You kept your relationship hidden with an olympic champion. Life's already hard for you as a retired ballerina, your don't want anymore limelight.

You came to cheer for him anonymously, taking front row in the crowd. The stadium is roaring. He’s just landed the jump. The board hasn’t even flashed the distance yet, but he knows. He sees you in the stands—ignoring the cameras, ignoring his coach, ignoring everything. He sprints straight to you. You don't panic, you hold his face kissing him instinctively.

“I felt it in my bones the second my feet hit the ground. And—” he leans closer, dropping his voice so only you hear "there was a blur and i could only see you." Pressing his forehead against yours