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In the middle of a great metropolis like Tokyo, seeing the stars in the dark sky is almost impossible. Still, Shiro is there, looking up, hands resting on the railing of her room in the Olympic village. Around the area, soft noises rise: muffled laughs, low chatting.
The atmosphere is strange, and Shiro is very aware of it: it’s her second Olympics, and the covid-19 pandemic forbade athletes to go all out in their party. She is too focused to mind.
Four, no, five years prior she lost her chance to compete at the Olympics in Rio, when she was younger and at her peak. It was a stupid accident, one she made to prove to every critic that she was not a phony.
Now, she had nothing to prove to anyone but herself. Journalists and athletes alike don’t consider her a threat or a serious contender for the podium. Too old, with too serious of an injury to be competitive again. For most, her best accomplishment was already reaching the finals. She should already be satisfied with herself.
Keith knows better.
Shiro isn’t only a sort of mentor for her (even if they play different sports), but also her girlfriend. Shiro is the person that pushes Keith to be stronger, better. Shiro gave her strength and faith, because she herself, was a great, competitive athlete.
So Keith is fully aware that, behind her calm and collected attitude, Shiro is burning with ambition. She’s not here to participate, she’s here to give all she has to win. She was there to give a 'fuck you' to all the people who had dismissed her all those years ago.
It’s something Shiro doesn’t dare to express not even to Keith, yet Keith knows. All Keith needs is to look at Shiro’s stiffened back to understand. They know each other too well, they don’t need to talk.
Yet, Shiro murmurs, when Keith dares to appreciate her on the balcony, “how are you feeling? Tense?”
“It’s fine,” Keith shrugs. “It’s not like I have any chance of winning. I’d like to reach the finals. I’ll be the first one for my country, but I was the first one to reach the semi-finals so I've already made history. I’ll be fine.”
Journalists won’t go for her throat; not like they did with Shiro.
“You can do more,” Shiro says. “I know you can.”
Keith looks at her, waiting for Shiro to elaborate more, to ask Keith to win a medal, maybe even the gold. Yet Shiro doesn’t talk: she smiles and places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and smiles softly.
Keith can see how much Shiro is hiding her ambition under her passion for Keith’s results.
So Keith just says, “So do you.”
Faster
Three jumps, zero mistakes.
Too early to celebrate, there are still many opponents in play – including the worst of them, the world champion, Sendak. Shiro is feeling good. Jumping feels good to her that day, her legs and arms feel light. She hasn't felt that way in a while
She may be ambitious, but she isn't afraid of the results, which prevents her from enjoying competing at the Olympic Games. And after everything she went through, after that damn accident that made her lose her chance at Rio... Now she’s back, and even without the public, she’s going to enjoy every bit of it.
So it’s with happiness and lightness that she averted her gaze from the other jumpers and the mattress of the high jump – her real, only opponent – and looked with awe and expectation at the athletic track.
The second semi-finals for the 100 meters (the queen of the Olympic games, as they call it) is about to start. Shiro isn’t far away from it, and she can clearly spot Keith already curled up on the starting block, her long, dark hair braided and kept in place with a band. Shiro can’t see her gaze from her position, but she has seen Keith competing many times; she can image it: the sheer determination in those purple eyes.
Keith can reach the final, Shiro is sure of it, so she isn’t worried.
What Keith does is so beyond her imagination that she can’t help but run towards the finish line and reach for her, shaking and hugging her.
“S-Shiro?” Keith blabbers, sweating and still focused from the run, with her heartbeat strong and fast. “What are you doing there? Aren’t you competing?”
Now there’s a hint of panic in her voice, so Shiro places a hand on her shoulder and smiles. “Don’t worry, it’s not my turn and I’m still in. And I’m offended you may think I could be out at his stage.”
“Of course I didn’t-” Keith realizes Shiro was joking and stops. She relaxes a little and inhales to regain her breath.
“Did you realize what you just did?” Shiro goes on, and forces Keith to turn around and looks at the board with the results.
Keith reaches the finals with the third-best time. It’s ten seconds lower than her personal best, the one she ran the day before. A time that can aspire to a medal.
“I knew you could do it.” Shiro has told her that many times before, every time Keith’s temper put her career at risk. Don’t give up on yourself.
At first, Keith doesn’t answer. Her gaze is fixed on her results, incredulous, her breath steady but fast. Then, her own ambition resurfaces, and a smile appears on her face.
“I’m not done yet.”
“Well, neither am I.”
Higher
The time between each race feels unbearable to Keith.
Objectively, she knows her body needs rest (as her coach Kolivan never ceases to remind her), that even if she runs one race after another during training, competition is different. Yet it’s hard not to lose control when the adrenaline races through her veins while she’s forced to stop.
Sometimes she wonders why she chose a competition so fast, something that lasts just a little bit more than ten seconds, sometimes even less. But she knows the answer – Shiro gave it to her years ago, when she convinced Keith to join the athletic club.
It’s the momentum: something that lasts so little time forces you to enjoy the moment completely. A jump or a run, it doesn’t matter as long it’s all you have.
Even so, Keith can’t help but be annoyed during recess.
Luckily for her, this time she has a pretty great distraction. After stretching and showering briefly, she changes back and returns to the track: Shiro’s competition is still on.
Four athletes have yet to jump at 2.39 – the highest height, just below the world record, and all of them are at their last try. The medals are going to be decided in those last four jumps. Shiro is among them.
The young Bulgarian – one Keith hasn't met before – is the first one, and she fails.
Comparing her jumps with Shiro’s, it’s clear she has had some misses before, while Shiro had a clear competition. Which means, even if Shiro fails, it’s at least bronze.
The Korean girl, the second to jump, fails too. She also has some misses.
At least silver.
Then is Sendak’s turn. 2.39 is a height she surpassed before, yet this time she misses. From the frown on her face, Keith can tell she isn’t happy, and she is particularly upset with Shiro, who probably put a lot of pressure on her with her flawless performance. For sure Sendak didn't expect that.
She says something to Shiro, who pretends not to pay attention. Sendak is lucky Keith is too far to intervene and that Shiro is up next to jump, so Keith’s more focused on her.
If Shiro fails, she and Sendak will have to battle again. But, it’s still at least silver, no matter how that new battle will go.
Keith knows very well Shiro isn’t the type to settle for “at least”.
And she knows that the way Shiro is looking and the way she jumps, that she’ll nail it.
Shiro falls to the mattress with her arms already in the air. She screams and almost crumbles outside the mattress to lay down, tired and disbelieving and happy.
It’s gold.
“Keith.” Kolivan’s voice comes from behind. “It’s time.”
“Okay.”
She gives a last look at the track, where Shiro is running below the gallery, calling for someone to give her a national flag and laughing.
There was a time Keith dreamt of something similar, but she never dared to hope to reach that dream. She was an outcast, too undisciplined to be a great athlete. Shiro gave her that hope, the possibility to believe in herself, to do something great.
Keith won’t disappoint her.
She smirks, following Kolivan from behind.
Stronger
The stadium stands silent.
It’s the time for the last competition of the day, and the most important one, too – the 100-meter race.
Shiro’s grateful for everyone else’s expectations, and the quietness around her that helps her beating heart relax. She still has some euphoria from her win – a win she longed for, that she earned, that she deserved – yet there’s some expectation about Keith’s result, too.
She already made history being in this final, with that time. Shiro wants more for her, and, chuckling, she thought she probably wants it more than Keith herself.
Beautiful, strong, and brave Keith, who thinks she doesn’t deserve love and appreciation. But she does.
And even if Shiro prides herself in being the first one to give it to her, she can’t wait for the whole world to love Keith, too.
As usual, Keith doesn’t make any scene during her presentation. She appears rude, but she’s only focused. She places herself on the starting block without a second glance at her opponents. Only Keith can beat Keith.
Less than ten seconds, yet for Shiro it feels like forever. She sees Keith’s good start (better than the semi), she sees her acceleration, the way she keeps her opponents under control.
She doesn’t see the exact moment Keith reaches the finish line, because at that moment she’s already running towards her. Keith decelerates and stops, looking around as she isn’t sure she really did it, that she really got gold. Shiro grabs her and pulls her into her arms.
“You did it! I knew you could, but damn, that was beautiful!”
Keith hides her face in Shiro’s chest. “I… really did it.”
“Yes. And I can’t be more proud of you.”
“I…” Keith is almost in tears, something Shiro has seen very rarely (the first time, when she declared her love), which shows how important it is for her. “I couldn’t have done it without you. This is yours too, Shiro.”
“Thank you, but I already have mine,” Shiro replies.
As the journalists approach, she covers both her and Keith’s heads with their national flag.
“Of course, my victory is also yours,” she continues, cuddling Keith in her arms. “I couldn’t t have been able to recover after everything if I didn’t have your support. And, of course, there’s another reason.”
“It’s because I love you?”
“No, because the Olympic motto is right.”
Keith’s eyes widens, but she’s smiling too.
“Oh, my God, you nerd.”
And she kisses her.
Together