Ruben tosses and turns till at least two o'clock – that's the last he looks at his alarm – because he is much too excited and keeps imagining all kinds of different scenarios. How they would be walking in the woods – all alone, of course, nobody to disturb them – and he would take Thomas's hand and give it a little squeeze and Thomas would smile at him and give his hand a little squeeze back. His hand would be warm and their fingers would fit perfectly together – because who needs gloves when the weather forecast predicted maximum temperatures of 13°C?

And then they would see a deer between the trees, gazing at them, and they would stare back and when it fled, they would look at each other and it would be the perfect moment for their first kiss and it would be magical. Then they would part – 'part', just that word evokes visions of lovers looking in each other's eyes and souls, their heads close enough to share their breaths, or love poems that capture the overwhelming greatness of a first kiss because there is no way 'part' refers to something ordinary, something he has experienced before – and they would smile at each other and then his fantasy stops because he can't imagine something more beautiful and fulfilling than that moment and of course what would come after that kiss should be even greater because these things should only keep getting better.

***

He's up and running when it's not even eight o'clock yet and if it hadn't been so late when he fell asleep, it probably would have been earlier. They have arranged to meet at one of the entrances to the woods at half past nine because it would be stupid for either of them to make a detour to the other's house, even if Ruben secretly would have enjoyed the few extra minutes together.

In order to avoid mum and dad commenting on his early rise and enthusiasm and giant smile – he can almost hear dad say something like: "Sure you're not meeting up with your secret girlfriend?" – he sneaks out of the house before they're up. Luckily, they very much prefer to sleep in on Saturday mornings and it's not like they don't know where he's going. Never mind that he's almost half an hour too early – the cold will be damned.

The wait allows his nerves to flare up, however, and that bothers him more than the freezing wind or the cloudy sky this early in the morning. He tries to keep himself warm and his nerves in check by stuffing his hands in his pockets and pacing across the parking lot. As nice as his fantasies were, he knows he doesn't have that kind of confidence in real life. Talking won't be a problem anymore – or he hopes so, because, with his social awkwardness, he can never too sure he won't make a fool of himself – but when it comes to anything more than what they have already done – holding hands, saying or doing something romantic, kissing – he knows he'll chicken out. But – this time, he'll really try, he'll be more determined than ever to get rid of his shyness. He has to, has to, has to, HAS TO.

Gravel crunches behind him and Ruben halts his 'pep-talk' and turns around.

"Hey." Thomas waves in greeting and stalls his bike.

"Hey."

Thomas walks up to him with his hands in his pockets as well and for a moment, they awkwardly stand next to each other, gazes gliding past one another and shuffling. Ruben breaks the silence: "Let's go. It's too cold to stand still." Thomas nods.

They walk side by side and as Ruben starts warming up because he's no longer standing still, he slowly relaxes and enjoys Thomas's company and the autumn colours. They don't really talk, rather glance, sometimes catching the other and looking away with rosy cheeks, but that could just as well be the cold.

Eventually, Thomas points out a tree with white mushrooms growing on it. "Do you know what kind of tree that is?" He seems almost embarrassed but determined not to take back his words.

"No. Do you?"

"Yes. It's a beech."

"Oh."

Thomas slows down. "Sorry. I suppose that's not interesting?"

"No. I mean, I don't mind. I just don't know the first thing about trees. Like, in the first form we had to analyse leaves, right, and that was okay because we could use that scheme but I don't remember anything. How come you do? You didn't study all that, did you?"

"Not really. I mean, my dad taught me. He studied all those things in university and we often come here and yeah. I think it's nice to know since most people don't know much anymore about nature and with climate change and deforestation and everything ..."

"That's cool. What kind of tree is that?"

"That's also a beech. There are lots of beeches here. Look at the shape of the leaves."

"Oh. And can you tell me what kind of tree that is? That's not a beech, is it?"

They continue walking with either Ruben asking the name of trees and plants or Thomas pointing them out. Ruben finds himself enamoured by Thomas's knowledge and passion for it.

"Do you want to study biology later?"

Thomas shrugs and looks sheepish. "Maybe. I don't know yet. Do you know already?"

"Not at all. Latin is my favourite subject, but it's not something I would want to study at university or something and there's nothing I really hate, so ... I guess I have lots of options. Except maybe chemistry." He grins cheekily and Thomas grins right back. Ruben realises he's closer than before, close enough for their hands to brush once in a while. This is his chance. He just has to move a little bit closer ... Now their hands brush with each step and the accompanying swings of their arms.

It's easy, he tells himself. You're so close that your hand could almost glide in his without any effort. Just do it. If he doesn't like it, you can just say it was by accident.

He realises he has clenched his right hand and his fingers twitch. Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty. He tries to discreetly wipe them on his pants, but only partly succeeds – if your hand has previously been brushing against another, such a move is bound to attract attention.

Come on. No chickening out. He glances down – how awkward would it be if he reached for Thomas's hand and missed his hand and instead just bumped against his hip – and grabs Thomas's hand, but as soon as he does, he feels silly because it doesn't feel all that intimate or romantic but more like they're back in primary school or kindergarten and have to hold hands and walk in a neat row in order to cross the street with teachers hovering nearby like shepherds, making sure no little lambs are lost.

However, Thomas squeezes his hand and when Ruben looks aside, he is smiling broadly and his eyes continuously flit to their joined hands. Neither of them says anything and Ruben rejoices in the silence because words would surely ruin the moment and make it awkward, so he bathes in the booming of his heart, fuelled by the elation at Thomas's smile.

Inevitably, it seems, he eventually notices how clammy his hand is, how they walk just not close enough for it to be comfortable. He can't retract his hand to wipe it on his trousers, can he? And he can't walk closer either. Or can he?

Thomas makes the decision for him by giving a soft tug. They are so close! Not only their hands, but their arms are touching! Gradually, Ruben relaxes and he discovers that his clammy hand actually doesn't bother him all that much since Thomas doesn't seem to mind either – at least, he doesn't comment on it and rather keeps pointing out different flora. It's still weird, holding hands and walking so close to someone else, but it's a good weird.

They make a stop at a café at another entrance to the woods. Hunched over their hot cocoa across from one another, warming their hands on the hot mugs, Ruben's gaze lingers on Thomas's lips a few seconds at a time before it flickers back to the hair crawling over his forehead. They are pouting because Thomas is blowing carefully in his mug. He would really like to kiss them, even if the concept is foreign and strange in his head and he doesn't know what the big deal is – no, that's a lie: he does know what the big deal since he is so nervous and it seems like such a big step and he wonders and wonders and longs, but he can't get his head around it because how do you kiss, otherwise than pressing lips against lips like two motionless dolls smashed together?

And when is the right time? Not now, Thomas is too far away. When they're walking? No, surely, he'd manage to miss Thomas's lips if he tried to aim while moving.

Thomas catches his eyes at some point, but it only elicits a soft smile. Ruben wants to engrave that smile in his memory because it burns his heart.

At last, it is noon and they return to the entrance where their bikes are parked. For a while, they stand face to face, silently shuffling, neither of them making any moves to grab his bike, and Ruben really, REALLY wants to kiss Thomas because it's already their fourth date and the end of a date strikes him as quite romantic and the easiest option – at least easier than any other moment he can think of for, which is not a simple feat with Thomas looking at him – and he is not that much of a chicken shit, is he? For heaven's sake, how lame would it be if Thomas decided to break up because Ruben never kissed him?

But he hasn't gathered enough courage yet, so he has to win time. "This is our fourth date."

"Yes."

"So, uhm ... Would you maybe like ... a fifth?" The minor fall and the major lift.

Thomas nods repeatedly, grinning. "I would love one." Silence. "You'll text me, right? This week, I mean?"

"Of course." More silence. "Bye, then?" Ruben starts turning around.

"Wait! Uhm ..." Thomas's hand awkwardly hangs in the air between them and he takes a step forward. "Can I – " He doesn't finish his sentence, nor waits for Ruben to react. Instead, he briefly presses his lips against Ruben's – though only partly – before retreating, his face blood red. The burn in Ruben's cheeks is not much better and his lips curl into a stupid, silly grin. It is not deserving of the word 'parting', nor magical like he imagined – mainly because it was too short to realise he was being kissed before it was over – but his lips tingle all the same and he can't believe he just had his very first kiss, with Thomas! Quiet, friendly Thomas with the shy smile and the vibrant laugh, who loves books and strategy games and whom he's been crushing on since sometime last year.

"Bye." Thomas turns on his heels, dashes to his bike and bolts out of the parking lot – at least the cycling equivalent. Ruben watches him till he's out of sight and stays put for a few more seconds to cool down.

He doesn't know how to address this ... development, this kiss – if he even has to address it – but maybe this is the kind of thing that sorts itself out. He'll probably dream about it for weeks to come, but hopefully, those dreams will be replaced by memories of more kisses like that, maybe even ones that last longer than a split second.

Therefore, when he is home and has survived lunch with his parents questioning what he has done, he sends: Hey! Are you up for a game?