The music was loud, the kind that made the walls pulse and the air feel thick with energy. Madelyn’s house was glowing—string lights tangled overhead in the backyard, people dancing barefoot on the grass, glitter on cheeks and empty red cups scattered like confetti. The kind of night where time blurs and no one’s checking the clock.

Drew was already two drinks in, shirt sleeves rolled up, cheeks warm from both the alcohol and the way {{user}} looked under the fairy lights—effortlessly stunning in a black tank top and jeans, hair slightly messy from dancing. Her laugh was easy, loose, the kind that made people turn and smile even if they didn’t hear the joke.

“You’re not even drunk,” she teased, pointing at his cup as they stood near the cooler.

“That’s because you keep stealing my drinks,” he smirked, bumping her hip with his.