan always talked about how hard she had worked and how lazy this generation was, and Amelia was convinced it was less about principle and more about her being a heinous bitch. Still, Amelia wasn’t about to flunk the assignment just because she was mentally checked out.
Her pen scraped across the page, filling it with facts she wasn’t absorbing. Her mind was everywhere—on the party tonight, her empty wardrobe, and the uncomfortable heat that still rose to her cheeks every time she remembered Billy’s smug smile.
“Fuck this,” someone muttered, followed by the screech of a chair being pushed out too hard.
Amelia looked up.
Nobody else seemed to notice, but the sound had jarred her. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on him: Luke Alaister.
His dark brows were drawn low over piercing grey eyes, his lips tight, jaw clenched. His fingers gripped his laptop like it had just betrayed him. He looked like two seconds away from throwing it across the room.
She froze.
They’d never really talked. They were in the same English Lit class but had never been paired up, never exchanged more than a passing glance. Luke had a reputation—moody, volatile, and easily pissed off. He kept to himself and somehow still managed to be at the centre of school rumours, primarily because of his fights after class and how teachers seemed afraid to press him too hard.
Amelia knew better than to stare. But she didn’t look away fast enough.
Their eyes met.
For a second, the noise of the library seemed to drop away. His stare was intense—cool grey with something darker lurking beneath. But then something softened. His brow relaxed, his lips eased, and he just... looked at her.
She opened her mouth—maybe to apologise or say hi—but before she could, he turned and walked out of the library, leaving her with nothing but the lingering weight of his gaze.
Amelia blinked. Her heart pounded harder than it had any right to.
She tried to shake it off, to return to her notes, but they had lost all meaning. The words blurred. The sentences collapsed into static. Her thoughts drifted again—to him, to tonight, to the dress she didn’t have and the nerves starting to build in her stomach.
Her phone buzzed.
Lisa.
Be ready. Come over now. Don’t be late, bitch. ❤️🎭👑
Amelia packed up her things, stuffing her laptop and notes into her bag, and left the library, heart still beating a little too fast, like Luke had left part of his frustration behind just for her to carry.
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“For the last time, Amelia, you can’t wear this to the masked ball!” Lisa practically groaned, holding up the wrinkled, tea-stained shirt Amelia had shown her as an option.
Amelia rolled her eyes and sank onto the edge of Lisa’s bed, letting her best friend dive into her wardrobe like it was a mission from God. She’d learned long ago not to interfere when Lisa was in Fashion Mode. You either stood back or got styled within an inch of your life.
Lisa was muttering to herself, tossing aside dresses with dramatic flair. “Too pink. Too casual. Too 2014. Shit, what was I thinking when I bought this—ah, yes.”
She turned with triumph in her eyes and held out a dress.
Baby blue. Silk. Backless. Gorgeous.
Amelia blinked at it. “Are you serious?”
Lisa nodded. “Dead serious. Try it on. Now.”
Amelia sighed but took it, disappearing into the bathroom. She peeled off her clothes and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her curls were a mess. There was a tea stain spreading across the bottom of her shirt. No makeup. No effort. She looked like someone who hadn’t expected to be seen today.
Maybe that’s why Luke looked at her the way he did as if she was unexpected.
She slipped the dress on carefully. It hugged her in all the right places. The colour made her skin glow, and the silk felt like magic. Looking at herself, she didn’t see a girl who got dumped in public or hid in the library to avoid whispers.
She saw someone who could surprise people.
She stepped out, face pink, hands nervously tugging at the hem.
Lisa gasped and beamed. “You’re welcome.”
Amelia laughed. “I didn’t say thank you yet.”
Lisa handed her a delicate tiara. “You didn’t have to. I know.”
They still had makeup and hair to do, but Amelia didn’t mind. Not tonight. Something felt different. Not just because of the dress, party, or music; she knew it would be too loud when they arrived.
It was the feeling that something was shifting—something inside her.
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Lisa had gone ahead to greet people, leaving Amelia a moment to … breathe. She checked her reflection in the camera of her phone. The baby blue dress still looked good—great, even. Lisa had outdone herself with the soft curls in her hair and the gentle shimmer of silver on her eyelids. She looked like someone else. Someone more confident. Someone who Billy Stratford had publicly dumped.
The memory of how he had looked at her in the library flickered back. Sharp, dark eyes softening. The way his name had drifted through the hallways like a warning. And then, just that split second of connection, as if he’d seen her in a way no one else had lately.
She pushed the thought aside and stepped into the house.
It was chaos—but the fun kind. People danced in the living room, glitter and half-costume masks everywhere. Someone had hung fairy lights from the ceiling, and the kitchen was already a mess of red cups and snack wrappers. Music pumped through her chest, and bodies moved like one big wave.
“Mia!” Lisa appeared out of nowhere, grabbing her by the wrist and spinning her. “God, you look hot. Like, distract the whole damn party hot.”
Amelia laughed, shaking her head. “I’m not distracting anyone.”
Lisa narrowed her eyes. “Okay, first of all, yes you are. And second—don’t look now, but someone’s already clocked you.”
Amelia blinked. “What?”
“Public enemy number one. Back corner. Grey hoodie. Looking at you like you just stepped out of a dream.”
She turned before she could stop herself—and yep. There he was.
Luke Alaister. He was propped against the wall like he hadn’t entirely decided if he wanted to be there, holding a drink in one hand and watching the party through narrowed eyes. When their gazes met, he didn’t look away.
He smirked.
Amelia’s stomach twisted but in a good way.
“I’m going to get us drinks,” Lisa whispered. “And you’re going to walk over there like the goddess you are. Don’t argue.”
Before she could object, Lisa disappeared into the crowd.
Amelia lingered for a beat, then made her way slowly across the room. Her heels clicked softly against the hardwood, muffled by the music. The closer she got, the louder the sound and the more charged the air felt. Luke didn’t move. He just watched her. Like he’d known all along, she’d come over.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here, Mia,” he said, his voice low and smooth. How he said it made her feel like he meant it—like he’d been waiting.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” she shot back, lifting her brow.
His lips quirked. “Fair enough.”
He let the silence hang, comfortable. Amelia shifted, not quite knowing where to put her hands. She tucked one behind her back, holding her clutch. Luke looked her up and down—not in a gross way. Just like he was… taking her in.
“You look different,” he said finally.
“Thanks?” she laughed lightly. “I think.”
“No, I mean—good different. Blue suits you. Makes you glow.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Her cheeks were glowing now, but she doubted it was from the dress.
“Didn’t peg you for the masked ball type,” he added, eyes flicking to her tiara.
“Didn’t peg you for someone who says peg you,” she teased back before she could stop herself.
Luke’s grin widened. “Touché, Mia.”
There it was again. Mia.
“Why do you call me that?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Amelia sounds too formal. Mia’s softer. Suits you better.”
She tilted her head. “You don’t know me well enough to give me a nickname. I don’t think we have ever properly spoken to one another.”
“Maybe I want to,” he said, meeting her gaze, dead serious now.
Her heart stuttered. The music faded for a second, or maybe it just stopped mattering.
Someone bumped into her shoulder, jostling her slightly, and she laughed to cover how rattled she felt.
“You alright?” he asked, leaning closer. The scent of cedar and something darker clung to him. Something expensive. His hand hovered near her arm but didn’t touch her.
“I’m fine,” she said, steadying herself. “It’s just... weird seeing you here.”
“You think I don’t party?”
“I think you don’t smile this much,” she said, teasing him.
“Maybe you bring it out of me.”
The words hung in the air, not heavy but... not light.
Amelia didn’t know what to do with that. So she did the only thing she could think of.
“Dance with me?” she asked, surprising herself more than him.
Luke raised an eyebrow. “You dance?”
“Badly.”
He chuckled. “Alright then, Mia. Let’s dance badly together.”
He took her hand—gentle, not possessive—and led her toward the middle of the room. The lights flickered in gold above them, and the beat shifted to something slower, smoother. People made space, half-distracted, and then the two of them moved awkwardly but close.
He didn’t say anything else. He looked at her like she wasn’t a background character in his night but something more substantial.
And Amelia let herself be seen.
They moved slowly at first as if they were both figuring out what counted as dancing and what counted as hovering near each other awkwardly while pretending to dance. But it worked. Luke had a kind of confidence that wasn’t loud—it was quieter, cooler. He wasn’t trying to impress her. He wasn’t trying to be anyone else.
“You know,” Amelia said, raising her voice slightly over the music, “I didn’t think this would be my kind of night.”
Luke leaned in a little, voice low, “And now?”
She tilted her head. “Still undecided.”
“Ouch,” he said, smirking. “You’re brutal, Mia.”
“You like it.”
“Maybe.”
They were close now. Not quite touching, but her hand brushed his shoulder every time she moved, and his eyes kept dipping toward her mouth. She wasn’t imagining it. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel small or awkward or anxious. She just felt… good. A little drunk at the moment, maybe. But mostly on how he looked at her like she was the only person at this ridiculous party.
“What happened in the library?” she asked, her voice softer now.
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You were angry. You slammed a chair.”
He looked away for a beat, jaw ticking slightly, then back to her. “Just... stuff. I get like that sometimes.”
“Stuff,” she repeated.
“Complicated stuff,” he amended. “But it wasn’t about you.”
“Didn’t think it was,” she said, watching him. “But you looked at me like…”
“Like what?”
“Like I’d done something.”
Luke’s gaze dropped to her lips again. His voice was lower now, serious but still teasing at the edge. “You were just... there. And I don’t know—sometimes someone’s there, and you notice them differently than you used to.”
Amelia’s heart sped up. “So you were noticing me?”
“I mean,” he said, smirking again, “you were hard to miss.”
Their faces were close. So close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath. The music around them faded into the haze that made her wonder if anything else mattered in that second. And then he leaned in slowly, giving her time and space.
And she froze.
It wasn’t panic. It wasn’t fear. But a little voice in her head whispered not yet. Not tonight. Not like this.
Amelia pulled back just slightly. Enough to break the spell. Luke stopped instantly.
His hand dropped from her waist, and he stepped back just enough to give her space. “Hey,” he said gently. “It’s okay.”
“I just—sorry,” she started, cheeks warm.
“No, no. Don’t apologise.” He smiled, genuine and easy. “You don’t owe me anything, Mia. We’re just... dancing.”
She looked at him, surprised. “You’re not mad?”
He scoffed, “What? Because we didn’t make out at Lisa’s kitchen disco? Actually her Ball. Relax. I’m not that guy.”
Amelia laughed—relieved, charmed, and still kind of breathless from almost everything.
Then, like summoned by the sheer force of timing, Lisa appeared. Lip gloss shining, tiara slightly crooked, a drink in each hand.
“Okay, am I interrupting a moment, or…” she looked between them with wide eyes and an overdramatic gasp.
“Not a moment,” Amelia said quickly.
Lisa narrowed her eyes. “Sure. And I’m not wearing a crown like it’s Coachella 2014.”
She handed Amelia a drink. “You're glowing, by the way. Whatever you two were not doing, you should keep not doing it.”
Luke chuckled and took a step back. “I’ll leave you ladies to it,” he said, voice still light. But before turning away, he added, “You’re a good dancer, Mia.”
“I’m literally not,” she called after him.
He looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Doesn’t matter. You looked good doing it.”
And then he was gone again, swallowed back into the party crowd like a mythological creature with perfect jawlines and zero-pressure vibes.
Lisa whirled on her. “Girl. You almost kissed Luke Alaister. In my house. Under my fairy lights.”
“It wasn’t a kiss,” Amelia said, but her cheeks were definitely pink now. “It was a... nearly.”
“A nearly is basically foreplay,” Lisa said, eyes gleaming. “Are you into him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to find out?”
Amelia didn’t answer. Not yet.
But she didn’t say no either.