#limoreau

On Saturday morning, when they knew Marie would be in her room (thanks to Emma), they stood outside her door with two coffees, one black and one with a frankly atrocious amount of cream and vanilla syrup. They texted Marie:

Jordan: look out your window

They had paid a supe with plant powers to grow roses spelling Marie, will you go to the dance with me? They just hoped it looked okay. Would it be horrible to ask for their money back if it was fucked up? Their phone buzzed. 

Marie: omg

Jordan grinned and knocked on the door. Marie opened it, looking far too cute in her pajamas. 

“Coffee, milady?” they asked, holding out the black coffee. (Another tip from Emma, Marie occasionally liked a flavored latte, but black coffee was her staple.)

Marie smiled shyly as she took the cup from them. 

“Well?” Jordan asked. “What do you say?”

Marie bit her lip. She took a sip of coffee. Jordan held their breath, then let it go. They really shouldn’t care this much. 

“Okay,” she said, finally. 

Jordan broke out into a smile that felt far too real. 

They were so fucked. 

“But,” Marie said, before they could fully absorb the victory, “I want to go on a date first.”

“Are you asking me out, Moreau?” they teased, “I accept.”

“You’re planning it,” she added. 

Jordan gave her a salute, “I better get started, then.” 

They leaned in quickly and kissed her cheek, then left as quickly as they could without running, feeling the blush rising to their cheeks and desperately needing to hide it from Marie. From everyone. Jordan Li did not blush. They were incapable. 

Apparently not. 

Marie and Emma were working on their homework side by side at their desks. Marie had wanted to move hers, but Emma had protested, saying they wouldn’t be able to hold hands while they studied. She hadn’t known Emma well enough to know if she was joking at the time. Now, Marie knows she wasn’t. 

Emma was editing something for one of her acting classes while Marie pretended to write an essay for Brink while really thinking about Jordan. And the dance. She had never been to a dance before, not even prom. Bloody Marie may have been a new nickname, but the sentiment was anything but. No one wanted to go to a dance with the girl who killed her own parents. 

Except Jordan Li, apparently. Because Marie had told them, she had vaguely remembered in the morning, and they had still asked. Ridiculously, with roses outside her window, in the most un-Jordan-like gesture she had seen from them yet. She never thought she would enjoy the whole promposal thing, but she had to admit it was kind of nice, knowing that Jordan cared enough to go to the trouble. It was proof, almost, that they really want to go to the dance with her. Not that Marie could picture Jordan really wanting to go to a dance at all. 

But they did. With her. 

“Em?” she asked. 

“Hm?” Emma moved one side of her headphones so she could hear. 

“Hypothetically,” Marie hedged, “If one was going to an event. Say, a dance or something. What would one wear?”

Emma removed her headphones fully, “Marie Millicent Moreau–”

“Not my middle name.”

“--do you mean to tell me you are going to the dance? Oh my god, this is amazing. We can go together! It’ll be so fun, I promise. Wait, is this your first dance?”

“No. I mean, yes. It’s my first dance. But I’m kind of… going with someone.” Emma gaped at her.

“I’m sorry! I figured you would be going with Sam! But I’ll ditch them. You and I can go.”

“So it is Jordan?” “What?”

“You said ‘them’. You’re going with Jordan!” Emma leaned forward precariously out of her chair and placed both hands on Marie’s shoulders.

“Maybe I was just trying to maintain my air of mystery,” Marie said. 

Emma raised her eyebrows. 

“Okay, yes,” Marie sighed, “I’m going with Jordan.”

“Oh my god!” Emma squealed. “Marie! I am so excited for you! Your first dance! And you have a date! We have to go shopping.” She reached over and shut Marie’s laptop. 

“Oh now?”

“Yes, now,” Emma urged, “Get up, c’mon!”

“Okay, okay,” Marie laughed, “So you are going with Sam then?”

“Yeah,” Emma said, ushering Marie out the door, “I mean. Probably. He hasn’t asked yet. But he will, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure he will,” Marie agreed, “And if he doesn’t, I’ll ditch Jordan and you and I can go together. And I’ll explode his dick.”

Emma laughed, “That won’t be necessary.”

“Fine. A finger then.” “Is that supposed to be better?”

“It’s less essential. He has nine others.” 

Neither Emma nor Marie had a car, so Emma made Marie call Jordan to take them. 

“Please, please, please, please!” Emma begged, “I want to meet them.” “You have met them,” Marie pointed out, “Let’s just take an Uber.”

“Look who’s suddenly made of money. C’mon what do you have a boyfriend-girlfriend for if not to drive you around?”

“They are not my boyfriend-girlfriend. We haven’t even been on a date.”

“If you don’t call them I’m not gonna help you figure out what to wear and then you’ll have to go to the dance naked,” Emma threatened. 

“Or I’ll just figure it out myself.”

“No! I want to go dress shopping with you!” Emma seemed about five seconds away from stamping her foot, which Marie told herself was the only reason she gave in. Marie laughed, “Okay, okay. I’ll call them. But if they don’t pick up, we are taking an Uber.” “Deal.”

Marie dialed the phone, silently begging Jordan not to pick up. Apparently, telepathy was not one of her powers because they picked up on the second ring.

“Just can’t get enough of me, huh, Moreau?” They said in lieu of a greeting.

“I… need to ask a favor.”

“Whatever my lady requires she shall receive,” Jordan said. 

“Since when are you such a dork?”

Jordan gasped, “Excuse me! You take that back.”

“I won’t.”

“So you don’t want that favor from me?”

Marie paused.

“Okay, I take it back. I need you to drive Emma and I to the mall. Please.”

“Sure,” Jordan said easily, “Now?”

“Um, yeah. Unless you’re busy.”

“No, I’m not busy. I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Okay! Great, thank you!”

Great, thank you? What was this, a business email? Marie winced as she hung up. 

“You two are so cute,” Emma said, clutching her hands together and pressing them against her face. 

“Shut up.”

Marie had half expected Jordan to drop them off and drive away, but they parked and went in with her and Emma. Their knuckles brushed against each others’ in the parking lot, but neither quite had the courage to hold on. Marie didn’t, at least. Maybe Jordan hadn’t even noticed. 

But maybe they had. 

Emma had suggested red for Marie’s dress and Marie had allowed herself to be led to the correct section. She had no idea what she was looking for, honestly, so she allowed Emma to pull pieces for her. That’s what she called them. Pieces. It made Marie feel fancy, and a little pretentious. 

Emma pulled her into the dressing room and Jordan diligently followed, sitting on the bench outside without complaint. Marie came out in dress after dress, Emma alternately lacing and zipping her up. Then she stood in front of like, seven mirrors while Emma and Jordan offered helpful critiques. 

“Jordan, go get more,” Emma ordered, after what felt like hours, “This is the last one.”

Marie stood in front of the mirror, trying to decide what, exactly, was wrong with it. She tilted her head. The dress was stunning, tight down to her ankles where it flared out in a small train. It hugged her curves in a way that made Marie a little uncomfortable, but she had to admit it looked good. It was also covered in sequins. 

“I think it’s too sparkly,” she said, running her hands down the bodice. 

“No such thing,” Emma replied. 

“There is for me.”

The sales girl came back with several dresses in various shades of red. Jordan’s picks, presumably. 

“I wish my boyfriend would go dress shopping with me,” she giggled, “You have him well trained.”

“Oh–” Marie began, denial on the tip of her tongue.