Page 11 of June

I hadn't expected this to feel so... comfortable. Teaching Liam wasn't just tolerable—it was fun. Not in a flashy, high-energy way, but in that warm, quietly delightful sort of way that sneaks up on you.

He was awkward, yes, but not the painful kind. More like the soft-spoken rom-com lead who doesn't realize he's the reason people root for the underdog. He moved like he was trying to crack some invisible code with his feet—each step cautious, like he thought the floor might give him tips if he just listened hard enough.

"S-sorry. Again,"

he blurted, yanking his foot back from mine for the third time in ten minutes. He quickly adjusted his glasses, like that might somehow erase the collision.

I winced, but laughed.

"You know, most people bring flowers to a first lesson. Not bruises."

His eyes went wide behind his lenses.

"Oh—oh no. This is sabotage. My feet have, uh, turned traitor. Enemy agents. I swear."

I laughed harder than I meant to.

"Right, and who exactly are they working for? Me?"

He blinked.

"Y-you and, um... gravity. It's a joint conspiracy."

Even though his frame was all angles and uncertainty, there was a strange kind of grace to Liam. He didn't take himself too seriously, and he kept trying—even after each misstep, even after my toes had suffered. That counted for something.

"I promise I'll—I'll do better,"

he said suddenly, squaring his shoulders like he was swearing an oath.

"Your feet deserve justice."

"They do,"

I said solemnly.

"But let's just focus on avoiding any more toe casualties."

He attempted my spin like a nervous giraffe trying to do ballet—awkward but earnestly adorable.

"How do you move like that and not... um, fall over or throw up or something?"

"I'm magic,"

I teased, spinning just to show off.

"You'll get there. Eventually."

We took a break near the mirror, and he pulled out his phone with exaggerated focus. He chewed his lip, then offered it to me like it might self-destruct.

"Um, s-so... I wanted to show you something. If that's okay."

I took it, glancing at the screen. It was a video of a couple dancing to a slow, romantic song—fluid spins, soft lifts, the kind of dance that looked more like storytelling than choreography. It was breathtaking.

"You want to learn this?"

I asked, genuinely surprised.

He nodded, once, then immediately looked down and fiddled with his glasses.

"Y-yeah. For someone. Uh. Someone important."

That did something weird to my chest.

"That's... ambitious,"

I said carefully, handing the phone back.

"And beautiful."

"I-It's probably too much,"

he muttered, voice soft.

"No,"

I said, a little too quickly.

"It's not about the lifts. It's about connection. That's the part that matters."

His shoulders relaxed a little.

"I just... I want to get it right."

There was a beat of silence. I smiled.

"So, do you always bust out romantic choreography for girls, or am I... special?"

His face lit up in panic.

"N-no! I mean—yes! Wait—wait, not like that. I mean, yes, you're special! But, um, I—I don't do this for... anyone, really."

I laughed.

"Top-tier save, Liam."

He grinned, sheepish.

"Don't tell the others, but yeah, you're definitely in the top five."

"Top five?"

I repeated.

"What an honor."

"Top three,"

he mumbled.

"if we don't count the barista who gave me extra whipped cream this morning."

I snorted.

"Charming and loyal. The full package."

He blushed, adjusting his glasses again like they were a nervous tic.

"S-so, uh... what do you do, when you're not, you know... uh... dodging clumsy students?"

"I teach,"

I said.

"Dance. And sometimes movement therapy. It's not always glamorous, but it helps."

He nodded, like he understood that. Then glanced at the floor.

"I—I work with stars."

I tilted my head.

"Hollywood agent?"

His laugh surprised both of us.

"I—uh—no. Astronomer. I, um... mostly chart stellar coordinates, track celestial bodies. You know, monitor planetary transits, orbital patterns, light curves—stuff like that."

I tilted my head, smiling.

"So... space stuff?"

He nodded quickly.

"Yeah. I work at the observatory just outside town—the one up on Red Pine Hill. We've got a 1.5-meter optical telescope, which is... medium-sized, but decent for photometric studies. Lately I've been logging variable star data and trying to refine exoplanet detection algorithms. So, lots of spreadsheets. Lots of coffee."

I blinked.

"That sounds complicated. And cool."

He laughed awkwardly.

"It's less glamorous than it sounds. Half the time I'm debugging scripts at three in the morning because the system didn't log RA/Dec coordinates correctly. Or cursing at clouds for ruining a perfect observation window."

"RA/Dec?" I asked.

"Right ascension and declination,"

he said, adjusting his glasses again.

"Like longitude and latitude, but for the sky. Coordinates to find stars."

He glanced down, a little pink.

"It's nerdy. But... I like it. There's something kind of humbling about mapping the universe. Even when it's just on a screen."

"That is literally the coolest thing I've ever heard,"

I said, leaning in.

He looked up, startled. "Really?"

"Yes,"

I grinned.

"You just casually dropped I track the universe like that's not extremely hot."

He blushed and laughed, then blurted.

"Hey, um—before I take you home, because I—uh—I'm not letting you go home alone at night, just saying, can we...can we stop somewhere first?"

I blinked. "Sure?"

Five minutes later we were in line at a pharmacy. I watched as he nervously selected something, paid, and then turned to me with the most triumphant look—like he'd just discovered treasure.

"For your feet,"

he said, holding it out.

"Calming balm. Um... my official apology. F-for crimes against toes."

I snorted.

"You brought me foot cream as a peace offering?"

"Not just any foot cream,"

he said solemnly.

"With lavender. And regret."

I laughed so hard I nearly dropped it.

When we pulled up to my house, I figured he'd wave goodbye from the car. But instead, he parked, stepped out, and walked around.

"Wait—what are you doing?"

I asked, eyebrows raised.

He tugged at his shirt nervously.

"I—I want to introduce myself to your dad."

"You... what?"

"You said you live with him. I just—um—it's polite. Right? I thought it'd be polite."

I stared.

"No one does that anymore."

He shrugged.

"W-well. Someone should."

Still stunned, I led him to the door. My dad opened it and stared at Liam in his too-neatly-buttoned shirt.

"Hello, sir,"

Liam said stiffly.

"I'm Liam. I, um, stepped on your daughter. A lot. But not—uh—on purpose."

My dad blinked.

"I brought her balm,"

Liam added quickly, pushing up his glasses.

"So... restitution?"

My dad chuckled, then clapped him on the shoulder.

"You're already better than most."

I stood there, completely floored as the two of them shook hands.

As Liam turned to leave, he paused by the car and looked at me with this soft, crooked little smile.

"You're like a moon I didn't expect to orbit June."

I blinked. "What?"

"I just meant..."

He exhaled, flustered.

"Like gravitational pull? I wasn't planning to stay this long I thought I was just passing by, but I stayed... in your orbit. In a good way. Not a creepy way."

He paused, horrified.

"Okay, that sounds worse."

I smiled.

"No, I think I get it."

"Good,"

he mumbled, cheeks pink as he tugged at his collar.

"Because I've committed to the metaphor and I don't know how to back out now."

Then he gave me this little nod, shy and proud and terrified all at once.

"Goodnight, June."

I stood there, smiling stupidly as he walked to his car, and whispered.

"Goodnight, moonboy."

I stood in the doorway smiling like a dork. My dad glanced at me, then back at the car.

"He's weird."

"He is," I agreed.

"But you laughed."

I nodded.

"Yeah. I did."

And I couldn't stop.