[image ID: three digital bust drawings of the Antecedently characters against light pink backgrounds.
The first is of Fish Stanley, a skinny, light tan korean person with a black mullet and small dyed purple streak. they have one black eye and one dark brown, scattered freckles, a septum piercing, and a mole under her mouth and two on her collarbone. They’re wearing an arcade carpet print button up shirt thats slightly unbuttoned at the top and a peach colored sweatshirt over it, and a circular nonbinary flag pin. Shes looking off into the distance, worried. Next to her is written “Fish”.
The second is of Lorrie Adams, a cubby, tan half ecuadorian man with messy long brown hair dyed blue at the end, tied in a bun on his neck. He has dark brown eyes, lots of freckles, round glasses, two ring earrings on one ear, two lip piercings, a choker, and dark blue lipstick on their upper lip. Its wearing a sweater with red, warm orange, yellow, and gray stripes, and a white button up shirt underneath it. Its looking boredly off to the side, and next to it is written “Lorrie”.
The last if of Bailey Emerson, an afro-thai person with brown skin and dark brown hair tied back in a poofy ponytail. They have facial hair, freckled crowded on the bridge of their nose, square glasses, an eyebrow slit, and dangly earring with purple pom moms on the ends of them. Sol is wearing a red-ish gray turtleneck, and a bright pink tank top over it. the straps of the tank top have the lesbian flag on them. Sol is also wearing a cream colored circular pin that reads “they/them”. They are looking into the distance with a slightly nervous smile, sols teeth showing. next to them is written “Bailey”.
end ID]
she/they for Fish, he/it/they for Lorrie, they/sol for Bailey
what would have happened if Michael had gone with Bailey to her family’s gala
Glaring at his reflection in the mirror, Michael couldn’t help but wonder how he could’ve possibly gotten himself into this situation. Because he hadn’t heard that becoming friends with a wealthy girl automatically made him the honorary date for any and all occasions.
He had wanted to say no. He had tried to say no. But when it came to Bailey, he found it so hard to deny her anything she may want. She wanted him to sing? He pulled out his guitar, and he sang. She wanted him to take her for ice cream? Get in the car, they were going to Dairy Queen. She needed a date to her mother’s charity ball? Slap a tux on him and grab his arm, he was her date.
What he saw when he looked at himself definitely wasn’t him. He looked too proper, too normal. It was like he had been shoveled into society’s mixing pot, and for the rest of the night, he wasn’t allowed out of it.
But this was for Bailey. Funny, sweet, beautiful Bailey who made his heart flutter in a way that confused him and enticed him at the same time. The same Bailey who showed up at his house at two in the morning just to talk because that’s just who she was and she knew that it would please him. And if choking himself with a bowtie and cleaning up his language for an evening made her happy, then damnit, he’d never swear again.
Sucking in a breath and swallowing his pride, he got in his car and began to drive, blasting the radio loud enough to block out the sound of his dignity dying. He went to a side of town that he had never been to. The houses were like castles, and each home was equipped with their own set of black gates, clearly trying to tell the rest of the world that there was a distinct monetary line between them. Rolling his eyes, he continued until he reached a large building that royalty could’ve lived in. It was made out of neatly cut stone and fucking diamonds from what he could see. Perhaps it was a bit of an exaggeration, but he wouldn’t be surprised.
Instead of handing off his keys to the valet, he parked his car himself, because god forbid he stoop down to a level he had been mocking for years. No girl - no matter how pretty she may be - could make him change, especially not in one night, and definitely not a night like this one. Hands in his pockets, he strolled up to the door, ignoring everyone else as he walked in. Bailey had said that she’d meet him there, but he couldn’t spot her in the sea of people chattering about in evening gowns and suit jackets, champagne glasses in hand.
As he stood on his toes, curving his neck up to look above everyone, he heard someone shout, “Michael!” Willow bounded in his direction, hands clutching the sides of her floor length black dress as she ran towards him. Reaching him, she eyed him up and down before smirking. “You clean up nicely. Like…damn.”
“Thanks,” he said, unamused and unaffected. “Where’s Bailey?”
“Probably being dragged around by mom. She’s the baby after all, pride and joy of the entire family.” Grabbing his hand, she tugged him forward through the groups of people. “I’ll take you to her. I’m sure she’s dying to see you!” He was doubtful of that but allowed Willow to drag him along.
Inside the room were numerous tables with lit candles glowing against crystal chandeliers that hung upon the highest ceiling Michael had ever seen in his entire life. There were even more people in the actual banquet hall than in the lobby, and he had to take a shuddering breath to calm himself down. He had never been good with people, and this was a lot of people. It’s for Bailey, he had to keep reminding himself.
In the center was where Willow let go of him, stopping just next to her mother. And next to her…well, Michael couldn’t really say. Because that was definitely Bailey’s face and most certainly Bailey’s laugh, but the miraculous creature standing in front of him was not Bailey.
Her red dress was short, contrasting every other woman in the room, because really, that was just so something she would do. But her legs looked longer, her hair softer, her smiler kinder and damnit, why was he noticing any of this?
She broke out of her conversation with some older man that Michael really couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to and squealed before moving over to him. “You’re here!” she exclaimed, hugging his arm to her chest. “And you look…wow. Jeez, Marth, you look great.”
He groaned. “Really, again with the nickname?” Feeling her pinch him, he chuckled softly before smiling down at her. “You look amazing. Just like always but…fancier.”
“Thank you,” she replied confidently, but he noticed how her cheeks tinged pink. Sharing a look with her mom, Bailey turned him in the opposite direction, not letting go of his arm. Glancing up at him, she giggled, “You look nervous.”
“I’m not nervous!” he hissed. “I’m just…overwhelmed I guess is the right word. This isn’t something that happens everyday.”
“I know, I know, we suck,” she teased. “But it’s not all that bad. All we’re gonna do is talk to some people, pretend to listen, and tell them just how fabulous my mom’s organization is.”
“What is this charity even for?”
“I don’t really know. No one does. They’re only here for the free alcohol and publicity.”
…
Michael realized early into the night that no one payed any attention to him. He wasn’t the daughter of a billionaire, and for that, he was grateful. He was perfectly fine with being the arm candy that stood to the side while Bailey talked to a bunch of old, rich white people with jewelry that cost more than his college savings.
It was nice just being with Bailey, conversing with her whenever businesspeople weren’t. It was reminding him of why he agreed to this in the first place; she was just so easy to get along with, no matter who her family happened to be.
So, for the most part, everything was going just fine. Until someone spotted the one thing that made him stick out from the rest of the high class crowd.
His hair.
His tattoos had been covered, and he had taken out his piercings. But his hair was something he couldn’t hide. Currently yellow blonde, it had refused to be styled, no matter how much product he put in it. It was obviously not naturally his color, and it made him stick out like a sore thumb.
“Why did you do that to your hair?” one woman interrupted Bailey as she stared at Michael with eyes that could have killed.
Slightly shocked, Michael asked, “What, you mean the color?”
“Yes, why would you do that? You look like a punk in some rock band.”
Obviously, he couldn’t tell her that he was actually in a rock band, and yes, people claimed him to be a bit of a punk; no, that’d just be rude. He could feel Bailey’s grip on his arm tightening, and he could sense her wanting to say something. Before she could, he gave her a reassuring look and turned back to the woman. “It’s my body. I have the right to choose what to do with it, regardless of other’s opinions.”
“But it’s so indecent! You should be ashamed of yourself!” And then she had the nerve, the audacity, to glare at Bailey and scold, “Young lady, this hoodlum is not fit for someone of your caliber. Surely your mother could have found you someone with more decency than this.”
Bailey’s face heated up, and Michael was sure she was about to reprimand her. But he beat her to it. “She is her own person; I think that she can choose who she wants to spend her time with. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” he pulled Bailey just the littlest bit closer, arm moving to wrap tightly around her waist, “we’re going to go find a quite corner so that I can reach up my date’s dress. I mean, it looks great on her, but I think it would look just as nice off, don’t you?” Smiling widely at the woman, he swiveled Bailey around, about to walk away before adding, “Oh, and please donate, won’t you? Such a noble cause after all.”
If either of them heard the woman gasping in horror behind them, neither of them mentioned it. When they were far enough away however, Bailey looked up at Michael with bright red cheeks. “I cannot believe you just said that.”
“Are you mad?” he asked, because she looked a little mad and he really hoped she wasn’t.
There was silence and then a sigh. Bailey shook her head, looking up at him. “I should slap you really, but if I’m being honest, that was about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m debating throwing you onto that table and making out with you.”
Swallowing hard, Michael’s eye twitched. And when Bailey laughed at him, he felt like melting into the floor.
…
The rest of the evening consisted of food that only rich people would eat (“Really, Ike, caviar and lamb? This is awful, even for your family.”) and a lot of speeches. A lot of speeches. He must’ve dozed off at one point, because people were suddenly clapping and he shot up in seat, joining them while Bailey laughed at him.
After an hour - a fucking hour of speeches, he could’ve died there - the crowds dispersed again. Stretching in his seat, he let out a moan. This gala thing was a tiring experience, and Bailey did this on the daily? God, respect. He couldn’t imagine having to deal with this as if it was just routine.
“Thank you,” he heard her murmur. Glancing over to her, he saw her fiddling with her napkin in her lap. “Really. It was really cool of you to come with me. I appreciate it.”
“Course,” he said. “It’s no problem.”
“But it’s just so boring,” she groaned, rolling her neck against the back of the chair. “Like, you’re so spontaneous and awesome, and I take you to a freaking charity ball. What’s lamer than that?”
“It’s not lame. It’s just your life,” he said with a shrug. Leaning in closer to her, he let his lips slid into his signature smirk. Resting his elbow against her shoulder, he said, “Besides, it hasn’t been that bad.”
“It hasn’t?” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as if she were surprised to hear him say anything along those lines.
“Nah,” he shook his head. “Can’t be bad. I’m here with you, aren’t I? And you’re not bad in the slightest, gummy worm.”
The grin she gave him could’ve made his heart explode if he hadn’t been careful. Sitting up straight, she brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
Music started up, violin and piano notes stringing through the hall. People stood up with their respectful partners, holding each other close in a slow sway as the lights above them danced off the walls. It was rather sweet, if he had to admit it, but at the same time awkward for the rest of them who just had to sit and watch.
Behind him, he felt someone breathe against the back of his neck. Jumping slightly, he heard Willow’s voice whisper, “ask her to dance” in passing before she got dragged away by some boy. She truly was invested in whatever relationship he and Bailey had, perhaps more than the two of them were. But her suggestion couldn’t be put into action…
…right?
Bailey was watching the dance floor in what appeared to be a mixture of awe and envy, and even if she wanted to join them, Michael couldn’t be the guy to take her up on the offer. Girls like her didn’t dance with guys like him.
And then he saw the way her dark brown eyes shone in the dark room and his stomach flipped. There was no denying that she was beautiful; he didn’t need to be her type of man to see it. And even if he wasn’t the one for her, she deserved to dance with someone.
Pushing back in his chair, he stood, legs wobbly. He wasn’t a people person; never had he been any good with people, especially not girls. But this wasn’t a girl, this was Bailey. She played video games with him in his basement and ate pizza with him while they talked about gay cartoon characters. She was different. She was special. And special girls needed to feel special.
Holding out his hand to her, he mustered up the most confident grin he could. When she looked from him outstretched fingers to his face, he felt deflated. And still, he asked, “Wanna dance?”
Her eyes changed from confused to elated, her smaller hand wrapping around his larger one. Tugging her to her feet, he lead her to where everyone else was already swaying. Despite his introverted demeanor, he had danced with a girl or two before. He knew the basics, and he would try even harder than that just to make Bailey feel like this was something that was fit for someone like her, because it was, even more so than he could describe.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her flush against his chest. Her arms twined around his neck as they began to move in time with the music. She rested her head just above his heart, and he prayed that she couldn’t feel how fast it was beating.
Michael wasn’t one to have fantasies, but he thought that if he was, this would be it. Having her against him, his check pressed against the top of her head, moving back and forth with no recognition of anyone else around them. It was like a scene from a movie, picture perfect. She added a type of warmth to him that he hadn’t felt in so long. She made him feel happy, an emotion that was so foreign to him that he thought that he’d forgotten how to feel it. With her, he felt right.
And because of that, Michael knew that he was one hundred percent screwed.
