I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until Simon opened the door to his apartment building and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yep,” I forced out, my voice raspy. I coughed to the side and shoved the bouquet of flowers that was way too large at him, only for them to hit the screen door. “S-sorry!” I stammered, fumbling to collect any petals or leaves that fell off. “I-I was at the store, and I didn't know if you wanted more chocolate, but I saw the flowers, and, and these ones made me think of you, and I...uh...yeah.” I flushed. “I-I should probably shut up now.”

Simon pushed open the screen door. He slipped the flowers from me before whispering, “There's gay protocol for things like this, you know.”

“What?”

He smirked. “I'm kidding. Sorry.”

I smacked him in the arm, and my fingers tingled from pulling off skin. “Simon, I'm already panicking enough.”

“If that wasn't obvious.”

“Simon, I'm serious. It's not everyday I'm going on a date – ” My insides turned to mush when I said that. Because I was on a freaking date with Simon freaking Hopkins, actual freckled Adonis, and I didn't want to wreck anything about it. “ – with...” I cleared my throat.

He frowned. “Are you sure you want to date me?”

“What? Yes. Why?” This heavy, sinking dread filled my stomach.

“I just want you to be sure, Micah. I – ” He chuckled, but his face remained downtrodden. “Life would be easier if you, just, found a girl – ”

“You – ssssshhhhhhhhhh!” I hissed, my hand pressed into his face, and when my palm touched the tip of his nose, I won't lie and say I melted a little for some reason. “I've been freaking out about tonight for the past 12 hours. I didn't sleep last night, I kept messaging everyone from high school, I changed clothes 5 times, and my foster parents think I'm either going insane or I'm hopelessly in love with you, and I only prefer one of them.”

“You're absolutely insane.”

“Simon, I'm serious! I – ” I glanced down at his hands, and I wrapped my fingers around his. “I-I'm taking this seriously, okay?” When I met his eyes, he still had that uncertain look on his face. “Need I remind you, too, that I kissed you yesterday and you seemed to kiss me back?”

He flushed red. “Y – that's not fair! You looked so cute in the coffee shop, and – ”

“So I'm here for our date.”

Something in his expression softened, and Simon smirked. “Okay.” He stepped closer to me. “I'm not normally a flowers guy, but...I like them.”

I sighed. “Are you just saying that?”

“And if I was?”

“I'd kiss you until you said otherwise.”

He tried not smiling. It didn't work. “Guess you'll just have to find out then, won't you?” Simon's expression fell a moment later as he stepped to the side. “Do you...want to come in?”

I followed him inside, up the stairs to his apartment door.

“Be nice,” he warned. “I-I cleaned up a little, but I – there's just a lot of stuff – ” He opened the door.

He was right – his apartment was a studio that looked like it was still being unpacked, but it was an organized kind of unpacking. He had art prints of famous artists propped against the walls classic ones and modern ones and almost everything in between. He had 3 good, really pretty lamps. His floor was carpeted. The bathroom was tucked into one corner and a closet in the other, making up 2 sides of the kitchen. A small table stood in the middle of the kitchen. His mattress sat on the floor on the other side of the room while an IKEA bed frame, still unassembled, sat up against the glass doors leading out to a small balcony. It was a little eclectic but managed to work as a single thing.

There was nothing I didn't like about it. It felt so intimate. It all felt like him.

“I...don't have a vase, I think,” he whispered, crossing towards the kitchen.

“That's okay,” I said absentmindedly, taking off my coat and shoes, putting them neatly by the front door. “I like it.”

“You don't have to be nice, Micah,” he said. “It's a mess. I know it is. I-I did try cleaning up a little, but – ”

“Simon.”

He looked at me as he pulled a pitcher from one of the upper cabinets.

“I like it.”

He scoffed and turned away, filling the jug with water. “I didn't have anything planned. Do you want to order food?”

“What do you normally do on a first date?”

“Uh...” He hummed. “...so after the second rimjob – ”

“Hold on, let me take notes. ” I pulled out my phone. “I like notes. They make me feel organized.”

Simon snorted. “Micah, no.”

“No notes or rimjobs?”

“No, there – no. It's a first date. We do first date things.”

“But can I take notes?”

“I...guess?”

“Wait, do you like rimjobs?”

“I'm not answering that.”

I wrote “LIKES RIMJOBS? TBD” in my notes. And there was only a small part of me weirded out by it, considering the note was right next to another with all my weird animal questions, like “Why do ducks have corkscrew penises?”, “What kind of weight do penguins need to be to be able to fly?”, and “Can giraffe's choke on their tongues?”.

“What do you want to order?”

I inhaled. “You can't go wrong with Minnelli's. I like their pastas.”

“I'm down for Minnelli's.”

We ordered from Minnelli's – he got chicken and I got pasta. We got sides to share. Simon got dessert – a good square brick of tiramisu cake, which I've never had before – though I knew I wouldn't be able to eat it because Minnelli's pasta fills you up faster than gassing up a car. I think he got it to keep me around for longer, so I don't complain.

When the food comes, he plates it for me even though I'm fine with eating it out of the Styrofoam box. He grabbed a cup and put a few flowers in it like a small vase. When Simon was done setting up, he looked nervous and uncertain and so freaking cute that I kissed him.

“Don't,” he warned. “It's been a while since I've – ”

“I love it, Simon. I really, really do.” I looked down at the table, my hands on his chest. “I don't know how more perfect it can get.”

Another look crossed his face and he kissed me. One hand under my chin, the other pressed against my back. Simon tipped into me, his lips pressed slowly and carefully across my face, as if gauging my reaction, waiting for me to run.

I kissed him back, holding his face. His shoulders. His neck. My hands shook, and I didn't know if this all would end me, but by God, I knew I did not want it to stop.

Simon hummed, the sound seemingly reverberating through me, before he tipped his head back and cleared his throat. He pursed his lips, his breath ragged. “...we, uh – ” He cleared his throat again. “We, we should eat. Before the food...goes...cold.”

I made the mental note to add the question, “How the heck does attraction work?” to my list of questions. Not that I was complaining, really.

“I...” I swallowed, knowing we weren't going to do that again just yet, “...do...want to say, before the date starts – well, officially starts...but the food's here – ”

“Micah.”

“I freaking hate small talk.”

He raised a brow.

“I hate it. I don't want to talk about the weather, or how work was today. I want to talk to you.”

He flushed red. “God, are you always this cheesy?”

“Yes.”

He laughed.

“I'm serious. I want to talk to you. I don't care about discussing politics or climate change, I – okay, maybe later, but I want to get to know you. If you were on a desert island and could only bring 3 things, what would you bring? What was a childhood dream? What do you do when you've had a bad day at work?”

Simon hummed. “The desert island one – is it just general stuff, or ways for me to get rescued?”

“See? It's stuff like that that makes me know you. Also general stuff. You'll get rescued eventually.”

“Okay, uh...my computer,” he started, sitting down and digging into his meal, his eyes on the ceiling as he chewed with his mouth open. “Bug spray. Like an unlimited amount. I'll get eaten alive otherwise. And...my music.” He nudged his knee against my leg. “You?”

Once I finished making my notes, and ignored how very hard I was for some reason, I looked back to him. “All my books, but it's okay because I only have, like, 2 books I like reading – ”

He rolled his eyes at that.

“ – my music, and you.”

He scoffed, smirking. “You really can't help yourself, can you?”

I shook my head. I took in a mouthful of pasta. “I'm being honest.”

“I'm starting to see why your foster parents think you're insane.”

“I'd rather be helplessly in love with you.”

Simon didn't say anything for the longest while, and my heart tumbled into my stomach and started freaking dissolving. His face turned bright red and he cleared his throat. “I...” He grunted, and reached out his hand for mine, all the while glancing away. “God, fuck, I don't get it.”

I took his hand, and he squeezed it. “Am I coming on too strong?”

“No, I feel like I'm the one coming on too strong. No one falls in love like that. It only happens in stories.”

I smiled. “Then let's make this story good.”

Again, Simon flushed red. “...are you sure? You want to date me?”

“You think I'm going to walk away from you – you – because you're a guy?” I sat forward, squeezing his hand. “If I haven't reckoned with it yet, then I'm more stupid than I let on.”

That seemed to satisfy him, because Simon leaned back and asked, “Childhood dream?” His hand was still in mine, his thumb tracing the side over and over in this beautiful calming rhythm.

I nearly forgot the question because of it. I stammered, growing hotter as I shoveled more food into my mouth. “I-I had a, a ton. An astronaut, I wanted to be a pirate at one point, a baby otter – ”

“What.”

“ – but I always wanted a pedal car.” When he snorted at that, I rebuffed him. “I'm serious! I always wanted one of those racing car ones when I was a kid, and it hurts me that there aren't any good pedal cars for adults.” I picked out a stray herb from between my teeth.

He let go of my hand to cut his chicken. “Because they're for kids.”

“That's lame. So now, when I have the money, and the space, and the know-how, I'm going to make cool-looking pedal cars for adults. Make them look like Ferrari's and Mustangs and race cars and make biking fun again.” I waited, to gauge his response, but he seemed more interested by it than I had expected. “You?”

Simon drew in a breath before smirking, whispering, “Elephant.”

I laughed. “You're teasing!”

“I am.”

“Seriously.”

He hummed, putting another bite of chicken in his mouth. “I don't remember, honestly. I wasn't really that kind of kid. I...lived in my head a lot more than I wanted to, but it was easy. I wasn't really good at a lot of stuff growing up.” He shrugged, his mouth open for a moment. “I don't know. Maybe I didn't have one.” He scoffed, running his hand over his face. “God, I hate you.”

I raised a brow.

“But, if I could go back in time, and tell myself something, I'd say...'If you don't have a dream, it's okay because...I got to meet you'.” Then he grunted. “I can't do cheese like you. What are you doing to me?”

I nearly freaking scream, but I started laughing instead, and I couldn't stop. “What was that?”

“I-I don't know!”

“That was perfect.”

“-ly terrible.”

“No, I swear! It was perfect.”

“Don't mock me.” The look on Simon's face told me he was being serious. “I don't even know what the fuck that was.”

I was breathless, but I wiped my eyes and reached for his hand again. “I love you, Simon.”

He flushed red again. “God, fuck.” He squeezed my hand. “I'm not saying it. This night is already terrible and I won't add to it.” Yet the way he looked at me, I felt like the most important person in the entire freaking universe.

I started giggling. And I periodically giggled like an idiot for the next 5 hours while we talked and talked and talked.