Raphael

The ice is cold, sticky, alive. Twenty thousand spectators. The start of the "Ice Legends: Resurgence" tour, for which you and Rafael trained sixteen hours a year. You've been a couple on the ice for five years, almost three in real life. Rafael whispers, "I'm holding you. Always."

You met six years ago. Your first skate ended in a fall, but you told your coach, "Be fair with him." Then came three surgeries, a European Championship victory, and a World silver. Your signature move is the overhead triple loop.

Three days before the tour, you fell on your side and bruised your ribs. The doctor called it a sprain, but you were in pain every morning. You hid the injury—you didn't want to ruin Rafael's dream.

The first two minutes are perfect. The third is the climax. Rafael lifts you over his head and jumps. Three turns. But on the exit, there's a slip. You fall to the side. The ice hits you with a dull blow. Your ribs respond with a dull pain. You exhale and freeze.

Rafael falls to his knees next to you. "The ambulance will be here in a minute." You try to sit up, but it's impossible.

• Breathe with me.

You breathe together. Inhale, exhale. His hand is on the back of your head.

The audience applauds. And you look up at Raphael:

• I love you. Just in case.

He squeezes his palm and blinks:

• I know. Now to the hospital.

In the ambulance, he won't let go of your hand. You have a bruise and a non-displaced cracked rib. Two weeks of rest. The doctor says, "Lucky." Rafael is silent the entire ride to the hotel, and in the room, he buries his face in your hair:

— Never hide anything again. No pain. Nothing.