Guys im sorry i just HATE writing in first person so starting from this chapter no more first person.
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If Frisky wasn't insane before, he sure as hell would be now.
Yep. He had heard that Jamie asked her and now he was paying the price. Now they both were at his house while Jamie asked for advice, Cody about to start a fight online and Frisky cheering him on.
"Bro, he just called you a low-tier gamer," Frisky said from behind a bag of chips, watching the chaos unfold. "Are you gonna take that?"
Cody didn't even look up. "I'm writing a six-paragraph response. He'll feel it."
"Six? Make it eight," Frisky snorted. "Gotta assert dominance."
Jamie stopped pacing, running a hand through his hair. "Can you two shut up? I'm having an existential crisis!"
"About what?" Frisky asked. "She said yes, right?"
"Yeah, but what if she didn't mean it?"
Cody scoffed. "Dude, she said yes. You're not deciphering hieroglyphics in history. You won."
Jamie dropped onto the couch beside him, head in his hands. "You don't get it, she's Teara! She's... different."
Frisky rolled his eyes, grabbing another chip. "Yeah, we get it — you're in love, congrats. But if you're gonna mope, at least do it somewhere that doesn't involve my carpet."
Cody finally looked up from his phone. "Frisky, you're one to talk. You almost burned down your kitchen trying to impress Leah."
Frisky froze. "...That was an experiment."
"Uh-huh," Cody said, smirking and not even looking away. "An experiment involving lighter fluid and spaghetti."
Jamie actually laughed at that, and for a moment, the tension in the room lifted.
Frisky leaned back, satisfied. "See? Crisis averted. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to witness Cody verbally destroy a thirteen-year-old in the comment section."
"Justice," Cody said, cracking his knuckles dramatically.
And just like that, the world felt normal again — or at least, normal for them.
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Parker stood in front of the mirror, surrounded by a battlefield of clothes.
A hoodie, two flannels, and what looked like half their laundry pile were strewn across the floor like the aftermath of a fashion war.
"Okay," Parker muttered, holding up a shirt. "Too formal." They tossed it aside. "Too casual." Another toss. "Too—oh god, that one still smells like paint."
They groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "Why is dressing like a normal human so hard?"
Their phone buzzed. A text from Finn.
smuglilflatfuck: u ready for the dance yet
painty : emotionally? never. physically? depends if black jeans count as fancy.
smuglilflatfuck: lol they do if u wear a buttonup
painty : a button-up?? what am I, a tax accountant??
They sighed, staring at their reflection again.
It wasn't that they didn't want to look good — they did. For Lillian. God, especially for Lillian. She'd probably show up looking like she walked straight out of a dream, all confidence and light.
Meanwhile, Parker would show up looking like they'd just escaped from a thrift store fire.
After another five minutes of agonizing indecision, they settled on a dark button-up (Finn's ghostly approval in mind), sleeves rolled just right, and their favorite pair of black jeans. Casual, but not sloppy. Them, but with effort.
They took one last look in the mirror.
"Alright," they said to their reflection. "Don't screw this up. You've survived worse."
Pause.
"...Okay, not emotionally, but still."
They put the outfit in a box, tomorrow would be a real big standing point in their life.