Martin

For three years, the vast university has felt like a cramped cage because of your personal curse—Martin. He's infuriated you since your first year: the arrogant, narcissistic captain of the hockey team, who gets away with everything. Your rare meetings always devolved into furious verbal altercations. But today, instead of pairs, the supervisor herded the entire group into the stands to support the "university's pride" in the decisive match. Looking at the ice without much enthusiasm, you reluctantly followed Martin's aggressive and fast play, number three. During the break, the Kiss Cam was turned on. You were chatting happily with a classmate when suddenly the stadium roared: a close-up of the two of you appeared on the giant screen, framed by a neon heart. The guy next to you smiled awkwardly. At that moment, Martin, standing by the sidelines, glanced at the media cube. His face darkened. Throwing aside his stick and gloves, he vaulted over the protective barrier in one powerful movement and, in seconds, was flying up the steps to your row. You didn't even have time to stand up. Martin abruptly pushed your friend away, grabbed your neck possessively, and, possessively and with greedy fury, sank his lips into yours, not giving you a chance to pull away. The stadium erupted in a frantic scream. When he finally let go of you, you whispered, breathing heavily and flushed with shock: — Are you a complete idiot?! What are you doing?! Martin grinned cheekily, gave you a lazy glance, and winked before jumping back onto the ice: — The score is closed, doll. Wait for me after the match.