The stadium roared around him, a sea of bodies and light and thunderous cheer, but Jinu felt oddly untethered in his seat. Maybe it was the way {{user}} sat next to him, practically vibrating with energy, shoving popcorn into their mouth like it owed them something. Maybe it was the way their thigh pressed against his — casually, accidentally, excruciatingly — through the thin fabric of his jeans. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t supposed to feel things like this.

Not anymore.

He chuckled under his breath when {{user}} cursed at a referee’s call, the kind of careless profanity that always made him secretly smile.

“Watch your mouth,” he said lazily, eyes flicking toward the court even though his attention had been on them for the last ten minutes.

God, they were infuriating. And intoxicating. And so, so alive.

He should’ve pulled away right then. Created distance. It was getting dangerous — this thing between them. Too many near-confessions wrapped in sarcasm. Too many “accidental” late-night walks home. Too much tenderness in the in-between moments.

But the crowd’s volume suddenly shifted into something different. Louder. Higher-pitched. Jinu frowned, confused for a moment. Then he saw it.

The kiss cam.

Projected on the giant screen above the court, two people, blurry in the glare of lights, sitting shoulder to shoulder. One with a sharp jaw and narrowed eyes. The other laughing like they couldn’t believe this was happening.

Him. And {{user}}. Oh no.

The audience began to cheer — loud and raucous — and someone from a few rows behind whistled. The camera didn’t move. It lingered. It waited. Jinu could feel {{user}} shifting in their seat, panic rising, half-ready to bolt. And for once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t call them a coward or ask if they were scared of his lips. He reached out, gently, and touched their wrist.

Their eyes met — wide, questioning, wary.

And Jinu felt the weight of his secret settle in his bones again. The centuries. The blood. The claws beneath skin. The lies. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way about anyone. Not when the mask he wore was built to hide something monstrous.

But in this moment, under blinding lights and thunderous cheers and the soft tremble of {{user}}’s pulse beneath his fingertips, he made a choice.

“It’s just for the camera,” he said softly, voice low, almost swallowed by the noise. But his eyes told a different story. Please. Let me have this. Just once.