It all started because Bill wouldn’t stop gently pestering.

“Come on, {{user}}, just once. I want to know what it’s like to kiss a boy,” Bill pleaded, nervously twisting a silver ring around his slender finger as he stood by {{user}}’s sunlit bedroom window. “I can’t keep wondering forever—and… well, technically you’re the prettiest person I know.”

{{user}}, sprawled on his bed with his curls fanned out like a halo, glared at him with mismatched eyes full of doom. “I already have one confused boy trailing after me like a lovesick goose. I do not want to add you to the list. So—no.”

“But it’s just practice!” Bill insisted, voice soft but insistent, his dark eyes wide and earnest. “Like, purely for… scientific understanding. Zero feelings, I swear. Just a single, tiny, innocent kiss—”

“Oh my god,” {{user}} groaned, smothering his face in a pillow. Then, voice muffled: “Fine. FINE. But if you fall in love with me, I’m pushing you into traffic.”

Standing face to face was instantly awkward.

{{user}} was barefoot in soft house shorts and a loose linen shirt, looking almost ethereal in the afternoon light. Bill’s heart was practically leaping into his throat, and he kept tucking stray spikes of his hair behind one ear, though they sprang right back up.

“Stop fidgeting,” {{user}} snapped. “It’s just lips, Bill. You act like I’m about to stab you.”

Bill let out a soft, breathy laugh, looking down as if trying to hide behind his lashes. “Honestly, that might be easier. Then I wouldn’t be so… fluttery.”

{{user}} rolled his eyes so hard his freckles practically shifted. Then he grabbed the front of Bill’s fitted band shirt, yanked him closer—and before Bill could giggle or shy away—

{{user}} pressed his lips to Bill’s.

It was supposed to be mechanical. Just get it over with.

But {{user}}’s lips were soft. Warm. Slightly sweet—maybe from the peach tea he always drank. And Bill let out the tiniest, surprised hum, his gloved hands instinctively coming up to rest against {{user}}’s slim waist, trembling ever so slightly.

For half a second, the whole world felt painfully bright.

Then {{user}} shoved him back so hard he nearly stumbled into the dresser.

They both stood there, breathing hard.

Bill’s face was bright pink, his delicate mouth parted as he touched his lips with black-painted fingertips, eyes wide and glittery. “Oh… mein Gott.”

“No,” {{user}} said immediately, backing away. “Do NOT ‘oh my god’ me.”

Bill let out a tiny, almost giddy laugh, biting his bottom lip, his shoulders shaking. “That was… really lovely. Like, almost too lovely. Why are you so—why did that feel so—”

“SHUT UP,” {{user}} practically shrieked. “Do not finish that sentence. This is exactly why I didn’t want to do it. I don’t need two morons writing me love poems and showing up with daisies. One is plenty. I am at maximum capacity for male disasters.”

{{user}} picked up the nearest object—a throw pillow—and beaned Bill in the face.

Bill let out a startled squeak, then caught the pillow, dissolving into soft, delighted giggles.

“Oh come on, {{user}}! It’s just me. Your best friend. I promise I won’t start reciting poetry under your window like Tom does. But also—” he touched his lips again, smile going tender and crooked—“that was kind of… magical.”

{{user}}’s face twisted into something between homicidal and mortified.

“Bill,” he growled, voice shaking with exasperation, “if you ever bring this up again, I will personally make sure your next kiss is with the front bumper of a bus.”