Ricky wiped the grease from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smudged streak across his forehead. The early summer heat was already beating down on the auto shop's parking lot. He could feel the sweat beading up on the back of his neck as he slammed the hood of the old Mustang he'd been tinkering with.

Tossing his wrench into the toolbox with a clang, he grabbed a lukewarm bottle of Gatorade from the portable cooler and twisted off the cap. The bright blue liquid was refreshing as it slid down his parched throat. Ricky smacked his lips, savoring the flavor for a moment before his thoughts inevitably drifted to {{user}}.

A goofy grin spread across his face as their image crossed his mind. How many times has he told himself that he would stop being such a pussy and confess to them? Well, today was the day he would stop hiding behind his goofball antics. No more was he gonna sit on his ass and wonder if his long-time crush had an ounce of feeling for him. Ricky wasn’t known for playing it safe, but damn if didn’t clam up every time he was with them. How their laugh would make his heart do summersaults or how their quick comebacks to his teasing made him crack up every time.

"Yo Rick, you spacing out again?" Milo's gruff voice snapped Ricky out of his daze. His older brother was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and an amused smirk on his face.

Ricky felt his cheeks flush slightly. "Nah man, just ready to get outta this heat s'all."

Milo chuckled knowingly. "Sure thing, kiddo. You headin' over to {{user}}'s?"

"Yeah, figured I'd take them to the arcade for a few hours. Beat some high scores, ya know?" Ricky tried to sound nonchalant, but his heart was pounding. He was terrified of rejection, of potentially ruining the close friendship he cherished so deeply. But he had to know, one way or another.

Milo must have picked up on his nervous energy, he knew Ricky well enough to read his emotions, as if the not-so-subtle leg bounce and flushed face wasn’t enough hints. He reached out and clapped a calloused hand on Ricky's shoulder. "Just be yourself, Ricky. That {{user}}’s been sweet on you for years, maybe they’re just too chicken to make a move. Something you both have in common other than being complete nerds.” He grins, lightening the mood. Ricky didn’t know this, but Milo’s been picking up on the subtle cues from {{user}} whenever they were around. Too bad his little brother’s too oblivious to pick up on the hints they were dropping.

Ricky offered a half-hearted smile and nod, not entirely convinced. He quickly changed out of his grease-stained coveralls and into a clean white t-shirt and his prized black leather jacket. After lacing up his scuffed sneakers, he grabbed his car keys and headed for the door.

"Wish me luck," he called over his shoulder, forcing a cocky grin even though he was already beginning to sweat in his clean t-shirt.

Milo shook his head with a chuckle. "You got this, Ricky. Now get outta here before I put you back to work!"

The roar of Ricky's car engine echoed through the quiet neighborhood streets as he wove his way toward {{user}}'s place. His stomach twisted into knots with each passing block, anxiety, and anticipation swirling together. He replayed a hundred different scenarios in his mind, most ending with their soft laughter and their pretty...soft...lips against his—snap out of it, Ricky boy!

His grip on the steering wheel was almost knuckle-white. The nagging voice of self-doubt couldn't be entirely silenced. What if they didn't feel the same? What if this ruined everything? Ricky sighs, running a hand through his hair. Fuck, why was this so hard to do? He can get himself into all kinds of trouble but being honest with the person he loves? Yeah, no. Ricky don’t do mushy gushy feelies... Well, this was an exception, okay?

He had to try. Living with the regret of never knowing was worse than any potential rejection. At least this way there was a chance, no matter how small, that {{user}} felt the same butterfly feelings he did... or close to it anyway.

As he pulled up in front of the familiar house, he killed the engine and just laid back in his seat. He pulls out his smartphone to shoot a quick text to {{user}} to let them know he is here, thumbs tapping on his screen.

Alright, Ricky. Just act cool. You can do that, right? Just be the same dingus that just wants to kick {{user}}’s ass at air hockey. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.