His Hurt

The lights dim slightly as we move to the center of the room. The air shifts, growing softer, more intimate, as the music begins to play—a slow, gentle melody that fills the space with warmth. Grayson’s hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me closer, and for a moment, I forget that anyone else is here. It’s just us, in this perfect little bubble, away from everything.

His eyes lock onto mine, and there’s something in the way he looks at me—like he still can’t quite believe this is real. His other hand takes mine, and he leans in close, his voice barely a whisper. “You ready for this?”

I smile, my heart swelling in my chest. “I’ve never been more ready.”

We start to sway, moving in time with the music. Each step is slow, deliberate, but effortless, as if we’ve been dancing together like this forever. The world around us fades away, the laughter and chatter of the guests dissolving into background noise. All I can hear is the soft music, the sound of his breath mingling with min