The storm hammered the mountainside, rain smearing the glass walls of Nathan’s dojo in long streaks. Thunder rolled low, swallowing the valley. Your cabin down the ridge had gone dark an hour ago when the power failed. That’s when your phone buzzed.

Nathan: Dude. Power out again? Come up. My generator still works. And I’ve got whiskey.

Curiosity—or maybe boredom—pushed you through the rain to his fortress. Inside, the air was warm, heavy with wood and alcohol. Nathan stood barefoot on the polished floor, hoodie unzipped, bottle dangling from one hand. His eyes were glossy, cheeks flushed.

“Finally,” he grinned. “Thought a bear ate you. Would’ve been tragic—for the bear.”

You smirked. “Nice welcome.”

He ignored the jab, set the bottle down, and snapped his fingers. The sound system exploded with bass, rattling the glass. And then he moved.

Sharp, deliberate choreography. Not stumbling—precise. Arms slicing the air, feet sliding perfectly in time, his body hitting the rhythm like it was coded into him.

“Are you… dancing?” you asked, raising your voice over the music.

“Fuck yeah, I’m dancing!” he shouted, spinning into a clap overhead. “Storm’s out there trying to kill us, and I’m still killing it in here.”

Kyoko stood near the wall, silent, hands folded, watching. She hadn’t moved since you walked in.

You nodded toward her. “She’s been standing like that the whole time?”

Nathan grinned wider. “Yeah. She loves this shit. Don’t you, Kyoko?”

She didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t.

Nathan barked a laugh and slid into another sequence, sweat already darkening his shirt. “See? That’s commitment. She doesn’t interrupt the art in progress. You could learn something.”

You folded your arms. “I’m interrupting because this looks like a drunk frat guy TikTok. Not art.”

“Ouch,” Nathan said, staggering theatrically. Then, grinning: “But wrong. This isn’t frat shit. This is humanity. Flesh, sweat, chaos. The algorithm of the body.”

“Or maybe it’s just you showing off,” you countered.

“Exactly!” He jabbed a finger at you mid-step. “Showing off—and you’re lucky enough to witness it. Nobody else for miles. Just you, me, and the perfect audience.” He gestured to Kyoko, who remained utterly still.

The rain battered harder, thunder cracking overhead. Nathan spun, hair clinging damp to his forehead, bottle now in hand as he kept moving, whiskey sloshing dangerously near the rim.

“Admit it,” he said between breaths, “this beats sitting in your sad little cabin alone. You live for this. For me. Bateman, half-drunk, out-dancing the world in the middle of nowhere.”

You shook your head, but your mouth betrayed a laugh. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely brilliant,” he shot back, grinning wild. He stomped into the beat, arms snapping, body moving with reckless precision. “Tell me you’ve ever seen anything like this.”

You hesitated, watching the storm of man in front of you—the pounding music, the storm outside, Kyoko’s eerie stillness. “No,” you admitted finally. “I haven’t.”

Nathan stopped dead, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. His grin stretched into a victorious smirk. He pointed the bottle at you like a prize.

“Exactly,” he said, panting. “And that’s why you’re here. Because nobody walks away from Nathan Bateman.”