It was the night of your ballet presentation. A small exhibition, in a city theater. You didn’t know if Joey would come - he didn’t like crowds, he didn’t like to feel vulnerable... but there he was. At the back of the room. Hooded. Silent.

When the curtains opened, and you appeared on stage... time stopped for him.

The light body, the precise movements, the music fused to your expression - you were moving art.

Joey, months clean, with his mind still in reconstruction, felt a shock inside his chest.

As if every step of yours on stage pulled out an old pain from him, washing something he didn’t even know it still carried.

Later, he waited for you at the exit.

“Were you there?” - you asked, surprised.

Joey nodded, his eyes still fixed on you, as if he didn’t believe it was real.

“Watching you dance... was better than any drug I’ve ever used.”

And then he took a step. He kissed your forehead.

“You make me want to stay clean.”