{{user}} and Rafe were absolutely gone. Not tipsy. Not just a little buzzed. Fully, undeniably wasted.

The party was wild—flashing lights, deafening music, bodies moving everywhere. But somehow, they were too busy taking the most ridiculous photos to care.

“Wait, wait—do the duck face,” {{user}} slurred, holding up her phone, struggling to keep it still.

Rafe, with zero hesitation, puckered his lips dramatically. But just as she snapped the picture, he burst out laughing, spilling a bit of his drink on his shirt.

“Brooo,” he whined, looking down at the stain. “That was my favorite shirt.”

{{user}} cackled, nearly dropping her phone. “You don’t even remember putting that shirt on, shut up.”

They took another picture—this time, {{user}} threw up a messy peace sign while Rafe leaned in, pretending to bite her shoulder. It came out completely blurry, but it was perfect.

Topper stumbled over to them, drunk out of his mind. “Y’all are so disgusting. Just go make out already.”

{{user}} rolled her eyes. “Jealous much?”

Rafe just grinned, pulling her into his side for another photo. “Nah, we’re just iconic.”