After Little Hope - Andrew and Daniel

by TomTheSwiftie

Set after Little Hope

9. Taylor Swift's Eras Themed Party

The Moment I Knew:

The Wandering Owl was unrecognizable that night.

Gone were the dim lights, the sad beer smell, and the guy in the corner booth who played sad acoustic covers of Blink-182 on Tuesdays. In their place: rainbow disco lights, glitter confetti that clung to shoes like emotional baggage, themed drink menus with options like All Too Ale and You Belong With Tequila, and at least twenty college students wearing glittery cowboy hats or cloaks made of faux snakeskin.

Taylor Swift's music pulsed through the space like a heartbeat—constant, confident, dramatic. A new era on every playlist shuffle. It wasn't just a party.

It was a Swiftie pilgrimage.

Andrew, decked in a sleek black button-up, snake ring on one finger (courtesy of Daniel), and a cautious smile, looked both mildly overwhelmed and weirdly excited.

Daniel, in contrast, was already in full 1989 regalia—pastel blazer, light-up heart glasses, and friendship bracelets stacked up to his elbows like he had just left a concert tour and wandered into a disco.

"WE MADE IT," Daniel shouted over the music, practically vibrating with joy.

Andrew blinked at the strobe lights. "This is… way more than I thought."

"It's beautiful," Daniel said with all the sincerity of a man seeing color for the first time. "Look at that guy over there! He's literally dressed as the scarf. THE scarf!"

"I respect the dedication," Andrew admitted.

"Hey, you came as Reputation and committed to the aesthetic," Daniel said, bumping his shoulder. "You even let me do your eyeliner."

"I still think I look like a moody raccoon."

Daniel sipped from his Death By A Thousand Cuts cocktail and smirked. "A hot moody raccoon."

Andrew choked on his soda.

The speakers shifted, and suddenly, Style came on. The crowd screamed. Hands shot in the air. Someone behind them shouted, "OH MY GOD THIS IS MY ERA!"

"Okay, now we dance," Daniel declared, grabbing Andrew's hand.

"I don't dance," Andrew protested, even as his feet were already being dragged onto the floor.

"You survived ghosts," Daniel said. "You can survive this."

They fell into the beat—awkwardly at first, but slowly finding rhythm in the chaos. They laughed as they twirled (poorly), bumped into at least two couples dressed as Enchanted and Evermore, and shouted lyrics into each other's faces.

I got that red lip, classic thing that you like…

By the time Love Story played, Andrew was fully in it—air guitaring with a plastic sword someone handed him, lip-syncing with dramatic flair, and letting loose the kind of joy that didn't need to be second-guessed.

Then the music slowed. A hush fell. Not complete silence, but the energy shifted.

Daniel turned, suddenly serious.

"Okay," he said. "This one's a deep cut. But I need you to hear it."

The intro began—slow piano, sad and soft like a memory you didn't mean to keep.

You should've been there… Should've burst through the door…

Andrew's breath hitched.

"The Moment I Knew," Daniel said. "It hits like a truck."

They stood still, in the middle of a crowd that kept swaying, kept whispering the lyrics like a shared heartbreak.

Andrew's eyes didn't leave the floor.

And it was like slow motion, standing there in my party dress…

The words slid under his skin like ice. He hadn't expected it. Hadn't braced for this.

Because suddenly, it wasn't about a party or a relationship or a missed date.

It was about Megan.

Her empty seat at the dinner table three nights before it all happened.

Her forgotten promise to come back early from her friend's house.

The argument that never ended. The look in her eyes the last time he saw her.

And then the fire. The night. The loss.

He blinked fast, but the tears came anyway.

Daniel turned toward him, concern replacing the sparkle.

"Hey…" he said, softly. "You okay?"

Andrew nodded too quickly. "Yeah. Yeah. Just… that song reminded me of something."

Daniel gently took his hand and led him to a quieter corner near the back, where the lights didn't flicker so much and the music became a soft hum in the background.

"You wanna talk about it?" Daniel asked, gently.

Andrew hesitated.

Then—"My sister. Megan. She was supposed to come home for dinner. She didn't. She was mad. We were all mad. And I think… I think she stayed away on purpose that night."

Daniel didn't say anything. Just listened.

Andrew sniffed. "That song, it's… it's like watching that whole night again. Everyone waiting. That hollow feeling. And then—nothing. Just the moment you know something went wrong."

Daniel leaned against the wall beside him. "It's weird, isn't it? How one song can unearth something you buried so deep, you forgot it was even there."

Andrew smiled faintly. "I didn't forget. I just stopped talking about it."

"Well," Daniel said, softly bumping his shoulder. "You don't have to stop anymore."

They stood in the quiet for a moment, surrounded by the low thrum of Swift lyrics and the hum of neon lights.

Then Daniel gave a small grin. "Also, you're not allowed to cry during Eras Night. It's a rule. I checked."

Andrew laughed through his tears. "Then you shouldn't have played the saddest song ever written."

"Valid. Let me fix it."

Daniel darted off into the crowd before Andrew could stop him.

A minute later, Don't Blame Me started pounding through the speakers, the bass shaking the floor. Daniel emerged from the crowd, arms wide like a Swiftie messiah.

"We are REP era now!" he declared.

Andrew wiped his eyes and shook his head. "You're actually insane."

"Insanely on-brand," Daniel said, grabbing his hand again. "Now come dance off the sadness."

And they did.

Back on the dance floor, the lights spun around them. They jumped. Shouted. Laughed. Sang off-key to Ready For It like it was a battle cry.

Andrew didn't feel like he was forgetting Megan.

He felt like he was remembering her… and still living.

Because the glitter in this moment—the friendship, the music, the madness—was real.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't stuck in the past.

He was dancing through it.

With Daniel.

With joy.

With Taylor Swift.

And maybe that was enough.

---

Would've, Could've, Should've:

The disco ball spun overhead like a galaxy trapped inside the ceiling of The Wandering Owl, glittering silver stars across the floor and everyone dancing beneath them like tiny, joyful constellations. The Eras Themed Party was no longer just a themed night—it had evolved into a full-blown musical journey, a chaos-fueled glitter comet of emotional Swiftie catharsis.

Andrew and Daniel were in the middle of it all, deep in their Reputation x 1989 aesthetic glory—Andrew's snake-ring catching flashes of pink light, and Daniel's pastel blazer now half unbuttoned from a particularly energetic You Belong With Me scream-along.

"OH MY GOD," Andrew gasped, half-laughing, half-dying. "If I keep dancing I'm going to lose a kidney."

"You can live with one!" Daniel shouted back. "Taylor demands it!"

The music transitioned into the opening notes of All Too Well (10 Minute Version) and the crowd collectively lost their minds. Girls were already throwing imaginary scarves. One guy dramatically fell to his knees. Another brought out a copy of a red typewriter prop like a battle flag.

"We should hydrate," Andrew said, clutching his heart like he'd just fought in a glitter war.

Daniel gave a salute. "To the bar, soldier."

At the bar, they each grabbed themed drinks—Andrew ordered a Red (Rum's Version) and Daniel picked No Body, No Bourbon. They clinked cups like they were toasting the end of their emotional stability.

They sipped and leaned against the counter, watching the crowd melt into the song like candle wax.

Then it happened.

The music shifted. The chords changed. Slow. Moody. Haunting.

"If you never touched me, I would've / Gone along with the righteous…"

Andrew froze mid-sip.

Daniel blinked. His drink halfway to his lips. "Oh."

Andrew looked at him. "You okay?"

Daniel didn't answer. Just stared at the stage where someone in a glitter cloak was lip-syncing with too much passion to Would've, Could've, Should've.

"And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts…"

Daniel's voice dropped to a whisper. "That's the line."

Andrew frowned. "What is?"

Daniel looked at him. Eyes suddenly not on the party, not on the disco lights, not on the drink in his hand. Somewhere else entirely.

"That line. 'I'm scared of ghosts.' That's exactly how I felt. After… after Taylor."

Andrew's brows knit. "Taylor…?"

Daniel nodded once. "Not THE Taylor." He gave a small, sad smile. "My Taylor. My girlfriend. From… before Little Hope."

Andrew blinked, slowly piecing it together. "You never really talked about her."

Daniel took a deep breath. "I didn't want to. Because she was… kind. And strong. And annoying in all the ways that made me want to never let her go. But she was there. In that town. And she died trying to help us. Trying to help me."

Andrew was quiet now.

Daniel continued, voice softer. "After she died, I couldn't stop replaying it. Every moment I held back. Every thing I didn't say. Every time I thought, 'I'll tell her later.' And then later never came. So this song—it's like—Taylor Swift crawled into my heart, found the dusty guilt I buried, and turned it into poetry."

"I'm sorry, man," Andrew said.

Daniel shook his head. "It's not your fault. Or hers. It's just… what happened."

A beat.

Then Andrew squinted. "Wait. Didn't you say she showed up after?"

Daniel blinked.

"Oh yeah," he said flatly. "About that."

"Daniel."

Daniel set his drink down and gestured wildly with both hands like he was recounting a Bigfoot sighting. "Okay so like two weeks ago, I was walking back from campus, right? Just got out of political philosophy. I'm annoyed. I'm hungry. It's raining. Classic sad boi conditions. And then boom—there she is."

Andrew's jaw dropped. "She's alive?!"

Daniel threw his hands up. "She was never dead. Not for real. Turns out, the version of her in Little Hope was… I don't even know. A spiritual echo? A cursed copy? Some memory-demon situation?"

Andrew blinked fast. "So what—you ran into her and she just explained all that?"

"Not exactly. She punched me in the arm and said, 'Nice job not dying.'"

"That's on brand."

"And then," Daniel added, "she said she'd moved out of state after Little Hope burned. She didn't even know I survived until she found an old news post online. Said she had to see for herself."

"Dude," Andrew whispered. "This is insane."

"She's in town," Daniel said. "Studying at the community college nearby. Biology. And we've been… talking."

Andrew's eyes widened. "Talking?"

Daniel nodded. "Cautiously. Carefully. Like… feeling it out."

There was a pause.

Then Daniel added, "But hearing this song tonight? It reminded me how much I regretted not saying it back then. So maybe this time… I'll get it right."

Andrew grinned. "You better. If Swift taught us anything, it's don't wait until track 11 to confess your feelings."

Daniel smirked. "Also taught us to name names and leave emotional carnage in our wake."

They both laughed, the weight softening into something warmer.

As Would've, Could've, Should've faded out, the lights picked up again and the DJ called out over the speakers, "WHO'S READY FOR ONE MORE ERA?!"

The crowd screamed.

"Let's go back to the vault!" the DJ yelled. "Here's Enchanted (Taylor's Version)!"

Gasps. Cheers. Someone nearby clutched their chest dramatically.

Daniel turned to Andrew. "Dance floor. Now. No arguing."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "I'm not dancing to a song that sounds like falling in love with a fairy."

Daniel extended his hand. "Too late. We are already enchanted."

Andrew took his hand.

They ran back into the crowd, caught once again in the sound and the swirl and the magic of it all. And as they danced under the disco ball, surrounded by strangers in eras of their own making, Andrew looked at Daniel and realized something simple, beautiful, and terrifying:

Maybe this was more than recovery.

Maybe this was joy.

And for once, joy didn't have to make sense.

Not when it glittered like this.

---

tolerate it:

The Wandering Owl was a kaleidoscope of chaos and catharsis.

By this point in the night, glitter had infiltrated every corner of the bar—stuck in drinks, tangled in hair, and inexplicably appearing inside shoes. The walls pulsed with color, each light flicker syncing to a beat that only true Swifties could hear in their souls. The floor had turned into a sea of dancing bodies, all moving to the rhythm of heartbreak, empowerment, revenge, healing, and heartbreak again.

Andrew and Daniel were somewhere near the epicenter, sandwiched between a girl dressed like the Fearless album cover (complete with actual wind-blown hair from a hidden mini-fan) and a couple doing dramatic interpretive gestures to Exile in slow motion.

Andrew, sweat-dampened and euphoric, was still trying to recover from the emotional whiplash of screaming Cruel Summer and then immediately crying to Marjorie.

"You okay?" Daniel shouted over the music, handing him a cup of water labeled Karma Is My Hydration.

"Do I look okay?" Andrew panted, gulping it down. "My soul just got uppercutted by a ballad about ancestral memory."

Daniel nodded gravely. "Swift don't play."

They both doubled over in laughter, half-exhausted and full of whatever it was that made a person feel like they belonged somewhere—even if that somewhere was in a crowded college bar surrounded by feather boas and rhinestone cowboy boots.

Then the piano started.

Soft. Minimal. Almost too delicate for the space. But it cut through the noise like a needle threading its way through a tangle of memories.

Andrew looked at Daniel. "Wait. Is this—?"

Daniel nodded slowly.

"I sit and watch you…"

Tolerate It.

The lights dimmed.

The crowd thinned just slightly as if instinctively making room for whatever emotional devastation was about to happen.

Daniel went very, very still.

Andrew saw it in his eyes before he said a word—the flicker of something deep, fragile, buried in between years of sarcasm and deflection.

"Hey," Andrew said softly, leaning closer. "You okay?"

Daniel didn't answer at first. Just stared into the middle distance like the music had opened a door he hadn't realized was still locked.

"I wait by the door like I'm just a kid… Use my best colors for your portrait…"

Daniel laughed—one of those hollow, gut-level chuckles that had no joy in it.

"You know what's wild?" he said, just loud enough to be heard over the piano. "This song? This one's not about ghosts or monsters or even death."

Andrew stayed silent, listening.

"It's about sitting across from someone you love and realizing they're barely looking at you," Daniel said. "It's about making yourself small to keep someone else comfortable."

The words sat heavy between them.

Andrew didn't push. Just waited.

Daniel swallowed, still watching the invisible memory replay in front of him. "A few weeks before… before Little Hope… we were at Taylor's place. Her apartment. She was throwing this get-together, kind of an early birthday thing. Friends. Drinks. Laughter. The works."

He took a shaky breath.

"We argued," he said. "Not like screaming or anything. But it was tense. Cold. She was mad I bailed on one of her lab presentations. I forgot. Legitimately. I was being stupid, and distracted, and late again. She said I didn't take her seriously."

Andrew's heart dropped. "Oh, man…"

"She said she felt like she was always waiting for me to care the way she did. And I just stood there, in her kitchen, nodding like a freaking bobblehead. Trying to play it cool while her friends watched me get emotionally dissected like a midterm frog."

The music swelled, the bridge rolling in like a storm:

"I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life…"

Daniel rubbed at his face. "I didn't fight back. I didn't explain. I just said, 'Sorry.' Like a coward. I told myself we'd talk later. That I'd fix it later."

Andrew reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

Daniel let out a slow breath. "And then the fire. Little Hope. The whole cursed hellscape. I never got later."

The final verse faded into silence. The bar was still for a breath, the kind of hush that happens after the emotional apex of a shared wound.

Daniel smiled—sad and soft and laced with something almost peaceful.

"But you know what I think?" he said.

"What?"

"I think she forgave me before I even got the chance to say sorry right. That's just who she was. Angry, yeah. Fierce. But full of heart."

Andrew nodded. "You loved her."

"I still do," Daniel said simply.

They stood there a while, letting the aftershocks of the song settle in. Then, as if the universe sensed the need for an emotional bounce-back, Shake It Off exploded through the speakers like a glitter cannon of denial.

Daniel snorted. "Swift really said 'You good? Too bad!'"

Andrew laughed. "She's emotionally abusive in the best way."

"We need to dance again before we drown in metaphors."

Andrew offered his hand.

Daniel took it without hesitation.

Back on the dance floor, they let the beat carry them away from the heavy moments, from the shadows of the past and into the light of friendship, survival, and those weird hip-shakes Daniel did when he thought no one was watching.

"Hey," Andrew shouted over the music.

Daniel looked over, mid-spin.

"Thanks for telling me. About her. About everything."

Daniel gave him a half-smile. "You're my person, man. Who else am I gonna tell? The barista who saw me cry into my All Too Ale?"

"I mean, she was very understanding," Andrew said, grinning.

"She deserves a raise."

As the party raged on, they kept dancing. Kept singing. Kept living.

In an era of their own.

---

Our Song:

By the time midnight rolled around, The Wandering Owl looked less like a bar and more like a glitter-drenched, emotionally overcharged alternate dimension where heartbreak had choreography and healing tasted like cherry lip gloss and cheap beer. The dance floor was sticky. The disco lights had taken on a chaotic rhythm of their own. Somewhere near the back, two people were slow-dancing to Bad Blood, completely missing the tone.

And at the center of it all, moving like two Swiftie souls possessed, were Andrew and Daniel—sweaty, smiling, completely in their element.

"I swear if they don't play Enchanted soon, I will become unhinged," Daniel gasped, adjusting the light-up friendship bracelet that was slowly threatening to fall apart from overuse.

"They just played Enchanted twenty minutes ago," Andrew said, hair stuck to his forehead, cheeks flushed from both dancing and a potent cocktail called The Getaway Car.

"Then we need an encore," Daniel replied. "I have at least three more dramatic twirls in me."

"I will literally collapse."

"Perfect. I'll drag you across the floor and we'll re-enact the All Too Well Short Film."

Andrew laughed so hard he nearly dropped his drink.

The music shifted again. Guitars now. Playful. A little twangy.

Then it hit him.

That voice. That opening line.

"I was riding shotgun with my hair undone in the front seat of his car…"

Andrew stopped.

Mid-step, mid-sentence, mid-laugh.

Daniel noticed immediately. "Whoa. You okay?"

Andrew blinked. "This song. I haven't heard it in years."

Daniel tilted his head. "Our Song?"

Andrew nodded slowly, his eyes softening, staring somewhere far away from the crowded dance floor and sparkly cowboy hats. "Yeah. This was, like… the first Taylor Swift song I ever heard. I think it was on the radio in my mom's car."

Daniel leaned in, watching him closely.

"We had this old, beat-up station wagon," Andrew said. "The windows barely rolled down. It always smelled like crayons and fast food. Megan would make up dances in the back seat and my dad would just—put up with it. Mom would sing along, even when she didn't know the words."

Daniel said nothing. Just listened.

"It was one of those rare moments," Andrew said, his voice quiet, "where no one was yelling. No one was stressed. It was just us. Just family. Singing some silly country-pop song like it was the most important thing in the world."

He gave a small smile. "I forgot that memory existed. Until now."

Daniel smiled gently. "Taylor Swift: unlocking core childhood memories since 2006."

Andrew laughed, a little teary-eyed. "I mean, it's Our Song. How can you not smile?"

"You can't," Daniel said. "It's literally illegal."

As the lyrics rolled through the speakers, Andrew started mouthing the words—softly at first, then louder as Daniel joined in.

"Our song is the slamming screen door / Sneakin' out late, tapping on your window…"

They sang it like idiots. Like no one was watching. Like it was 2006 again and none of the trauma had happened yet.

A group nearby joined in, throwing hands up like they were testifying in church.

Daniel put his arm around Andrew's shoulder, pulling him in close, swaying in exaggerated country rhythm.

"Look at us," Daniel said. "Two emotionally stunted horror survivors, dancing to early-era Taylor like we're at a high school prom."

"I'd go to prom with you," Andrew said without thinking.

Daniel looked at him, surprised.

Andrew flushed. "I mean. In a bro way."

Daniel smiled. "Totally bro. Super hetero. Dancing in each other's arms under disco lights to a song that sounds like teenage love."

They laughed. Too hard. Way too loud.

And yet, there was something… cozy about it. Something that felt less like a joke and more like a truth they didn't have to name.

As Our Song finished, the DJ shouted into the mic, "We're heading into our final hour, Swifties! Who's ready for one last trip through the eras?!"

The crowd roared.

Daniel turned to Andrew. "You still got energy?"

"Barely."

"Perfect. Let's burn the rest of it screaming I Knew You Were Trouble and dramatically reenacting the goat meme."

Andrew grinned. "You know me so well it's actually terrifying."

They dove back into the crowd.

Every song after that was a victory lap—Wildest Dreams, New Romantics, Lover, even Tim McGraw. The floor was a whirl of color, laughter, memories, and voices raised in one long, collective exorcism of everything they'd held inside for too long.

For Andrew, Our Song was more than nostalgia. It was proof that joy had existed in his past. That not every memory before the tragedy was dark.

And tonight?

Tonight was proof it still existed in his present.

Maybe even in his future.

And right beside him, dancing like he was born in a glitter tornado, was the person who helped him see that.

No ghosts. No cursed towns. No fog.

Just Andrew. Daniel. And Taylor Swift.

And the song that made him remember what love—any kind of love—used to feel like.

Real. Uncomplicated.

Home.

"Our song is the way you laugh…"

---

happiness:

The air in The Wandering Owl was a weird mixture of glitter, perfume, and pure, unfiltered emotional release. Past midnight, the Taylor Swift Eras Themed Party had officially transitioned into the delirious stage of the night where mascara was running, drinks were forgotten on windowsills, and every slow song felt like the climax of a coming-of-age movie no one asked to be cast in.

Andrew and Daniel were still standing. Somehow.

Miraculously.

Triumphantly.

Their shirts were sticking to their backs, Daniel's friendship bracelets had been redistributed to half the room, and Andrew's hair had achieved that windswept, disheveled look that only hours of dancing and two accidental encounters with a confetti cannon could deliver.

"This is it," Daniel panted, dramatically collapsing onto a stool near the back corner. "This is how I die. Take my Spotify password. Clear my browser history."

Andrew leaned against the wall, fanning himself with a cardboard sign that had once said "You Belong With Me" before someone had changed it to "You Belong With Cheese." "You said that an hour ago."

"And yet, I live. Out of sheer spite."

They grinned at each other, that familiar, easy kind of smile that said we've made it through worse than this—though nothing involving this much glitter.

The DJ changed the tempo again, transitioning from the riotous thunder of Look What You Made Me Do into something softer, slower, aching in a way that made everyone pause.

The first chords were slow and sorrowful.

Soft.

Echoing.

Andrew immediately recognized the piano.

Daniel's eyes went wide. "No way…"

"Happiness."

A quiet gasp rolled through the crowd like an emotional breeze.

Daniel set his drink down. His voice dropped to a murmur. "This one hits different."

Andrew nodded. "Yeah. It really, really does."

They didn't dance to this one.

They just stood there—surrounded by people who were gently swaying, some teary-eyed, some just closing their eyes and mouthing every single word—and let it wash over them.

"There'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you too…"

Andrew blinked slowly. "You ever hear a song and feel like you accidentally signed a contract agreeing to be emotionally dismantled?"

"Just now, yeah," Daniel said. "Taylor out here evicting the demons from my soul through melody."

But his voice was different. Quieter. Almost reverent.

And Andrew felt it too—something deep and reflective pulling at his chest, like this song was a mirror. Not a perfect one. A warped one. Like a funhouse reflection of what he and Daniel had been through.

"I can't make it go away by making you a villain…"

Andrew's voice caught in his throat.

"Daniel," he said softly. "This sounds like us."

Daniel turned, brows raised. "You mean, like... Little Hope?"

Andrew nodded. "Yeah. Not us-us. But like… that night. That place. Everything we survived."

Daniel's jaw tensed. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

"It's weird," Andrew said. "We spent so long being terrified. Trapped. I didn't think we'd ever get out. I didn't think we were allowed to."

"And then we did," Daniel said.

"Yeah," Andrew whispered. "We did."

There was a moment of silence between them.

Not awkward.

Not heavy.

Just full.

Daniel exhaled. "You know what? I think this song... it's not about forgetting it all. Or pretending it didn't screw us up."

"It's about... not letting it define us forever."

Andrew turned to him. "Exactly."

They watched the crowd, everyone slowed down, swaying like seaweed under the moon. Someone near the bar wiped away a tear with the edge of their sequined sleeve. A couple hugged, heads resting on each other's shoulders. A group of friends held hands in a circle, eyes closed like they were sharing one collective memory, one shared pain.

"Maybe we're allowed to feel sad about what we lost and grateful we made it out," Daniel said. "Maybe there's happiness after, and happiness because of."

Andrew smiled. "Look at you. Getting all philosophical."

Daniel smirked. "Swift turns me into a scholar of the soul."

They fell into silence again, just breathing, just existing, letting the music carry them.

"Across our great divide / There is a glorious sunrise…"

Andrew wiped at his eyes quickly, pretending it was sweat.

Daniel didn't mention it.

The song ended gently. Not with a bang. Not even with a soft fade.

Just... a last breath. A sigh. And then silence.

Then the DJ, in perfect Swiftie timing, yelled into the mic, "OKAY WHO'S READY TO SCREAM-SING 22?!"

And just like that, the crowd exploded again. Laughter. Cheers. Screaming.

Andrew and Daniel looked at each other, stunned by the whiplash.

Daniel raised a finger. "This party has no emotional regulation. I love it."

Andrew grabbed his hand. "Come on. Let's go scream like we're way younger and way cooler than we actually are."

They ran back into the crowd, shouting lyrics into the ceiling, surrounded by people who, for one night, were all the same version of joyful and broken and healing and alive.

Happiness wasn't always loud.

Sometimes, it was standing in a room full of strangers in glitter jackets.

Sometimes, it was the sound of laughter after crying.

Sometimes, it was screaming I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22 with your best friend under strobe lights and confetti snow.

And sometimes?

Sometimes it was as simple as being far, far away from Little Hope.

And realizing that, finally...

You didn't have to go back.

---

Delicate:

The night was starting to blur in the best way—like the tail-end of a dream you don't want to wake up from. The Eras Themed Party at The Wandering Owl had no intention of slowing down. The lights were still flashing in hues of lavender and gold, the crowd had only grown louder, and someone had long since ditched the playlist and hijacked the DJ booth to ensure no one left before every Taylor Swift song had been honored like ancient folklore.

Andrew and Daniel were still going strong, if a bit delirious and semi-dehydrated.

Their voices were hoarse, their limbs borderline useless, and their eyeliner had tragically migrated to weird spots on their cheeks—Daniel's forming a questionable raccoon-smudge and Andrew's now resembling abstract war paint.

But they were alive.

Alive in a way neither of them had truly felt since Little Hope.

Especially not in Little Hope.

"Wait," Andrew said, standing near the edge of the dance floor, both hands on his knees, panting. "Did we just scream-sing The Archer like it was a rock anthem?"

Daniel, sipping water like it was liquid gold, nodded solemnly. "Yes. And it was art."

Andrew flopped back against the wall, letting the cool air from a nearby ceiling fan slap him into lucidity. "You ever feel like we're the only two guys who'd go this hard at a Taylor Swift party?"

Daniel shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Speak for yourself. I saw two guys reenacting the entire You Belong With Me music video outside with actual cue cards."

Andrew let out a tired laugh. "This place is unhinged."

"This place is home."

Before Andrew could reply, the intro to Delicate started playing. Soft synths. A breathy hush. A sudden hush fell over the bar like everyone had collectively remembered a past crush at the same time.

Daniel went quiet, mid-sip.

Andrew noticed immediately. "You okay?"

Daniel didn't look at him at first. Just listened. Eyes drifting to the floor.

Then—"This ain't for the best / My reputation's never been worse, so / You must like me for me…"

A soft smile tugged at Daniel's lips. "God. This song."

Andrew nodded slowly. "It's a good one."

Daniel's voice dropped a little, quieter than usual. "This song reminds me of… us."

Andrew blinked. "What?"

Daniel looked over, eyes wide but not embarrassed. Honest. "I mean, not like in a weird way."

"Okay... now I am intrigued."

Daniel laughed nervously. "It just makes me think about how all this started. Us. You and me. Being in John's creative writing class. Before all the... fog. And the burning buildings. And the 17th-century trauma."

Andrew chuckled softly. "We sat on opposite sides of the room. I thought you were the guy who didn't take anything seriously."

"I was that guy."

Andrew pointed at him. "You wrote a short story about a haunted vending machine that ate people."

Daniel held up a finger. "That story was hilarious and you laughed."

"I was trying not to fail the class!"

Daniel grinned. "And yet, here we are."

Andrew went quiet for a moment, then asked, "So what is it about this song that reminds you of us?"

Daniel didn't hesitate. "Because we weren't supposed to click. We were total opposites. And then Little Hope happened. And suddenly we were each other's lifeline."

Andrew's smile faded into something warmer. Realer.

"I remember thinking," Daniel continued, voice a little shaky now, "that I didn't know how to survive something like that with anyone. But then I was with you. And it was like—this quiet trust. You never let me fall apart."

Andrew swallowed the lump in his throat. "You didn't let me fall apart either."

Daniel chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "There was one night—after the whole demon ghost burning soul thing—I caught you staring at a road sign like it was gonna kill you. You were terrified, man. But you didn't run. You looked at me and just said, 'We keep going, right?' Like it was the most obvious thing in the world."

"I was bluffing," Andrew said, smiling. "I was ten seconds away from lying down in the road and accepting death."

Daniel laughed. "Well, the bluff worked."

They stood there for a beat, as the chorus built behind them, and Taylor sang about the vulnerability of starting something new—fragile, quiet, uncertain.

"Isn't it delicate?"

Andrew looked at Daniel. "It was delicate. Everything we went through. I think if you hadn't been there, I wouldn't have made it out."

Daniel looked at him then, eyes softer than usual. "Same."

Andrew glanced away, suddenly very interested in the disco ball overhead. "I'm really happy you're my best friend."

Daniel smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that. Otherwise I was gonna cry into this glitter-scented drink and dramatically storm out to The Story of Us."

They both burst out laughing again, the tension broken. But something had shifted. Something understood without needing to be said out loud.

This friendship?

It wasn't an accident.

It was earned.

Forged in fear. Polished in joy.

And yeah... delicate.

But strong.

The song ended, and a beat later, the DJ shouted, "ALRIGHT WHO'S READY FOR REPUTATION MEGA-MIX?!"

The crowd screamed like they'd just seen a ghost (thankfully, not the Little Hope kind).

Daniel held out his hand with a mock-bow. "One last dance, bestie?"

Andrew took it with an equally dramatic nod. "Let's go burn it down."

And they did.

Together.

Two best friends, dancing like survivors with nothing left to fear. Under the glittering lights, inside a bar that felt like magic, to the soundtrack of a pop legend who somehow understood every emotion they didn't know they had.

Delicate?

Sure.

But more importantly...

Unbreakable.

---

Mean (Taylor's Version):

By now, the neon lights of The Wandering Owl had dimmed into a romantic haze, twinkling over the crowded dance floor like fireflies in a glass bottle. Glitter clung to every possible surface—skin, shoes, Daniel's eyelids, Andrew's very soul. The once-icy drinks had warmed, the themed cocktails had gone from quirky to questionable, and every voice in the place had been reduced to a raspy echo of its former self from hours of screaming along to All Too Well (10 Minute Version) like it was the national anthem.

And somehow—somehow—Andrew and Daniel were still dancing.

Maybe not well, but with passion. That counted.

Andrew's shirt was untucked and half unbuttoned. Daniel's 1989-inspired pastel blazer was now tied around his waist like a dramatic high schooler who'd just walked out of a lunchroom argument. They looked like Swiftie warriors at the end of a glittery, emotional battle.

"This is officially the sweatiest, most emotionally devastating night of my life," Andrew declared, wiping his forehead with a sparkly napkin.

Daniel took a sip of his lukewarm Champagne Problems cocktail and gasped, "Same. I feel like I've danced through my past, my trauma, three fake breakups, and one actual spiritual awakening."

"I cried to New Year's Day."

"I sobbed during Marjorie. I don't even have a Marjorie!"

They both cracked up, leaning on each other for balance, somewhere between laughter and exhaustion.

And then, like some divine intervention, it happened.

The banjo twang of Mean filled the room.

Daniel's eyes went wide. "OH. NO."

Andrew blinked. "Oh yes?"

"This song," Daniel said, already putting down his drink and rolling up his sleeves. "This one's personal."

"Like… emotionally or… you want to challenge someone to a banjo duel?"

Daniel stepped onto the dance floor like a cowboy entering a saloon. "Emotionally. Romantically. Psychologically. And also banjo-ly."

Andrew followed, curious, amused. "This I have to hear."

Daniel turned around, walking backwards and pointing dramatically to the ceiling as the first verse hit:

"You, with your words like knives and swords and weapons that you use against me…"

"You ever get owned by someone so hard it makes you question your entire personality?" Daniel asked.

Andrew raised a brow. "Are we talking about Taylor? Your Taylor?"

Daniel nodded solemnly. "Yep. The pre-Little Hope version. Back when she was still alive and routinely calling me out for not knowing how to load a dishwasher."

Andrew tried not to smile. "You're not exactly dishwasher-savvy."

Daniel pressed a hand to his chest. "That woman called me incompetent in front of two of her friends. And a cat. The cat didn't even blink."

Andrew stifled a laugh. "So this song is your unofficial clapback?"

"This is my emotional retaliation wrapped in banjo and glitter," Daniel said dramatically. "She wasn't mean all the time. But when she got in a mood? I've seen friendlier supervillains."

They started dancing—not the intense headbanging they reserved for Reputation tracks, but a jaunty, almost childish bounce. Everyone else around them joined in, like Mean was the secret anthem for every person who'd ever been emotionally dropkicked by someone they used to love.

Daniel twirled dramatically. "She once said my guitar playing sounded like a raccoon falling down a fire escape."

Andrew winced. "That's both harsh and oddly specific."

"I KNOW," Daniel cried, then added under his breath, "...accurate, though."

The chorus hit, and Daniel shouted it with theatrical rage:

"Someday, I'll be livin' in a big ol' city, and all you're ever gonna be is mean…"

Andrew sang along, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.

"Why you gotta be so mean?"

Daniel turned to him, eyes gleaming with over-the-top vengeance. "If Taylor could see me now—emotional, healed, and wearing sequins—she'd still tell me my blazer didn't match my pants."

Andrew gasped. "Wait, it doesn't?"

Daniel pointed accusingly. "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO LIE TO ME."

They danced harder, spinning, laughing, collapsing into one another during the bridge. At one point, Daniel picked up a feather boa from the floor like it was a trophy of the emotionally wounded, flinging it around his neck like he was about to host a cabaret roast of every ex he'd ever had.

"You know what?" Daniel said between verses. "I get it now."

Andrew blinked. "Get what?"

"She was mean. But I was kind of a jerk too."

Andrew tilted his head. "Growth?"

Daniel nodded. "I used to joke when she got mad, and I never really listened. Like, I made everything a punchline."

He paused.

"Kind of like I still do."

Andrew smiled. "It's different now."

Daniel looked at him.

"You let people see you now. You let me see you."

Daniel smiled back. A real one. "You're a way better influence than ghost-haunted trauma nightmares."

"I try," Andrew said, bumping their shoulders together.

They sang the last chorus with the rest of the bar, the whole room lit up in string lights and joy and vengeance against all those who'd ever said they weren't enough.

And when the final note faded, the crowd erupted into cheers and laughter and a few dramatic "THANK YOU"s yelled into the ceiling.

Daniel looked at Andrew, still breathless. "You know what this night needs?"

Andrew held up a finger. "If you say All Too Well (10 Minute Version) again, I'm calling a cab."

Daniel shook his head. "No. Something better."

He stepped close, pulling something from his pocket—a folded piece of paper.

Andrew blinked. "...Is that… a song request form?"

"Pre-written," Daniel said, proudly. "For emergencies like this."

Andrew squinted. "What did you request?"

Daniel handed it to him.

On it, in bold Sharpie, was scrawled:

"You Are in Love – Taylor Swift. Dedicated to: My Best Friend Who Survived Hell With Me."

Andrew read it once.

Then twice.

Then looked up, slowly.

Daniel shrugged. "Just saying. We're both single. We've danced to every breakup anthem. Maybe it's time we give the love songs a shot."

Andrew grinned. "You know that's technically a 1989 song, right?"

Daniel took his hand. "It's our era now."

And when the song came on—not long after, because the DJ was either psychic or a sucker for emotional best friend requests—they danced again.

Not for the past. Not for the pain.

But for the journey.

For the joy.

For the absolute love they'd found in surviving—together.

Because whatever else they'd been through…

At the end of it all, in a bar full of strangers and sequins and Swift lyrics…

They were more than classmates.

More than survivors.

They were each other's "mean." And each other's "You Are in Love."

And that, somehow, was their most unexpected era yet.

---

It's Nice to Have a Friend:

The party was still going strong at The Wandering Owl, though it was officially the kind of hour where normal people were curled up in bed with herbal tea and existential dread. Not here. Not tonight.

Not when every soul in the bar was unified by one thing: Taylor Swift.

The night had become an emotional mixtape—track after track pulling different memories and moments from the crowd. There had been laughter. There had been tears. There had been at least one spontaneous group hug during You Belong With Me that nearly ended in a glitter avalanche.

Andrew and Daniel were still very much in the middle of it all—two Swifties deep in their Era-renaissance, wearing glow-stick crowns, surrounded by friendship bracelets, and somehow still functional despite dancing their way through what had to be the emotional equivalent of four therapy sessions and a cardio class.

Daniel had recently lost one shoe and was now moonwalking in socks like it was completely normal behavior.

Andrew was fanning himself with a Lover-themed coaster and mumbling, "I smell like a Bath & Body Works crime scene."

The two had just finished scream-singing I Know Places with so much dramatic flair that a group of girls in front of them had turned around and handed them their number one friendship bracelet with the word "RUN" on it.

"You know," Daniel said, slightly out of breath, "I think we've earned our place in the Swiftie Hall of Fame."

Andrew smirked. "Only if the hall is sticky, smells like peach vodka, and has a disco ball shaped like a cat."

"Perfect," Daniel said. "I want that on a shirt."

The lights dimmed again. The crowd quieted. The mood shifted like it had so many times that night.

And then, the bells started.

That soft, dreamy, twinkling chime that could only mean one thing.

Andrew blinked. "Oh my God."

Daniel gasped. "It's It's Nice to Have a Friend."

The room changed with the song. People weren't dancing anymore. They were swaying. Slow, calm, tender movements. Friends were leaning on each other. Arms wrapped around waists. Heads rested on shoulders.

It felt like a lullaby for everyone who'd just been through something.

Which, really, was kind of the theme of Andrew and Daniel's entire existence.

Daniel stood next to Andrew, suddenly still.

"Hey," he said softly. "This one hits different."

Andrew nodded. "Yeah. It really does."

They weren't singing now. Not this time. Just listening.

"School bell rings, walk me home…"

Daniel tilted his head. "Remember when we used to sit at the back of John's creative writing class and argue about whether or not writing in second person was pretentious?"

"You mean when you argued and I nodded while trying not to panic because I forgot my story was due?"

Daniel grinned. "Exactly."

"Something gave you the nerve to touch my hand…"

Andrew looked down at his hand, then glanced at Daniel.

They weren't touching. But they could've. And maybe should've. But they didn't need to.

The air between them had already said everything.

"I think," Daniel said slowly, "this song kinda is us."

Andrew looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean… all we had was each other, right? Back in Little Hope. When everything was falling apart. When ghosts were yelling at us and the ground was collapsing and John was trying to convince everyone he knew what he was doing."

Andrew laughed, but it caught in his throat. "You kept me sane."

"You kept me alive," Daniel replied.

They were quiet for a moment, letting the weight of that sit between them.

"Church bells ring, carry me home…"

Daniel took a slow breath. "We didn't just escape that town. We survived it. And after that? After all of it?"

Andrew smiled. "You didn't leave."

Daniel turned to him. "Neither did you."

They looked at each other—eyes shining with unshed tears, yes, but also with joy. The pure kind. The kind you only get when you've walked through fire with someone and came out the other side singing Taylor Swift ballads in unison.

Andrew chuckled, voice soft. "It really is nice to have a friend."

Daniel grinned. "Especially one who won't judge me for crying during Invisible String."

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "You sobbed into your Lavender Haze cocktail."

"It was an emotional moment."

The last notes of the song faded like snowfall, soft and slow.

A silence settled over the bar.

No one clapped. No one screamed.

They just... felt.

And then, right on cue, the DJ shouted, "OKAY, TIME FOR THE FINAL ERA! EVERYBODY READY FOR A FULL-THROTTLE ERAS MEGA MIX?!"

The crowd cheered so loud it probably alerted nearby satellites.

Andrew turned to Daniel with mock panic. "We are absolutely going to die."

Daniel adjusted his glow-stick crown and grabbed Andrew's wrist. "Then we die as best friends, covered in glitter and singing Blank Space."

They ran back into the crowd, into the lights and music and the swirl of people and love and Taylor.

And for the rest of the night, they danced.

And they laughed.

And they sang like every lyric was written for them.

Because the truth was—beneath the ghost stories, the trauma, the strange twist of fate that had tied them together—

Andrew and Daniel had something most people spent their whole lives looking for.

A friendship that started in fear.

Grew in the fog.

Survived the fire.

And somehow, impossibly, glittered brighter than ever under the flashing lights of a Swiftie dance floor.

It was nice to have a friend.

But it was even better to be one.

And that, above all else?

That was the era they never wanted to leave.

---

Look What You Made Me Do:

By now, The Wandering Owl had long ceased to resemble a bar and had fully transformed into a chaotic, beautiful universe where glitter was currency, eyeliner was war paint, and emotional vulnerability was the evening's unofficial dress code.

The Taylor Swift Eras Themed Party was in its final stretch—each song now hitting harder, louder, and with the weight of hours of scream-singing and inside jokes made with strangers-turned-allies over shared lyrics. Someone had taped a handwritten sign on the wall that read "Swifties Never Die, They Just Go Into Extended Eras" and at this point, it felt spiritually accurate.

Andrew and Daniel were, astonishingly, still alive.

Barely.

But alive.

Daniel's voice was completely wrecked, reduced to a raspy rasp that made him sound like a pop-punk frontman in rehab. Andrew had glitter in one eyebrow and zero explanation for how it got there. Neither of them could feel their legs.

"I think my knees have staged a silent protest," Andrew groaned, leaning dramatically against a support beam.

"My kneecaps are planning a lawsuit," Daniel replied, slumped next to him like a glittery bag of laundry.

They clinked their near-empty drinks—Betty's Lemonade Blues and Reputation Rumble—and stared out at the crowd, which had now reached the post-midnight phase of dancing that could only be described as "emotionally driven flailing."

"Honestly," Daniel said, wiping sweat from his neck with a Fearless-themed napkin, "I think we might've transcended something tonight."

Andrew nodded. "I saw my soul leave my body during August. It waved goodbye."

"Mine ascended during The Man. She really said gender roles? Not on my watch."

Then the opening synths hit.

That ominous little piano riff.

A singular beat. A hush. And then—

"I don't like your little games…"

Daniel gasped.

Andrew froze mid-sip.

Their eyes met.

"Look What You Made Me Do," they said in unison, like they'd just opened a cursed tomb.

"Oh my God," Daniel muttered. "This is it."

Andrew clutched his chest. "This is the John song."

Daniel grabbed Andrew's shoulder, eyes wide. "THIS IS THE JOHN SONG."

The beat dropped, and the crowd erupted into screams of pure catharsis, the kind you only feel when you're finally allowed to scream on behalf of your past self.

"Remember how John was constantly making us change routes?" Daniel said, now mid-jump, flinging his arms in time with the beat.

"He had zero consistent strategies," Andrew shouted back. "One second it's 'stick together,' the next it's 'let's split up and wander into demon territory.'"

Daniel pantomimed holding an imaginary map. "He'd be like, 'We're safe if we stay on the road,' and then immediately suggest a shortcut through the abandoned factory full of screaming shadows!"

Andrew doubled over laughing. "And every time someone questioned him, he'd pull that professor voice."

"I'm in charge here," Daniel mimicked, fake glasses pushed up his nose. "We follow my lead."

"He was like the dad of bad ideas."

"Angela had to physically restrain herself more than once," Daniel added.

"She literally muttered 'Look what you made me do' under her breath one night. I remember!"

They both started dancing now, dramatic as hell, stomping, hair-flipping, snarling through the lyrics like they were channeling every moment of frustration they ever had on that haunted night.

"The world moves on, another day, another drama, drama…"

Daniel pointed at no one in particular. "That was John. He invited drama."

Andrew air-guitared a machete. "This is for the time he tried to reason with the fog!"

"I still can't believe he argued with ghosts like they were students late on an essay."

They lost themselves in the bridge:

"I'm sorry, the old me can't come to the phone right now. Why? Oh… 'cause she's DEAD!"

Daniel pointed both fingers in the air. "This is the Angela moment!"

Andrew screamed-laughed. "YES! That was the exact vibe she gave when she got dragged by ghost chains and then came back like nothing happened."

They danced like people who had survived something more than a party. Like people who had every reason to scream into the void—and were finally doing it, with beat drops and confetti.

As the final chorus exploded through the room, they shouted it like a personal exorcism:

"Look what you made me do, look what you just made me do…"

Andrew laughed breathlessly, sweat-drenched and shining. "You know… as much as John made us want to walk into oncoming fog, he did try."

Daniel slowed, smiling. "Yeah. He did. He was trying to protect us. He just… made things worse while doing it."

Andrew nodded. "He kept looking for another way out. And yeah, he annoyed the hell out of us, but… he never gave up."

Daniel's voice softened. "None of them did."

Andrew glanced down, a flicker of emotion beneath the sweat and glitter. "I still think about them sometimes."

"I think about them all the time," Daniel said. "And I think if they were here? They'd be in this crowd, dancing like idiots with us."

Andrew smiled, wistful and warm. "Angela would be judging our footwork."

"Taylor would be stealing the aux cord."

"And John would be at the bar asking the DJ for a logistics map of the playlist."

They both laughed, the kind of laugh you only have when you've known darkness and still found the joke.

The song ended.

The room exhaled.

The DJ spoke into the mic again. "Alright Swifties, this is your final track of the night—Long Live."

A unified cheer rolled through the room like thunder.

Andrew turned to Daniel. "One last song?"

Daniel reached out, took Andrew's hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. "One last song."

And as the opening chords played, as the crowd raised their hands, and as Taylor sang about memories, dragons, scars, and kingdoms, they danced.

Not to forget.

Not even to remember.

But to live.

To honor the moments that made them, even the ones full of fog and fire and frustrating professors.

To celebrate surviving.

To celebrate each other.

Because yeah—maybe John wasn't always right.

Maybe Little Hope was never supposed to let them go.

But they made it out.

Together.

And look what they made it through.

---

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince:

The Wandering Owl had transcended "party" hours ago. It had become something bigger—part group therapy, part spontaneous concert, part glitter-fueled rebirth. Bodies still swayed and bounced across the crowded bar, hearts on sleeves, heels discarded, voices reduced to hoarse rasps and unapologetic shouting.

Taylor Swift's discography had turned the venue into a spinning, sweating monument to the universal truth that sometimes you just need to scream the bridge of Cruel Summer with your best friend at 1:46 a.m. in a room full of strangers who all just get it.

Andrew was leaning over the bar, sipping water with a straw like it was holy nectar, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy—not from crying this time (thankfully)—but from sheer, joyous exhaustion. Daniel was next to him, fanning both of them with a sequin-covered menu someone left behind.

"I have blisters on both feet," Andrew muttered. "I didn't even know you could get symmetrical blisters."

"I'm ninety percent glitter and regret," Daniel replied, squinting at his reflection in the metal napkin dispenser. "But like, in a fun way."

"You have rhinestones on your cheek."

"I didn't put them there. They just… appeared."

They shared a laugh that turned into a brief wheeze and half-hearted fist bump.

The DJ's voice boomed over the speakers, cheerful and just slightly chaotic from whatever caffeinated potion he'd been chugging all night.

"ALRIGHT, SWIFTIES! You thought it was over?! JOKE'S ON YOU! We're EXTENDING THE PARTY FOR FOURTEEN MORE SONGS!"

A wave of excited shrieking surged through the crowd like it had just been collectively told finals were canceled forever.

Andrew's mouth dropped. "Fourteen?!"

Daniel's entire body lit up. "Fourteen. That's… that's a full Eras Act III."

"We're not gonna survive this."

Daniel turned to him, clutching both of Andrew's hands dramatically. "If we die here, we die as martyrs to the Swiftie cause. Glitter-coated and emotionally fulfilled."

The lights dimmed again, replaced by a wash of deep red and smoky blue.

A few haunting, echoey notes began to hum over the speakers—ominous and dreamy, like the start of a revolution disguised as a prom slow-dance.

Andrew recognized it instantly.

"You know I adore you, I'm crazier for you…"

He turned to Daniel. "No way. Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince?"

Daniel's grin grew. "I was just thinking about this."

Andrew narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Because," Daniel said, shifting closer to him amidst the crowd, "remember last week? When we were just chilling at home, trying to clean the apartment and failing?"

"Like always."

Daniel laughed. "You had your sad piano playlist on and I hijacked the speaker, remember? I queued this song. You looked up from folding socks like I'd just summoned a demon."

Andrew laughed into his water bottle. "Because you did. A synth-powered, anti-authoritarian glitter demon."

"But the best kind," Daniel said proudly.

Andrew nodded. "The kind that reminded me that socks can wait and dancing in the kitchen matters."

Daniel bumped his shoulder lightly. "You were surprisingly good at it, too."

"I'm 75% limbs and 25% fear. It balances out."

The beat started pulsing louder now, building up around them like a storm about to break. The bar had turned into a red, white, and blue battleground of symbolic heartbreak and empowerment. Someone had literally brought cardboard cutouts of voting booths. A girl danced with a flag that read "EMOTIONAL VICTORY."

Daniel turned to Andrew as the chorus hit, grabbing his hands again. "Tell me this song isn't about us!"

Andrew snorted. "You're saying we're Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince?"

"YES," Daniel said. "It's the vibe! We were the outcasts in a cursed town, fighting for our lives, no one believed in us, we had drama, ghosts, and trauma—this song IS our high school movie soundtrack."

Andrew thought about it, eyebrows raised. "...That actually checks out."

"Thank you!"

They started singing along with the rest of the crowd—shouting the chorus, throwing their hands in the air, dramatic like their lives depended on it:

"American stories burning before me / I'm feeling helpless, the damsels are depressed…"

Daniel twirled Andrew like they were in the middle of a sparkly battlefield prom, then dipped him just enough to make Andrew panic-laugh, "We are so going to break our spines."

Daniel grinned. "We broke our spines emotionally three hours ago."

They danced through the rest of the song like they were reliving the Little Hope saga with more glitter and fewer soul-sucking ghosts. Every lyric became a memory—ducking through fog, chasing shadows, standing back-to-back against whatever the town threw at them.

But this time, they weren't running.

They were celebrating.

Escaping.

Reclaiming something.

When the song ended, they were both breathless, sweaty, and swaying slightly, still clinging to each other's arms like they were holding up a tower made entirely of jokes and shared trauma.

Andrew spoke first.

"You know… you really did turn our apartment into an Eras Tour rehearsal stage."

Daniel smirked. "And you actually started liking it."

Andrew smiled softly. "I didn't just start liking the music, Daniel."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "No?"

Andrew shook his head. "I started liking who I am when I'm around you. Not just because we survived. But because... we made something better after."

Daniel's grin faltered for a second, then softened into something so sincere it could've powered a love song bridge.

"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me in a bar that smells like glitter and nachos."

"I try."

They stood in the afterglow of the song, letting it linger.

The DJ queued up the next track—New Romantics. The crowd cheered.

Daniel leaned close. "You ready for thirteen more?"

Andrew grabbed his hand.

"Only if we dance every single one."

And they did.

All the way to the very end.

Best friends. Swifties. Survivors.

And maybe, just maybe, something even more.

Because long after the lights dimmed, long after the final notes played and the confetti settled into cracks in the floor—they'd remember this night.

Not just for the songs.

Not just for the dancing.

But for that feeling.

Of finding joy.

Of rewriting the story.

Of being each other's favorite era.

---

Fifteen (Taylor's Version):

The night at The Wandering Owl had hit that surreal, glittery stage where time stopped mattering and everything was just feelings, laughter, and shared lyrics shouted into a sea of rhinestones and feather boas. Taylor Swift's Eras Themed Party was now deep into its final stretch—the DJ still enthusiastically counting down the extended last fourteen songs, and yet somehow, everyone still had energy like they were running on Red Bull, adrenaline, and the very essence of the Speak Now album.

Andrew and Daniel were dancing with a group of Swifties they didn't even know the names of anymore. One girl had cried on Andrew's shoulder during My Tears Ricochet and then gave him a ring pop in solidarity. A guy named Trevor had declared Daniel his "Swift twin flame" after they performed a near-perfect reenactment of the Bejeweled elevator sequence.

Everyone was unhinged, euphoric, and, at this point, practically levitating from pure emotion.

They were singing Style when the transition happened—mid-spin, mid-scream-laugh, mid-possibly-impressive dance move. The upbeat pop faded into a softer guitar strum.

Just a few chords in, and a slow hush fell over the bar.

Andrew froze.

"Oh no," he whispered. "It's Fifteen."

Daniel stopped, halfway through pretending his glow-stick was a microphone. "Ohhh crap. This one's dangerous."

Andrew swallowed. "I am not emotionally stable enough for this."

"Buddy," Daniel said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "None of us are."

The crowd swayed gently, arms thrown around friends, strangers becoming family in the span of a song.

The melody poured in, soft and familiar:

"You take a deep breath and you walk through the doors / It's the morning of your very first day…"

Andrew's face changed—not with sadness, but with a deep, thoughtful kind of peace. A memory blooming quietly behind his eyes.

He said nothing at first, just listened.

Then softly, to Daniel, "This was the first Taylor song I ever felt."

Daniel looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Andrew leaned back against a column, arms folded, eyes distant.

"I was fifteen when I heard it. Literally fifteen. High school. Freshman year. I used to bike to school with my headphones in. It was this song, and like… a weird playlist of emo rock and acoustic folk because I had very complex moods, apparently."

Daniel grinned. "Obviously."

"But I remember," Andrew continued, "being exactly where this song puts you. Walking into school for the first time. Everything felt huge and terrifying and like it would define your whole life. And it kind of did. I wasn't popular, obviously."

"You? No," Daniel teased, bumping his elbow.

"I was shy," Andrew said with a soft chuckle. "And awkward. I didn't talk much. I used to draw in the margins of my notebooks instead of making eye contact."

Daniel softened. "Little freshman Andrew."

Andrew nodded. "I remember listening to this song and thinking… yeah. That's me. I was scared. I was trying to figure out what mattered. I had a crush on a girl who didn't know I existed, and a best friend who moved away after sophomore year. I thought I knew everything. I didn't."

Daniel was quiet for a moment, then said, "You know what's wild?"

Andrew looked at him.

"I was fifteen too. When I heard it."

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "You listened to Fifteen while playing football and being the most chaotic dude in creative writing class?"

Daniel laughed. "Absolutely. Secretly, of course. I had a playlist titled 'Totally Not Taylor Swift' and this was the first track."

Andrew nearly choked. "Oh my God."

Daniel leaned against the column too. "I was quarterback. I had braces. I wore a lot of hoodies. Like… a lot. And I had no idea who I was. Everyone thought I had it together, but I was faking confidence 24/7. This song? It kinda… called me out."

He paused, then smiled.

"Especially the line about thinking a boy is gonna change the world and ending up crying on the bathroom floor."

Andrew chuckled. "We've all been there."

Daniel nodded. "I had my first big heartbreak at fifteen. She dumped me in the middle of lunch. While I had nachos."

"Oh, the humiliation."

"I had cheese on my lip," Daniel said, eyes wide. "Cheese, Andrew."

Andrew wheezed with laughter.

But then the chorus hit.

And the two of them sang along—not screaming this time, not performing. Just singing. Quiet. Clear. Connected.

"'Cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you / You're gonna believe them…"

Daniel's voice faltered slightly. "God. That lyric never stops hitting."

Andrew smiled, a little misty. "It really doesn't."

They stood side-by-side, singing softly in the middle of a crowd that had gone quiet with memory. Some swayed with eyes closed. Some hugged. Some just held hands and mouthed the words to themselves.

Daniel looked over at Andrew.

"You know what I was thinking just now?"

"Tell me."

"If you'd told me when I was fifteen that someday I'd survive a ghost town, become best friends with a quiet guy from creative writing, and end up singing Taylor Swift in a bar while wearing a glow-stick bracelet and glitter eyeliner, I'd have said you were insane."

Andrew grinned. "Yeah. Same."

They bumped shoulders.

"You think our fifteen-year-old selves would be proud of us?" Andrew asked.

Daniel tilted his head. "Maybe not proud. But like… impressed? Confused? Emotionally moved?"

"Jealous of our fashion choices?"

"Definitely. Glow-stick technology has come a long way."

They laughed again as the song drew to a close, and everyone in the bar whispered along to the final words:

"I've found time can heal most anything / And you just might find who you're supposed to be / I didn't know who I was supposed to be… at fifteen."

And when the song ended, the bar didn't cheer.

They just let the silence settle.

Because Fifteen wasn't just a song.

It was a mirror.

And tonight, Andrew and Daniel weren't scared fifteen-year-olds anymore.

They were survivors. Best friends. Chosen family.

They didn't have everything figured out—but they were doing okay.

And that was more than enough.

Daniel looked over, smirking again. "So… next song?"

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "I swear, if it's The Story of Us, I'm crying into your shoulder."

"Deal," Daniel said. "But only if I get a ring pop again."

And with that, the DJ spun into the next track, and they were gone—back into the crowd, the music, the joy, and the story they were still writing.

Together.

---

Wonderland (Taylor's Version):

The Wandering Owl was no longer just a bar.

By now, it had become a glowing, glitter-covered dimension ruled entirely by Taylor Swift's discography and emotional chaos. The final stretch of the Eras Themed Party was unfolding like the most theatrical finale of all time: sequins flying, voices hoarse, people slow-dancing with strangers, and someone crying softly in the corner because they realized they still weren't over The 1.

Andrew and Daniel were still holding strong. Barely.

Daniel's voice had all but disintegrated into a whispery rasp that made him sound like a rock star at the end of a world tour. Andrew's hair, once combed and semi-respectable, now had the gentle quality of a haunted broom. But their spirits? High. Their hearts? Unreasonably full.

The DJ's voice boomed over the speaker. "WE'RE DOWN TO THE LAST FEW, SWIFTIES! GET READY TO LOSE YOUR MINDS, YOUR VOICES, AND POSSIBLY YOUR DIGNITY!"

The crowd roared in anticipation. People began chanting random Taylor lyrics, like a glitter cult.

Daniel looked at Andrew. "I'm ready to ascend."

Andrew wiped a smudge of glitter from his face. "I think I already did. My soul left my body during Clean and hasn't come back yet."

Then the next song began.

The music shimmered in. Playful, surreal, a melody built on a dream laced with danger.

"Flashing lights and we took a wrong turn and we / Fell down a rabbit hole…"

Andrew turned his head sharply. "Oh. Oh no."

Daniel's mouth fell open. "Oh boy."

"Wonderland (Taylor's Version)" had arrived.

The bar transformed instantly into a fever-dream fairy tale. Someone near the front produced a plastic tiara. Another group pulled out white rabbit masks. A glow-stick sword was raised in the air. The room turned into a pastel battlefield of fantasy and heartache.

Daniel didn't move at first.

He stood still, hand around his drink, eyes flickering with something deeper than the usual sparkle. Not sad. Not quite.

Andrew saw it immediately. "Hey," he said gently, "you okay?"

Daniel let out a breath, not looking away from the DJ booth. "Yeah. Just… this one always catches me off guard."

Andrew nodded. "Your Taylor?"

"Yeah." Daniel's voice dropped to a quieter tone, the kind he rarely used. "She loved this one. Said it was 'romantic in a tragic, irrational, emotionally irresponsible way.' Which, to be fair, described our whole relationship."

Andrew chuckled. "You're not wrong."

"We had a whole playlist, you know? I made it for her. This was the second track. Right after Enchanted. Back then, everything felt like magic. Like we were special. Like we were..." He paused. "Invincible."

The lyrics swirled around them.

"Didn't it all seem new and exciting? I felt your arms twisting around me…"

Daniel shook his head, half-smiling. "She once made me watch Alice in Wonderland three times in one weekend just so she could analyze the metaphors about falling in love."

"And you didn't run screaming?" Andrew teased.

"I was smitten," Daniel said with a shrug. "And honestly? I kind of loved it."

Andrew nudged him. "You still do."

Daniel sighed. "Yeah. A little. I think I always will. Even if it ended in, you know… smoke and metaphorical tea parties of doom."

They both laughed.

"Wonderland," Daniel continued, "reminds me of how fast we fell. How much it felt like it wasn't real. And how when it fell apart, it was like… waking up. And realizing the dream never made sense in daylight."

Andrew listened, letting the music and the words wash over them both.

"You miss her?" he asked quietly.

Daniel nodded once. "Not like… every day. But in moments. Like this one."

The chorus hit.

"We found Wonderland / You and I got lost in it…"

Andrew leaned his head back against the wall. "You know… it's funny."

Daniel glanced over. "What is?"

"I used to think love had to look like Wonderland. Wild. Sudden. Intense. Like it had to break rules and twist logic to be real."

Daniel smirked. "You hopeless romantic."

"But now?" Andrew shrugged. "Now I think it's about the stuff after. The quiet. The surviving. The late-night grilled cheese and inside jokes."

Daniel smiled. "And singing The Man like it's a war anthem in a bar filled with glitter."

"Exactly."

They stood in comfortable silence again, letting the bridge of the song carry them.

"And in the end, in Wonderland / We both went mad…"

Daniel blinked slowly. "That line? That's the one that gets me. Every time."

Andrew looked at him. "You didn't go mad."

Daniel laughed softly. "Didn't I, though? I mean, I survived a demon town. I willingly came to a themed party where I lost one shoe and danced with a girl who quoted Red like scripture."

"You're not mad," Andrew said, bumping his shoulder. "You're living."

Daniel smiled again, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes but was real all the same.

The song faded into the next—Call It What You Want—but neither of them moved for a moment.

Finally, Daniel said, "I think she would've loved tonight."

Andrew nodded. "I think she'd be proud of you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah," Andrew said. "Because you didn't stay in Wonderland. You came back. You're here. And you're still full of glitter and chaos and heart."

Daniel bumped his head gently against Andrew's shoulder. "That was almost poetic."

"I had a lot of practice in John's creative writing class."

Daniel laughed again, lighter this time.

They pushed back into the crowd for the final songs, hearts a little heavier, but stronger.

Because tonight wasn't just about dancing to forget.

It was about dancing to remember.

And dancing to heal.

And yeah—maybe once upon a time, Daniel and Taylor had found Wonderland and gotten lost in it.

But now?

Now, Daniel had found something better.

Someone who didn't make him lose himself.

Someone who danced beside him without needing fairy tales or metaphorical rabbit holes.

Andrew.

And maybe, just maybe, the song that played next would be about finding home.

Not the fantasy.

But the real thing.

And maybe they'd sing that one too.

Together.

---

I Did Something Bad:

The Wandering Owl was now deep in what the DJ had dramatically called the Final Era Stretch, where only the emotionally strongest and most glitter-resistant remained standing. And, of course, among them were Andrew and Daniel—battered, bruised (emotionally), half-drenched in sweat, and running entirely on adrenaline, nostalgia, and pure Taylor Swift-based serotonin.

Daniel was shirtless.

Well—not completely shirtless. He had a mesh tank top on that had magically appeared around 2:00 a.m., and he swore someone had gifted it to him in exchange for "inspiring a cathartic group sob during All Too Well (10 Minute Version)." Andrew, slightly more intact, had ditched his button-up long ago and was now in a Swiftie-themed crop top he didn't remember agreeing to wear, emblazoned with glitter text reading: Reputation Defender.

The music was bouncing from era to era now with no warning. One second, they were screaming Out of the Woods like they'd personally been chased through a forest by emotionally unavailable exes, and the next—

The lights went red.

The bass dropped.

The floor quite literally shook.

"If a man talks sh— then I owe him nothing!"

Andrew stopped. Frozen. Mid-laugh. His mouth slightly open. His drink halfway to his face.

Daniel turned to him slowly. "...Oh no. You're having a memory, aren't you?"

Andrew didn't answer right away. He was staring into the disco-lit void, completely frozen.

"Andrew?" Daniel snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Are you being haunted again or is this about to be a story?"

Andrew finally blinked. "It's Megan and Dennis."

Daniel blinked. "Your siblings?"

Andrew nodded, voice low and weirdly reverent. "This song just unlocked it."

Daniel turned fully to him, eyes wide with gossip-loving intensity. "Please tell me there was violence."

Andrew took a breath.

"It was the night," he said. "The night. The last one. Right before the fire."

Daniel sobered instantly.

"Dennis had just gotten this new vinyl—something vintage, probably progressive rock. The kind of music that makes you feel like you're being chased by a wizard through a kaleidoscope. He was holding it like it was sacred. Like a holy relic. Like it was his soul pressed in wax."

Daniel nodded, solemn. "Sounds like a Dennis."

"And Megan," Andrew said with a small smile, "was being peak little sister energy. She walked into the room, saw him dramatically holding it up to the light like he was about to conduct a ritual, and just stepped on the edge of it."

Daniel gasped. "SHE DID NOT."

"She absolutely did," Andrew said, eyes wide. "And she looked him dead in the eye while doing it."

Daniel looked physically pained. "That's powerful. That's villainous. That's… iconic."

"Dennis lost it," Andrew said. "He shouted, she smirked, Mom yelled from the kitchen, Dad banged on the wall like he was trying to knock down a demon with sound alone. It was complete chaos."

"I love this for them."

"Dennis screamed, 'You little brat, do you even know what this is worth?' and Megan just went, 'Less than your weird taste in music.'"

Daniel dropped to his knees. "I would die for Megan."

Andrew laughed. "She was a menace, but she was my menace."

The song built behind them, pulsing through the room like it had synced with Andrew's memories.

"They're burning all the witches even if you aren't one…"

"Anyway," Andrew said, his smile faltering just a little, "I didn't think about that fight for years. It was just noise. Background. But now, standing here, hearing this?"

He gestured at the ceiling like Taylor herself was peering down through the disco lights.

"I realize Megan wasn't just being bratty. She was standing her ground. In the middle of a family that was always one wrong word from falling apart, she stepped on a vinyl record because that was the only power she had."

Daniel was quiet for a second.

Then: "Okay, but like… how does this connect to I Did Something Bad?"

Andrew looked at him with a kind of proud older brother intensity. "Because this song is pure Megan energy. Chaos. Fire. Taking no crap. Breaking the rules and daring anyone to stop her."

Daniel blinked, then nodded. "Okay. Okay. I see it. This isn't just a party song. It's Megan's theme song."

"She was the heartbreak prince," Andrew whispered.

Daniel tilted his head. "Wasn't that a different track?"

"Emotionally she was all of them," Andrew said.

The crowd exploded into the chorus again. Daniel reached for Andrew's hand, half to keep him grounded and half because the moment felt weirdly big.

"You think she'd like this party?" Daniel asked.

Andrew smiled through the fog of memory. "She would've dominated the lip-sync battle. And stolen a disco ball."

"She would've threatened the DJ for not playing Dear John in full."

"She would've made us sing it."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Would Megan have shipped us?"

Andrew pretended to think. "She would've shipped you with literally everyone, but yeah, probably. She would've made a Google Doc tracking our friendship progression."

Daniel beamed. "With spreadsheets?"

"Color-coded," Andrew confirmed. "By emotional growth and accidental touches."

They both laughed, the music pounding in their chests.

Andrew looked around the bar—the lights, the glitter, the way everyone was screaming lyrics like it was both an exorcism and a celebration.

And for a second, he saw Megan.

Not literally. Not ghost-style.

Just… her.

In the glitter. In the wild joy of this chaos.

He smiled to himself, heart full.

As the song reached its final defiant chorus, he shouted it with the rest of them—louder than he thought he could.

"I did something bad / But why's it feel so good?"

He turned to Daniel, still flushed from dancing, cheeks shiny with sweat and leftover glitter.

"I'm glad we came tonight," Andrew said.

Daniel grinned. "I'm glad I made you come."

"I didn't need that phrased that way."

"I absolutely meant it that way."

They both laughed so hard they almost missed the next song beginning. Almost.

But not quite.

Because the party wasn't over.

There were still memories to make.

Still songs to scream.

Still moments of love and chaos and healing ahead.

And somewhere in all of it, was Megan.

Still laughing.

Still dancing.

Still stepping on records like a queen.

---

How You Get The Girl:

There was a glitter disco ball hanging by a miracle (and probably duct tape) above the center of The Wandering Owl, spinning slow and lazy like the moon had decided to join the party. Below it, an exhausted, euphoric, glitter-drenched crowd of Swifties was riding high on what could only be described as pure Taylor Swift-induced euphoria. The Eras Themed Party had transcended dance floor logic and dipped straight into emotional chaos, nostalgia, and laugh-crying through bridge after bridge.

Andrew and Daniel were still going.

Barely.

Daniel's shirt had gone missing—again. His glow-stick crown now hung from one ear, and his drink was something purple, mysterious, and questionably named Lavender Haze Punch (with optional glitter rim). Andrew had long given up trying to keep his hair in place and had accepted that his eyeliner smudge was now "aesthetic."

They'd slow-danced dramatically to Begin Again, crowd-screamed the entire bridge of The Story of Us, and declared Don't Blame Me their "emotional core workout." By this point, they were fully committed to the chaos.

Then, as the crowd settled from the emotional whiplash of Death By A Thousand Cuts, a new song began.

Upbeat. Catchy. Bouncy.

A plucky guitar intro danced through the speakers, followed by a cheerful rhythm that practically begged to be danced to.

"Stand there like a ghost, shaking come the rain, rain…"

Andrew blinked. "No way."

Daniel perked up like a meerkat. "How You Get the Girl?!"

"Throwback!" Andrew laughed, eyes already wide. "This is Speak Now Deluxe, baby!"

"No, wait—" Daniel's eyes widened. "This is the speed dating song."

Andrew's mouth dropped open. "OH MY GOD. It is."

Both of them burst out laughing.

"You mean The Event That Shall Not Be Named?" Andrew said between gasps of laughter.

Daniel held up both hands. "Yes. That event. The absolute social car crash of our February."

Andrew leaned against the bar for support, face flushed red from laughter and memories. "I still have secondhand embarrassment thinking about it."

Daniel clapped a hand to his heart. "It's been four months, and I still wake up in cold sweats from it."

The music continued, impossibly cheerful. They could barely hear themselves over the other Swifties singing along, but the memories were coming back fast and uninvited—like musical trauma flashbacks.

Andrew wiped his face. "Okay, but let's recap. You and I show up to that college Valentine's speed dating event. You're in a jacket two sizes too small because you wanted to look 'fitted and flirtatious.'"

"I was going for mysterious bad boy with deep opinions about The Great Gatsby!"

"You looked like you were smuggling breadsticks."

"And you," Daniel said, pointing at him, "wore a cardigan. A literal cardigan. To a speed dating event."

"It was February! It was chilly! I was channeling Taylor Swift!"

"You were channeling 'please ask me about my homemade sourdough starter.'"

Andrew threw a napkin at him.

"But the worst part," Daniel continued, grinning wide, "was when you tried to open with a Taylor Swift icebreaker and accidentally said—"

"'Hi, I also cried during All Too Well,'" Andrew groaned, facepalming. "Yes. I remember. I was trying to be relatable."

Daniel was wheezing. "And then the girl blinked, said 'I'm more of an Ariana fan,' and the timer buzzed before you could even retort."

Andrew groaned louder. "Don't forget your table."

Daniel froze, mid-sip. "I was trying to be charming."

"You said 'So what's your biggest emotional wound?' as an opener."

"IT'S A POWER MOVE."

"She left halfway through the round!"

Daniel shook his head. "That's on her. We could've trauma-bonded and gone to therapy together. Missed opportunity."

They were both bent over laughing now, the chorus of How You Get the Girl ringing out behind them as the DJ waved a pink feather boa and encouraged everyone to "reenact your failed love stories through interpretive dance."

Andrew looked around the dance floor. "You know what's really funny?"

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "We haven't died of social embarrassment yet?"

"That was just four months before Taylor and I… you know. Secretly started dating."

Daniel leaned in, eyes wide. "Wait, wait—that Taylor?"

Andrew nodded.

"Curly hair, big glasses, always talking about Studio Ghibli Taylor?"

"That's the one."

Daniel threw his hands in the air. "That is hilarious. You literally went from speed dating disaster to secret campus couple."

"Her words, not mine: 'You were a hot mess. But a kind one.'"

Daniel snorted. "I love that for you."

"I told her about the cardigan. She thought it was adorable."

"She was into cardigan-core. Of course she was."

They watched the crowd dance and twirl. A few students acted out dramatic apologies and declarations of love on one side of the floor, miming someone standing in the rain while another stood with a hand to their heart.

Daniel nudged Andrew. "You think if we'd had this song playing at that speed dating thing, we'd have done better?"

"Oh absolutely not," Andrew said. "We would've tried to do a duet. It would've turned into a performance piece. Everyone would've left."

"True," Daniel nodded. "But it would've been iconic."

"Maybe we'll host our own speed dating night next year," Andrew said. "But make it Taylor Swift-themed."

Daniel gasped. "Each table is a different era. You get judged based on your lyric references and emotional availability."

"Exactly. And there's a trivia round called 'Is This a Real Lyric or Something Daniel Yelled at a Ghost?'"

Daniel laughed so hard he nearly dropped his drink.

The song finished to a chorus of joyful screams and applause. Andrew and Daniel high-fived, somehow missing, and then both rubbed their foreheads like two awkward sitcom characters.

Andrew exhaled. "I still can't believe how much we sucked that night."

Daniel looped an arm around his shoulder. "And look at us now. Still single. Still emotionally unhinged. Still thriving."

Andrew grinned. "Wouldn't change a thing."

The DJ announced the next song—Shake It Off—and the crowd screamed so loud the walls probably developed anxiety.

Daniel grabbed Andrew's hand. "Come on. We've got one more interpretive dance left in us."

Andrew let himself be dragged. "If I break my ankle doing the sprinkler, I'm haunting this bar."

"Good," Daniel grinned. "We'll finally be the ghosts."

And as they ran back into the chaos—laughing, flailing, living—Andrew thought about that night in February. About all the awkwardness and rejection and jokes.

And about how maybe, maybe, all of it had led to this.

To friendship.

To glitter.

To Taylor Swift.

And to finally learning how not to get the girl—but how to get the moment that mattered even more.

A best friend.

And a dance floor that never really ends.

---

London Boy:

The Wandering Owl was no longer a bar.

It was a full-on shrine to Taylor Swift, wrapped in string lights, fake fog, and the collective, glitter-scented energy of people who had emotionally sweat through seven eras of pop magic. It was close to 3:00 a.m., but no one seemed to notice. Or care. The DJ was running on Red Bull and divine Swiftie power, the crowd looked emotionally wrecked and somehow alive, and Andrew and Daniel—still standing—were in a state of euphoric emotional chaos that can only be described as Enchanted meets post-cardio spaghetti arms.

Daniel had long abandoned any illusion of "fashionable chaos" and was currently rocking a mesh tank top, a plastic crown that said King of Cruel Summer, and what appeared to be one sparkly slipper. Andrew looked slightly more intact, wearing a "You Need to Calm Down" shirt, three friendship bracelets he didn't remember accepting, and a thin layer of glitter across his cheekbones that gave him a radiant glow not even highlighters could achieve.

They were leaning on each other for balance as the 1989 era wrapped up with a remixed version of New Romantics that had people jumping like their lives depended on it.

"I think I'm legally dead," Andrew gasped, half-laughing.

Daniel held up a peace sign. "Tell the EMTs to bury me with a signed copy of Folklore and my Red scarf."

Then the song faded into a very distinct, playful beat.

A plucky rhythm. An unmistakable British cheer.

"We can go drivin' in, on my scooter, uh, you know, just 'round London…"

Andrew blinked. "No."

Daniel perked up. "YES."

Andrew slowly turned. "Is this—?"

"London Boy," Daniel confirmed, eyes wide, hands dramatically over his chest. "The chaotic love letter to international crushes."

They stood for a beat in reverent silence as the crowd swayed and began to lip-sync along to Taylor's flirtatious ode to romance across the pond.

Daniel suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh my god, I forgot about Charlie."

Andrew raised a brow. "Charlie?"

"Charlie Harper," Daniel said, pointing to the back of the bar. "Number thirty-two. Wide receiver. From London. Transferred sophomore year."

Andrew turned. Sure enough, in the far corner, leaning casually against the bar, was a very attractive guy with perfectly tousled dark hair, a faded rugby jacket, and the kind of jawline you could use to cut diamonds. Next to him, laughing into her cocktail, was a petite redhead wearing a full Lover-era sequin jacket.

"Oh wow," Andrew whispered. "He is a London boy."

Daniel nodded solemnly. "He showed up to the first practice wearing soccer cleats and called the football 'the eggy one.' I have never known fear like I did that day."

Andrew wheezed. "That's so specific."

"Coach had a breakdown mid-sentence. Charlie just smiled and called him 'mate.' It was like being tackled by Hugh Grant."

They both laughed, the music bouncing around them, Taylor's voice floating overhead:

"I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal…"

Daniel grinned. "Charlie didn't know what corndogs were. He thought root beer was alcoholic. And one time, he asked what 'tailgating' was and got tackled for insulting American culture."

Andrew was giggling into his drink. "But he was good?"

"Oh, he was great," Daniel said. "Guy ran like he was dodging taxes."

The chorus hit and the two of them started dancing again—hopping in place, mimicking the overly cheerful tourist romance the song embodied.

Andrew sang out, "I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent…"

Daniel pointed across the bar. "That's literally what happened to half the team. Everyone fell in love with him."

"I see why."

"I had a moment, okay?" Daniel said dramatically. "I considered switching majors just to have classes with him. It was a crisis."

"You're still in a crisis," Andrew quipped.

"Fair."

They both sang along to the chorus, off-key but happy:

"I love my London boy / I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon…"

Daniel wiped a tear. "God, this is the most ridiculous bop ever made. It's like musical fanfiction."

"It's unhinged," Andrew agreed. "And yet… I'd die for it."

Daniel turned serious for a second. "Honestly? It reminds me how weird college has been. Like, I came here to play football and not think about anything serious. And then ghosts. And trauma. And somehow this."

He waved his arms around at the glitter-filled dance floor.

"And now," he added, "I'm standing here, singing about London boys with you. And I'm not mad about it."

Andrew smiled. "We've come a long way."

"From screaming at fog demons in cursed towns…"

"To singing about cobblestone streets and tea with your best friend," Daniel said.

They high-fived.

Then Daniel's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I'm gonna go say hi to Charlie. Introduce him to his theme song."

Andrew grinned. "Please don't scare him."

"I make no promises."

Daniel darted across the bar and tapped Charlie on the shoulder. Andrew watched from a distance as Daniel pointed dramatically to the ceiling and began pantomiming the scooter line with flair. Charlie laughed. His girlfriend laughed. They all laughed.

Andrew shook his head, heart full.

This party. This song. These memories. They were ridiculous and wild and weirdly healing.

And as London Boy faded out into the next track—Daylight—he felt something settle in his chest.

This wasn't just fun.

It was freedom.

It was dancing through the darkness and coming out the other side in mesh, glitter, and laughter.

Daniel reappeared beside him a minute later, beaming.

"He said he feels honored to be serenaded by Taylor."

Andrew grinned. "Of course he did. He's British. They're born charming."

Daniel took Andrew's hand without thinking. "Alright, next song's starting. You ready?"

Andrew nodded. "Always."

And they kept dancing.

Two best friends, forever bound by fog, fate, and now, one particularly chaotic anthem to international romance.

Because if college, survival, and Swifties taught them anything—

It's that life is short.

But the Era never ends.

---

Wildest Dreams (Taylor's Version):

It was 3:37 a.m.

The glitter had become its own living entity at The Wandering Owl, swirling through the air like a magical mist made of shimmer, sweat, and leftover emotional confetti. The Taylor Swift Eras Themed Party was still going. And somehow, somehow, so were Andrew and Daniel.

Andrew was leaning on Daniel like he was the last functioning support beam in a haunted house, which felt appropriate, all things considered. Daniel, in his half-buttoned 1989-inspired shirt and glow-in-the-dark wristbands (that were blinking in their own chaotic rhythm), was still dancing like he hadn't fought literal demons in the past year.

They were tired. Euphoric. Spiritually reborn. And very dehydrated.

"Andrew," Daniel wheezed, "if I die tonight, tell my ghost to haunt the DJ until he plays Cornelia Street."

"You've already haunted the DJ's vibe," Andrew muttered. "You air-humped the beat during Getaway Car. He flinched."

"Good," Daniel grinned. "He should fear me."

Just as Andrew went to respond, a new song faded in.

That familiar echo of breath. The pulsing beat. The slow, sultry build of something aching and romantic and just a little bit dangerous.

"He said, 'Let's get out of this town…'"

Andrew froze.

Daniel looked at him immediately. "Oh no. Are we having another Emotionally Significant Taylor Swift Moment?"

Andrew didn't answer right away. His eyes were glassy—not with tears, but with something deeper. Something almost reverent.

Daniel blinked. "...Is this one about me?"

Andrew coughed into his drink.

Daniel grinned. "It is, isn't it?!"

"Shut up," Andrew muttered, cheeks glowing redder than the disco lights.

"Tell me! Spill!"

Andrew groaned and leaned against a support column, watching the crowd slow-dance and sway to the slow, hypnotic beat of Wildest Dreams.

He spoke softly, not entirely facing Daniel. "You know… I didn't let myself think about it much. Not back then."

Daniel leaned closer, quieter now too. "Back when?"

"When everything happened," Andrew said. "Back in Little Hope. The nights. The fog. The constant fear. Every second felt like it could be our last. I didn't let myself feel anything that wasn't survival."

Daniel didn't speak, just listened.

"But now… now that we're here, now that it's safe, now that I can think back without hyperventilating… I do," Andrew said. "I think about those days. About that one moment."

Daniel turned fully toward him. "Which one?"

Andrew smiled faintly, eyes still scanning the spinning crowd. "You remember when we were lost near the old bridge? Angela and John were arguing about whether we should wait or move forward."

Daniel chuckled. "Vividly. John was trying to navigate with a burnt-out phone, and Angela threatened to chuck him into the fog."

Andrew laughed too, then sighed. "You turned to me and said, 'No matter what happens, I'm with you.' You said it like it was no big deal. Like it was obvious."

Daniel blinked slowly. "It was obvious."

"Not to me," Andrew admitted. "No one ever stayed before. Not like that."

Daniel looked down at the floor. "Well, I did."

"I know," Andrew said. "And I think… I think you became part of my wildest dreams right then."

Daniel looked up sharply. "What?"

Andrew finally looked at him.

"I mean it," he said, voice steadier now. "If you'd asked me back in college who I thought I'd end up with—as a friend, I mean—it wouldn't have been the guy who made fun of my note margins in John's writing class. But now… I can't imagine my life without you in it."

Daniel blinked fast. "Okay. That was… shockingly sincere. I feel like I need to cry and hug you and then aggressively sing a bridge to shake it off."

"You remember when we barely talked in class?" Andrew said, now smiling. "You thought I was too serious. I thought you were a walking interruption."

Daniel laughed. "You wrote a story where the villain's name was Dan. I noticed."

Andrew shrugged. "I had a lot of unresolved character development."

"Still do."

"And yet here we are."

"You'll see me in hindsight / Tangled up with you all night…"

The lyrics hit a little too close. Andrew swallowed hard.

Daniel smirked. "So what you're saying is… I'm your Wildest Dream?"

Andrew rolled his eyes but didn't deny it. "You're something."

"You're lucky I'm not insufferable about this."

"You're already insufferable."

Daniel bumped his shoulder. "I'm honored to be your hypothetical dream man."

Andrew chuckled. "Not dream man. Just… the part of the nightmare that turned into something good."

Daniel smiled, a little softer now.

The song built to its final chorus, and both of them joined in—quietly, but singing like they meant it.

"Say you'll remember me / Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe…"

Daniel gestured at Andrew. "You would be the nice dress in this scenario."

Andrew threw a napkin at him.

As the song faded and the next track began (This Love, mellow and soft), Daniel turned serious.

"I remember everything too," he said. "The fog. The fire. Megan. Taylor. John and Angela. That whole night. All of it. But the best part?"

He paused.

"You're the part I still dream about."

Andrew blinked.

"Like, not in a creepy way!" Daniel added quickly. "Just… you were the best thing to come out of it."

Andrew smiled slowly. "Same."

They stood in silence for a moment, soaking it all in. The music. The memories. The sheer absurdity of surviving a cursed town and ending up singing Wildest Dreams in a bar at four in the morning with someone who used to be just a classmate—and now felt like something infinitely more important.

The music changed again. Long Live. The crowd lit up.

Daniel reached for Andrew's hand.

"Dance with me, Wildest Dream."

Andrew rolled his eyes but took the hand.

"Only because you're the worst."

"And the best," Daniel whispered with a grin.

And they danced—together—under disco lights, surrounded by strangers and Swifties, knowing that no matter what came next, they'd always have this.

The wildest dream neither of them had dared to imagine.

And the best one that came true.

---

the 1:

It was well past 4:00 a.m., and The Wandering Owl no longer resembled anything remotely tied to the real world. It was glitter-drenched chaos and confetti-infused catharsis. The walls pulsed with LED lights and the ghosts of every bridge Taylor Swift had ever written. The dance floor had turned into a shimmering ocean of strangers screaming lyrics at the top of their lungs, hugging people they'd just met three songs ago, and throwing friendship bracelets like confetti grenades of love.

And at the very center of it all stood Andrew and Daniel—exhausted, emotionally dehydrated, and glowing like two guys who'd survived both literal supernatural trauma and a four-hour dance marathon to one pop star's entire life story.

Andrew's legs had long since given up on normal functioning. He was leaning on Daniel for structural support while sipping something vaguely peach-flavored through a sparkly straw.

Daniel's mesh shirt was now permanently stuck to him via a mix of sweat and glitter glue. His hair looked like it had been through a wind tunnel of emotional clarity.

They weren't even dancing anymore—they were just swaying slightly, like two old men on a boat reminiscing about their youth.

"I can't feel my knees," Andrew whispered, smiling.

"My emotions filed for divorce like three songs ago," Daniel rasped.

"I think I might cry if they play Invisible String."

"They already did."

"Wait, really?"

"You were mid-spin and cried into a stranger's blazer."

"Oh. Classic."

Then the soft piano started.

A gentle beat.

A subtle thrum of nostalgia.

"I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit…"

Andrew blinked. "Wait."

Daniel's eyes widened. "Oh God."

Both, in sync: "The 1."

And just like that, the emotional levee cracked wide open.

Daniel didn't say anything at first. He just listened. Like really listened. Like the song had pulled something out of him he wasn't quite ready to show—but also didn't want to hide anymore.

The room was swaying, almost in time. Not dancing. Not shouting. Just feeling.

"I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn't though…"

Andrew glanced at him. "You okay?"

Daniel didn't answer right away.

Then: "This one's about you."

Andrew blinked. "...What?"

Daniel turned, not quite making eye contact. "You're my 'the 1.'"

Andrew coughed on his drink. "I—I'm sorry. You wanna run that back?"

Daniel laughed. "Okay, not like the romantic ex Taylor's singing about. I mean like… the friend. The one. The person."

Andrew frowned, not following.

Daniel sighed. "Look. If someone had told me back in John's creative writing class that I'd end up emotionally entangled in the apocalypse with you, I would've laughed. Then cried. Then transferred schools."

"Thanks."

"But you were the one, Andrew. When everything went to hell in Little Hope—when ghosts were chasing us, the fog was endless, people were dying—you were there. Always. You never ran. You always checked on me. You were solid."

Andrew swallowed, his expression unreadable.

Daniel kept going, voice lower. "I used to think we were just classmates. But we weren't. Not really. We were always going to be more than that. Because somehow, someway… you became my person."

Andrew looked down at his shoes.

"I remember," he said quietly. "There was one night… we were sitting in that old, broken-down church. You were bleeding. I was scared. You looked at me and said, 'We got this.'"

Daniel smiled. "Yeah. And we did."

"You were the first person to ever believe in me when I didn't believe in myself," Andrew said. "I never forgot that."

They stood there, the song drifting around them, each lyric quietly gutting them both in the most beautifully inconvenient way.

"If one thing had been different / Would everything be different today?"

Daniel turned to him. "You ever wonder what would've happened if we hadn't taken that class?"

Andrew smiled. "I would've still noticed you. You were loud."

"And you were brooding and mysterious. Like a tragic poet who drinks black coffee."

"I still drink black coffee."

"Yeah, but now you laugh when I make fun of you."

They both laughed then. And then, quietly, as the chorus faded out, Daniel said:

"So, uh… are we… are we bromancing right now?"

Andrew blinked. "What?"

Daniel cleared his throat. "You know. Like a… bromantic climax of emotional bonding? Best friend marriage vibes? No tongue involved but deep soul hugs?"

Andrew stared at him for a beat.

Then laughed. "Yes. We are absolutely bromancing right now."

Daniel pumped his fist. "Knew it."

Andrew nudged him. "You really needed to 'pop the question'?"

Daniel shrugged. "I'm dramatic. It's part of my charm."

"Well," Andrew said, smiling, "if this is a bromance, you're the guy who always steals the aux cord and makes it better."

"And you're the guy who keeps my chaos from turning into full collapse."

They paused.

Looked at each other.

Grinned like idiots.

And then the DJ shouted, "LAST SONG OF THE NIGHT, SWIFTIES!"

Everyone groaned and cheered at the same time.

Andrew looked at Daniel. "One more dance?"

Daniel took his hand. "Always."

And as the final track played—Long Live, because of course it was—they danced.

Not as classmates.

Not just survivors.

Not even just friends.

But as something stronger.

Something that made it through nightmares, through fog, through fear.

Something that never stopped dancing.

Something a little wild.

A little ridiculous.

And very, very real.

Call it what you want.

Andrew and Daniel would call it bromance.

But deep down, they both knew—

It might've just been the 1.

---

august:

The Wandering Owl was breathing.

Not literally, of course, but in the way that a place full of music and joy and entirely too much body glitter feels like a living organism. The walls glowed soft lavender, drenched in LED fairy lights and confetti sparkles. It was 4:43 a.m., and nobody had left—not because they couldn't, but because they refused. The Taylor Swift Eras Themed Party had long since transcended the bounds of time, turning into a full-blown experience. An emotional, occasionally off-key, spectacular experience.

Andrew and Daniel were somewhere between deliriously joyful and spiritually exhausted.

Daniel was barefoot, his shoes discarded somewhere near the bathroom and presumably blessed by other Swifties like some sacred relic. He had a feather boa wrapped around his neck like a dramatic scarf and a red Solo cup full of something labeled champagne problems (non-alcoholic, probably).

Andrew was slightly more intact but had glitter in places he didn't remember touching. His "You're On Your Own, Kid" shirt was wrinkled beyond recognition, and someone had drawn a tiny heart under his eye in eyeliner. He still hadn't noticed it.

They were leaning on each other, laughing breathlessly after finishing a dramatic duet of You Belong With Me where Daniel had absolutely gone too hard with interpretive dance and nearly body-checked someone dressed as Folklore.

Then it happened.

The lights dimmed.

The room hushed.

And a soft acoustic guitar filled the air.

"Salt air, and the rust on your door…"

Andrew went still.

Daniel noticed immediately. "Oh no. What memory just slapped you across the face?"

Andrew blinked slowly. "...It's august."

Daniel clutched his Solo cup. "Taylor's version?"

"The only version," Andrew whispered, eyes going somewhere far away.

Daniel's brows lifted. "So… which one of your ghosts does this bring up?"

Andrew let out a quiet laugh. "Not a ghost."

He leaned his elbows on the edge of the bar, eyes distant.

"A girl. Summer before college. We were working the same part-time job at this lakeside rental stand. You know—paddleboards, sunscreen, bored tourists."

Daniel nodded, eyes wide. "You had a lake girl romance?"

"It was very… seasonal movie energy," Andrew said. "She had this contagious laugh, knew how to drive a boat, and wore her sunglasses like she was already famous. We used to sneak away during break shifts and listen to music under the dock."

Daniel gasped. "This is so specific."

Andrew chuckled. "She said she wasn't staying long. Just the summer. Her family moved around a lot. She told me on our first day not to catch feelings."

Daniel leaned in. "And you did."

"Caught 'em like a cold," Andrew said, smiling bittersweet. "We hung out almost every day. Talked about everything. And then one day in late August, she stopped showing up. No note. No text. Just… gone."

Daniel winced. "Brutal."

"I sat at that rental hut with my dumb little sunburn and my even dumber playlist of sad acoustic songs for days, hoping she'd come back."

Daniel reached over, gently patting his back. "She was your James."

Andrew cracked a smile. "More like my coastal illusion."

The chorus swelled in the room, voices singing:

"August slipped away into a moment in time / 'Cause it was never mine…"

"I never even knew her last name," Andrew said. "But I think about her every August. Wonder what would've happened if I asked her to stay."

Daniel nudged him. "You romantic, tragic summer drama king."

"You asked."

"I love it," Daniel said. "This is the kind of memory that's illegal not to have at a Taylor Swift party."

Andrew looked at him, a little smirk playing on his lips. "You ever have an August?"

Daniel paused, then shrugged. "Sort of. There was this guy at football camp my junior year. He was… definitely not straight. But definitely not admitting it. We used to sneak off and play Mario Kart in the locker room on his Switch."

Andrew raised a brow. "Mario Kart?"

"It was emotionally charged," Daniel said, dead serious. "The tension was thick. Blue shell level."

Andrew snorted.

"Nothing ever happened," Daniel continued. "He transferred before fall semester. I never saw him again. But every time I hear august, I think about how close it all was. Like… if we'd been braver. Or just had more time."

They both went quiet for a second.

Then Daniel said, "I like that we can tell each other this stuff now."

"Me too," Andrew said.

The bridge hit:

"Back when we were still changin' for the better…"

Daniel softly sang along, swaying a little. "Remember when we couldn't even talk to each other without arguing about punctuation in creative writing class?"

Andrew nodded. "And now we've trauma bonded over ghosts and Taylor Swift. Growth."

The song ended on its haunting final note, echoing through the room like a memory you're trying not to keep but can't quite shake.

Daniel looked at Andrew. "You okay?"

Andrew smiled, warm and full of something that felt a little like closure. "Yeah. Actually… I think I'm more than okay."

Daniel leaned in. "Because we danced away your seasonal sadness?"

"Because," Andrew said, "this August, I'm not thinking about who left."

He looked at Daniel.

"I'm thinking about who stayed."

Daniel blinked. "Okay, wow. That's—"

"I know," Andrew nodded. "I've been watching rom-coms. It's affecting me."

They both laughed.

The DJ returned with an unhinged announcement about the "surprise final surprise song that's not actually the final song," and the crowd exploded into shrieks.

Daniel turned to Andrew, grinning wide. "Ready for another?"

Andrew offered his hand. "Let's make this one ours."

And with that, they dove back into the crowd, arms around each other's shoulders, ready to keep singing, dancing, and rewriting the soundtrack to their survival.

Because the past might've been someone else's August.

But this?

This was their era now.

And it wasn't slipping away.

---

22 (Taylor's Version):

It was 5:03 a.m.

The floor of The Wandering Owl looked like it had been personally attacked by a glitter storm and a horde of emotionally charged Swifties. The lights blinked like they were giving up, but no one else was. The DJ had become a mythological figure at this point—possibly levitating, definitely fueled by a never-ending IV drip of cold brew and pure Taylor Swift magic.

Andrew and Daniel were still standing. Barely. They had reached the plane of friendship where words had mostly been replaced by meaningful glances, breathless laughter, and mutual silent agreements that they would die here, possibly in a pile of feather boas and friendship bracelets.

Andrew had a flower crown now. No one knew when it happened. Daniel had glitter across one eyebrow that looked like it had been applied with a paintball gun. Their water bottles were empty, their phones dead, and their spirits obnoxiously high.

"Final surprise song, people!" the DJ called, the crowd shrieking as if it were the second coming. "Let's end this night the only way we know how—Taylor's Version."

A beat.

The music started with an iconic scream:

"It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters…"

Andrew gasped.

Daniel froze mid-sip of his imaginary last drink. "Is that—?"

"22."

Both: "TAYLOR'S VERSION."

And just like that, the entire building exploded.

People jumped. People cried. A guy dressed as Reputation collapsed to his knees. Someone threw a scarf into the air and screamed, "I WAS BORN FOR THIS MOMENT!"

Andrew and Daniel—still arm in arm, barely able to stand—found a final burst of energy as the iconic pop anthem rang out through the bar like a caffeine-fueled time machine.

"I'M TWENTY-TWO EMOTIONALLY," Daniel yelled, punching the air.

"I'M EIGHTEEN BUT I FEEL TWENTY-TWO," Andrew shouted back, absolutely breathless, "DOES THAT COUNT?!"

"It counts tonight!" Daniel spun him in a circle.

Andrew couldn't stop laughing. "Oh my god, I'm going to pass out and my last words will be, 'It feels like a perfect night to make fun of our exes.'"

"Beautiful. Put it on your gravestone."

They bounced in place, singing every word—badly, loudly, proudly.

But then something shifted.

Not in the song, not in the crowd—but in Andrew's head. A sudden thought, bubbling up right as Taylor hit the bridge.

He wasn't twenty-two. He was eighteen.

And yet, something about the song was resonating in a way that made his chest ache a little—in a good way. A hopeful kind of ache.

He leaned closer to Daniel, still singing but suddenly softer. "You know… I think I get why this song hits so hard."

Daniel, mid-dance, blinked. "Because we're fabulous and emotionally fragile?"

"That, yes," Andrew said with a grin. "But also… I'm not twenty-two. I'm not even close. But when I think about everything ahead… college, jobs, maybe traveling, maybe screwing up, maybe falling in love…"

Daniel raised a brow. "Maybe? You've definitely already done some of those."

Andrew shrugged. "Okay, fair. But I don't know. When I hear this song, I feel like it's less about the age and more about the idea."

Daniel tilted his head. "Idea?"

Andrew nodded. "The idea that things are messy and new and that it's okay to not have a clue what the future looks like. Because right now, we're alive. And dancing. And laughing. And that counts for something."

Daniel looked at him for a long moment.

Then, grinning: "Dude. That was the most aggressively poetic thing you've ever said."

"I blame the Taylor."

"You're the Taylor."

They laughed.

And then Daniel said, "I am twenty, technically. So I guess I'm closer to this song's namesake than you."

"Oh wow," Andrew smirked. "Should I start calling you Grandpa?"

"Watch it, cardigan boy."

They danced again. They shouted again.

Then Daniel said, breathless, "You know what else this song makes me think about?"

Andrew, mid-headbang: "What?"

"My future plans," Daniel said casually.

Andrew blinked. "You have plans?"

"I have vibes," Daniel clarified. "But also yeah. I think about it sometimes. Future me. And you."

Andrew's eyes softened. "Me?"

"Yeah. Like… us. Still being close. Still hanging out. Maybe not dancing in sequin-filled bars every week—though I won't rule it out—but like… in each other's lives. For real."

Andrew's heart did something weird. Good, but weird.

He smiled. "I think about that too."

Daniel bumped their shoulders. "So maybe we're not twenty-two. But we're feeling twenty-two. And maybe someday, when we are actually twenty-two, we'll be looking back at tonight like, 'Wow, we really peaked emotionally in a bar themed around a woman who writes breakup songs.'"

Andrew snorted. "Speak for yourself. I plan to peak at least three more times."

"Optimistic."

"Delusional."

"Romantic," Daniel said.

Andrew turned to him. "You calling me a romantic now?"

"I'm calling you a guy who sings Enchanted like it's a wedding vow."

Andrew flushed. "Shut up."

"Never."

They jumped into the final chorus.

"I don't know about you / But I'm feeling 22…"

The room shook. People screamed. Confetti cannons went off. Daniel did the sprinkler for reasons he couldn't explain. Andrew fist-pumped so hard he hit someone's cardboard cutout of Taylor in the head and apologized profusely.

And when the song ended—really ended—the crowd gave one last cheer. One last scream.

And then silence.

The kind of silence that says, We were here.

Andrew and Daniel stood, catching their breath.

Glitter in their hair. Heartbeats loud.

And a thousand future versions of themselves dancing in their heads.

Daniel looked over. "You know what?"

"What?"

"This was the best night of my life."

Andrew smiled. "Same."

"Let's remember it when we're old and twenty-five."

Andrew laughed. "Deal."

And hand in hand, they walked out of The Wandering Owl.

Into the morning.

Into whatever came next.

Still not twenty-two.

But feeling every single beautiful, ridiculous, unforgettable second of it.