It had been weeks since the relay, and neither Devon nor Kylie had spoken since. They passed each other in halls like strangers who used to be something—never locking eyes for too long, never walking too close. And yet, neither of them had moved on yet. Not really.
The school's spring prom arrived like a joke from the best ventriloquist, they weren't ready to laugh at. A neon poster taped crookedly outside the dining hall read: "Masquerade Magic – One Last Dance!" As if glitter and rented tuxes could wipe away the bruises left by whispers and fallout that happened a time ago.
Kylie hadn't planned to go.
Not until Chloe barged into their dorm, holding a sequined mask and a dress bag like it was an emergency.
"You are not skipping," she said. "You look like a walking apology letter. Prom is a reset. Trust me on this when I say so."
Kylie rolled her eyes all the way round as if the earth was spinning around on her orbit but took the bag anyway. She'd spent so long being tense, guarded, tired. Maybe one night in a dark room with loud music wasn't the worst idea because what is the worst thing that could happen with everyone knowing what went down on court between all of us.
Across campus, Devon wasn't any more enthusiastic. His teammates had spent the whole week hyping each other up, talking about tux fits and playlists like it was the NBA draft. He just wanted the night to pass, silently and quickly.
Still, he showed up for the night with his teammates.
He always did.
The gym was unrecognizable.
String lights looped from the rafters, the court covered in black drapes and fog machines that puffed out ghostly clouds over students' feet. Everyone wore masks—some simple, some feathered and dramatic—but even with half their faces hidden, the energy was the same. That weird mix of last-chance chaos and whispered nostalgia.
Kylie stood near the back wall, sipping punch and watching people spin and laugh under the glittering lights. Her silver mask pressed against her cheeks, and the dark blue dress Chloe had picked clung to her like something out of a fairy tale. She hated how often her eyes drifted to the door.
Then she saw him.
Devon.
Tall, unmistakable even behind a matte black mask and formal jacket. He stood near the DJ booth, hands in his pockets, pretending to laugh at something his teammate said—but she saw through it. His smile didn't reach his eyes. And when he scanned the crowd, his gaze caught hers.
It lasted less than a second.
But it was enough.
They didn't move toward each other. Not yet. But the current had shifted.
The first slow song hit like a heartbeat.
People paired off. Others slipped out to the hallway. The DJ dropped the volume just low enough for conversations to feel like confessions.
Kylie inhaled deeply, then stepped onto the floor. Alone. The music pulled her like gravity—soft, steady, impossible to fight.
She didn't even realize Devon had moved until she turned and found him beside her. No mask. Just Devon. Just him.
"You clean up alright," she said, voice barely above the music.
"You too," he replied. His throat tightened. "I almost didn't come."
"I almost didn't either."
Silence.
Then:
"I miss you," Devon said quietly. "Not just the version I had in my head. I miss you—messy, stubborn, weird laugh and all."
Kylie's heart fluttered. She studied him, her walls crumbling one brick at a time. "I was so afraid of being seen with you after everything went down. Like if I looked happy, people would think I didn't care. About the fallout. About the fight. About… us."
Devon nodded, stepping closer. "I let the noise get in my head, too. Let the silence grow between us. And that night at PE… I wanted to say everything, but I didn't know how to start."
She looked down, lips trembling. "You just did."
The song shifted into a softer rhythm, a melody wrapped in memory.
Devon offered his hand, tentative. "One dance?"
Kylie hesitated for half a breath—then took it.
They moved together like they were remembering something instead of discovering it. Slow, careful steps. Her hand in his. His heartbeat racing under her palm. It wasn't flashy. Wasn't perfect. But it felt real. More real than any kiss could've been.
"I hated not talking to you," Kylie whispered.
"I hated pretending I didn't care," Devon answered.
"I thought I was doing the right thing. Walking away."
"Me too. But turns out, pretending not to feel things doesn't make you stronger. Just lonelier."
Kylie's forehead rested against his shoulder. "So… what are we now?"
Devon exhaled slowly, as if setting something down. "I don't know. But I don't want to go back to ignoring you. Not after this."
"Me neither."
They swayed in the dim lights, surrounded by laughter and spinning gowns, yet wrapped in their own private world. The past hadn't vanished, and neither had the mess. But somewhere between the pain and the pretending, they'd found each other again—worn, wiser, but still willing.
When the song ended, Devon didn't let go.
Kylie smiled, a real one this time. "Maybe we weren't just a break from the mess."
Devon met her eyes. "Maybe we were the only part that made sense."
Later that night, as prom wound down and the last track echoed through the gym, Devon and Kylie sat on the empty bleachers, masks off, shoes discarded, the night catching up to them.
No promises were made. No titles were claimed.
But fingers laced together in quiet agreement.
Maybe this wasn't a perfect love story.
Maybe it wasn't a love story yet at all.
But it was something. Something real. And for now, that was enough.