You’ll Know When It’s The Right Time
Andi Mack || Tyrus || TJ Coming Out & First Dance
“So… didja hear about the dance?” TJ tried to ask casually. He was in Cyrus’ room, sprawled across his bed, surrounded by the last piles of homework of the year. It was getting late, and Cyrus, sitting at his desk, was hunched over his laptop, his scrunched up face illuminated as he furiously typed his final English paper.
“Huh?” Cyrus asked, squinting at his most recent paragraph, obviously barely listening. TJ’s throat felt a little dry and he pushed himself up into a semi-sitting position, a little shakily. He had felt nervous since Metcalf’s announcement that morning— that the Eighth Grade Dance would be a formal event, and people were encouraged to dress up. There would be a DJ, and fruit punch, and teacher chaperones. There would be dancing. Slow dancing.
“The dance,” TJ repeated. “Ya’know, The Eighth Grade Dance.” Cyrus stopped typing and turned around, eyes adjusting to the dim room.
“Oh yeah, of course! Buffy was talking about it at lunch, and how Metcalf is probably doing it to try and one-up Andi’s party— he and Bex have been mortal enemies since the dress code protest,” Cyrus explained dramatically.
“So you guys aren’t going?” TJ asked, unsure of what he wanted the answer to even be. Cyrus looked surprised.
“What? Of course we’re going, everyone is going. Just, nothing Jefferson does will ever top Andi’s party. I mean, the lights, the music, Mrs. Mack dancing in the T-Rex costume, you emerging from the shadows to release the metaphysical spirit of Lady Gaga— It was…” Cyrus trailed off, his eyes finding TJ’s. “It was a good party.”
“Yeah,” TJ said softly. “It was.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, lost in the memory.
“Wait… are you not going?” Cyrus suddenly demanded, leaning forward abruptly.
“What? No, I’m going! I just was wondering if you were also going,” TJ explained, reddening.
“Well, I am also going,” Cyrus said, again.
“Yeah, me too,” TJ said, talking in circles.
There was a very long, very confusing pause.
“Wait,” Cyrus said. He stood up. “Wait, sorry, are you asking— wait.”
“Well I mean, I don’t know if—” TJ stood up too. “I mean, sometimes people like to go as a group—”
“—Not everyone. I mean, people go not as a group also—”
“—Right, because it’s a dance—a formal dance—”
“—Like, Buffy’s going with Marty, obviously,” Cyrus said, voice speeding up a bit. “He asked her at lunch and she literally javelined a carrot at him and was like ‘Wow do you have a crush on me or something?’ and he was like ‘I mean if you don’t want to go, we can break up and I’ll ask the lunch lady’ and he literally started acting like he was walking towards the lunch counter and Buffy was smirking and called out ‘Bold of you to assume she’ll say yes’— sorry I’m getting off track, but long story short, she said yes— Buffy, not the lunch lady—so they’re going. I mean as a couple. Because they are a couple.”
“We’re a couple,” TJ pointed out. Cyrus paused, internally having a why-am-I-gasping?-I-knew-that moment, but hearing it aloud still had a dizzying effect.
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