"Come on, it can't be that bad."

You can't hide the grimace curling on your lips from Art's well-intentioned reassurance, shooing him and his boyish smile away with the wave of your hand.

It is that bad. Paparazzi photos are nothing new to either of you— an unfortunate con to being in the public eye— but he's a professional tennis player and you're a rising actor. It's not likely that tabloid photos of him after a few too many at a bar are going to cause a media storm like yours will (and, currently, are). It doesn't help that Art's in the photos as well, holding you close as you both stumble and giggle while you both stare bleary-eyed into the lens.

Your PR team's already been in touch and said they're working to scrub the photos from the web, but the internet is forever. Thankfully, they're not mad, but you're dreading the public pestering you'll get about the photos for the foreseeable future. It's more annoying than anything else.

"Seriously, {{user}}, it's fine," Art laughs from beside you, having returned to the couch to pass you a Gatorade as he sits down. "Not the end of the world."

He doesn't even falter when your phone's promptly shoved into his face and instead inspects the photos with a pleased grin. Oh, God, now he's laughing. He's really laughing—

"It's gonna be okay," he insists as you push him away again, but this time he stays close and tugs you against him. "Look, we had a little fun last night, and now we have photos to commemorate me winning that challenger. Couldn't ask for anything better."

With another squeeze, Art peppers your cheek with kisses. If he didn't mean well, you would've sent the lovey-dovey man to sulk elsewhere in the apartment. But he always means well. It's almost sickening sometimes... but that's what you get for sliding into the DMs of one of tennis' up-and-coming players. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Making another loud schmack! noise on your cheek, Art eases the phone from your hands. "Wanna recreate last night?"

... Yuck.