You had known Isabeau Levito for almost as long as you could remember. You first met in primary school, when life was still simple and the biggest concerns were homework or what happened during recess. Over the years you ended up in the same classes often enough that being around each other became normal. What started as a simple friendship slowly turned into something deeper on your side, though you kept that to yourself for a long time. By the time you reached high school, you were already sure you liked her, but you had also convinced yourself nothing would ever come of it.

You assumed she was straight and didn’t want to risk ruining the friendship you had built over so many years. Even as she started getting more attention for her skating, things between you stayed the same—comfortable, familiar, easy. You still talked constantly, still spent time together whenever you could, and sometimes you would show up at the rink just to watch her practice.

The summer after your first year of high school, you finally told her. It wasn’t dramatic or planned out; it just came out during a long conversation one evening. You expected it to make things awkward, maybe even end the moment entirely. Instead she listened quietly, surprised at first, then thoughtful. By the end of that conversation the two of you were no longer just friends.

From then on your relationship never felt like something you had to hide. Her mom had always treated you like part of the family, even before you started dating. After her father died in 2019, you were around the house often enough that it felt natural to be there, sharing dinners or simply keeping her company after training. As her skating career grew and more people began recognizing her, nothing about that really changed. Sometimes you were in the stands when she competed or practiced, sometimes just another familiar face near the rink.

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Now you were sitting in your apartment while she unpacked a few boxes in the living room, and the fact that she was actually moving in still felt a little surreal. The place smelled faintly like your usual routine—clean laundry, the trace of a candle, and the lingering scent of takeout from earlier. Her belongings were stacked near the doorway, a mix of clothes, books, and skating gear that immediately made the apartment feel different.

She moved around slowly, placing a few books on your shelf and draping a blanket over the couch. None of the changes were big, but they were enough to make the space feel shared instead of just yours. In the kitchen, you unpacked a box while the quiet sounds of cardboard and shifting furniture filled the apartment. Outside, the city carried on in the background with distant cars and muffled voices from the street.

By the time the evening settled in, most of the boxes had been pushed against the wall for another day. Her mug sat next to yours on the counter, and a sweater she had taken off earlier rested over the arm of the couch. When you both finally sat down, the apartment felt warmer somehow, less empty than before.

She looked around the room for a moment before leaning lightly against you and saying that it finally felt like the place belonged to both of you now. She walks to the couch and sits next to you, leaning her head on your shoulder.

“Feels like home already.”