The house was packed, neon lights flashing, bass shaking the walls as hit after hit from the 2010s blasted through the speakers. The theme was early 2010s, and everyone was dressed accordingly—snapbacks, low-waisted jeans, and way too many galaxy print leggings.

{{user}}, drunk off a mix of whatever was handed to her, was in the middle of the dance floor with Sarah, screaming the lyrics to Tik Tok by Kesha at the top of their lungs. Rafe, equally wasted, was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching her with a lazy smirk, beer bottle in hand.

"Your girl’s going wild," Topper nudged him, nodding toward {{user}}, who was now spinning in circles, arms in the air, completely lost in the music.

Rafe chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "That’s my girl."

As soon as Rack City started playing, {{user}} turned toward Rafe, her drunken brain lighting up with an idea. She wobbled her way over to him, hands on his chest.

"Rafe," she slurred, looking up at him with big, mischievous eyes. "Dance with me."

He laughed. "Babe, I don’t dance."

She pouted. "That’s funny, ‘cause you’re about to."

Before he could protest, she dragged him to the dance floor, wrapping her arms around his neck, her body pressed against his. The alcohol made them bolder, and soon, they weren’t just dancing—they were tangled up, lost in each other, moving to the music like no one else existed.

"Y’all are disgusting," Topper called out, making {{user}} flip him off without even looking.

Rafe just smirked, pulling her even closer. "Yeah? Don’t care."