I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 103: The Last Step
Jon's Perspective
I stood in front of the mirror, fingers tugging at the knot of my tie for what felt like the hundredth time. It still wasn't sitting right. Too tight. Too crooked. Too...something. I gave it one last tug, trying to smooth the fabric flat against my chest. The suit I wore was the nicest one I owned—jet black, perfectly tailored, the kind that makes you feel like maybe you actually belong in it. The collar didn't itch. The sleeves hit exactly at the wrist. Sharp lines. Clean seams.
And yet, somehow, I still felt like a little kid trying on his dad's clothes, hoping no one noticed the difference.
I exhaled slowly, looking myself over. Hair, okay. Shoes, polished. I ran a hand through my hair, then down the back of my neck. My stomach tightened. There it was again—that gnawing anxiety, curled like a fist beneath my ribs.
This was it. The big night. The day of the high school dance. The grand finale. And I couldn't help thinking I was just one misstep away from becoming a viral cautionary tale—the guy who slipped, spun, and accidentally took down the punch table in a glorious mess of soda and shame. Legendary, sure, but not in the way anyone wanted to be remembered.
But this time felt different.
After all the lessons, I finally had a good grasp on dancing—not enough to impress anyone with my moves, but enough to avoid embarrassing myself.
I had just grabbed my keys—cool, collected, borderline heroic—when it hit.
"JON!"
Gloria's voice crashed through the air like a cannon blast. Sharp. Urgent. Dramatic, as always.
Before I could react, the ambush was underway.
Gloria was already in position, camera raised like a sniper on a mission. Jay hovered nearby, phone in hand, pretending he didn't care—but I could see the way he shifted, adjusting his angle to catch the light just right. And then, like some kind of fashionably late rival, Manny appeared. Also suited up, also smug. He planted himself beside me with the kind of confidence that only he could muster, acting like this was a photo shoot for a magazine cover.
He struck a pose. I rolled my eyes.
"Closer, Jon! Manny, for the love of—stand straight, don't block the lens!" Gloria barked like a film director running out of daylight.
Jay muttered under his breath, "We could've wrapped this in one shot if she didn't direct like this."
And so began the ritual. Click. Flash. Pose. Smile. Tilt your chin. Less teeth, more mystery. Group shots. Solo shots. Manny throwing up finger guns like we were at a red carpet premiere. Gloria shouted something about lighting and composition, while Jay tried (and failed) to look cool holding a light he swore he didn't want to use.
There was even a candid—me fiddling with my cufflink, half-annoyed and half-lost in thought. Gloria declared it "frame-worthy," which meant it would be printed and mounted in the hallway within 48 hours.
By the time I escaped, sliding into my car like a fugitive fleeing paparazzi, I felt like I'd already survived a full-scale event. If I hadn't danced a single step, I'd still have the photos to prove I tried.
The drive to Sam's was quiet, a moment of calm after the chaos. When I pulled up to her house, everything slowed down. Her place always had that effect. The porch lights were warm and soft, glowing like old lanterns. The air smelled faintly of jasmine, her mom's favorite scent.
Diane opened the door. She smiled instantly, that kind of smile that said a lot without saying much at all.
"Oh, Jon, look at you," she said warmly. "You clean up well."
Her eyes sparkled with approval, like she was inspecting a vintage car someone had finally bothered to restore. There was something kind in her teasing, though. Genuine.
Then came her dad—Ron. Tall. Stern-looking. The kind of guy who could intimidate you without even trying. But there was always that twinkle in his eye, that always gave away the soft interior.
"Lookin' sharp, son," he said, shaking my hand with a firm grip.
"Thanks, sir," I replied, trying to match the confidence I didn't really feel.
And then—
She appeared.
Descending the staircase slowly, one hand on the banister, dress shimmering softly with every step.
For a second, the world stopped.
Sam looked... breathtaking. Not just in a "pretty dress, done-up hair" kind of way. No. It was deeper than that. She carried herself with this quiet power, this ease, like she knew exactly who she was and didn't need anyone to validate it. Her eyes found mine and something warm settled in my chest.
"Hey," she said, like it was any other day.
"Wow," I said back, because my brain short-circuited the second she smiled. "You… you look… wow."
Brilliant, Jon. Real poetic.
She laughed, the sound light and bright, and kissed me on the cheek. "You don't look too bad yourself, dork."
And just like that, everything felt a little less terrifying.
We said our goodbyes, her parents lingering just long enough to snap a few photos of their own, and then we walked out together, hand in hand. I opened the car door for her, earning a small nod of approval from Ron. Somewhere between our awkward salsa lessons and clumsy box steps, I'd remembered what it meant to show up for someone.
The drive to the school was a quiet one. The sky was a deep navy, stars beginning to peek through. Streetlights glowed gold as they passed over us. I could feel it starting to build again—that nervous churn in my stomach. The fear of stepping on someone's toes, of swaying off beat, of freezing up in front of everyone.
But then Sam reached across the console and gently laced her fingers with mine.
And that simple gesture—quiet, certain—calmed everything.
She didn't need perfect. I didn't need perfect.
She just needed me.
And maybe, just maybe, that made all the difference.
The night didn't have to be perfect.
It just had to be ours.