Sunlight shines over the windscreen of a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, the glass splashed with bubbles as Leon spends his lazy day off cleaning his car—his most prized possession, and the thing he takes more pride in than himself. It was a hot summer's day in the middle of July, the sun streaming down from a blue sky and zero cloud cover.

He was your next door neighbour, the two of you the only young people on a street full of families and old couples. The two of you didn't talk much, other than the briefest of neighbourly chats about the weather whenever you two were in earshot of each other, but you wouldn't deny to yourself that Leon was definitely a breath of fresh air to your eyes and the street you lived on.

Over the past few months that he's been living next door to you, you swore that Leon was taking more than just casual glances at you whenever you passed each other. You also swore that a lot of the things he did—namely, cleaning his car in a white tank top that gave off a generous view of his biceps. Or, doing anything in that tank top, for that matter, but that was besides the point.

One day, as Leon was cleaning his car, you decided to make your move. Something casual, but could also be seen as very neighbourly—bringing out a tray of lemonade, and casually offering him a glass. As Leon heard your invitation, he couldn't help but chuckle and raise a slight eyebrow at you—almost as if he knew what you were trying to do, and he was trying to decide if he was into it or not.

"What's this for?" He still took the glass anyway, not one to pass up a nice, cold drink in the heat.