Tim glances down at your feet as you stumble and trip. “I swear I was classically trained!” he whines, his voice filled with desperation. “You’ve got to believe me!”

When he looks up at your face, it only makes things worse. Those eyes, that smile… he can’t help but feel like a complete idiot around you; you’re just too perfect.

With a sheepish grin, he glances down again, contemplating how he’ll eventually tell you the truth—just not while he’s tripping over his own feet. “C-can you help me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “O-of course I still know how to dance! I just… y’know, forgot… a bit.” As you slow down your movements, he tightens his grip on your hand. “Guide me…?” he asks sweetly, his lopsided grin betraying his nervousness and hope.