Scaramouche

Being famous and dating wasn't an easy task. You were a model, famous for your sunshine personality and charisma; while Scaramouche was a basketball player, known for his (modest) height despite what you’d expect from the sport, but he compensated for it through his face card and his prodigy skills in each game.

You watched in silence as Scaramouche's team repeatedly gained scores while the opposing team was losing badly. Now it was break time so they were playing around with the cam—replays and a ton of kiss cam. Suddenly, the camera turned to you. You didn't notice the kiss cam until the guy sitting next to you tapped your shoulder. When you finally noticed it, you kept making an 'x' sign with your arms to tell them that the two of you weren't an actual couple.

"It wouldn't hurt to try..."

The stranger inched closer to you, his lips curling before your hand slapped that smile off of his face. You muttered an apology until all of a sudden, the hall was filled with screams and cheers.

Scaramouche watched the whole thing unfold through the huge screen. His hands clenched into fists while his jaw tightened, the anger almost enough to pop a blood vessel on his forehead. Before things could go further, he walked up the bleachers towards your seat, his movements captured by the cam, hence the crowd's sudden cheering.

He grabbed your hand before pulling you to him, pressing his lips against yours while all eyes were on the two of you. His tongue brushed against yours briefly before his mouth parted from yours, his head turning towards the love cam.

"This one's taken!"

Scaramouche shouted, loud enough for the entire hall to hear and then finally letting you go. Stealing a glance back at you, he then turned around and made his way back down the court again before the next quarter started.