The rhythm. The breath. The unspoken cues. The story we told without a single word. It was electric. Timeless. Bigger than both of us. He didn’t need to say more.
“Did you know that during the darkest times of my life, I’d close my eyes and dream of us. You and me out there on tour together, teaching together, living in a flat above our very own studio. It was the only thing that got me through, a lot of times.”
Tears filled my eyes as I recalled countless times when he was my source of comfort in the dark, when I was too terrified to move. How many times had I closed my eyes and imagined the feel of his hand in mine, the lights above us, the roar of an audience after a flawless finish?
That dream kept me sane.
I tried to breathe through it. Tried to blink it away. But the tears came anyway. And so did he. Like a lifeline, he stepped forward and pulled me into him. Strong arms circled me, one at my waist, the other wrapping over my shoulders, anchoring me. I let my head rest against him, the velvety feel of his bare skin catching a few of the tears. With a rocking motion, he comforted me. It was as if we were still dancing, only slower. Barely moving, but still swaying to something only we could hear.
“I’m okay,” I whispered, even though I wasn’t.
He didn’t answer. Just smoothed his hand up and down my back, the way he used to after competitions when I pushed myself too hard. When I finally pulled back, his hands came up to my face, fingertips brushing my cheeks, thumbs catching what was left of the tears.
His expression was unreadable—tender but serious, his gaze searching mine like he was trying to memorize every line of me.
“Ty — moyo samoye krasivoye chto yesli.”You’re my most beautiful what-if.
My breath caught. And for a second, the world stilled. Damn the universe and everything in it. This wasn’t fair. But I knew better than to fight it. The reality of my world was, I was leaving again. Disappearing, this time for good.
“Pasha. Damn it all to hell.” I sobbed in his arms for a few minutes and then got it together. Once I felt steady enough, I spoke. “So you don’t want to do the show…because of me?”
His eyes flickered. “Not because of you. But because you reminded me that dance isn’t about the lights or the name recognition or having millions of people vote for a version of me that isn’t even real. It’s about who I dance with. And if it can’t be you…I don’t want it at all.”
A weary sigh escaped, and my heart lurched inside my chest.
“And once I realized that,” he continued, softer now, “I started thinking longer term. Bigger picture. I want something that lasts. Something that feels real. Teaching feels like that. Showing kids how to find what we had—that magic—without having to sacrifice every piece of yourself to do it.”
“So is that what you’ll do then?”
“I didn’t walk in here today thinking I’d make my final decision, but I just did. I haven’t told anyone yet, but there’s an offer on the table at the London School of Ballet. Permanent faculty. It feels right.”
“And Hannah?”
He shook his head. “Nope. She’ll hate the idea. To her, it will be the equivalent of throwing away everything I’ve worked my entire life for.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, letting the silence stretch again.
“But to me?” he added softly, “It feels like I’m finally choosing something for myself. Now, let’s get off this depressing subject and move on to something happier. Got any suggestions?”
Deep inside my heart, I knew he wanted an out, to not think the decision over once more and to maybe breathe again. So I did the only thing I knew how to do in moments like this.
Make things awkward as shit.
“Well, I’ve got some good news to share too. I got some new lingerie,” I said suddenly, stepping out of his arms, pretending I wasn’t still emotionally raw. “If you can even call it that. It’s more like…ribbons. And nothing else.”
He blinked at me, stunned for all of two seconds—then laughed. Loud and open, the sound bouncing off the walls. The tension eased in my chest, and a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
He grinned. “You’re absolutely unhinged. I love this version of you, though, so promise you won’t ever change.”
“Okay, then I won’t. But, unfortunately,” I said with a faux sigh, “I love you too much to model it for you, because then Ivan will surely put you six feet under.”
He winced dramatically. “Yeah, I’ve seen that man work out. That sounds about right. Could probably dig the hole in less than ten minutes.”
I tilted my head, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Not sure they dig a whole bunch of graves. But ashes…” I trailed off thoughtfully. “Yeah. I’d rather not have to cart you around in an urn and cry over you in public places. It’d be a whole thing.”
