It started with a DM.
> Marco đș:
Yo, got a big living room.
Wanna run ballroom stuff here? No distractions. Just music + us. đ
Friday? 8pm?
Lena stared at the message longer than she needed to.
Her heart thudded once. Then again.
> Lena đ:
Only if you're serious about practicing.
And not just showing off that LED lighting you bragged about.
> Marco đș:
I make no promises. đ
See you at 8.
She showed up in a grey zip hoodie, black tank underneath, leggings, and sneakers. Nothing fancy. Still, when Marco opened the door and saw herâhair down, glasses slightly fogged from the walkâhe blinked.
"You look like trouble," he said, stepping aside to let her in.
"You look like someone who forgot to move the couch," she shot back, eyeing the space.
He laughed, already pulling it aside with one arm. The lights overhead were dimmed to a soft warm tone, the LED strip under the TV glowing faint purple. Music played softly from a speaker.
Lena looked around. "So this is where the magic happens?"
Marco raised a brow. "Depends on your definition of magic."
He held out a hand. "Shall we?"
They started dancing like they always did: smooth, coordinated, just a little playful. But there was no Ms. Vicky yelling counts, no classmates stumbling, no harsh lighting. It was them. In rhythm. In sync.
Her hand fit easily into his. His other handâsteadier than everâfound its place on her waist.
Except this time⊠it didn't feel like just practice.
"You're holding me tighter than usual," Lena whispered, half-challenging.
Marco leaned closer, voice low. "You're not complaining."
She didn't.
She couldn't
Because as they turned, the music swelledâa slower number, full of strings and longingâand suddenly, she was facing him, chest to chest, her hand on his shoulder, his on her lower back. They stopped moving. Just breathing.
Their eyes locked.
"You good?" he asked, voice almost a whisper, searching her face
Lena slowly, but her voice came out quieter than expected. "Yeah. Just... didn't expect this to feel so..."
"Close?" he finished, his thumb brushing her side gently.
"Yeah."
For a few seconds, neither of them moved. The track played on.
Then he stepped backânot far, just enoughâand offered his hand again.
"One more time?" he asked.
She took it without hesitation.
This time, they danced differently.
Her hip brushed his hand with each step. His fingertips sometimes slipped a little too low, then returned to proper formâlike he wasn't sure if he should risk it.
At one point, during a slow spin, her hair fanned out and caught on his shoulder. She didn't fix it. He didn't either.
When the dip came, he held her thereâlower than usual, slower, his eyes on her lips.
They were so close she could feel his breath. His heartbeat.
Neither of them moved.
"I think we're past just practice now," she whispered, barely.
Marco exhaled softly. "I think we passed that the moment you walked in."
Her lips curled into a half-smile.
He leaned in.
And this time, the kiss wasn't shy.