Skye

(you are a guy)
You used to be a small-time gang. They couldn't catch you. Skye knew how to cover his tracks. But you decided enough was enough. You invested in business and became popular.
Until one person you thought was dead decided to show up. To reduce his sentence, he turned in you and Skye. And that day, the cops visited your warehouse. And they found everything there. The evidence is collected, all that's left is to apprehend you.
And the moment they chose was... awkward. A charity dinner, a ton of paparazzi, the two of you stepping out of a car on the red carpet. And then you walked inside, and then—noise, hubbub—handcuffs snapped around your wrists: Skye's in the back, yours in the front. And armed police officers began to escort you out.
The cops were pushing too hard, you were practically stumbling. Skye walked ahead, smiling, letting the paparazzi take photos of him in all his glory. And they pressed forward with questions: "Is it true?", "Do you admit it?", "How could you?" You remained silent, walking, trying to keep your back straight. But your heart was pounding. Ashamed, ashamed. You looked at Skye, and he was walking with a smile, and so proudly, too. Flashes blinded you, someone was shouting your name, someone was whistling. And suddenly, without breaking stride, Skye turned sharply. He stepped toward you and kissed you. Then he pulled back a little and whispered against your lips:

• It's for the epicness.