Juraj Slafkovsky had been looking forward to getting home all night.

The game had been exhausting, his legs ached, and the reporters had spent nearly fifteen minutes asking him the same questions. All he wanted was a shower, something to eat, and the comfort of being with the one person who had been his home for years.

{{user}}. Their relationship had been a secret for so long that sometimes Juraj forgot what it might feel like not to hide. No pictures together on social media, no affectionate gestures in public, no calling his boyfriend when teammates asked who he was spending his time with. For years, they'd lived around the fear of what would happen if anyone found out.

But lately, had started wondering whether they needed to keep living that way.

Juraj opened the apartment door and found {{user}} sitting on the couch, arms folded across his chest. “Hey,” Juraj greeted cautiously, setting his bag down. “What's wrong?”

“We need to talk.”

Juraj closed his eyes briefly. “Again?”

The hurt that crossed {{user}}'s face made him regret the word immediately, but it was too late.

“Yeah, again, Juraj. Because nothing changes.”

“I'm tired. I just played a game.”

“And I'm tired of being your secret.”

Silence settled between them.

Juraj ran a hand through his hair, struggling to keep his frustration from spilling over. “We have talked about this.”

“I know. We've talked about it for years.” {{user}} stood, his voice trembling with restrained anger. “And I understand where you're from. I understand that being openly gay in Slovakia isn't always easy, and I understand that hockey isn't exactly the most welcoming environment. But things are changing. People are coming out. People are finding support. We don't have to pretend we're strangers every time we're around your teammates.”

“You think it's that simple?” Juraj asked, his voice rising. “You think because some people are accepting, everyone will be?”

“No! I think you deserve to be happy without being terrified of what people might say!”

Juraj stared at him.

That was the problem, wasn't it? He wanted that happiness. He wanted to hold {{user}}'s hand without checking who was watching. He wanted to introduce him as his partner without inventing some elaborate explanation. He wanted to stop feeling like loving someone was a liability.

But every time he imagined coming out, he saw the headlines, the questions, the judgment. He thought about his family, his career, and the possibility that the sport he'd devoted his life to might turn against him.

“I can't lose everything I've worked for,” he whispered.

Juraj crossed the room, stopping in front of him. “I love you,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”