"And for someone who dances like sunlight," he said, "you're good at holding the weight of the world."
I couldn't say anything else.
"Now eat the rest before I start quoting Carl Sagan again," he said, breaking the moment with a teasing glance.
"Oh God, please don't."
"But we are all made of star stuff, June—"
"Iwillthrow this crumble at you."
He grinned. "Worth it."
And just like that, for the first time in too long, the ache in my chest didn't feel so lonely.
Chapter Eighteen: The Whole Universe
There's a quiet kind of tenderness in repetition.
A closeness that doesn't arrive all at once, but builds slowly—in the quiet rhythm of showing up and dancing and laughing, and Liam kept showing up. Week after week, in mismatched socks and starlit metaphors in tow. He moved like someone trying to unlearn gravity—stiff at first, cautious. Like he was afraid of breaking something. As we danced and talked, we found ourselves drawing closer — with every word, every glance, every shared secret.
The dance studio held us gently in its hush, the kind of silence that hums rather than echoes. Only the soft scrape of our shoes broke it, a delicate heartbeat against the polished wood. The mirrored walls threw our shapes back at us—flickering versions of who we were, who we might be. Two people somewherebetween grace and uncertainty, trying to find rhythm in the same silence.
I stepped in, closing the small space between us. A light touch on his arm, adjusting his posture.
He followed, focused—his brow furrowed in that adorable, stubborn way. Determined. Endearing.
Then he messed up the step again—not badly, just enough to knock us out of sync. His left foot slid where it should have stepped, and we bumped into each other with an awkward thud. For a second, we scrambled to find our balance, arms flailing, stifled laughter on our tongues.
"Sorry!" he gasped, eyes wide with mock horror. "That was... not part of the choreography, I assume?"
I laughed, my hands reaching out instinctively to steady us as we swayed precariously. "Nope. But bonus points for style. You almost invented a new genre."
He smirked, that little glint in his eyes lighting up like a star about to explode. " humm.. Interpretive gravitational collapse? Maybe you should pitch that to the dance world." I laughed and rolled my eyes, "You did not just bring physics into my dance studio again!"
He brushed a curl of hair off his forehead, the movement casual, yet deliberate. "You know," he said, voice low and playful, "technically, gravity is a dance. A cosmic waltz of attraction and inertia."
I raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep the smile from breaking free. "Really? A waltz? what am I in this metaphor? the Earth? the Sun?"
He tilted his head, looking at me, "The whole damn universe June."
I blinked, momentarily stunned by the unexpected words. He immediately looked away, his ears now matching the color of his cheeks.
"I mean....You're not just a planet in this metaphor. You're the whole gravitational well. I'm... well, I'm like a moon caught in your orbit."
My cheeks flushed—something about the way he said it, all scientific and smooth, made it impossible to pretend I didn't feel the rush of warmth his words stirred.
"Liam," I said, a little breathless. "You can't just drop a line like that.."
His lips quirked into a smile, the playful energy still there but with something deeper now, like the pull of a galaxy just beyond our reach. "Hey, I warned you. I've been hanging out with stars all my life. Can't help but talk like one now and then."
"Well," I said, feeling the warmth spread from my cheeks to my chest, " I can't deal with that kind of heat."
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Oh, don't worry. I'm more of a red giant. Slow burn. But steady."
I rolled my eyes, laughter bubbling up despite myself. "You're unbelievable."
"Hey," he said, mock-offended. "I'm just trying to connect the material to my strengths. If I'm going to make a fool of myself, I might as well be a scientifically accurate fool."
