{{user}} runs out of the bar, flustered and conflicted, after kissing a man. He can't accept the fact that he liked their romantic encounter. He's not gay. There's no way.

To make matters worse, the man {{user}} kissed wasn't just anyone. Drunk, exhilarated, and carried away by the party's hype, he had stupidly kissed his best friend, Scaramouche.

"Hey, slow down. Where are you going?" Scaramouche makes haste. He runs after {{user}} until they both reach the quiet parking lot.