The bass shudders through the ballroom as you move your body to the beat. The air is warm and almost uncomfortably sticky as the sea of teenagers thrum against you to a rap song you don't recognize.
Nobody's spiked the drinks, but you feel the music move through you in a dizzying sort of way all the same. It's intoxicating, dancing your heart out and ignoring how each step in your heels burns.
You're dancing with a friend when the music slows and the DJ tells the crowd to grab their dates. You're shuffling off the floor when someone catches your wrist.
"Wait." You turn to see Seonghwa, offering you a sheepish smile. You avoid eye contact, fixing your gaze on his tie instead. It matches your dress.
"Dance with me?" He releases your wrist, replacing it with an extended hand.
You know you don't have to take it. You could just as easily make your way off the dance floor and tend to your poor feet.
But the song has already started. Seonghwa and you may have history together, but you're still friends.
"Sure." Your hand fits in his as well as it always did.
Like pieces of a puzzle, he told you once.
He pulls you close (too close to be friendly, but you don't complain) and rests his head on your shoulder. You feel a jarringly cold sheen of sweat from where he's nestled himself, and as if on cue, he apologizes.
"Sorry, I'm kinda sweaty. Gross, I know." It's almost a shame he lifts his head to meet your gaze; you enjoyed his low mumbles of the lyrics in your ear, barely audible over the speakers.
"Oh, I didn't mean to wear the same color as you either. I swear, if I knew—" You stop him before he starts rambling.
"It's fine. Besides," you take a bit of the fabric at his collar between two fingers, "it looks good on you."
"Of course it does. I look good in anything." He's grinning, and you try to mirror it, but it's a sad excuse of a smile. You know he catches it, see the way his eyes darken and his lips press into a thin line. He wants to ask what's wrong, but his mouth clamps shut.
You're not dating anymore. He can't cup your face in his hands and talk things out anymore. He chooses to notice the gentle sway the two of you have adopted and scoffs.
"What is this, a middle school dance? Can I spin you?"
Just like old times?
"Sure." You twirl, your dress flowing out in a way that you relish. "You gonna dip me too?"
"Who knows?" Based on the knowing smirk he's sporting, you know exactly what he's planning. Sure enough, he spins you outward and pulls you back in as the music swells.
His face is framed in the soft pink light, and you feel this second stretch on for eternity. It's as if the world has shrunk to exclude everyone and everything but you and Seonghwa. He's beautiful, and you haven't forgotten that. Not like you ever could.
Your hand's on his nape anyway; you nudge it down slightly to close the distance between the two of you.
And you kiss him.
Well, it's not a kiss, not really. It's only a peck, but you can still taste the sweet tinge of chocolate and strawberry on his lips.
You've missed this.
You've missed him. You miss having someone to dance with, someone to laugh with and to hold when times got tough.
You blame it on the heat of the moment, the proximity, how good he looks in that damn suit. You blame it on loneliness, on the magic of prom night. You think you should stop making excuses for yourself.
That one moment lasts only a couple of seconds in real time, but to you, it feels like hours. Days. But what comes up must come down, and your heart drops when you pull away.
You almost wish you hadn't, if only to avoid his widened eyes and the way he gapes at you. You try (really, really try) to look anywhere but his lips.
"I- fuck. I'm sorry." You rush off the dance floor, pushing past both the pain in your feet and the enamored couples to get to the bathroom.
You grip the marble of the sink with both hands, staring at your reflection. Your hair's a mess from dancing, and your eyes are wide.
Shocked.
Regretful.
You tighten your grip on the sink to stop your hands from shaking, squeeze your eyes shut.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
In.
Out.
You're okay. You're going to be okay.
So what if you kissed your ex? It's okay.
You're okay.
Inhale. Exhale.
You hear the bass threaten to bring the roof down again, and you can sort of make out the beat from the bathroom. It's time to get back to the party; you paid too much to have some boy ruin your night of fun.
You steel yourself, straightening your back and walking out of the bathroom...and right into Seonghwa.
"Hi," he breathes, pocketing his phone.
"Hi." You try to follow the pattern of the carpet, observe the details of the chandelier. Anything but look at him.
Unfortunately, he's not having it. With his index finger and thumb, he tilts your chin to snap your gaze to his. You know what this always led up to, and there's a fizzing feeling that intensifies under his gaze.
You can only stare as he leans in for a kiss.
It's as short as yours was, but there's a marked difference. He packs longing, passion, and regret all into one brief touch of the lips. The fizzing bubbles over, and your hands twitch, wanting to cradle his face in your hands. You fight the urge to chase his lips after he pulls away.
"Consider us even," he says, walking back into the ballroom. You numbly run your fingers across your bottom lip. If you focus, you can taste the remnants of chocolate-covered strawberries.
You try to find him during the dance. You make eye contact with him across the floor once, during the last dance, another love song.
But he vanishes before you can call his name, having meshed with the crowd.
