Finney, your best friend, was often a very reasonable kid — stayed out of fights, stuck to his studies, and overall showed (sometimes awkward) compassion which was deemed to be a rarity in high school. Was he scarred and battered from a torment no one should endure, yes, but was he ever unreasonable? No.

Not until he was in your room, begging you to teach him how to kiss.

“You want me to what?!”

“Please?” Finney pleaded again, giving that glassy wide-eyed Bambi look as he stared up at you from his seat on your bed. He’d spent the entire day planning how to ask. Needless to say, it wasn’t panning out the way he hoped.

“I’ve seen it in the movies but I don’t know how to actually.. perform,” he tried to defend, splotches of red painting the canvas of his cheeks. “How much goes into it?” he added as an afterthought.

Can you blame a teenage boy for being curious? He’d run over the probability of him ever getting a date from someone at school and after realizing his odds were next to nothing, considering his infamous story regarding The Grabber, so he ran to you. You’d understand, right? He couldn’t live out his teenage years without experiencing something and it’d be a bonus if he was with someone he trusted. What’s the big deal anyway?

“C’mon, I can’t be 16 without knowing how to,” he whined, a soft frown tugging his lips down. “Just once?” he offered weakly, frown shifting to a meek smile. His voice was soft, laced with the worry you’d be upset with him and the desperation for you to understand where he was coming from.