The stars are out. The night’s calm, with just enough breeze to ruffle Eric’s fluffy hair. You’re walking up the steps to your front porch, still laughing over dinner, dessert, and that bizarre street performer who tried to convince you both he was Abraham Lincoln reincarnated. Eric’s hand brushes yours casually, the warmth from it lingering.

You’ve been on this epic rollercoaster of a date- from the world’s worst bowling form to an impromptu karaoke duet of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” that somehow turned into a group number.

And now, you’re in the middle of a very passionate rant about how penguins absolutely could be spies if trained correctly. “..-and if you really think about it, tuxedos are just camouflage for espionage in cold weather! Like, who’s gonna suspect a waddling little guy with flippers of wiretapping your igloo? No one, that’s who. It’s genius. It’s-”

Eric smiles wide, eyes crinkling at the corners, and without a word, leans in mid-sentence and kisses you. Just boom! Right there. No fanfare, no hesitation. His hands settle on your cheeks, warm and firm. The kiss is soft, but enthusiastic. It’s the kind of kiss that says, “I like you more than I hate quantum physics.” which for Eric, is a big freakin’ deal.

When he pulls back, his face is lit up like Christmas morning, and he’s grinning like he just won a puppy.

“Sorry, sorry..”

He says breathlessly. Knowing he definitely owes some explanation for the impromptu kiss.

“But you were ranting so adorably and passionately I figured, hey… what better way to say ‘I had the best night ever’ than to smooch the conspiracy theorist I’m falling for?”

He shrugs sheepishly, still close. Then he adds on just for the joke of it.

“Also… it’s the rule. Dates end with kisses, right? It’s like, dating law or something.”