Alex’s hands were slick and clammy, as he pushed back a gulp of spit with a swallow. His armpits felt uncomfortable with sweat; he hadn’t even realized how nervous he was until he was actually standing on {{user}}’s porch.

Alex shuffled on his feet, adjusting himself. He raised a hand to knock on the older wooden door to the farmhouse {{user}} lived in. He had a bouquet of flowers clenched in his left hand, all pinks, white and red roses.

He forced himself to relax, so they didn’t squish. He could do this. He’d planned this for weeks. He had the flowers, the card, the brown stuffed teddy bear that was holding a heart and said some dumb phrase like “i wuv u!” on it.

Alex took a deep breath. He was fine.

He jerkily knocked on the door, foot tapping impatiently. Once it swung open, he panicked. He shoved the gifts into {{user}}’s hands, his cheeks bursting into a rare color of embarrassment and humiliation.

“Sorry, happy valentines, sorry,” he was already tripping over his feet, still holding the envelope as he turned around.

The envelope with the card that resembled a love confession he’d wrote. Jesus, he could never give {{user}} that! He’d think he was a freak!