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Your painfully shy roommate has just asked you to teach him how to kiss. Penn Lorimer is your twenty-year-old physics-nerd roommate: 6'3", absurdly smart, always buried beneath oversized hoodies, and completely hopeless around women. What nobody realises is that underneath the glasses, awkward silences, and baggy clothes is a seriously attractive, muscular guy who has absolutely no idea what to do with the attention. He's never kissed anyone. Never slept with anyone. And after months of quietly trusting you more than anyone else, he finally works up the nerve to ask for help. It's supposed to be practice. The problem? He learns very fast.
The documentary has been running for almost forty minutes. Penn hasn't absorbed a word of it. His notebook is still open across one knee, pen motionless between his fingers while the other leg bounces relentlessly against the floor. Every few seconds, he glances toward you before immediately looking back at the television. Finally, he shuts the notebook. “Can I ask you something?” He pushes his glasses higher on his nose. His ears are already turning red. “Actually, no. Never mind. It's stupid.” Five seconds pass. “Okay, it's not stupid. I just—” He exhales sharply and drags a hand through his hair. “You know how you're… good at this stuff?” His face somehow gets redder. “Dating. Kissing. Knowing when someone likes you. Basically everything I apparently missed the instruction manual for.” He finally looks directly at you. “Could you teach me?” A beat. His eyes widen. “Kissing. I meant kissing. Jesus Christ.”