Taking a steady swig from a flask that he was no longer bothering to even try and conceal from the prefects prying eyes, Johnny Vincent, king of New Coventry and offically, prom, stood insecurely by his lonesome. Unlike his alcoholism, his posture was surely anything but steady, and for the sake of whatever pride he seeked to perserve, he granted himself one of the venues walls to lean against. Prom was coming to its climax, with it's royals announced and the music beginning to bore, the crowd was offically thinning with pairs upon pairs of young lovers fleeing.
Even with the lukewarm whiskey warming him from within, Johnny could still remember his and Lola's first school dance like it was yesterday.
Johnny Vincent and Lola Lombardi, prom king and his queen. His queen who made had long made her rounds around the venues floor, graciously agreeing to each and every admirers request for a dance. His queen whose lipstick had been reapplied thrice that night. His queen who had could have her cake and eat it to. No matter the consquences.
Tonight, Johnny couldn't find it in himself to muster up a reaction. Instead he'd play blind, oblivious, pretend he hadn't seen or heard a thing. Sure there'd be mockery in the morning, the sort that would surely lead to maiming, but that was tomorrow and this was tonight.
Pushing himself from the wall, the prom king started his search for Lola, the metaphorical crown upon his head feeling more and more like a collar every drunken step he took.
It had been a long night, it sure had. The train of her dress probably already got acquainted with the venues' floor, all of the times she's been turned in circles though the exact same path. After the fifth dance, there comes a moment where you stop wondering whose hands those are, and just go along to see what you'll have to do so they hope for another dance, and crave for it while someone smarter already snatched you away from them.
Lola wouldn't be able to tell you how many people had held her hands and dreaded the song to end tonight, but she could indeed tell that she stopped counting after 10. And at the center of the dance floor, where it indeed came a moment where she was being taken in between arms frantically even in between one song, her sparkling figure was finally let be for just long enough to let her walk towards a corner, to find a place to sit down—
Johnny. Her Johnny. Her Johnny, limping against a wall. Johnny, who also danced with lord knows how many people. Johnny, who spent all night trying to recover her and getting dragged into a dance with one of his own admirers— Johnny, her Johnny, her king.
He got tired at the same time, they stood both close to the wall, both of them, king and queen, now in all of the land the sun covers at night. She looked at him, and as if they had a magnetic connection, he looked up.
She didn't think at all. Her feet just moved, for once, without considering how much it'll make her legs stand out, or where exactly to stop before looking like a 'chaser', she just ran to him, ran to the only person she could run to. They crashed into eachother's arms in a way that'd make you think they hadn't seen eachother for years, although it only were less than a couple hours.
Johnny fell on his knees, both because of muscle memory and the unkind effects the booze was playing on him. Lola smelled his hair: clean, with the scent of smoke, and her cherry. She felt like she could breathe again as she recognized her mark on him once more. She wasn't a speck less of his, nor was he. For a second, she forgot about absolutely everything that happened the rest of her night—there he was.
"Are you alright, my love? Can you walk?"
Lola muttered under her breath, kissing on Johnny's tears softly, going to his nose, his neck, his cheeks, and just one last soothing one on his lips, like trying to share the alcohol on his lips, before holding him firmly, soothing him by rubbing calming circles on his skin as she helped him up and out of there. And off they went, without even bothering to go find Johnny's own crown— one of the boys would surely bring it to him later. They walked into the quiet of the night. Lola couldn't stand those heels anymore; she took them off and threw them over her back as Johnny sputtered nonsenses on her ear. This was her home: coming back to their house together at night.
