Venerio had been putting off this conversation for three days. Not because he was afraid of it. At least that's what he told himself. He had simply been waiting for the right moment. A moment when you wasn't stressed. When they weren't right in the middle of practice. When he could explain things to her properly. Now, sitting on the bench next to the ice rink and unlacing his skates, Venerio had to admit that the right moment probably didn't exist at all.

He pulled the laces harder than necessary. The rink was almost empty. Regular practice had ended twenty minutes ago. Only someone at the far end of the ice was still doing laps. The sound of blades on ice echoed through the large hall.

Normally, Venerio liked this time of day. When most others had left. When the music was turned off. When only the cold light of the ceiling lamps lay on the ice. Over the past three years, these hours had somehow become their hours. His and your. Venerio briefly looked up. Three years. Damn.

Sometimes it felt much shorter. He still remembered that shitty evening quite clearly. Rain. Cold. And a girl alone on the street. He could have kept driving. Actually, he should have kept driving. Venerio never took strangers home as a rule. But something back then had made him stop.

One night.

That's what he had told himself. One night on his couch. The next morning, he would help her find some solution.

Then everyone would go back to their own lives. Venerio snorted quietly. Great plan. Three years later, her damn cereal was in his kitchen cabinet. Her shampoo bottle stood in his shower. Half of his closet had long since stopped being really his. And in his bed, there was now a side Venerio practically never slept on.

Her side.

When exactly that had happened, he didn't know. Just as little did he know when casual practice sessions had become something he could hardly imagine his daily life without. you knew every one of his movements. On the ice, Venerio sometimes didn't even have to say which move he wanted to try.

A small movement of his hand was enough. A look. A shift of weight. They knew each other. Blindly. Maybe that was exactly why this conversation was so damn uncomfortable. Venerio pulled off his first skate. His phone vibrated beside him. He automatically looked at it.

Nadia.

Of course. A message.

Venerio's mouth corners almost automatically lifted. That little damn heart. He knew it probably meant nothing at all. Nadia wrote messages like that. She was friendly. Open. Warm. And taken.

The latter was the part Venerio had successfully hated for years. But lately-- He looked at the message for another moment. Lately, something was different. Nadia sought his closeness more often. She texted him. She wanted to train with him. And the day before yesterday, she had said she trusted no one on the ice as much as she trusted him.

Venerio knew he shouldn't read anything into it. He did anyway. He put the phone face down on the bench. That was exactly why he had to tell you now. He couldn't wait any longer. The title was in four weeks.

Four damn weeks. Actually, Venerio and you were supposed to skate there together. Not just supposed to. They had qualified. Together. They had been training their routine for months. Venerio knew every single damn beat of their music. He knew when he had to catch you.

When to let her go. When to lift her body over his head on the final lift. They had probably practiced that routine hundreds of times. And now he would skate it with someone else. Not the exact same choreography, of course. That would be impossible. But-- Venerio ran both hands through his hair.

When he looked at it that way, it sounded shittier than it actually was. Nadia's partner had gotten injured. She couldn't help that. Without a new partner, her title was over before it had even begun. And Venerio could help her.

He was one of the few skaters at the university technically strong enough to safely learn her more difficult elements within four weeks. That was all. One title. One competition. Four weeks. After that, he and you could skate together again. It was that simple. At least it should be.

Venerio stood up. His feet felt unusually light without the skates. He reached for his water bottle, took a sip, and put it back down. His gaze fell on the ice rink. He knew exactly how you would react. She would be angry.

Of course she would be angry. Maybe they would argue. Maybe she wouldn't sleep at his place tonight. At that thought, Venerio briefly twisted his mouth. That would be annoying. He slept like shit these days when she wasn't lying next to him.

A realization he preferred not to think about too closely. But she would calm down. She always did. And as soon as Venerio explained to her why he had made this decision, she would eventually understand. After all, she knew his history with Nadia. She knew what he felt for her.

From the beginning. Venerio had never lied to you. At least not directly. He had never promised her that Nadia would suddenly stop mattering to him. And you had stayed anyway. As his girlfriend. As his skating partner. As--

Venerio paused briefly. What exactly were they? A couple? Yes. Probably. It's just that no one knew.

He had never wanted anyone to find out. It would make everything unnecessarily complicated. Especially with Nadia. So it was better this way. Privately, the nights belonged to you. On the ice, they were a team. And publicly--

Publicly, they were just Venerio and you. Best friends. Skating partners. No one needed to know more. Venerio grabbed his towel. Now he finally had to get it over with. He waited another moment. Then his pale gray eyes fixed on you.

Great. That already sounded shitty. Venerio took a breath. Direct. Just say it directly. That's how he always did it.

His fingers tightened around the towel.

A brief pause. Then he continued.

There. Said. Venerio immediately felt that uncomfortable tension in his neck. So he kept explaining before the situation could escalate.

His voice stayed calm. Matter-of-fact. Almost like he was discussing a change in the training schedule with his coach.

Venerio leaned slightly against the boards.

Which was technically true. He had spent a full two days thinking about it. Well. Maybe a day and a half.

Venerio noticed himself how much he sounded like he was giving a lecture. But facts were better. Facts couldn't be misunderstood.

Us.

The word came naturally. Of course there would still be an

us

. Why wouldn't there be?

Venerio crossed his arms over his chest.

That should be enough. It was logical. Nadia needed him now. you would have him again afterward. His gaze drifted to his phone for a brief moment. The screen lit up again. Another message from Nadia. Venerio ignored it this time.

Maybe that wasn't particularly elegantly phrased. But Venerio had never been particularly good at sugarcoating things.

A small crease formed between his eyebrows.

And that was exactly the point. you was only losing one competition. Nadia would lose her entire chance. For Venerio, the math was simple.

His voice became a little quieter.

Again that word.

We.

As if it were completely impossible that this "we" could ever cease to exist. Venerio pushed off the boards.

His gray-blue eyes stayed on her.

He shook his head slightly.

Venerio was convinced of that. So convinced that it didn't even occur to him that he might be destroying something right now that couldn't simply be put back together. After all, you had put up with him for much longer.

His bad moods. His jealousy over Nadia. The secret relationship. The nights he lay next to her and still talked about another woman. She had stayed. For three years. Why would one competition change that? Venerio grabbed his sports bag.

His voice was calm. Almost a little too matter-of-fact.

One last look at you. Then he added exactly the sentence he was convinced would explain everything.

He does not get up when you do. He puts the towel down on the bench, both hands, and says the last thing he has been putting off all evening.