"He kept every newspaper clipping about you, even made your mom send him your school newsletters. He was proud of the boy you were and the man you're becoming, despite everything. Maybe even because of everything."

Nate's gaze dips to the iPod beside me, and I follow his line of sight.

"You know, this song…" I begin saying, lifting it.

A smirk tugs at his lips. "Let me guess, it's your favorite?"

"How'd you know?" I tease, tilting my head.

"Because I know you." His quiet certainty sends ripples through my soul. When his hand covers mine, warmth radiates from the touch, and my heart stumbles to keep pace with the shifting air between us.

"You know what this song reminds me of?" he asks, voice intimate as a secret.

"What?"

"That time we danced on the dock under the night sky."

Before I can question him, Nate shifts beneath me. With careful grace, he pushes himself up, bracing against his bruised ribs. Even injured, there's a fluid strength to him that makes my pulse flutter. He reaches for the iPod, but I snatch it first. Rising slowly, he masks his pain with determination that tugs at something deep inside me. Standing tall, he extends his hand—a silent invitation that speaks volumes.

"Dance with me."

I laugh softly. "This is becoming a thing now."

"Yeah, but it's our thing." His smile unfolds slowly, the kind that makes time pause, that turns everything else to background noise.

The opening notes of "You and Me" by Lifehouse drift from the earbuds. Nate places one in my ear, the other in his—an intimate gesture that sends butterflies through my chest. He tucks the iPod into his pocket and pulls me close, his grip steady against my back. Cool evening air mingles with the warmth of his body as we move together, finding our rhythm in the space between heartbeats. The world quiets, holding its breath as we dance in the dark.

His forehead touches mine, breath soft on my face as I rest my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat drums beneath my ear, steady and strong—a rhythm I could lose myself in forever. When he sings the chorus, low and gravelly, my lips curl into an involuntary smile, the kind that breaks through like sunshine after rain. I look up, and the light in his eyes steals my breath.

"You know what's messed up?" he murmurs, thumb tracing circles on my back.

"What?"

"There are over a billion words in hundreds of languages, and none of them could describe how you make me feel," he says, each word weighted with truth.

I swallow past the tightness in my throat.

"Maybe that's because some feelings aren't meant for words. They're just meant to be felt."

His fingers tighten around mine, gaze burning into me like he's committing every detail to memory.