You had to admit, despite the long hours of recording after your regular practice schedule, you absolutely loved being on variety shows. Although you never dominated the screen time nor came out on top in all the challenges, you loved spending time around so many hilarious people. Even more entertaining were the shows in which both you and your boyfriend happened to be among the guests. Today, thankfully, was one of those lucky occasions.

When the recording finished, everyone went back to the dressing rooms to change and go home. A few reporters and a number of fans waited outside as usual, hoping to capture glimpses and pictures of the many celebrities exiting the building. As you walked down an empty hallway, you heard a voice call out your name. You turned in confusion, and saw someone running towards you with a camera. A fan? A reporter? How did they get in? You turned and walked quickly in the other direction. Normally, you would be happy to autograph a slip of paper or answer a polite question, but today you were feeling reluctant. As comfortable as you were in your boyfriend’s sweatshirt with your makeup removed, you didn’t want pictures of your current state sprinkled throughout magazines. You knew if someone recognized the sweater, a scandal could start instantly regarding your relationship status. You turned the corner quickly, knowing better than to be alone with someone who had the power to start a career-ruining scandal.

As their pace quickened, yours did too. Suddenly, a pair of strong arms pulled you into a nearby supply closet, your face making contact with a familiar broad chest before you even had a chance to yell.

“Is that you?” you stuttered, still trying to process the situation. He put his hand over your mouth and held a finger to his lips, pressing his ear against the door.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered. “I think we’re going to have to wait a little while until the coast is clear.” You groaned, not enjoying the idea of being stuck leaning uncomfortably against various cleaning supplies. A few seconds of silence pass before you feel his hand on your cheek.

“You look especially beautiful today,” he said with his voice low and quiet. You smirked.

“How can you tell?” you asked, acknowledging the thick darkness around you. He laughed softly. You felt his arms tug at your waist, pulling you closely to him. Gently, he began to plant light kisses on your face and neck. You pulled back slightly, but amused nonetheless.

“What if someone opens the door?” He tugged you back to him and smirked.

“They won’t.” His strong hands found their way to your hair, running through the locks your stylist had made especially silken for the show. His lips travelled back to yours, increasing in intensity and pulling you as close as physically possible. He carefully wrapped your legs around his waist, holding you close to the wall and holding your face tightly. You settled your hands in his hair as well, refusing to break the slow and steady flow of kisses. Minutes later, the two of you separated, breaths heavy and slow.

“Babe?” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think we can go home yet?” He laughed and lifted you up, opening the closet door.

“Too be honest, I completely forgot about home.” You snickered and kissed his collarbone lightly. He grabbed your hand and dragged you to the car out back, eager to get home and finish what you had started.