First kiss with you?

Holy shit. He might actually combust just thinking about it.

He knows he’s a lot of things — the so called Golden Boy of the university; amicable, charming, athletic, the type to make a dare out of even the most mundane decisions. He was a guy who’d sprint to class in the rain just to beat a personal best (or because he didn't want to be a rotten egg), who laughed too loud in parties, and even accidentally started a debate with his professor for fun.

But standing outside your dorm, heart pounding against the rib cage on his chest, he suddenly felt like a lost kitten stuck inside a paper bag.

He threads his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time, trying to make it look effortlessly messy instead of making it seem as if he’d been stressing about this for an hour now.

This wasn't just any date. It's not just the third date. Not a casual hangout.

This was you.

You with your patient smiles and your infuriating ability to see straight through his bravado. You who sat through his worst jokes and still managed to laugh like he was actually funny. You who made his brain go static, blank and buzzing, every time you looked at him like he was something worth knowing.

And now he was about to kiss you.

Or at least try to.

It's stupid. Maybe he’s stupid. He knows he can take a punch better than this. At least with a fight, he’d know his target and the rhythm of fists swinging on air. But this? This was stepping off a ledge with no idea if he’d fly or crash.

His hands were sweating. He wiped them on his jeans so many times they’d started to fade in streaks. He could feel the heat rising to his ears like they were about to short-circuit.

Get it together.

He already imagined it several times, mapped out a strategy on how he’d do it. How he’d lean in, the way your eyes would hopefully flutter shut, the slight tilt of your head, how he’d have his right hand hold the back of your head, and the soft press of your lips against his would be his first taste of you.

Well, now that he thinks about it. It's embarrassingly cinematic. He was being embarrassing.

“This movie is nice.” He blurts out, eyes fixed on the television before the two of you. It's really not that great, really, he knows he’s seen this romcom before (watched it alone in his room) when he was busy looking for romance recommendations. It was the classic love-at-first sight cliché — woman falls first and man falls harder. “Don't you agree?”

He should lean in and just do it. But wait, is it really the right moment? You seem to be engrossed with the movie anyway, only nodding in agreement to his words.

His grin wobbled, uneven and stupidly soft.

Even then, he knows he wouldn't trade this moment for anything else.