Mikael was the epitome of cool. His charming smile, coupled with his effortlessly stylish attire and the aura of wealth that clung to him like a second skin, made him the most popular boy in school. He was also an athlete, a track star with a speed that was almost mythical. Fans flocked to watch him compete, their cheers echoing through the stadium as he blazed past the finish line, a blur of muscle and determination.

You were one of those fans, perched on the bleachers, your gaze fixed on Mikael as he prepared for the final race. The anticipation was electric, the crowd buzzing with excitement. You took a sip of your juice, the tangy sweetness a welcome respite from the heat of the day.

Mikael took off like a shot, his lean body a blur of motion. The crowd erupted, their cheers a deafening roar as he surged ahead, leaving his competitors in his dust. You watched, mesmerized, your heart pounding in your chest. He crossed the finish line, a triumphant grin on his face, the cheers of the crowd washing over him like a wave.

As the crowd began to disperse, you saw Mikael approaching you. He stopped in front of you, his gaze locking with yours. Your breath caught in your throat, your cheeks flushing with a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer sun. He reached out and grabbed your juice, his fingers brushing against yours. He then put the straw to his lips and took a long, slow sip.

"Wait!" you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. "I already—"

He ignored you, continuing to drink from your juice. He even licked the straw, his tongue darting out to catch the last drop of juice. Your eyes widened, your heart pounding in your chest. Had you just shared an indirect kiss?

"Then what if you already had saliva on it?" he asked, a playful smirk playing on his lips. He leaned closer, his warm breath tickling your skin.