Stiles Stilinski could not have been more bored as he sat at the table, watching dully as couples danced around him, the bright lights flickering off the freshly polished gymnasium floor. His chin was resting in the palm of his hand, brown eyes scanning the dance floor for Scott. Maybe he had finished up dancing with Kira and could spend some quality bro time with Stiles? The boy let out a frustrated sigh as he noticed Scott engage Kira in yet another dance, this time to a more upbeat pop song, one that made Stiles' ears want to bleed.
It was probably the fact that he didn't have a date. That was it. Even in his Freshman year of high school, when he had been a hopeless, dorky sap, he had managed to get a date to the prom, and it had been Lydia Martin, no less. She had decided against going this year, it brought back too many unpleasant memories, and Stiles couldn't blame her. He was borderline miserable, considering he and Malia had broken up a few months ago and she was getting rather comfortable with Theo. He didn't mind, but he really just wanted someone to talk to, possibly dance with, and he had almost given up hope when you walked in.
Looking back on the glorious moment now, he remembered his heart literally stopping for a minute, his breath caught in his throat as you entered the gym. You, graceful and utterly gorgeous, walking in almost thirty minutes late and feeling extremely embarrassed about that fact. You had hoped to go mostly unnoticed, but of course, you just had to spend a little too much working on your mess of unruly hair.
Your cheeks tinged bright pink as everyone collectively stopped their dancing to face you, even if it was just for a moment. After taking in your full appearance, they mostly went back to their dancing, or their sulking, or their acts of spiking the punch.
Stiles, however, never let his gaze divert from your face for more than a second. You were positively radiant, and he cursed himself for never noticing you before as he shakily stood up from his empty table, making his way over to you and trying his best to think of something witty or cute to say before he actually reached you.
Just when he had thought up something completely hilarious and sweet to say to you, you turned and smiled at him, and his mind was wiped clean. His eyes widened when he realized he could barely talk, and that you were staring at him expectantly, amusement reflected in your bright eyes. "Um, you're Stiles, right?" You asked hesitantly, not sure if you got the name correct. The last thing you wanted was to get the cute boy's name wrong, that would be absolutely mortifying.
He nodded hurriedly, licking his lips anxiously. "I-I, um, uh, St-Stiles, yes, that is me," he replied, nearly smacking himself on the head for sounding so ridiculous. "Y-you're...Y/N, right? Please tell me I'm right before I actually decide to throw myself off an airplane," he blurted out, blushing red when he realized what he had just told you. Surprisingly, you laughed, a wonderful smiling lighting up your face. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief.
"Yes, that's me. I know, I look really different. I'm not sure I'm into the whole dress thing," you said, staring down at your ensemble and shaking your head as Stiles gaped at you.
"Seriously? Have you seen yourself?" He stuttered, allowing his eyes to travel further down than just your face. He was having an awfully hard time not looking at you, if he was going to be honest.
"What do you mean?" You asked, tilting your head to the side and raising your eyebrows.
He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, shrugging as he smiled shyly at you. "You're really beautiful. But I figured you knew that already, though. You really are. In fact, I had to take several deep breaths before walking over here, because I'm a terrible flirt, especially when it comes to really, really stunning girls who probably have no interest in talking to a ramble-y guy like me."
You reached out, taking his hand in yours and leading him to the dance floor as he blushed even darker, letting you guide him through the sea of people and settle in the middle of it all. "You're really sweet, Stiles. And just for the record, you're very handsome. Not just tonight. All the time."
That night, he swore he would never feel as wonderful or as happy as he did when you were resting your head on his shoulder, as your hands held his tightly but soothingly, as his other hand rest upon the small of your back. That was a feeling he never wanted to forget, the butterflies that pooled in the pit of his stomach as he held you. He promised that he would find you again, that next week of school. You promised that you would let him, because in all honesty, it only took one night to fall in love with Stiles Stilinski.
