The dancing doesn't fix anything, but it shakes enough noise loose that breathing gets easier. Movement becomes a temporary argument against the static in your head: the emails, the timelines, the private number you keep checking the way you'd keep pressing a bruise. You end up by an open window, sweat cooling under your collar, the room pulsing behind you in blurred colour. Cold air on your forehead. For a moment the world feels almost innocent: just bodies, just music, just the ordinary hunger to be part of something loud enough to drown doubt. You're still tired. You're also still here. You watch condensation bead on a plastic cup and think, absurdly, about how close you can get to a threshold before something trips. [[Phone Buzz While Dancing|Check your phone while dancing]]