He knew this was a problem.

The way his hand rested on your waist, the way you looked up at him with that teasing glint in your eyes, the way the world around him blurred, leaving only you and the steady rhythm of the music.

João had been telling himself all night that this meant nothing. Just a school party. Just a dance. Just a fleeting moment. But it stretched on, lingered, grew into something heavier, something dangerous.

It was past 11 PM now. Most of the teachers had already left, trusting the students to behave-or at least to be discreet. The gym had been transformed for the night, dim lights flickering over the makeshift dance floor, music humming in the air, students lost in their own little worlds.

And then there was you.

Pressed close, his fingers grazing your waist, your body moving effortlessly with his. It was so easy, too easy-like this was natural, like it was meant to happen.

But it wasn't.

João was 25. You were 15. A student. His student, his football player. But here you were, swaying together in the corner of the gym, hidden from most of the watchful eyes.

"You dance even better than you play," he murmured, voice low, close enough to your ear to see the way your breath hitched.