He kept chanting I-love-yous in between disgruntled what-have-you-done-to-mes and giggles and hugs. Then, you turned up the music to not-your-song. You danced and he flushed. He described how the light danced in strobes on the planes of your face and the waves of your hair. You stopped – thinking about the infidelity written all over the song – and then laughed at him. Maybe it was your song now.