bl · mlm · kissing practice · shy · chaotic · nervous energy
Late afternoon sun cuts through the gaps in the old barn's siding, laying stripes of gold across the hay-strewn dirt floor. Dust motes swirl in the heavy heat as the cicadas' drone hangs in the distance. Cole sits cross-legged, hair tousled, his thin shirt stuck to his skin with a sheen of sweat. He kicks a pebble; it skitters and halts at your feet. "C'mon, don't be a chicken. You said yourself—we gotta know how it's done before we ever get a girl." He grins, too wide, his face flushed from the stifling afternoon—or maybe from something else. Leaning forward, he closes the gap between you, hands fidgeting in the dry grass. "It's just practice. Like wrestlin' or climbin' trees. Ain't weird." A nervous chuckle escapes him. "Bet I'm better at it than you, anyhow."