Page 31 of June

I woke and turned, still half afraid that what I saw might vanish with the morning.

A quiet body lay beside me, breaths steady, hair spilling like spilled ink across the pillow.

For a moment I just watched, listening to the rhythm of another life so close to mine, feeling a disbelief that this was real—that after years of reaching, hoping, waiting, I wasn't waking up alone.

How many nights had I woken from the same dream, reaching for warmth only to find nothing but silence, a hollow bed, a colder sky? Yet here, now, the silence was alive.

It breathed beside me, threaded with warmth and pulse and presence.

The boy who once lay on picnic blankets staring at galaxies, wishing for a place in the world, had finally won, not with fame or fortune, but with her.

Since I was a boy, lying on grass with my mother after sunset, watching the first shy stars prick the sky, I've known I belonged to the cosmos.

Galaxies, asteroids, the sweep of infinity; they were my sanctuary.

They were constant when nothing else was.

When kids mocked me for skipping parties to study constellations.

When I was called strange, too much, too different.

When one girlfriend left because I laced every thought with astronomy, and another because the fire of my dominance in bed didn't match the quiet, easygoing way I lived outside of it.

When my mother began to forget my name, her own face in the mirror, and I clung to the stars to remind myself that memory exists somewhere, even if only in light traveling through the void.

Through all of that, the universe was my only refuge.

Until her.

Until my June.

My Celestia.

The constellation I never knew I was waiting for.

She became my safety, my happiness, my galaxies and supernovas gathered into human form.

I fell in love with her in days, as if the universe had been aligning us long before we knew.

She shifted slightly, opened her eyes just for a second, smiled, and drifted back to sleep and I melted.

My Celestia has always felt like a dream come true.

Letting her go was the hardest thing I've ever done.

Every instinct in me screamed against it, but somewhere deep down, I knew I'd thank myself for the courage one day.

I couldn't stay with her while wondering if her heart was doubting, so I let her walk away and she came back, that night after the meteor shower, I hugged her so tightly I thought I could keep her there forever.

I made every wish I could, on falling stars and on my own breath, that she would never leave me again, that I would make her happy.

I kept my eyes on the stars, trying to hold back the tears.

I'm not usually a crier, but that was a moment too big for pride. Right then, I started planning our future.

For a while, we endured the distance.

I went back and forth to see her, sometimes she came to me, and every goodbye was a tearing apart.

I would go home after dropping her off and open the secret drawer where I kept her ring—a piece unlike any other.

It was delicate and luxurious, forged in white gold, but what made it hers was the stone: a rare, silvery-gray fragment of lunar rock, polished until it shimmered like starlight trapped in crystal.

It felt like I was holding a piece of the universe in my hand, saving it for the right moment, the moment she would say yes, and the heavens themselves would bear witness.

Eventually, I wanted her to move in.

I couldn't leave my mom, even though she no longer knew who I was—I knew who she was, and that was enough.

I couldn't abandon her, and Celestia understood that without me even needing to explain.

She was the one who suggested moving first, easing the weight from my shoulders.

For a while she stayed with her father, but then, after a few weeks, she brought her suitcases and her dreams into my home, a dance studio in the town, and with her came a light that never dimmed.

Suddenly, it wasn't just a house anymore, it was ours.

Life since has been nothing short of extraordinary.

There have been moments that burst open inside me like fireworks scattering across a midnight sky, the first time we whispere.

"I love you,"

voices shaky, almost afraid of the weight those words carried, yet certain enough to let them fall.

The first night she sat with my mom when I couldn't bring myself to walk through the door, when grief and fear made me cowardly.

June just went, quietly, without asking.

I found her there in the dim light of my mother's room, her hand resting gently over my mom's frail one, her voice steady and soft, speaking as though they had shared a lifetime of secrets.

My mom, who so often drifts in and out of memory like a tide that won't stay, looked at her and smiled.

Not the distant, polite smile she sometimes offers strangers, but the kind that belongs to recognition, even if no name or story came with it.

It was as if June carried something familiar, something safe, in her very presence.

Those moments carved themselves into me, not loud or dramatic, but permanent—like constellations etched into the sky.

Markers of love, devotion, and the quiet strength she carries, strength I lean on more than I ever thought I would.

But what I treasure most are not the grand occasions; they're the quiet, ordinary pieces of our days that make life feel like a love story written in the margins.

The way she curls against me at night, fitting so perfectly into the hollow of my arms as though she was always meant to be there.

The smell of her cooking mingling with the sweetness of my baking, filling the house with a kind of warmth that has nothing to do with ovens or stoves.

Her laughter, bubbling up like sunlight, especially when I inevitably burn the toast and try to pass it off a.

"extra crispy."

The way she leans in the doorway, teasing me while I'm knee-deep in the garden, pretending to be frustrated as I scold weeds like they're stubborn children.

It's in those small, fleeting things—when she walks into a room and my heart stumbles, as if falling in love with her is brand new all over again.

When she tilts her head and gives me that soft, knowing smile that undoes me completely.

When she giggles, a sound so pure it feels like the universe is whispering its secrets through her, and I silently beg time to never take that sound away.

Even in our fights, there is something rare.

We give each other space, but it never lasts more than a few minutes before one of us reaches back across the silence.

Words are spoken, voices soften, and somehow we always find our way back—not because it's easy, but because neither of us can stand to stay away.

She has made the mundane sacred, the ordinary miraculous.

With her, every moment is a kind of forever.

Two years later, I knew it was time.

I had carried her ring, the piece of moonlight I'd hidden away for so long, in my pocket and in my heart, waiting for the moment that would match the immensity of what she meant to me.

So I took her north, not telling her why, only promising her something worth the journey.

We stood under a vast, endless sky, wrapped in silence, our breaths fogging in the frozen air.

Hours passed in anticipation until, at last, the heavens opened.

The Northern Lights unfurled across the horizon—green, violet, gold—ribbons of living fire weaving and swaying like the universe itself had risen to dance for her.

She gasped, her hands pressed to her lips, and then she began laughing, twirling, jumping up and down like a child in awe of a miracle.

I watched her—her joy more radiant than any sky and I knew this was it.

When she turned to tell me how beautiful it was, she found me on one knee, trembling not from the cold but from love too big for my chest.

For a heartbeat she froze, her eyes wide, and then she collapsed to her knees before me, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe, her whole body shaking, and then she screamed yes—

not whispered, not murmured, but screamed it into the night so fiercely it felt like the aurora itself pulsed brighter, as if the universe had been waiting for her answer too.

I slipped the ring onto her finger, the moon's stone now hers forever, and she threw her arms around me.

We clung to each other under that cosmic cathedral, our tears mingling with our laughter, our breaths clouding in the frozen air, our souls feeling infinite.

For the first time, I believed that maybe love really was written in the stars—because I could see ours shining back at us.

The sound of her shifting beside me pulled me back to the present.

The Northern Lights had long faded into memory, but the warmth of her body against mine was a miracle of its own.

I turned to see her stirring in the morning light, her eyes half open, that familiar sleepy smile curving her lips.

"Morning, husband,"

she whispered, her voice still tangled with dreams.

"Morning, wifey,"

I murmured back, my chest tightening at the word.

We curled into each other and let the silence wrap around us, not heavy, but full—like the world itself was holding its breath for us.

The enormity of the moment pressed softly against my chest, the beauty of this instant almost too much to carry.

I was holding the love of my life, the person who had changed every corner of me, and now, now, she was officially my wife.

My forever.

My constant.

My everything.

Last night was our wedding and our wedding night.

Even now, I can hardly believe it.

The day feels like something pulled out of a dream, one I never want to wake from.

The wedding itself was nothing short of magical, held on a boat that January gifted us, the river carrying us like a silver ribbon under the stars.

Lanterns hung from the deck, their soft glow floating on the water like constellations come to bless us.

The air was full of music and laughter, the kind of joy that makes time dissolve.

Most of her friends from the Odd Ones came, each of them as colorful and unforgettable as their names.

I had heard so many stories about them, but meeting them in person made me understand why she loved them so fiercely.

Marchy was just as rebellious as she had always described, sharp-tongued and quick-witted, her laughter like a spark that set everyone else alight.

May was dreamy, always looking skyward as if she could see shapes in the clouds even at night, a soul of a hopeless romantic.

Jan carried herself like royalty—classy, composed, but with a toughness that hid a heart of pure gold; when she hugged June, I swear my wife melted right into her arms.

December was shy, her words soft and careful, but the sweetness in her eyes spoke volumes.

August burned with a fiery spirit, laughing loudly, dancing wildly, pulling everyone onto the floor until the deck shook with life.

July had a mature, motherly air about her, fussing over June's hair, her veil, her lipstick, making sure everything was perfect, and when she finally sat back, her smile was the proudest of all, and November, quiet and thoughtful, who gave us a gift so personal and heartfelt it left both of us in tears.

Each of them carried their own kind of magic, and together they filled the boat with a warmth that made it impossible to feel the night's chill.

The wedding itself was joy woven into every detail.

We exchanged vows under the open sky, the boat drifting just enough for the stars to reflect perfectly in the water around us, as if the heavens bowed to witness.

When I slipped the moonstone ring onto her finger, the cheers that erupted were deafening, but all I could hear was the quiet tremble in her voice as she whispered.

"Yes, forever."

Our first dance was a slow, swaying moment under strings of fairy lights, her head against my chest, my arms around her waist, as the boat rocked gently like the universe itself had decided to cradle us.

The night unfolded into laughter, dancing, clinking glasses, and promises sealed not only between us, but between her and her world, which had now become mine.

When the last of the music faded and the boat grew quiet, I led her to our cabin, shutting the door behind us.

The air between us shifted instantly.

The celebration outside was over but ours had only just begun.

She stood in the middle of the room, her dress glowing in the lantern light, cheeks flushed from dancing.

Her hair had come loose, curling around her shoulders, and she looked like something otherworldly—my goddess, my bride.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. She caught the look and smirked, tugging lightly at my tie.

"Oh, there it is—the bossy look. You really think you're in charge right now, don't you?" She said.

I slipped my glasses off slowly, setting them aside.

"Oh I know I am, sweetheart,"

I whispered, my lips brushing her ear.

"and I know you're about to be ruined."

She shivered, her breath catching, and the sound nearly undid me.

I kissed her hard, claiming her mouth, one hand tangled in her hair while the other slid down the line of her back, gripping the fabric of her dress.

She melted into me, but when I pulled back, she was already breathless, eyes wide with heat.

"Take it off,"

I ordered, my voice low, and she obeyed, trembling fingers working at the buttons while I watched, my chest rising and falling with the effort of control.

Piece by piece, I stripped her of satin and lace, until she stood in only her skin, radiant and shaking under my gaze.

"Mine,"

I growled, cupping her face before pressing her down to the bed.

She gasped as I hovered over her, her body arching into mine.

I worshiped every inch of her, lips tracing down her throat, my teeth grazing her collarbone, leaving marks only I would ever see.

She whimpered my name, her nails digging into my back, and it only spurred me on.

When I finally entered her, it was slow, deliberate—making her feel every inch, every promise, every vow I hadn't been able to put into words.

She clung to me, gasping, moaning, begging, her body answering mine in perfect rhythm.

Every thrust was possession, devotion, love made flesh.

She looked at me like I was the only man in the world, and God, I wanted to stay inside that look forever.

"Say it,"

I demanded, my voice ragged, holding her chin so her eyes stayed locked on mine.

"Yes, Liam,"

she sobbed, her voice breaking.

"Yours. Always yours."

That was all it took.

We shattered together, her scream muffled against my lips as the world narrowed to heat and light and the pounding of our hearts.

When it was over, I pulled her into my arms, her body trembling against mine, her skin damp and glowing.

We had fallen asleep exhausted, tangled in each other, but somewhere in the night I stirred to the press of soft kisses—her lips brushing my tattoos, my neck, my chest.

The corner of my mouth tugged into a grin.

My wife.

Teasing me on our wedding night.

She didn't know what she was summoning.

In one swift motion I rolled us over, pinning her wrists above her head—firm, unyielding, but never cruel.

Her eyes widened, luminous with that intoxicating blend of anticipation and absolute trust.

My voice dropped, low and warning against her ear.

"Careful what you ask for."

She bit her lip, a blush rising as her smile held steady.

"I know, I trust you,"

she whispered, steady as the stars.

That trust, her absolute surrender, set me on fire.

She knew I could push, and she knew I would never break her.

That's what made it beautiful.

That's what made her mine.

I kissed her again, harder, rougher this time, my teeth catching her bottom lip until she moaned.

I released her wrists only to flip her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up until she gasped.

"Good girl,"

I murmured against her ear as I pushed into her again. Her cry filled the room, but she pressed back eagerly, giving herself over to me completely.

Every movement was deliberate, controlled, drawing out her pleasure until she was trembling, pleading.

"Liam—please—"

"Please what?"

I demanded, slowing just enough to make her squirm. My hand slid over her hip, anchoring her in place.

"Use your words, Celestia."

Her voice broke on a moan.

"Please... don't stop. I need you. I need all of you."

That was all I needed.

I drove into her with purpose, claiming her again, until the sound of her cries, her surrender, and the slap of our bodies filled the cabin like music.

She clutched the sheets, gasping my name, but I never let her drift too far—I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her tight against me even as I pushed her over the edge.

She wasn't just taken, she was held, grounded, safe in the storm I created for us.

When she shattered for the second time, screaming into the pillow, I followed her, spilling into her with a groan, pressing kisses down her spine until she collapsed into my arms.

I rolled us back onto the bed, holding her close, stroking her damp hair as her breathing slowed.

She curled closer, her voice soft and full of awe.

"I can't believe I found you... how lucky I am, how happy I am that we found each other."

I smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"You're not lucky, my love,"

I whispered, my voice low and certain.

"The universe was patient, aligning stars, shifting galaxies, bending time itself until it led me to you. Every orbit, every comet, every scattered star—it all pointed here, to you."

Her eyes glistened, and she pressed her forehead to mine.

"Then I'll follow your universe anywhere,"

she murmured.

"And I,"

I breathed, holding her like she was the only gravity that mattered.

"will learn every star written in your heart. I love you, June, with every atom, every spark, every breath."

We didn't stop with just two.

The night stretched on, unfolding like a galaxy, each moment a new constellation of pleasure and devotion.

Kisses traced her skin like comets across the sky, warm and fleeting yet leaving trails I wanted to follow forever.

My hands moved over her body like planets orbiting a sun, and she trembled under my touch, her gasps and moans echoing like the music of the spheres.

Dominance wasn't about power; it was devotion written in the stars, guiding her, holding her steady in the vast expanse of us.

Each sigh, each shiver, was a meteor blazing through our universe, and she surrendered fully, like starlight spilling into the night.

Her laughter, her soft murmurs, the shivers that ran through her, each became a star in the galaxy of our night, infinite and eternal.

I worshiped her as if tracing the surface of the moon itself, lips and hands mapping every curve, every crater, every hidden valley of sensation, until she glowed with a light that rivaled any star.

I held her like a planet in my orbit, grounded yet free, while we spun together in our own private cosmos.

When she finally fell asleep, utterly spent and trembling in my arms, her ring caught the moonlight, glinting like a distant satellite, a tiny piece of the universe now hers.

I stroked her hair, tracing her celestial curves, and felt the quiet afterglow of a supernova of passion, love, and devotion.

And now, the morning after, I hold my love in my arms, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against mine, as if the universe itself had folded into this single perfect moment.

Every worry, every shadow of the past, fell away, leaving only the warmth of her, the certainty of us.

I imagine a life ahead painted in starlight—dancing in the quiet of our living room, chasing sunsets, whispering secrets under endless skies, loving each other fiercely and tenderly, every single day.

My wife.

My love.

My forever.

The center of my story, the brightest star in my sky.