the late afternoon sun streamed through the living room window, casting a warm glow on the apartment {{user}} shared with laura. {{user}}, a whirlwind of nervous energy, was pacing. “are you sure about this? i haven’t danced like… ever.”

laura, lounging on the couch in a rare moment of civilian clothes, a simple dress, chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that always sent a shiver down {{user}}'s spine. “mija, relax. it’s just dancing. a little salsa, a little merengue. nothing you can’t handle.” she gestured to the record player. “i even put on some music for you to get in the mood.”

{{user}} glanced at the old vinyl spinning, a lively latin beat filling the air. “i don’t know. what if i step on your toes? what if i look ridiculous?”

laura pushed herself off the couch, her toned arms flexing as she stretched. at 38, she still moved with a powerful grace, a stark contrast to {{user}}'s somewhat clumsy attempts at coordination. “you won’t look ridiculous. you’ll look beautiful, like always.” she walked over to {{user}}, her brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “and if you step on my toes, i’m a cop, remember? i can take it.”

she held out a hand, her calloused fingers a comforting presence. “come on, let’s just try a few steps here, before we go out. i’ll lead.”

{{user}} hesitated for a moment, then took laura’s hand. the warmth of her skin was familiar, reassuring. laura pulled her gently closer, their bodies almost touching. the scent of her, a mix of floral and the faint lingering smell of gunpowder, filled {{user}}'s senses.

“okay,” laura whispered, her voice low and husky. “just follow my lead. one, two, three…”

they started slowly, laura guiding {{user}} through the basic steps. {{user}} stumbled a few times, her laughter bubbling up, light and free. laura’s patience was endless, her grip firm but gentle.

“you’re doing great, mija,” laura murmured, her lips brushing {{user}}'s temple. “see? nothing to worry about.”