You had no idea holding hands was so complicated.

As Kris walked you back to your place, he had taken your hand quite casually, as if it was something he did on a regular basis. You’d glanced at it, hardly believing the sight or even the feeling of his hand dwarfing yours, and then at him. He hadn’t said a word or given any indication that he was affected by it, so you’d looked away, feeling your cheeks burn red.

Still, you were sure your hands were – there was really no other word for it – drenched in sweat. Any proximity to Kris made you nervous, and now that you were actually holding his hand, you thought you might die of embarrassment (and oh, maybe some happiness, you had to admit). You just didn’t know how to hold his hand. At the moment, your grip was light – you were aiming for a casual feel – because you didn’t want to seem to clingy by holding it tightly, but you didn’t want to let go either.

Still, the urge to wipe your hand was absolutely overwhelming. And you didn’t know what to do with your other hand now that you actually thought about it. This date was going downhill very fast.

“Is something wrong?”

You shook your head. “No, everything’s good,” you said, pleased with how normal your voice sounded. You gave him a smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous you were.

Kris smiled back, and your heart just melted. “Are you sure? You seem a little distracted.”

“I was just thinking about stuff,” you said quickly. “Nothing important.”

“You were concentrating pretty hard, you know. Looks pretty important to me,” he said, and you were hoping the amused tone of his voice was just him making a joke, not him laughing at you.

You laughed weakly anyway. “It’s nothing, I just…nothing,” you finished lamely, gaze on the ground. There was a part of you that just wanted to run away and pretend nothing ever happened, but you didn’t ever want to forget that you had a date with the boy you had a massive crush on. No running away, you told yourself firmly. “What were you thinking about?” you asked, trying to distract him so you could calm yourself down.

“I was thinking about you,” said Kris.

You didn’t think your heart could beat any faster, but it did. And of course, your hands got a lot sweatier. “What about me?” You couldn’t take it anymore, so you gently extracted your hand from his and wiped it quickly. And now you didn’t know what to do with it – were you supposed to hold his hand? Or would that be too weird, especially since it felt like ages since you let go.

“I was thinking about how nice it was to finally hold your hand,” Kris answered, and you figured you could probably die happy, “and then I started thinking about how shy you were.”

“I’m not that shy,” you said, frowning slightly. “I mean, I’m not loud or outgoing or anything, but–”

“I was thinking about how shy you were around me,” he interrupted, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Oh,” you said.

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Well…” You stopped walking and looked away (you were never really good with eye contact), wondering how you could phrase your feelings without ruining the small chances you had with Kris. “Well,” you said again, “I’m shy around you because…I really like you. And you’re always so cool about everything, it almost felt like you didn’t like me as much as I like you, or if you liked me at all, especially since I’m a nervous wreck just holding hands with you, and you’re…not.”

There was silence.

“I’m sorry, I say a lot of things without thinking,” you added quietly.

“Sounds to me like you thought a lot about this,” Kris said gently.

“Yeah, I guess I have,” you mumbled.

“Too bad you’re wrong,” he said, and when you looked up at him curiously, he was smiling. “You really think I don’t like you?”

You shrugged uneasily. “Maybe.”

He said your name then, soft and gentle and your name never sounded as nice as it did coming from his mouth. He took your hand – it looked so small in his – and placed it against his chest. You swallowed nervously, hardly believing that you were touching him in such an intimate manner, but then he said, “Can you feel it?”

“Feel what?” you asked.

Kris smiled again, and it was a little crooked, as if he was embarrassed. “Can you feel my heart beating?”

Your cheeks flushed red, and you stared at your hand on his chest incredulously. He was warm, comfortably so, and his white shirt was so thin you could feel his heart beating beneath it.

Oh.

It was practically thrumming against your palm, beating just as fast as yours. Your fingers curled, just a tiny bit, and you could hardly believe what you were feeling.

“If I didn’t like you, would I be this nervous?” Kris asked, and it was then you realised you could hear a hint of worry in his voice.

You smiled. “You like me?”

“I like you a lot.”

You let your hand drop from his chest to hang in the small space between you, and you relished the fact that he was still holding it. “Thank you,” you said softly. “I mean, thank you for telling me…it must’ve taken a lot of courage.”

Kris smiled again, and your heart fluttered in response. “So did this.”

And before you could open your mouth, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to yours in a short, sweet kiss, his other hand coming up to brush against your burning cheeks. He pulled away all too quickly, and your eyes, which had fluttered shut instinctively, opened when he did. His face was still very, very close to yours; his lips mere centimetres from your own.

“I think you’re going to give me a heart attack,” you blurted.

He laughed at that. “I don’t want you to ever think that I don’t like you.”

“I guess you’ll have to keep reminding me,” you said, grinning until he kissed you again.