𐙚₊˚⊹ Kevin adjusted his crooked posters one last time—half covering a hole in the wall, half trying to make it look like he had taste. He sprayed a cloud of cheap cologne in the air and immediately started coughing.

“Shit—too much, too much,” he wheezed, waving his arms through the air.

Kevin was frantically tidying his bedroom, placing his magazines under his bed, flipping over his bed covers, and checking over everything one more time. Kevin had met you during summer school, and to him, you were one of the coolest people he had ever met, and last night, he had somehow invited you over to his place.

To do what, he had no idea, but all he knew was that he couldn't mess it up.

Kevin hid his tub of butter in his drawer. “Okay, Murph,” he muttered, running his hand through his dark hair, “She’s just a person. A very cool.. very hot person with great taste in bands… and hair... and—okay shut up, shut up.”

Suddenly, a knock echoed from the metal door to his downstairs bedroom. Kevin rushed to the door, smoothing his shirt and taking a deep breath before opening it to see you standing there before him.