The apartment was a flurry of chaotic pre-party energy as Andrew and Daniel stood in front of the mirror, trying (and failing) not to overthink their outfits.

"Do I go classic bro-chic or emotional poet who owns too many cardigans?" Daniel asked, holding up two drastically different shirts—one a simple black tee that screamed 'I probably played JV football,' and the other a flowy, artsy button-up with small embroidered stars that screamed 'I cry during bridge sections.'

Andrew, mid-lint rolling his jeans, looked over. "Definitely emotional poet. We've got to maintain the illusion that we're complex and emotionally in tune."

"True. You do have that haunted but charming thing going for you tonight."

Andrew snorted. "And you've got the energy of a guy who once tried to make avocado toast in a George Foreman grill."

Daniel smirked. "It looked like brunch, okay?"

Once they were dressed—Andrew in a soft grey tee, black jacket, and his signature skeptical eyebrows, and Daniel in the starry shirt and his lucky sneakers—they did a last-minute vibes check.

"Keys?" Daniel asked.

"Check."

"Confidence?"

Andrew paused. "Pending."

"Bro energy?"

Andrew pointed. "Activated."

"Let's go make awkward small talk with strangers while drinking something that tastes like watermelon-flavored battery acid."

Daniel's phone buzzed as they headed out.

Mike ( ️): "We're already here. Backyard. Bring your softie friend and your sad Spotify playlist."

"Mike's already calling you a softie," Daniel said, grinning. "He knows you well."

Andrew sighed. "It's the cardigan aura. It's too powerful."

The sorority house wasn't just buzzing—it was practically glowing. String lights crisscrossed the backyard like stars, and music thumped from somewhere inside, bouncing between classic party bangers and the occasional guilty pleasure pop hit that no one would admit to loving—but everyone danced to.

Daniel led the way through the crowd, waving at familiar faces and dodging a guy doing handstands near the snack table.

They found Mike first—leaning casually against a patio post in a crisp denim jacket, sipping something neon green and looking like he belonged on a CW poster.

"Mike!" Daniel grinned, dapping him up.

Mike grinned back. "About time. I thought you ghosted us for a vinyl and scented candle night."

Daniel gestured toward Andrew. "I brought backup. Andrew Clarke—fellow survivor of small-town trauma and the only man I know who alphabetizes his emotional wounds."

Mike offered a fist bump. "Heard a lot about you, bro."

Andrew fist-bumped back, trying not to overthink the phrase "a lot about you." "Only the tragic and chaotic parts, I hope."

Behind Mike, three more football players approached, all with the same level of athletic ease and varying degrees of curiosity.

"This is Tyler," Mike pointed to a guy with a backwards cap and a watermelon slice in one hand.

"Yo," Tyler said. "You play?"

"Uh," Andrew blinked. "The guitar."

"Respect," Tyler nodded solemnly. "That counts."

"Malik," Mike continued, nodding to the tall guy with the calmest vibe in the group, "and Kev—who has way too many opinions about horror movies."

Kev, holding a Solo cup and wearing a Goosebumps hoodie, waved. "Only because the industry peaked in 2007."

They all turned to Daniel. "So this is the mysterious roomie?"

Daniel nodded. "Yep. Best friend. Taylor Swift aficionado. Emotional wingman."

Mike raised a brow. "Wait. Swiftie?"

Andrew and Daniel, together: "Loud and proud."

Kev's eyes lit up. "Bro—ME TOO."

Everyone froze.

Kev took a sip. "People think I'm about football and anime, but deep down? I sobbed during All Too Well (10 Minute Version)."

Daniel beamed. "We have found our people."

The night buzzed with conversation, laughter, and a suspicious amount of sparkling water masquerading as cocktails. Daniel and Andrew bounced between chats with the football guys—Tyler kept trying to guess what album each of them represented (he decided Andrew was Folklore and Daniel was Lover)—and mingling in the kitchen where the chips were spicy enough to cause a minor identity crisis.

Then, suddenly—

"DANIEL?!"

Four girls squealed in unison from across the kitchen as a dramatic entrance was made. Daniel spun, already bracing for impact.

"Madison!" he shouted, just before Madison launched herself into a hug.

Lucia, Tanisha, and Maria followed, arms out, voices overlapping like a rom-com girl gang reunion.

Daniel blinked. "What is this, a CW crossover event?"

"Shut up and hug us," Tanisha said, throwing her arms around him. "We missed your dramatic presence."

Lucia tilted her head. "Who's your friend?"

Daniel grinned, arm slinging around Andrew. "This is Andrew. Best friend, emotional support bro, and fellow Swiftie."

Maria gasped. "A Swiftie?! We have to test him."

Andrew, somehow not intimidated by four glamorous women surrounding him like a panel of judges on The Voice, smiled. "Fire away."

"Favorite Taylor album?" Lucia asked.

"Folklore," Andrew said without hesitation.

"Favorite deep cut?" Madison shot next.

"The Archer."

Maria clutched her heart. "Oh, he's one of us."

"Welcome to the coven," Tanisha grinned.

As the party continued, Daniel and Andrew danced with the girls to Style, played a questionable round of flip cup with Mike and Kev (who absolutely cheated), and even joined Malik in judging everyone's party outfits based on eras tour aesthetics.

By the time the night was winding down and the string lights were flickering gently like sleepy fireflies, Andrew found himself leaning against the porch rail next to Daniel, sipping the last of his drink.

Daniel nudged him. "You did good tonight."

"You think so?"

"Dude, Madison wants to adopt you, Lucia gave you a hug that would make anyone cry, and Kev invited you to his 'Folklore & Chili' night. That's peak social integration."

Andrew laughed. "I haven't had this much fun with strangers in years."

Daniel smiled. "Yeah. But they're not strangers anymore."

Andrew looked over, the party behind them, the stars above, the music still thumping softly in the background.

"You really do pull me into wild situations."

Daniel shrugged. "And you make them better."

They smiled, bumping shoulders.

And somewhere in the distance, You Belong With Me started playing, and Daniel shouted, "OKAY NO ONE MOVE—THIS IS OUR SONG!"

And Andrew?

He didn't move.

He stayed.

And danced.