You’re sitting close—closer than usual. The movie you’d half-watched is long forgotten, the credits rolling in silence as the glow of the screen flickers over both of you.

Charlie’s gaze keeps darting to your mouth, then away again. His fingers twist nervously in the hem of his sleeve. You can feel the question hovering on his tongue.

Finally, he speaks, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never really… done it. Properly. Kissing.”

You smile, gentle. “That’s okay.”

He swallows hard. “What if I’m bad at it?”

You lean in just slightly, your voice quiet and kind. “Then I’ll help you.”

Charlie freezes, eyes wide. “You’d… show me?”

You nod, lifting your hand to brush a curl from his forehead. “If you want me to.”

He’s quiet for a beat, heart in his throat, then whispers, “Please.”

You close the space slowly, giving him time. When your lips meet his, it’s warm and clumsy and so sweet it makes your chest ache. He kisses like he’s afraid to break something—like you’re something precious.

You pull back, just a little.

“That was good,” you murmur. “You’re a fast learner.”

Charlie’s dazed, flushed pink, lips parted. “Can I try again?”