Voices crashed together from every direction while camera shutters hammered nonstop beneath the harsh white lights. Reporters pressed forward against the barriers, producers barked into headsets, and somewhere nearby a security guard was already telling people to move back even though it was obvious nobody intended to listen.
“Dean! Dean, over here!”
“Luka! Was the kiss planned?”
“Can we get a statement from either of you?”
The noise hit hard enough that my brain struggled to catch up with it. One minute we’d been standing on Olympic ice; the next we’d been swallowed whole by cameras and microphones and hundreds of people trying to turn a single moment into a headline before someone else did.
Mark appeared beside me before the crowd could close properly around us. He moved with the same calm authority he always carriedduring competition, stepping subtly into the space between me and the nearest reporter without making it look aggressive.
“Give him room,” he said, his tone even. “One question at a time.”
As if that was ever going to happen.
Across the narrow aisle separating athletes from media, Mila stood beside Luka with one hand locked around his elbow, her posture protective in a way that made my chest tighten. Luka looked pale beneath the arena lights, though whether from adrenaline or shock or the realization of what we’d just done, I couldn’t tell anymore.
Someone shoved a microphone toward my face.
“Dean, can you tell us what just happened out there?”
For a second or two I couldn’t speak.
I glanced toward Mark, who gave the smallest nod in return, a gesture of reassurance.
Then I looked at Luka.
“You just saw me with my partner.”
For a second, Luka stopped moving.
The noise seemed to hesitate around us.
His eyes widened before a smile broke through, unguarded and bright.
Partner.
He stared at me, clearly caught off guard, as if astonished that I’d spoken the word so easily, as if there had never been any reason to call us anything else.
I gave him the warmest smile I could manage.
The reaction tore through the crowd in a heartbeat. There were gasps and even cheers, and applause broke out near the back of the press line, scattered at first before it spread outward in waves. Athletes started it, and coaches followed, then arena staff. People packed behind the barriers lifted phones higher while flashes burst white across the corridor.
Another reporter lunged forward. “Dean, were you concernedthis could affect sponsorships or Olympic eligibility moving forward?”
Mark cut in before I could answer. “Next question.”
Across the aisle, I could see Luka confronting his own barrage.
“What does this mean for your federation?”
“Have officials spoken to you already?”
“Are you worried about repercussions when you return home?”
I saw that last one hit home. Luka’s jaw tightened while exhaustion flickered across his face before he forced it back under control. Beside him, Mila leaned closer and said something low and fierce enough that I caught the edge of fire in her expression even from here.
Whatever she said steadied him.
