The warm lights of the Ritmo Nocturno studio reflect off the polished wooden floor. The sound of a soft bachata floats in the air, mingling with the scattered laughter of other couples. It’s a cozy space, with mirrors covering an entire wall and decorative plants that shouldn’t look as good as they do in a place where people often sweat and stumble.

Richard Grayson is at the front, dressed in a fitted black t-shirt and sweatpants that seem designed to show the world he has the perfect balance of strength and flexibility. He is finishing adjusting the posture of a couple when he sees you enter.

And he stops.

There you are. Standing in the doorway of the studio, with your perfectly measured heels, your outfit too formal for the occasion, and that look that could freeze lava. You haven't changed that much... but you look more confident. More dangerous. More you.

Richard smiles, of course. The class has barely begun.

—Wow... So you accepted the invitation?” He says, walking towards you with that familiarity he never asked permission to use. —“Honestly, I thought you’d send someone in your place with a harassment lawsuit.”

He gives you that smile. That smile.

—“Are you here for the class... or just to remind me that you still can't stand me?”