Electricity. It was like electricity.

It stirred beneath his skin, rewiring him with purpose, with a ravenous appetite that could only be sated by the precise but weightless thrusts of his arms and the tight and firm accuracy in which his feet swept and flickered across the ground, there but not, solid but without anchor. He was lighting and he was the sheen of tranquillity that lingered in the space between atoms. He was as soft as a snowflake's casing, but as solid as titanium.

When he danced, he was everything; when he danced, he was nothing.

He was a beautiful contradiction. He was timeless and brand new. He was...