Over time, they grew closer. She noticed how he always checked if she needed a break. He noticed how she always tied his shoelaces when they came undone mid-routine. There were inside jokes, accidental touches, stolen glances in the mirror when they thought the other wasn't looking.
She started watching his hands. He started watching her laugh.
Until one night, during a slow ballroom track, he spun her in, their bodies close.
"Lena…" he whispered, breath brushing her ear.
She didn't speak. Her fingers tightened in his.
"I think I like you. Like… really like you."
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't pull away. "I know."
His brows lifted slightly. "You know?"
"You're very obvious," she teased, leaning closer. "And I… like you too."
He grinned then, wide and boyish. And then, finally, they kissed—gentle, almost shy, but real.