It was past midnight, and the sorority party at Sigma Delta had officially entered "post-peak chaos" mode.

The final Taylor Swift track of the night, "Long Live," had just played with the whole backyard swaying, arms in the air like a sad glittery cult promising to remember this moment forever. Empty Solo cups lined the tables like fallen soldiers. Someone had passed out with a plastic tiara on their head, and the snack table had been ravaged beyond repair. All that remained were crushed tortilla chips, a single untouched celery stick, and a note scrawled in eyeliner that said, "Dip was life."

Andrew was standing by the edge of the dance floor, looking dazed—but in a good way. His cheeks were flushed, his hoodie long gone (sacrificed hours ago to the heat of the dance floor), and his voice was hoarse from scream-singing "Don't Blame Me." He felt like the human equivalent of an iPhone on 3% battery—tired, glowing, and absolutely not ready to sleep.

Daniel, equally disheveled but still bouncing with serotonin and leftover cardio energy, jogged up to him with a grin. "Party MVP right here," he said, clapping Andrew on the back. "You even got Tyler to sing All Too Well. I didn't think that was legally possible."

Andrew laughed. "He cried at the ten-minute version. Don't tell him I saw."

Mike, Madison, Lucia, Tanisha, and Maria wandered over, all equally sweaty, exhausted, and slightly glitter-streaked.

Maria stretched dramatically. "Okay, I love a good Swiftie rage-dance session, but my feet are filing complaints."

Lucia flopped dramatically onto Daniel's shoulder. "And I think my ears are ringing from that one guy who kept trying to harmonize with the bass."

Mike smirked. "Kev. He thinks he's doing the Lord's work. He's not."

Andrew gestured toward the sidewalk. "So... what now? Do we all collapse in separate directions like emotionally fulfilled superheroes?"

Madison shook her head. "Absolutely not. We're doing a post-party hangout."

Daniel's eyes lit up. "Yes! Apartment afterparty!"

Andrew blinked. "Wait, our apartment?"

Maria gave him a look. "Unless you know a second apartment with fairy lights, a record player, and a steady supply of sad-boy LaCroix."

Andrew sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if someone spills salsa on my throw pillows, I'm charging an emotional tax."

Cut to: Andrew and Daniel's apartment.

Within twenty minutes, everyone had migrated there. The lights were dimmed, the record player spun Folklore, and the floor was now covered with blankets, random socks, and one very tired football player curled up next to the burrito blanket like it was his emotional support tortilla.

Daniel had his legs thrown over the side of the couch, holding a bottle of sparkling apple cider like it was champagne. "So," he said, raising his voice above the mellow music, "I'm shocked no one has asked us about the whole 'we survived a supernatural trauma together' thing."

Tanisha blinked. "Wait—what?"

Lucia leaned forward. "You mean that Little Hope thing? I thought that was just some, like, exaggerated small-town ghost story."

Andrew glanced at Daniel, then back at the group. "Oh no. It was real. Ghosts. Burned witches. Fog that traps you in place. Demonic doppelgängers. It was like being trapped in a haunted group project with your own unresolved issues."

Daniel nodded. "And emotional breakdowns. Lots of those."

Maria gasped. "Wait, is that how you two became BFFs?"

Andrew smiled. "Yeah. We were just classmates at first. Took a creative writing course with a professor who looked like he lost a staring contest with a fog machine—"

"—John," Daniel added. "Forever a mood."

Andrew continued, "And then one wrong turn, one spooky crash later, boom—us against the world."

Madison grinned. "That explains the unshakable bond. I did think you guys finished each other's sentences like an old married couple."

Daniel raised his hands. "We call it bromance. Emotional vulnerability, shared trauma, and a strong passion for Taylor Swift."

Lucia grinned. "Honestly, that's the dream."

Mike, chewing on a cookie he'd found in the kitchen, added, "So like... if this was a movie, who's the main character?"

Andrew blinked. "Uh. Probably Daniel. He's got the main character energy."

Daniel gasped. "Are you kidding? You're totally the main character. Quiet. Brooding. Tragic backstory. Hidden musical talent."

Maria added, "And those eyes? That's protagonist energy if I've ever seen it."

Andrew, flustered, buried his face in a pillow. "Stop it. I'm fragile."

Then—Maria's phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen.

Her face dropped.

"…Oh no."

Daniel, mid-sip, asked, "What's wrong?"

Maria held up her phone dramatically, like she was presenting the cursed ring from The Lord of the Rings.

"It's Mona."

Everyone groaned.

Tanisha clutched a throw pillow. "Not again."

Maria opened the text. "'Where did everyone go? Who authorized an off-site gathering? You're all in violation of the post-party unity clause.'"

Andrew blinked. "There's a clause?"

Daniel squinted. "She talks like she runs a cult. Or a bootcamp."

Lucia grabbed the phone, reading aloud. "'Tell Daniel and his soft-spoken roommate that crashing the party playlist with Taylor Swift was unapproved and disrespectful to our shared musical diversity.'"

Andrew sat up. "Oh my God, she's coming for my playlist."

Mike cracked up. "Not her calling you out like a villain in an '80s teen movie."

Daniel, now in full dramatic mode, grabbed the pillow from Andrew's lap and held it like a mic. "We will NOT be silenced. We will NOT be shamed. We DANCED. We THRIVED. And we'll do it AGAIN."

Lucia clapped. "Preach!"

Maria texted back quickly: We're safe. We're happy. And we're listening to 'Mirrorball.' Please hydrate and go to bed.

Andrew looked around at his friends, sprawled out in various forms of exhaustion and joy. His best friend beside him, his apartment full of laughter, fairy lights twinkling over the scene.

He smiled.

"Honestly," he said, "this is the best kind of afterparty."

Daniel raised his sparkling cider. "To friendship. To Swifties. And to the haunted fog that brought us together."

Everyone clinked cups, cookie crumbs, and possibly feelings.

Outside, the night was quiet.

Inside, the Swifties reigned.

Mona could wait.