The smell of French toast and questionable optimism wafted through Andrew and Daniel's apartment. Morning sun filtered in through half-open blinds, catching particles of glitter still lingering in the carpet from last week's impromptu Bejeweled dance battle. The kitchen looked like a war zone of eggshells and syrup bottles, but neither of them seemed concerned.

Andrew sat cross-legged on the couch, wearing plaid pajama pants and a hoodie that read "Emotionally Reserved but Available for Taylor Swift Talk." He was stabbing a fork into his French toast like it had personally wronged him.

Daniel was perched on the arm of the couch with a mug that said #1 Swiftie, sipping coffee he'd brewed with the intensity of someone preparing for a magical quest.

"So," Andrew said, chewing slowly, "I've been thinking."

Daniel immediately held up a hand. "Before you say anything existential, just know I can only emotionally handle small talk and job applications until at least noon."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Not that deep. I was just thinking… we need actual jobs."

Daniel stared at him, blinking dramatically. "You mean besides being full-time survivors of supernatural trauma and amateur glitter choreographers?"

Andrew pointed at him with his fork. "Exactly. But unfortunately, those don't pay rent, or buy groceries, or refill your car with the amount of gas it guzzles just driving down the street."

Daniel grimaced. "Okay, true. So what's your plan, Mr. Responsible?"

Andrew took a sip of orange juice. "I saw there's an assistant manager opening at Abercrombie Kids. In Northshore Mall. Peabody."

Daniel nearly choked on his toast. "You? At Abercrombie Kids?"

Andrew shrugged. "Look, I like organizing things. I'm good with schedules. And let's be real—I'd rather be folding tiny graphic tees and arguing about denim sizes than dealing with any cursed ghost towns again."

Daniel smirked. "I can absolutely see you lecturing a six-year-old on the importance of folded cardigans."

"And you?"

Daniel leaned back, stretching. "There's a Starbucks opening up hours on campus. They're looking for part-time baristas. I figure I already drink enough coffee to qualify as a caffeine sommelier."

"You're going to be that barista, aren't you?"

"Absolutely. I'll judge everyone's order, secretly rename them in the system, and add passive-aggressive smiley faces on the cups."

Andrew laughed, shaking his head. "We're doomed."

Twenty minutes later, they were both posted up in the living room, laptops open, breakfast plates abandoned in favor of anxiety and browser tabs.

Andrew stared at the Abercrombie Kids job application like it was a final boss. "Why is every online application trying to break my spirit before I even get hired?"

Daniel, mid-click on the Starbucks portal, muttered, "Why does this require me to describe my 'beverage preparation philosophy?' It's coffee. I don't make it cry."

Andrew chuckled. "Okay, here we go—uploaded my resume, filled out my availability, clicked 'submit.' Done."

Daniel groaned. "Ugh. Okay. Same. Resume, check. Application questions, check. Hit submit—aaaand... done."

They both stared at their screens for a beat.

Then turned slowly to look at each other.

"...Now what?" Andrew asked.

Daniel blinked. "Now we panic."

"Right."

They both flopped back on the couch, dramatically clutching throw pillows to their chests like they were waiting for a ghost to call instead of a manager.

Daniel stared at the ceiling. "What if they call and I pick up and accidentally say 'Thanks for calling the haunted woods, you scream, we deliver' instead of hello?"

Andrew chuckled. "What if I forget how to human during the interview and start alphabetizing my own thoughts out loud?"

Daniel gasped. "What if my references are still mad about that time I accidentally spilled espresso on someone's laptop during that internship?"

Andrew blinked. "You did what?"

"Long story. Lots of foam. Very wet resume."

They were quiet for a moment, the sound of the playlist still softly humming in the background—You're On Your Own, Kid drifting into the room like it had impeccable comedic timing.

Andrew hugged the pillow tighter. "I know it's just part-time jobs and all, but it feels like a really big step, you know?"

Daniel nodded. "Because it is. First normal thing we've done since... everything."

Andrew smiled. "We survived a town full of haunted flashbacks and emotional landmines. We can handle coffee and kids' fashion."

Daniel raised a fist. "To post-trauma job hunting!"

Andrew clinked his fork against Daniel's mug. "May the caffeine be strong and the managers chill."

Just then, both their phones buzzed.

They stared at them like they'd just been handed a cursed VHS tape.

Daniel whispered, "If that's a manager already, I'm going to scream into a cardigan."

Andrew nodded solemnly. "And I will join you."

And yet, somewhere beneath the nerves, the fake job titles, and the oddly specific interview questions, they were smiling.

Because life after Little Hope?

It might be messy. Weird. Job-hunt filled.

But it was theirs.

And that was more than enough.