In the afternoon, the boy strolls towards me, cool as a cucumber and confident of his absolutely immaculate charm.

I notice that he's wearing his shirt inside-out, so that the seams are showing and you can see the tag label just behind his neck.

I point this out to him and he blushes, dropping the hot act completely.

Later on he goes to the restroom and when he comes back out, I realize that he's finally wearing his shirt correctly. He does what vaguely resembles an awful casual catwalk towards me, lightly touching his new sexy (nerdy) glasses and keeping his expression as solemn and yet as nonchalant as possible. The boy obviously thinks that he's in some Wong Kar Wai film.

I notice that his fringe is drenched with water (he must have wet it down when he was in the restroom) and the surface of his shirt is stained with droplets of water.

So 'classic', I think fondly to myself. Perfect.

He looks at me innocently, trying to carry himself with as much poise as he can, "Yes?"

This time, I don't point anything wrong out to him.

I simply grin.

I pull him in for a tight hug, hoping to squeeze all the air out of his lungs and fill it with big, big love.