There’s something undeniably intimate about having that perfect dance. The moment when you realize you no longer have to worry about footwork or styling or reading his signals because it’s all there. Every shift, every lean, every breath is exactly where you knew, deep down, it would be. Had to be. The two of you are moving together, feeling the music course through your veins and out through every point where you touch. The brush of a leg or finger or breath against skin. The roll of a head or back or hips. Connections flow into connections and still the music pumps with your heart, strong and sure and forever. Until the song ends, the final notes settling into your skin and lungs with a finality that you only begin to feel when you release the end pose. The tension between you fades, hands drop away, and breath comes at its own pace. No one in the room knows him in the way you do at this moment, yet it is slipping away even as you slow your breaths to hold on to it for a little while longer. Thanks, you manage, and although it’s hopelessly inadequate, you know he understands.