She hesitated for a second before answering, suddenly aware of how close he was standing.
"Dance," she said finally. "You already know that."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"I wanted to hear you say it."
That made her look up at him.
"You're confident," she said, half-teasing, half-observing.
"I have to be," he replied easily. "Someone here looks like she might run away any second."
She scoffed. "I came all the way here, didn't I?"
"Yes," he said, eyes flicking briefly to her jacket, then back to her face.
"And got lost doing it."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You'll never let that go, will you?"
"Never," he said, without hesitation.
The room felt warmer suddenly.
He moved toward the speaker, playing a random song, not too loud—just enough to fill the silence that had grown dangerous.
"So," he said, turning back to her, "do you dance well?"
She shrugged. "Not really. I just… feel music."
"Good," he said. "That's better than technique."
He stepped closer—not touching, just enough for her to notice. Her breath hitched, and she hated how obvious it felt.
"Relax," he said softly. "I'm not going to eat you."
She raised an eyebrow. "You sound very sure."
He chuckled. "That's because I know my limits."
She wasn't sure she believed him.
He lifted his hand slightly, stopping midway, silently asking permission.
"Can I?"
She nodded, heart racing.
He placed his hand near her shoulder—not on it. Close enough to feel, far enough to control himself.
"Follow me," he said.
They moved slowly, mirroring each other. Her steps were unsure at first, but his presence grounded her. Every time she stumbled, he corrected her gently—with words, not hands.
"You overthink," he murmured.
"I've been told," she replied.
"By me?"
"No. By life."
He smiled at that.
For a moment, their eyes locked. The music faded into background noise.
"You know," he said quietly, "you don't realize how noticeable you are."
Her throat went dry. "You already told me you notice everything."
"Yes," he said. "And you still don't believe me."
She looked away, suddenly shy. "I'm not used to this."
"To what?"
"Being… seen."
His expression softened, but his voice stayed steady.
"I've been seeing you for a long time."
That sentence landed heavier than she expected.
She took a step back, breaking the moment. "So… dance competition," she said quickly. "We should focus."
He tilted his head. "Are you always this good at running?"
She met his gaze again. "Only when I'm scared."
"Of me?"
"Of what this could turn into."
For a second, he said nothing. Then—
"That's fair," he said. "But don't pretend you don't feel it."
Her silence was answer enough.
He moved away, giving her space, but the tension didn't leave—it followed them like a shadow.
"Let's practice," he said, professional again. "We want to win."
She nodded, but her heart whispered the truth:
He wanted the trophy.
She wanted the moments in between.