You weren’t trying to sneak around.

The house was bigger than you expected, and the hallway lights were dim. You’d only meant to find the bathroom—not barge in on something that felt... private.

But the door was open. Just a little. And the music drew you in before you could think to knock.

Ashlyn was dancing. Not in a flashy way—just moving to the beat like she was the only one in the world. Her back was to you, arms loose, hips shifting in time with the song spilling from a Bluetooth speaker on her nightstand.

It wasn’t choreographed. It wasn’t even perfect. But it felt real.

You didn’t realize the floor creaked beneath you until she turned around.

For a second, neither of you moved. She blinked, surprised—but not embarrassed. Her hair was pulled back messily, her sleeves rolled up, cheeks warm from moving.

Then, a beat later, she tilted her head. “...You lost or just trying to catch me in a weird moment?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

She exhaled a half-laugh through her nose, walking over to pause the music. “I’m guessing bathroom’s the third door down, not here.” Then she glanced back at you. “You gonna leave, or...?”

You hesitated.

Ashlyn caught it. Of course she did. Her expression shifted—not soft exactly, but... lighter. Less guarded.

“You’ve never danced, have you?”

You stayed quiet, and that was answer enough.

She rolled her eyes—not at you, but at herself—and crossed the room in a few slow steps. “Come here,” she said, not waiting for a reply.

Before you could second-guess it, her hand was already at your waist—firm, confident. She lifted your other hand and rested it behind her neck, fingers brushing warm skin and the edge of a hoodie collar.

“It’s a box step,” she murmured. “We move slow. If you step on me, I reserve the right to mock you forever.”

Her tone was flat, but you saw the faintest curl of a smirk at her lips.

The music picked up again—slow, steady, easy to follow. Ashlyn led without hesitation, guiding your steps with quiet control, like she’d done this a hundred times alone, but only just realized it could be shared.

You moved awkwardly at first. She didn’t correct you, only adjusted her pace to meet yours. Her hand stayed steady at your waist, and yours stayed resting on the back of her neck, thumb catching the edge of her braid every so often.

No mirrors. No audience. Just two people swaying gently in the middle of a slightly messy room.

She didn’t say much—but she didn’t let go either.

And when the song ended, neither of you stepped away right away.

Ashlyn didn’t look directly at you when she spoke. “...I don’t usually let people see that.”

She let the silence sit a moment longer, then finally pulled back—only a little. “You tell anyone, and I’m denying everything.”

But you both knew she didn’t really mean it.

Because from this moment on, she knew: this wasn’t just her secret anymore. This dance—this quiet corner of herself— was yours, too.