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The house is already loud when Dani Lopez pushes through the front door, the kind of loud that feels warm instead of overwhelming—music pulsing through the walls, voices layered over each other, someone laughing hard enough in the kitchen that it carries into the hallway. She pauses just long enough to take it in, one hand still on the doorframe while the room shifts around her in motion and color. A party with this many familiar faces always lands somewhere between chaos and comfort, and Dani grins before she’s even fully inside, because that middle space is exactly where she likes to live. Somewhere near the couch Kourtney Greene is already dancing with a drink in her hand while Carlos Rodriguez tries to turn the living room into a stage, and Dani lifts her voice over the music as she walks in. “Okay, if this turns into a full choreographed number before I even get a drink, I’m leaving.”
Carlos whips around immediately, scandalized in the theatrical way that means he’s thrilled. “You’re not leaving. You’re late.” He gestures dramatically at the room like it’s proof of something. “We’ve already established a vibe.”
“The vibe,” Dani says, laughing as someone presses a cup into her hand, “looks suspiciously like you stealing the aux cord again.”
“It was necessary,” Ashlyn Caswell calls from the arm of the couch, pointing accusingly toward him with the neck of a bottle. “He tried to put on a Broadway cast recording.”
Carlos looks offended. “It was thematic.”
Dani takes a sip from the cup without even asking what’s in it, already drifting further into the room while the music thumps through the floorboards under her shoes. She catches sight of Ricky Bowen leaning against the far wall with Gina Porter, both of them watching the chaos with the amused detachment of people who know exactly how these nights go. Somewhere near the kitchen doorway Connor Stevens is arguing with Luke McCoy about whether the playlist has gotten worse or better, while Jai Malya lounges across the back of a chair like he’s judging the whole thing. The house feels packed in the best way, everyone spilling into each other’s space without thinking about it.
And then Dani spots Gabby Lewis near the kitchen counter.
She doesn’t realize she’s already walking that direction until she’s halfway across the room.
Gabby is leaning one shoulder against the counter with a cup in her hand, listening to something Hanna Romero is saying with the kind of quiet focus she always carries, like the noise around her doesn’t quite pull her off balance the way it does everyone else. When she notices Dani approaching, her mouth curves automatically into that small, familiar smile that always feels a little steadier than the rest of the room.
“You made it,” Gabby says as Dani slides up beside her, voice warm but calm in contrast to the music.
“Obviously,” Dani replies, bumping her shoulder lightly against Gabby’s arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “If I missed a party this chaotic, my reputation would never recover.”
Gabby glances down at Dani’s cup, then back at her with a faint lift of one eyebrow. “How many of those have you had?”
Dani lifts the cup in mild offense. “Excuse you. I just got here.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Wow,” Dani says, shaking her head as she takes another sip anyway. “You sound like a concerned guidance counselor.”
Gabby huffs a quiet laugh, the sound nearly lost under the music. “Someone has to keep track of you.”
“I’m extremely trackable,” Dani insists, though she’s already drifting closer as the conversation around them shifts and people brush past in the narrow kitchen space. “I’m literally right here.”
Gabby says nothing to that, just reaches out after a moment to take Dani’s cup when she sets it down on the counter and disappears briefly toward the sink. Dani barely notices until the cup reappears in her hand again, and she takes another drink automatically before narrowing her eyes slightly.
“Did you just refill this?”
“Maybe.”
“It tastes like water.”
Gabby shrugs one shoulder, unapologetic. “Hydration.”
Dani stares at her for a second like she might argue, then laughs instead, the sound easy and bright as the song changes again and the room erupts in a new wave of singing. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Gabby says mildly, “you’re still drinking it.”
Dani takes another sip just to prove a point she hasn’t fully decided on yet, then turns as Kourtney suddenly grabs her wrist and yanks her toward the center of the living room where half the group is already dancing with absolutely no coordination whatsoever. The music is loud enough that the lyrics blur together under the shouting voices in the room, and Dani lets herself fall into the movement easily, spinning once under Kourtney’s arm while Carlos cheers like they’ve just started a full performance number. Someone bumps into her shoulder, someone else laughs, and for a while the night is just noise and music and the bright, messy joy of being surrounded by people who don’t expect anything from her except participation.
Every once in a while she glances toward the kitchen without quite meaning to.
Gabby is still there, talking with Connor now, watching the room with that same quiet steadiness.
When Dani catches her eye across the space, Gabby lifts her cup slightly in a small, almost private toast.
Dani grins back without thinking, already feeling the night settling into something loose and electric around her, the edges of everything just soft enough that the music feels bigger and the laughter carries a little further. Somewhere deep in the playlist another song begins to build under the chatter of the room, the opening synth notes threading into the air while people shout over each other trying to guess what it is.
Dani tilts her head slightly, recognition flickering across her face before the chorus even hits.
“Oh my god,” she laughs suddenly, turning back toward the room like she’s just been personally challenged by the universe. “No way.”
The recognition spreads through the room a half second after Dani says it, the opening synth line of Don't You Want Me threading through the speakers while people shout over each other in delayed excitement. Someone near the couch yells the first lyric too early, someone else groans dramatically, and Dani laughs like the entire situation is personally delightful, turning in a slow circle as the chorus builds.
“Oh my god, this song,” she says, already pointing toward the speakers like she’s accusing them of something. “Who put this on?”
Carlos raises both hands immediately, proud and unapologetic. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Dani says, though she’s grinning when she says it, the music already pulling her into the rhythm. She takes another sip from the cup in her hand without thinking and feels the warmth of the room press in around her—the bass vibrating through the floorboards, voices rising over the beat, bodies shifting closer together in that loose, collective motion that always happens when everyone recognizes the same song at once.
Someone starts singing the first verse loudly and badly.
Dani laughs again.
Then she looks at the coffee table in front of the couch.
It happens the way a lot of Dani’s decisions do—quickly, brightly, with absolutely no warning to anyone else in the room. One second she’s standing on the floor, the next she’s stepping onto the edge of the table with the easy confidence of someone who has decided this is the correct stage for the moment.
“Dani—” Kourtney starts, but she’s already laughing.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Ashlyn says, delighted.
Carlos claps once like a stage manager calling for attention. “Yes. Yes. This is correct.”
Dani straightens to her full height on the table, arms spread slightly as the chorus finally hits, and the room erupts into cheers like this was always the inevitable outcome of the night. Her balance is better than it should be considering the circumstances, but Dani has always moved through space with the kind of physical confidence that makes risky decisions look intentional.
“Don’t you want me, baby,” she sings dramatically, pointing out into the room like the lyric is directed at all of them.
The response is immediate chaos.
Kourtney shouts the next line from the floor. Carlos is nearly doubled over laughing while still trying to sing along. Someone near the kitchen whistles loudly enough to cut through the music, and Dani leans fully into it, sweeping one hand through the air like she’s conducting the entire crowd.
She’s not trying to sound perfect. The notes are exaggerated, playful, her voice half singing and half laughing as she leans into the theatrical drama of the song.
For a minute it’s just ridiculous fun.
Then Dani turns.
Across the room, leaning near the kitchen counter with one shoulder against the wall, Gabby is watching the whole thing with a look that’s somewhere between amusement and quiet disbelief.
The second Dani notices her, her grin shifts.
“Oh no,” someone near the couch murmurs.
Dani lifts one arm and points directly at her.
“Don’t you want me, baby,” she sings again, louder this time, the line suddenly aimed across the room like it’s a challenge.
The reaction is instant.
The room explodes into laughter and shouting, Kourtney clutching Ashlyn’s arm like she might collapse while Carlos yells something unintelligible about commitment to the bit.
Gabby just shakes her head once, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, but Dani can see the way her shoulders have straightened slightly, attention narrowing in a way that has nothing to do with the music.
“Gabrielle!” Dani calls over the chorus, half laughing, half demanding. “You’re supposed to sing this part!”
Someone behind her nearly falls off the couch laughing.
Gabby lifts her cup in a slow, unbothered toast instead of moving closer, her voice calm when she answers. “You seem to have it handled.”
Dani laughs so hard she almost misses the next lyric, swiping at the corner of one eye like something there is briefly inconvenient. The room keeps singing with her, voices overlapping wildly while she leans into the rhythm, pacing two steps across the table like it’s a stage built specifically for this moment.
By the second chorus her hair is falling loose around her face and her voice has gone rough at the edges from laughing.
But she keeps singing.
Every time the chorus comes around she points across the room again.
Every time.
The third time it happens, Dani’s voice cracks halfway through the lyric and she stops for a second, laughing breathlessly as she presses the back of her wrist under one eye.
“Oh my god,” she says to no one in particular, still smiling even as her voice wobbles slightly. “Why is this song so emotional?”
“That’s not the song,” Carlos shouts.
Dani waves him off with exaggerated dignity.
“Silence,” she declares, though the word dissolves into another laugh.
For a second she just stands there on the table, breathing a little harder now, the music still pulsing through the room while everyone waits to see what she does next.
Her gaze drifts across the crowd again.
It lands on Gabby.
And something about the way Dani looks at her shifts, just slightly, the humor still there but softer now, threaded with something that catches unexpectedly in her chest.
“You make this very confusing,” Dani says suddenly, voice quieter but still carrying over the music.
Someone whistles again from the couch.
Dani laughs at that too, shaking her head as if she’s the only one who understands the joke. “I’m serious,” she adds, though the words tumble over themselves a little now. “You’re the only one in this room who looks at me like I’m being ridiculous and still doesn’t leave.”
The room quiets a fraction without anyone quite deciding to.
Dani blinks hard once, the motion quick and impatient, and then she laughs again like the whole moment is absurd.
“Anyway,” she says brightly, pointing across the room one more time as the chorus swells again, “don’t you want me, baby.”
The chorus rolls through the room one more time, voices piling on top of each other in a messy, enthusiastic wave while the song barrels toward the end. Dani finishes the last line with a dramatic sweep of her arm like she’s closing out a full concert instead of standing on someone’s living room table, and the crowd erupts immediately—cheering, laughing, clapping in that half-mocking, half-impressed way that only happens when everyone has collectively committed to the bit.
Dani bows.
It’s exaggerated, theatrical, and she almost loses her balance halfway through it, which makes the cheering louder.
“Okay, okay,” she says, breathless now, pushing her hair back from her face while the last notes of Don't You Want Me fade out of the speakers. “You’re welcome for that performance.”
“Girl,Get down before you die,” Kourtney calls up at her, though she’s laughing when she says it.
“Don’t ruin my moment,” Dani protests, placing one hand dramatically over her heart like she’s been personally wounded by the suggestion.
“Your moment is a liability,” Carlos says from the couch, already digging his phone out of his pocket again like he’s reviewing evidence.
Dani squints down at him. “If you filmed that—”
“Oh, I absolutely filmed that.”
She groans immediately, dropping her head back for a second. “Carlos.”
“It’s archival material,” he says cheerfully.
Dani laughs despite herself, shaking her head as she crouches slightly on the table, preparing to step down. The movement is slower now, the adrenaline from the performance bleeding off just enough that the room feels a little brighter, a little louder than it did five minutes ago. When she straightens again the edges of the night feel softer somehow, the music shifting into the background while conversations start up again around the room.
She takes one step toward the edge of the table.
Then pauses.
For a second the floor tilts slightly under her feet—not dramatically, just enough that her balance stutters. Dani blinks hard, like she can reset it by sheer force of will.
“Okay,” she mutters to herself, amused more than worried. “That’s new.”
Someone reaches up automatically, steadying her elbow before she can misjudge the distance to the floor. Dani glances down and finds Gabby standing there now, one hand resting lightly against her arm, expression calm in the way that makes everything else in the room feel briefly less chaotic.
“You good?” Gabby asks.
Dani considers that question very seriously for half a second.
“I’m incredible,” she decides.
Gabby’s mouth twitches slightly like she’s trying not to laugh. “That wasn’t the question.”
Dani hops down from the table anyway, landing closer to Gabby than she planned, and the motion sends a brief rush of warmth through her chest that makes the room sway again in a softer, slower way.
“Oh,” she says faintly.
Gabby’s hand is still resting against her arm, steady but not gripping, like she’s there just in case.
Dani looks at her for a second longer than necessary.
Then she laughs again, though it comes out a little thinner this time.
“Wow,” she says, pressing one hand lightly to her forehead. “Okay. I think the room might be spinning.”
“Shocking,” Gabby says dryly.
Dani tries to roll her eyes but it comes out more like a tired blink. “I’ve had, like, two drinks.”
Gabby glances toward the kitchen counter where Dani’s cup is still sitting.
“One and a half,” she corrects mildly. “And the last one was water.”
Dani squints at her.
“You sabotaged me.”
“Hydrated you.”
“Sabotaged,” Dani insists, though the word dissolves into a laugh again before she can put any real conviction behind it. The warmth in her chest has shifted into something softer now, the adrenaline finally draining out of her system all at once. She presses the heel of her hand briefly against her eye, rubbing away the lingering sting there like it’s nothing.
“You’re crying,” someone near the couch announces helpfully.
Dani freezes.
“I am not,” she says immediately, even though her voice wobbles just slightly.
“Yes you are,” Ashlyn says gently, not unkindly.
Dani swipes quickly at the corner of her eye with the back of her wrist. “That’s—okay, first of all, rude.”
“Are you okay?” Kourtney asks, stepping closer now.
“I’m fine,” Dani insists, though the word comes out softer this time. She laughs again, shaking her head like the whole thing is mildly ridiculous. “I just—this song made me emotional, apparently.”
“That’s still not the song,” Carlos says.
Dani points vaguely in his direction without looking.
“Silence.”
The room chuckles quietly, the tension easing again around the edges, but Dani doesn’t move right away. She’s still standing there near the center of the living room, breathing a little too carefully now while the warmth in her chest turns heavier than it should be.
Gabby is still beside her.
Dani glances sideways at her, the motion slow.
“You make this worse, you know,” she says quietly.
Gabby tilts her head slightly. “How.”
Dani exhales a soft, tired laugh.
“Because you’re being calm about it,” she says. “That’s very inconvenient.”
Gabby studies her face for a moment, then gently nudges Dani’s elbow toward the hallway.
“Come on,” she says.
Dani doesn’t argue. She lets herself be steered out of the living room while the party continues behind them—music swelling again, voices rising back into laughter and conversation like nothing unusual just happened. The hallway is dimmer, quieter, and Dani presses one hand against the wall for a second as the shift in space makes her stomach twist slightly.
“Oh,” she says faintly again.
Gabby is already opening the bathroom door.
“Yeah,” she says calmly. “That’s what I thought.”
The bathroom light is brighter than the hallway, the sudden glare making Dani wince as soon as she steps inside. For a second she just stands there near the sink, one hand braced against the counter like the floor has shifted a few inches to the left without telling her. The music from the living room is still thumping faintly through the walls, muffled now by distance, and the quiet in here feels strange after the roar of voices she just stepped out of.
“Okay,” Dani says softly to no one in particular, pressing her fingers to her temple. “That’s… definitely happening.”
Behind her, Gabby pushes the door closed with her foot. The click of the latch is gentle, deliberate, like she’s sealing the room off from the rest of the night without making a production out of it.
“You’re going to be okay,” Gabby says, voice even.
Dani lets out a weak laugh at that, leaning both hands against the counter now as she stares down into the sink. “That sounds suspiciously like something people say when someone is not, in fact, okay.”
Gabby moves closer, already pulling Dani’s hair back away from her face with quick, practiced movements. “It’s also something people say when they’re about to hand someone a trash can.”
“Great,” Dani mutters.
The next moment proves Gabby right.
Dani barely has time to turn before the nausea catches up with her, sharp and unavoidable, and she bends forward with a groan that echoes faintly against the tile. The moment itself is messy and unpleasant in the quiet, unavoidable way that getting sick always is, but Gabby stays exactly where she is—one hand steady against Dani’s shoulder, the other holding her hair out of the way, patient and unbothered like this is simply part of the night.
When it finally passes, Dani sags back against the counter with a long, exhausted breath.
“Oh my god,” she says hoarsely. “I’m ruining everything.”
“You’re not,” Gabby answers immediately.
Dani wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, still breathing carefully like she doesn’t quite trust her stomach yet. “I literally just threw up in someone’s bathroom.”
“Connor’s bathroom,” Gabby says. “He’ll survive.”
Dani lets out a weak huff of laughter that turns into a quiet sigh. The adrenaline from the living room is gone now, leaving her feeling wrung out and oddly fragile in a way she doesn’t usually let herself be.
“Okay,” she murmurs, blinking slowly as she sinks down to sit on the cool tile floor with her back against the cabinet. “Maybe I’m a little not okay.”
Gabby crouches beside her without hesitation, reaching up to grab a washcloth from the sink. She runs it under cold water before pressing it gently into Dani’s hand.
“Here,” she says.
Dani holds the cloth against the back of her neck with a grateful groan, eyes falling closed for a moment. The coolness seeps into her skin slowly, grounding her just enough that the room stops tilting quite so much.
For a minute neither of them speaks.
The muffled bass from the living room pulses faintly through the walls while Dani breathes in slow, careful rhythms, the aftermath of the night settling around her like a heavy blanket. When she finally opens her eyes again, Gabby is still sitting there beside her, one knee pulled up loosely, watching her with the same quiet steadiness she had in the kitchen earlier.
Dani squints at her slightly.
“You’re being very calm about this,” she says.
Gabby shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not my first party.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Gabby waits.
Dani stares down at the damp cloth in her hands, turning it slowly between her fingers like she’s working something out in her head.
“I said a lot of things out there,” she admits finally.
Gabby’s expression doesn’t change. “You sang a lot of things.”
Dani huffs softly. “That too.”
For a moment she looks like she might laugh it off again, brush past it the way she usually does when things get too close to the surface. Instead her voice drops a little quieter.
“I wasn’t joking,” she says.
Gabby’s gaze sharpens slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.
Dani presses the cloth briefly to her face, hiding behind it for half a second before lowering it again.
“I mean, I was joking,” she corrects herself quickly. “Obviously. I was standing on a table performing eighties karaoke like a lunatic.”
Gabby’s mouth twitches faintly.
“But the part where I said you don’t leave,” Dani continues, voice softer now, “that part wasn’t a joke.”
The words hang in the small bathroom between them, heavier than Dani seems to expect.
She swallows once, looking suddenly embarrassed by her own honesty.
“Please don’t pretend I didn’t mean any of that,” she says quietly. “Tomorrow. Or later. Or whenever we’re pretending this never happened.”
Gabby studies her face for a long moment, something thoughtful moving behind her eyes.
“I’m not pretending anything,” she says finally.
Dani lets out a slow breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“Good,” she murmurs, leaning her head back against the cabinet behind her. The cool tile presses pleasantly against her spine now, exhaustion settling into her bones in a way that makes her limbs feel heavy and slow.
After a minute she glances sideways again.
“You’re still here,” she says.
Gabby raises an eyebrow slightly. “You seem surprised.”
“I’m not,” Dani says quickly. Then, after a beat, she adds in a quieter voice, “I just like confirming things.”
The quiet in the bathroom stretches gently after that, the kind of stillness that settles once the worst part of the night has passed. The music from the living room continues somewhere on the other side of the wall—voices rising, someone shouting along to a different song now—but in here it feels distant, like the party belongs to another part of the evening entirely. Dani leans her head back against the cabinet, the cool tile steady against her shoulders, and lets her eyes fall closed again for a moment while she breathes in slow, careful rhythms.
“You look better,” Gabby says after a while.
Dani opens one eye slightly, studying her from the floor. “That’s generous.”
“It’s accurate.”
Dani hums faintly at that, turning the damp cloth over once more in her hands before letting it drop loosely into her lap. The nausea has faded into something dull and manageable now, leaving behind the heavier weight of exhaustion instead. She exhales slowly.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “Maybe I’m not dying.”
“That was never on the table,” Gabby replies.
Dani smiles faintly at the phrasing before the words catch up with her and she groans softly, covering her face with one hand. “Oh my god.”
“What.”
“The table,” Dani says through her fingers. “I forgot about the table.”
Gabby’s mouth curves just slightly. “You stood on it.”
“I performed on it,” Dani corrects weakly, peeking at her through the space between her fingers. “There’s a difference.”
Gabby tilts her head. “You sang one song.”
“With emotional commitment,” Dani insists.
“That part was clear.”
Dani lets her hand fall away from her face again, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of mercy. The memory of the room cheering, the music blasting through the speakers, the moment she pointed across the living room flashes through her mind again with uncomfortable clarity.
“Oh no,” she says quietly.
Gabby watches her. “What.”
“I remember most of it,” Dani admits.
“That’s not unusual.”
“I remember pointing at you.”
Gabby doesn’t look surprised.
Dani rubs the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I remember saying your name.”
Gabby leans back slightly against the opposite cabinet, arms loosely folded now, considering her.
“You did,” she confirms.
Dani exhales slowly, half laughing at herself. “Amazing. Fantastic. Really thrilled about that.”
Gabby doesn’t rush to fill the silence that follows. She just sits there with the same steady attention she’s had all night, letting Dani circle around the thought in her own time.
Eventually Dani lowers her hand and looks at her again.
“You didn’t run away,” she says.
“No.”
“That seems like a poor strategic choice on your part.”
Gabby shrugs slightly. “You were standing on furniture.”
“That’s fair.”
For a moment Dani just watches her, the corner of her mouth lifting faintly despite the lingering embarrassment still threading through her chest. The quiet stretches comfortably between them, the kind of pause that doesn’t demand anything.
Her eyelids start to feel heavy again.
“Hey,” Dani says softly after a minute, voice drifting a little slower now. “If I pass out on this bathroom floor, that’s going to be extremely embarrassing.”
Gabby studies her face for a second. “You’re not passing out on the floor.”
“That’s good,” Dani murmurs, already sounding less certain. “Because I would hate for Connor to remember me that way.”
Gabby pushes herself up from the floor and offers Dani a hand.
“Come on.”
Dani looks at it for a second like the concept of standing up again is a complicated one, but she takes the hand anyway. Gabby pulls her gently to her feet, steadying her when the room tilts again for half a heartbeat.
“Okay,” Dani mutters, leaning lightly against her shoulder while she gets her balance back. “Still spinning.”
“It’ll pass.”
Gabby guides her slowly out of the bathroom and down the hallway toward the quieter part of the house. The noise from the living room swells briefly when they pass the doorway—Kourtney laughing loudly, Carlos arguing about something with Jai—but no one stops them, the movement understood without needing explanation.
At the far end of the hall there’s a small guest room with the door already half open.
Gabby nudges it wider with her foot.
“Sit,” she says gently.
Dani obeys immediately, dropping onto the edge of the bed with a tired sigh before slowly easing herself back against the pillows. The mattress dips softly under her weight and the room spins once more before finally settling into place.
“Oh,” she breathes.
Gabby sits down on the edge of the bed beside her.
For a moment Dani just stares at the ceiling again, blinking slowly as the quiet of the room wraps around her.
Then she turns her head slightly.
“You’re still here,” she says again, voice softer this time.
Gabby glances down at her. “You keep checking.”
Dani gives a faint, sleepy smile.
“I like confirming things,” she murmurs.
Her eyes slip closed a moment later, the tension finally draining from her shoulders as sleep edges closer. Gabby stays where she is, sitting quietly beside the bed while the sounds of the party drift faintly through the walls.
After a while Dani’s breathing evens out completely.
Gabby waits another minute, just to be sure.
Then she reaches over and pulls the blanket gently up over Dani’s shoulder before standing and slipping quietly out of the room, closing the door behind her without a sound.
Morning arrives slowly, the kind of gray, patient light that seeps through the curtains before anyone in the house is ready for it. The party has burned itself out sometime in the early hours, leaving behind the quiet aftermath of scattered cups, empty bottles on the kitchen counter, and a living room that looks like it hosted a small but enthusiastic tornado. Somewhere down the hallway a cabinet closes with a dull thud, followed by the low murmur of voices that sound much too awake for the hour.
In the guest room, Dani wakes up slowly, the dull throb behind her eyes arriving before the memory of where she is. She keeps them closed for a second longer, one arm thrown loosely over her stomach while she takes inventory of the situation in cautious silence. Her mouth tastes faintly like mint and regret. The room is unfamiliar enough that it takes her another moment to remember why.
“Oh,” she murmurs quietly.
The table.
The song.
The bathroom.
Her eyes open.
The ceiling comes back into focus above her, and Dani groans softly, dragging one hand down over her face while the rest of the night returns in uncomfortable clarity. Not all of it—thankfully—but enough that she remembers the shape of the evening, the laughter and the music and the moment she pointed across the room like the lyrics had personally accused someone.
“Fantastic,” she mutters to the empty room.
Down the hall someone laughs loudly enough to echo through the doorway.
Dani rolls onto her side and stares at the wall for another minute before pushing herself upright with a careful breath. Her head protests immediately, but the nausea from last night has settled into something dull and manageable. She swings her feet onto the floor and sits there for a moment, elbows on her knees while she gathers the patience required to stand.
Eventually she shuffles toward the hallway.
The kitchen smells like coffee and something aggressively savory. When Dani rounds the corner she finds most of the group already gathered around the table in varying states of exhaustion. Connor is leaning against the counter with a mug in his hand, Luke is halfway through a piece of toast, and Hanna looks suspiciously functional for someone who stayed at the same party.
At the counter, Jai is calmly pouring tomato juice into a tall glass.
Across the table Kourtney stares at him like he’s committed a personal offense.
“Are you kidding me?” she says flatly. “The last thing I want to do right now is drink.”
Jai glances up without looking remotely bothered. “It’s not drinking.”
Kourtney gestures vaguely at the glass in his hand. “That is literally a drink.”
“It’s medicinal,” Jai replies, adding a careful shake of seasoning before sliding the glass across the counter. “Bloody Mary. Classic hangover cure.”
From the other side of the room Carlos lifts his head from where he’s slumped against the table. “That sounds fake.”
“It’s science,” Jai says.
“It’s tomato juice,” Kourtney counters.
Dani appears in the doorway just in time to hear that part.
“What’s tomato juice?” she asks hoarsely.
The entire table turns toward her at once.
“Oh,” Carlos says immediately, brightening. “Good morning, superstar.”
Dani freezes halfway into the kitchen. “Don’t.”
Kourtney presses her lips together like she’s trying not to smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I sang on furniture,” Dani mutters.
Connor lifts his mug slightly in acknowledgment. “You did.”
Dani closes her eyes for a brief second.
Jai slides the Bloody Mary across the counter toward her instead. “Here.”
Dani eyes the glass suspiciously. “Is that going to kill me?”
“It’s supposed to help your hangover,” Jai says.
Kourtney gestures dramatically at him. “That’s what he claims.”
Dani considers the glass for a moment before picking it up and taking a cautious sip.
The reaction is immediate confusion.
“Why is this… not terrible?” she asks.
“Because I’m good at things,” Jai replies.
Dani hums thoughtfully and takes another sip before drifting toward the table, lowering herself into the nearest chair with the careful movements of someone negotiating with gravity.
For a minute the conversation moves around her—toast, coffee, vague complaints about the volume of last night’s playlist—until Carlos suddenly sits up straighter like he’s remembered something important.
“Oh!” he says, already reaching for his phone.
Dani squints at him.
“No.”
Carlos grins.
“For historical purposes,” he explains, tapping the screen.
Before Dani can stop him the sound fills the kitchen.
A muffled blast of music, cheering voices, and then her own voice—loud, dramatic, unmistakable.
On the screen, Dani stands on the coffee table in the living room, hair loose around her shoulders while she sings Don't You Want Me like the room is her personal stage.
Kourtney immediately leans over Carlos’s shoulder to watch again.
“Oh my god,” she laughs.
Dani covers her face with both hands.
“Delete that immediately.”
“No Way,” Carlos says.
On the video Dani reaches the chorus and points straight across the room.
Toward Gabby
Even through her fingers Dani can hear herself shout over the music.
“Gabrielle, you’re supposed to sing this part!”
The kitchen explodes with laughter.
Dani slowly lowers her hands and stares at the phone in stunned horror.
“I don’t even know how I know that song,” she says faintly. “It’s like fifty years old or something.”
“Eighties,” Luke corrects helpfully.
“That’s basically fifty,” Dani mutters.
She takes another long sip of the Bloody Mary while the video loops again in Carlos’s hand, the sound of her own voice echoing through the kitchen while everyone around the table laughs.
Across the room, Gabby just watches her quietly over the rim of her coffee mug.
Not laughing the loudest.
Just watching.
The kitchen eventually settles back into conversation, the burst of laughter fading into smaller pockets of noise as people drift toward coffee refills or the promise of real food. Someone opens a window, letting cool morning air slip into the room and carry away the stale warmth left from the night before. Carlos is still arguing with Kourtney about whether the video counts as “cultural preservation,” while Jai calmly assembles another Bloody Mary like he’s hosting a brunch instead of the aftermath of a house party.
At the table, Dani stares into her glass like it might contain answers she hasn’t decided she wants yet. The tomato juice mixture is surprisingly good—sharp, salty, grounding in a way that makes the dull throb behind her eyes ease a little. She takes another slow sip and listens to the conversation swirl around her without really following it, pieces of last night threading through her memory in fragments.
The music.
The table.
Pointing across the room.
Gabrielle.
Dani exhales quietly and presses the heel of her hand against her temple again.
Eventually the noise of the kitchen shifts as people start moving out in small groups—Connor disappearing to hunt down more coffee filters, Luke following him toward the pantry, Kourtney dragging Carlos into the living room to continue their argument about deleting the video. The movement breaks the room apart piece by piece until the table feels suddenly wider than it did a minute ago.
When Dani looks up again, Gabby is still sitting across from her.
The quiet that settles between them is different from the kitchen noise—less awkward, more attentive. Dani studies the rim of her glass for a moment before setting it down carefully on the table.
“Okay,” she says finally, her voice still a little rough from sleep and last night’s singing. “Hypothetically speaking.”
Gabby raises an eyebrow slightly.
“If someone,” Dani continues, leaning back in her chair while she gestures vaguely with one hand, “had climbed onto a table and serenaded an entire room with a song from the eighties—”
“Eighties,” Gabby repeats mildly.
“—which is ancient,” Dani insists. “If someone had done that and pointed at you like a karaoke prophet having a spiritual experience, how embarrassing would that be on a scale from one to moving to another country?”
Gabby doesn’t answer right away.
She leans back in her chair instead, one arm resting loosely against the table while she considers Dani with the same quiet focus she’s had since last night.
“I didn’t think it was embarrassing,” she says eventually.
Dani blinks.
“That feels incorrect.”
“You were drunk,” Gabby continues calmly. “You were dramatic. You were standing on furniture for reasons that still aren’t entirely clear.”
“Art,” Dani mutters.
“But you weren’t lying.”
The words land gently but they still manage to knock something loose in Dani’s chest.
She looks away automatically, eyes drifting toward the window where the morning light is cutting across the kitchen floor in pale stripes.
“I cry when I’m drunk,” she says after a moment, the corner of her mouth twisting faintly. “That shouldn’t count as reliable information.”
Gabby tilts her head slightly.
“You cry when you stop pretending you don’t care.”
Dani huffs a quiet laugh at that, rubbing a hand down her face like she might be able to smooth the whole situation away if she tries hard enough. The kitchen is still quiet around them, the house moving slowly into morning without paying much attention to the conversation unfolding at the table.
For a moment she looks like she’s going to make another joke.
Instead she sighs softly and lets her hand drop back to the table.
“I meant what I said,” she admits.
The words come out quieter than she intended.
Gabby doesn’t interrupt.
Dani glances back at her with a small, slightly defensive smile.
“Just maybe with less table choreography next time.”
Gabby’s mouth curves faintly.
“That seems safer.”
Dani nods once, satisfied with that answer, though the warmth lingering under her ribs hasn’t entirely settled yet. Across the house someone starts humming the chorus of Don't You Want Me again, which makes Dani groan softly and drop her forehead onto the table.
“Absolutely not,” she mutters into the wood.
From her chair across the table, Gabby watches her with quiet amusement, the small smile still resting at the corner of her mouth like she’s already decided the night before wasn’t something that needs to be erased.