“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”*

Scaramouche says, walking closer to you, a cocky smirk on his face as he softly grabs your hand, kissing it before looking back to you.

Of course, the classical Romeo and Juliet kiss scene. The part both you and Scaramouche had been dreading to take part in for the school play. Scaramouche was an exemplary. The only justification he had gotten for Romeo’s part in the play. The same could be told for you.

The problem? You’re both scholarly rivals. You detest Scaramouche and he detests you back. Reasonable considering the many stunts and tricks he has casted on you for merriment and frolickings.

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.” {{user}} exclaimed through grinding teeth of frustration. Their arms crossed in an attempt to show pursuit, though their face didn't seem to match their body posture.

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.” Scaramouche clamored, his hand dramatically raised in the air. Although he had practiced this scene multiple times by himself, you could obviously see his eye roll.