He laughs, that deep, quiet laugh that feels like it starts somewhere in his chest and ends in mine. His fingers lace with mine, and he pulls me closer, guiding me to the center as the music slows to something soft and sweet. The kind of song that feels too intimate for a room this big.
His hand slides around my waist—warm, steady, possessive in the gentlest way—and my breath stumbles. He pulls me closer until I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine, and just like that, the rest of the world disappears.
It's just us.
His heartbeat.
My pulse trying to keep up.
His thumb moves in slow circles against my back, and I swear every nerve in my body turns into static. The scent of his cologne—clean, woodsy, him—wraps around me, dizzying. My head tips slightly toward his shoulder, and for a second, I let myself melt.
No overthinking. No doubts. Just this.
"Did I ever tell you," he murmurs, voice rough enough to make my stomach twist, "that I've imagined this a hundred times?"
My head tilts up to meet his gaze. "You have?"
His grin softens, almost shy. "Yeah. Except every time, you'd disappear before I got to hold you like this."
Something in my chest tightens—pain and warmth tangled together, the kind that makes it hard to breathe. I rest my head lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. It's strong, calming... achingly familiar.
"I used to fantasize about this too," I admit softly, the words muffled against him. "Longer than I can even remember."
His hand stills on my back, just for a second.
"I used to picture it all—the dress, the lights, the music..." I let out a quiet laugh. "You. Always you. And when I didn't get to live that dream three years ago, I thought... that was it. That I'd never get it back."
He exhales, slow and careful, like he's afraid to break the moment.
I pull back just enough to look up at him. His eyes catch the light—silver and soft, shimmering like moonlight reflected on still water—and something about the way he's looking at me makes my throat tighten.
"So... thank you," I whisper. "For this. For recreating our prom night."
A small smile tugs at his lips. "You deserve your fairytale, sugarplum."
"This is the perfect first date," I say, grinning through the lump in my throat. "You officially set the bar way too high for yourself."
He laughs quietly, forehead dipping against mine. "Good. That means I'll have to keep outdoing myself."
"Pretty sure that's impossible."
He smirks, his voice a low murmur. "You'd be surprised what I'll do for you."
My breath catches again, the space between us humming with warmth and something deeper—something that feels like the version of love I used to dream about when I was younger.
The music fades into another slow song, but neither of us moves to leave the floor. His thumb traces slow, lazy circles on my waist, his gaze locked on mine.
And for the first time in forever, it doesn't feel like I'm chasing a memory of what could've been.
It feels like I'm finally living it.
I lift my head from his chest, my voice barely above the music. "You know what's funny?"
He hums, eyes soft. "What?"
"I actually thought our date wasn't happening anymore."
His brows knit, the crease between them deepening. "What? Why would you think that?"
