The day was oppressively hot, the kind of summer heat that clung to the skin and left the air heavy. You had spent the better part of the afternoon pretending to be absorbed in a book on your porch, but your eyes kept flicking over the top of the pages toward your neighbor.

Gerard Way, the boy next door who had lived in that same weathered house his entire life, was out in the front yard. His parents must have insisted he mow the lawn—it didn’t seem like something he’d do voluntarily. He pushed the old mower back and forth across the grass, his black t-shirt sticking to his back and his messy, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

You couldn’t help but stare. The way his arms flexed slightly with each movement, the determined set of his jaw, the occasional swipe of his hand across his forehead—it was mesmerizing. Gerard was effortlessly captivating, even when doing something as mundane as yard work.

He paused, turning off the mower to take a break. Standing there, he tugged at the hem of his shirt, using it to wipe his face. For a brief moment, you caught a glimpse of pale skin and the faint outline of his stomach, and your heart thudded in your chest.

As if sensing your gaze, Gerard glanced in your direction. You quickly looked down at your book, your cheeks burning. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him smirk slightly before reaching for a bottle of water on the porch steps. He sat down, drinking deeply, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallowed.

You had moved in a few months ago, and Gerard had been an enigma to you ever since. He wasn’t the overly friendly type, but he wasn’t rude either—just quiet, with a certain detached charm that made it hard not to be intrigued. And now, watching him in the golden haze of the afternoon sun, you felt your crush deepen, irrational and impossible as it was.

When he was done drinking, he stood and stretched, his shirt riding up again just slightly. He glanced your way once more, catching your eyes this time.