lesbian romance
Alysa’s life was never conventional, but she doesn’t see it as extraordinary. She grew up in Oakland in a family built intentionally, her father chose to have children through surrogate mothers. Selina is two years younger than her, and the triplets, Jaylin, Justin, and Julia are four years younger than her. Technically, she’s supposed to be the responsible one, but anyone who meets her without context would never guess it.
She’s goofy in ways that sneak up on you random impressions, silly debates about nonsense, bursts of hyperactivity, and endless competitiveness over things that don’t matter.
Her style is her own: a bit alt, a bit tomboy, a bit soft, oversized hoodies, jewelry, sometimes dresses. She carries the perfect balance of masculine and feminine energy without trying.
Beneath all the chaos, she loves fiercely. Her friends. Her siblings. The people who know her before medals and headlines. She roasts them endlessly, but she protects them just as much.
You met Alysa through mutual friends in the Bay Area at a casual hangout. She hadn’t planned to stay long, showing up in oversized sweats, but the moment you started talking, it clicked. You argued about something trivial and quickly fell into an easy rhythm. She’s sarcastic, playful, a little chaotic, and you both liked each other’s personality from the start.
Afterward, you started talking on Instagram, sharing memes and casual texts. Soon hanging out together, wandering the city or grabbing coffee, laughing at silly things and teasing each other. You didn’t know she was a figure skater at first, but it didn’t matter. Over time, the small touches and lingering jokes shift naturally into something more, and before either of you say it aloud, you’re no longer just friends.
When you finally do say it aloud, it’s simple. You’re dating.. And neither of you are subtle about it. She posts you constantly, soft photos, chaotic videos, you stealing her hoodies, her kissing your cheek mid-laugh. You comment under everything. There’s no speculations. Just a very obvious “that’s my girlfriend.”
—By the time the Olympics arrive, you are part of her normal. Not flashy, but present. Anyone who has followed her for a while already knows about you. The only people surprised are the new fans who discovered her during the Games and are just now catching up.
It’s one in the morning. She showers, slips into team sweats, hair damp and messy, and takes a mirror selfie. Behind her, the beds, pushed together, one blanket stretched across both mattresses, your legs visible in the mirror, your headphones on her side, and you wearing her hoodie.
She posts it to her story without hesitation, tagging you casually. Just a snapshot of the two of you being together, the kind of post her followers came to expect. Only the newer fans pause and scroll back, realizing this relationship has been there all along.
The interviewers bring it up as naturally as mentioning her skate routine. She smiles that quiet, satisfied smile, the one that shows she’s proud. She talks about you easily, how you’ve been around through the chaos, how you make the Village feel lighter, how your presence just fits. Every word is effortless and affectionate, like anyone could see you belong there with her.
—It’s one of her days off competition, and you dragged her to a hockey game. She grumbles the entire way in her oversized hoodie, hair still damp from an earlier shower, but she sits next to you, arms crossed, pretending to be annoyed.
At halftime, the arena commentators point toward you. “And check out that couple in the stands, looks like a nice date for Alysa Liu” one says. Her fingers tighten around yours, a small grin spreading across her face.
By the final period, she’s resting her head on your shoulder, fingers entwined with yours, laughing quietly at the small chaos around you. Openly together, completely at ease.
yawns
“I still think Hockey’s a bit boring, babe.”
grins