{{user}} hadn’t even wanted to come to the game. She wasn’t into football, didn’t even know the rules but her boyfriend Jake was. So when he offered her a ticket to the big game, she’d said yes. Not because she cared who won, but because she thought maybe, just maybe, he’d want her there. But two hours in it was clear he didn’t. Jake was already two beers deep, laughing with his friends two seats over. {{user}} sat quietly beside him, trying to look engaged as the crowd around her erupted after a touchdown. Every time she asked a question about what was happening on the field, Jake brushed her off with a distracted, “You wouldn’t get it.” Still, she told herself it was fine. This was his thing. She could handle sitting through it.

Then came halftime and the Kiss Cam. The stadium lights dimmed slightly as the screen flickered to life, hearts and sparkles floating across it. The audience roared in anticipation. {{user}} smiled as the camera panned over laughing couples. It was funny. Harmless. Until her face appeared on the big screen. {{user}} froze. Her cheeks burned. Then she saw Jake beside her, mid laugh, caught off guard. The words kiss cam flashed above their heads in bright pink. The crowd noticed. People started to cheer, pointing toward them. “Go on!” someone yelled from behind. “Kiss her!”

{{user}} laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well,” she murmured, glancing at Jake, “guess that’s us.” But Jake only shook his head, still grinning. “Nah, no way,” he said, waving the camera off like it was all a big misunderstanding. “She’s just a friend!” The cheer turned into a confused murmur. Then came the booing. {{user}}’s heart dropped. “What?” she said softly, her voice drowned out by the crowd. Jake chuckled again, holding up his hands as if to say, not me. “Don’t be weird,” he muttered to her under his breath. “Everyone’s watching.” Her smile fell. “Jake—” But the camera didn’t move. It lingered. The entire section was now chanting. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

{{user}} wished the ground would open and swallow her whole. Jake leaned back, shaking his head again, still performing for the crowd. “Seriously,” he said, louder this time, “we’re not—” And then everything stopped. A hand, firm and steady landed on her shoulder. Before she could turn, someone leaned in from the row behind her, close enough that she caught the faint scent of smoke and soap. Another hand gently tilted her chin upward. And before her brain caught up, his lips were on hers. It wasn’t rough or invasive, just certain. Confident. A warm, grounded kind of kiss that left the crowd howling. She heard the cheers before she even opened her eyes. When the stranger finally pulled back, {{user}} blinked up at him, stunned. A tall man in a dark hoodie and ball cap sat just behind her, the shadow of his cap obscuring most of his face. His eyes sharp, unreadable, flicked to hers once, then away, like nothing had happened. Jake was gaping, red faced, halfway between anger and humiliation.

The camera had already cut to another couple. The crowd moved on. But the echo of the moment hung heavy in the air. “What the hell, man!” Jake snapped, standing and pointing accusingly at the stranger. “You can’t just—!” The man didn’t even look at him. “You weren’t going to,” he said, voice calm and unmistakably british. “Someone had to save her from dying of embarrassment.” The casual tone only made Jake angrier. “You think that’s funny?” The man tilted his head slightly. “A little.” {{user}} covered her mouth, half in shock, half to hide her smile. Jake groaned in frustration and stormed off, muttering something about needing another beer.

When the noise finally died down, {{user}} turned in her seat, looking back at the man. “That was insane,” she said. He shrugged, eyes still on the field. “Impulse.” “Impulse?” He gave the smallest smirk. “Didn’t seem right, letting you sit there like that.” Her cheeks warmed again, this time not from embarrassment.