The world feels heavier than it should.

  My breathing slows. Deepens. My body resists its own movements. I don’t like that. Not when everything was supposed to be fine.

  I tell myself it’s nothing.

  I’ve fought through worse.

  “So…how long are you going to sit there sulking?”

  “Piss off.”

  The wind blows into our faces, as she giggles. I only shake my head as we continue to walk. She goes ahead in front of me, turning around.

  “You’re struggling to even walk straight.”

  “I rolled my ankle back at Nationals. Thought it healed, but competing through World Cup didn’t help.”

  Her smile falls, she doesn’t seem to believe it. The lie that came from my mouth didn’t even have time to get fact-checked by my brain. The statement just ran a red light in my internal head.

  She doesn’t press. But she knows. And I know that she knows.

  We continue walking down the sidewalk, letting cars pass on by us. The chilly, windy atmosphere only brought solitude between us. The silence wasn’t awkward, but intense. Forced silence.

  It’s been months since I won Nationals. The whole sport thing has only escalated since then. I fought through Nationals, pushed through the World Cup circuit, and now—

  The Olympic Qualifiers.

  The big stage. And here I thought the ones before couldn’t get any bigger.

  I’ve traveled across the world for months now. I’ve become an international name. At some point, some random kid will run up, ask for a photo, and I’ll realize—I’m not just competing anymore. I’m being watched.

  And to think, it all started with that Nationals win.

  I left my old life behind. The normal life. Kissed it goodbye for good. Now, all that matters is Qualifiers.

  The biggest stage yet.

  Now, if only my body would cooperate.

  As we continue walking, she opens her mouth yet again.

  “Lucien.”

  Her voice is soft. Not hostile. Not… targeting in any way. It sounds familiar. My name, of course. But the tone. The tone of a childhood friend.

  I sigh. I think I know exactly where she’s trying to get at.

  “Yeah, élise.”

  Her long wavy blonde hair dances with the wind, and her crystal gray eyes hold something I can’t quite read. I don’t often stare much at people, but she? She’s the only one I would make an excuse for.

  Some people would say she’s pretty, stunning, beautiful. I would agree. She’s simply breathtaking.

  “I know I can’t change your mind. It seems you have it pretty set on it.” She says, and it already tells me a lot. I’ve known her for a decade, and yet she knows me inside and out. Should’ve figured that the lie wouldn’t faze her.

  I don’t say anything in return, but just listen as we continue to walk.

  “And this…might be the last time I see you in a really long time.”

  Yeah, that too. I don’t show it in my face, but my heart does. With everything heading the way it is. This might be the last time we see each other…forever.

  “...so I figured why not go to your favorite pastry place.”

  …

  Huh?

  She stops walking. And for once, I actually take in my surroundings. My body isn’t cooperating. My senses are dulled. And every time I try to focus, it hits like a damn sensory overload.

  I try to process my surroundings like I always do—break it down, analyze patterns.

  But it’s like staring at a picture with too many details. It’s all too much. My brain won’t process it.

  For the first time, I feel slow.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  But right outside, I glance slightly to the right.

  And there it was.

  How the hell did I not notice?

  “No…élise, you know I can’t…” My voice is low, barely above a whisper. But she’s not moved.

  She only continues to give me a warm smile. And the more I look at that warm smile, the more I feel my resolve wavering.

  I wave a hand, grasping for an excuse, “It’s…not my cheat day and…”

  She just stands there. Hands behind her back, crystal eyes locked onto mine. Unwavering.

  I sigh in return.

  Her smile softens. She knew I’d give in.

  “Perfect.” Is all she says. She takes my hand, and we enter.

  The warmth of the bakery, the smell of sweet treats, the touch of her soft hand. It all feels foreign. Like my body isn’t used to it.

  A couple at the counter does a double-take. Not at me—at her. Whispers, a not-so-subtle glance at their phone.

  They don’t approach. They don’t need to. Everyone knows who élise Laurent is.

  The shift from the cold air outside to the bakery’s heat hits me like a wall. My skin prickles from the change, like my nerves can’t adjust fast enough.

  The scent of sugar and fresh bread should be comforting—but it’s too much. Too thick. Like it’s filling every inch of my lungs.

  I clench my jaw. Not now.

  The light is bright. Too bright. My head pulses with it. I don’t flinch, don’t blink. I just focus on élise’s hand in mine—soft, steady. A grounding point.

  One deep breath.

  Two.

  My pulse slows. My mind sharpens. The world is too much, but I force it into the background.

  She looks at me, unaware.

  Good.

  With one heavy blink, I push the discomfort away—gone, for now.

  The deep tones of the bakery, the treats lined up in the display—they paint a familiar picture. One that doesn’t give my eyes a complete meltdown.

  I’ve probably been here more times than I ever showed up at school. Sad? Maybe. Funny? Definitely.

  There, people. Who recognized the both of us, for a variety of reasons. élise and I both had performed a regal wave to those who did. Either they had seen us come here along the years, or our pretty popular faces have done a lot of reputation these past few months.

  We took a seat, facing each other. And for once, this seemed like a brief rest from all of the walking we had done earlier.

  I look around the bakery, taking in the multiple memories I had here.

  I slightly scoff, which almost sounded like a cough. “You have something up your sleeve, don’t you?”

  My comment catches her off guard. Her smile falls to an amused look.

  “Were you always this skeptical?”

  I shake my head, “The élise I know wouldn’t take me to my favorite spot, unless she wanted something in return.”

  She rolls her eyes, and laughs it off. “That version of élise is still in high school, apparently. Tell me, Lucien…how long has it been since then?”

  I mockingly count on my fingers.

  “Three… four score? Who’s counting?”

  She playfully nudges me, and we both laugh. Even that feels like effort. The ache in my throat flares up, but I mask it as always.

  I’ve known her forever—since we were kids. There was a rough patch when we hit our teens, but that’s behind us now.

  At some point, time slipped away. I barely noticed the pastries in front of us.

  “I already got yours,” she says casually, sliding the plate over. Pain Suisse. A childhood favorite. It should taste just as good as it always did. I may or may have snuck that chocolate pastry from time to time across the world

  But you need to understand, it’s like taking a bite into Heaven.

  I take a bite.

  It doesn’t.

  My expression doesn’t reveal much, and I chew slower than usual. The buttery layers should melt on my tongue, but something’s off. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s my body, rejecting everything it doesn’t need.

  I set it down after a few bites. élise doesn’t say anything, but I catch the way she looks at me.

  She noticed. Of course she did.

  Why does she? She’s no different from the multiple photographers constantly sneaking a picture at me. And I’m thankful for this environment of mine. It’s only really overseas where they do that.

  My mind goes back to her earlier comments. The subtle hints. The quick, stolen glances. She knows. And yet, she watches. She hasn’t confronted me not once. And if we both know the same thing, she probably would.

  But she doesn’t.

  And I hate that.

  The Elise I know? She would’ve talked my ears off halfway on our way here.

  Something’s different. Her, me—one of us. Maybe both.

  Thing is, this isn’t something I can analyze just like in fencing. A simple look or two there can tell me everything I need to know about my opponent.

  But this? This is real life. And in real life, there are no rules. There is no calculative analyzing. Any information I need to find out, can only be done by speaking.

  And Elise? Does it first before I get the chance to.

  “Guess we’re both on borrowed time, huh?” she muses, stirring her coffee.

  I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugs, a casual kind of nonchalance that I don’t buy for a second.

  “C’mon, Lucien. You, the Olympics. Me, filming schedules. Different worlds.”

  She looks at me like she wants to say more, but doesn’t.

  I slightly shake my head. “I know. Two childhood friends split apart in the height of their careers. Sounds like a cheesy comedy movie in the makes already.”

  She slightly laughs, but for some reason it’s not the result…or response I wanted.

  “You ever notice how some actors are too good at playing sick people?” Elise’s voice is light, casual. In fact, it caught me off guard. I had already assumed she was done. Like a feint.

  I readjust, but there’s something there. The intention. The angle.

  It’s a question about acting, but it’s really about me.

  I lean back slightly. No change in expression. No overcorrection. “Maybe…they just have good direction.”

  She hums, tilting her head slightly.

  “Maybe.”

  A simple response, but she’s not retreating.

  I take a slow breath. If this were a bout, I’d say she was baiting me. Waiting for an opening that I would foolishly hand over to her.

  And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel my balance shifting, the slightest misstep forming.

  She knows.

  It doesn’t scare me, but it makes this a whole lot harder. If I needed anymore confirmation, this was it. How many times have I told myself already that she knows? Feels like I’m in a loop.

  “You know, sometimes they overdo it.” She says it absentmindledly, stirring her coffee again.

  “When someone tries too hard to act fine, it just makes it more obvious.”

  I let the words settle. It’s fine. They shouldn’t bother me. They shouldn’t.

  But for the first time in a while, something tugs at me. A brief, passing thought. If she knows…if she sees it…

  Am I just hurting her by pushing forward?

  She knows I won’t give up, not when I’m this close. She knows how much this means to me, but can’t help but tell me the obvious.

  …

  Would I–

  I let out a breath. The thought flickers and dies.

  Rest? Recovery? No. I don’t have time for that. There’s only one way forward.

  I glance at her, finally meeting her eyes. Calm. Steady.

  “Maybe they just don’t want anyone looking too close.”

  She watches me carefully. Then, after a moment, she smiles softly.

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  I glance at élise, and for a second, I don’t see the girl I grew up with. The bakery’s warm lighting catches in her hair, the easy way she carries herself—relaxed, practiced.

  Familiar. And yet…

  The tabloids weren’t lying. She looks like a star.

  I blink away any incoming discomfort.

  I’m going to hate myself for doing this.