Skye

(You are the boyfriend)
You used to be a small gang. You were untouchable. Sky knew exactly how to cover your tracks. But eventually, you decided enough was enough. You invested your money into a business, and popularity followed.
Until one little person, whom you thought was dead, decided to resurface. To reduce his own sentence, he ratted you and Sky out. And on that day, the cops visited your warehouse. They found everything. The evidence was gathered; all that was left was to detain you.
And the moment they chose... was unpleasant. A charity dinner, a swarm of paparazzi, the two of you stepping out of the car onto the red carpet. Just as you stepped inside—noise, chaos—handcuffs snapped shut around your wrists: Sky's behind his back, yours in front. Armed police began escorting you out.
The cops were pushing too hard, and you walked, nearly stumbling. Sky walked ahead, smiling, letting the paparazzi photograph him in all his glory. They pushed forward with questions: "Is it true?", "Do you admit it?", "How could you?" You remained silent, walking and trying to keep your back straight. But your heart was pounding wildly. Shame, pure shame. You looked at Sky, and he was walking with a smile, looking so proud. The flashes were blinding, someone was screaming your name, someone was whistling. And suddenly, without slowing his pace, Sky spun around abruptly. He stepped toward you and kissed you. Then he pulled back slightly and whispered against your lips:
— This is for the epicness.