[a/n: This is my first Faking It story I've published. I absolutely loved Karmy, but the Reamy ship is floating away, and I may or may not be the one rowing after it in a kayak. This is in second person, because, you know, second person is like, fan fiction kryptonite. This takes place at the underground rave that Amy, Lauren and Shane went to, but what I wish had happened.]
[Song in the title is Shut Up and Dance by WALK THE MOON, off of Talking is Hard.]
\||\||\||\||\||
You smile at the girl one the catwalk above you. You don't have a name for her yet, but you know that when she calls you "Shrimp Girl," it doesn't feel like an insult. She probably still thinks of you as Liam Booker's female friend, though, which gets you down, because you really like looking at her. You'd like doing more than looking at her, you're sure of it.
Shane comes up behind you with a drink in hand, and giggles like a schoolgirl. "You like her!" he squeals. "Finally," he says, "you can stop worrying about Karma. I don't get what all of y'all saw in her anyways."
You think of Karma. She's with Liam tonight. You think you miss her for a second, but then you lock eyes with the un-named-caterer-meets-fucking-hot-DJ. She waves you up, but you shake your head. She picks up a microphone, and you swear she isn't gonna do it, but she does. "Shrimp Girl,' she says. "Get your ass up here! I want to get to know you."
Nobody seems to react, besides Shane, who drags you to the cargo elevator, and pushes you inside. The doors open on the upper level, and the dark-haired goddess is right before your eyes. "Hey, Shrimp Girl. I'm Reagan."
"I go by Amy, too, you know."
"Well, then Amy, if you would walk this way," she says, holding out her hand. You gladly take it, with a grin the size of Texas covering your face.
"So, why am I here?" you ask.
"Because, Amy, you kind of caught my attention."
"Well, I'm honored." You say it because you are, not because it feels forced. Nothing feels forced. Nothing feels real. It's all a dream, you swear it so; especially when she puts her headphones on your ears and her arm around your waist.
"Don't you dare look back,
just keep your eyes on me.
I said, "you're holding back."
You say, "Shut up and dance with me."
She took my arm, I don't know how it happened,
we took the floor and she said:
"Don't you dare look back,
just keep your eyes on me."
I said, "you're holding back."
You say, "Shut up and dance with me."
This woman is my destiny,
she said: "oh, oh, shut up and dance with me."
You two dance along with the obvious party song. The next song was an overdone EDM mix, that both of you seem about done with. She laughs at the face you make when it comes on, before taking the headphones off. You smile at her, when she does, before mouthing "thank you." She nods, and tries to talk over the music, "no problem, Shrimp Girl."
"Did you, by chance, play that last song by purpose?" you ask.
"Definitely. Thought you might've enjoyed it. WALK THE MOON is almost as incredible as you are in this moment."
You know then that Karma could never make you feel like this. She couldn't make you feel nearly as wanted as you did at this moment. Karma loves you, but Reagan feels for you.
And in a desperate attempt to assure that feeling, you look her in the eyes one last time, before your lips collide.
She turns you against the DJ table. She presses a button, probably to play a few presets. You two are kissing in time with the song both of you hate, yet it doesn't matter. She feels for you, and you know you feel for her. The two of you don't seem to be ending this soon, so Reagan whispers in your ear, "Why don't we take this downstairs?"
Let's just say that when Reagan took you back to your place, you didn't protest.
And now, with her body pressed against yours, sharing warmth, you are glad that you walked upstairs, and glad you shut up and danced.