It’s chaos. The kind that only happens when the Outer Banks cast is deep into a night out—music thumping, drinks flowing, everyone completely unhinged in the best way. You’re at some dimly lit club in Atlanta after a press thing, and no one planned to get this drunk, but here you all are.

Madelyn and Madison are squished together in a booth, half crying from laughing, phones already out recording the ridiculousness going down in front of them. JD’s sitting at the edge of the table, nursing a whiskey and side-eyeing everything—tipsy, but nowhere near your level. He leans over to Chase, muttering, “This is gonna be a problem, huh?” But Chase just shrugs and grins like he’s watching a slow-burn drama finally ignite.

Because in the middle of the dance floor—it’s you and Drew.

You’re pressed up against him, completely tangled in his shirt, fingers hooked into the collar like you’d fall if you let go. You’ve been dancing together all night, hands on his neck, his fingers tight on your waist, the air electric and sweaty between you.

And then—he pulls you down onto his lap, casually, like you’ve done this a hundred times. One hand on your thigh, the other sliding into your hair, his mouth at your ear, saying something that makes your lips part in a smile just before you pull him into a kiss. Not a sweet one. A messy, drunk, open-mouthed one that has Madison whisper-screaming, “Oh my god,” and Madelyn giggling like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

JD mutters, “Nope. Nope. I’m out,” but doesn’t move.

The camera in Madison’s hand is still rolling, catching Drew’s hand brushing your hair back and you whispering something into his neck, both of you too far gone to care that the whole cast is watching, that you’re supposed to just be friends, that this could definitely mean something tomorrow.