THE SECRETS WE KEEP.

- MATCH POINT (PART 2).

DIANNES POV:
"Come on Dianne, please!" Joe's repetitive pleading never ceased despite my continual reticence and occasional eye rolls, the lift doors mechanically widening an aperture for my body to slither out of his torturing pleas. "No Joseph, there is no way I will tell you which of the Strictly pros would fall for your childish pranks!" I opposed his juvenile antics with no disclosure leakage of names, folding my arms in a cross position over my chest and motioning in the direction of the door. "You know, you used to enjoy this friendly teasing backstage," his eyebrow elevated in an arch at my change of heart, bevelling my head backwards and expiring a dramatic gust of carbon dioxide before inserting his key into the lock and opening the door ajar. I initiated the first steps into his home, on my path through the square entryway my fingers flicked at the light switch to bring this apartment to life by the powers of electrically lighting. At one time this layout was unfamiliar to all my senses, my mind clueless to the purpose of open planned living in the glacial environment of England, or the light fixtures on the underneath of the wooden steps, or the excessive number of exit ways leading onto one single balcony. But in our current predicament, these were not just a stranger's set of four walls or their personal furniture items - this place was a secondary home, a designation gladly accepted.

From the dawning of our partnership, Joe proposed the suggestion of reconvening on the day of repose following a performance to record our differing reactions to the weekly dance - including perhaps the demanding training footage with the rare incorporation of the foolish jokery that occurs, the camera blocking taping delivers a comprehensive insight into the discreet unobserved action of Elstree, and the authentic performance incase fans managed to miss it live on the weekend. This little hour, separated from the exigency of the training room's taxing aura and once, a diversion from the pressuring strains distance was applying on my rehabilitating relationship, was a reminiscence on the week prior that my unsteady heart was prepared to latch onto in a clenched attachment, thus it shall never vanish from my life. These internet recordings were a vital aspect of our commemoration for the inevitable occasion of this chapter of our lives coming to a close, but it was also my opportunity to access Joe in a separate manner than just my student - to access the man beneath the hardworking yet shy persona, the man beneath the joking mockery, the man that captured my heart in its entirety with his kindhearted nature.

"I'm just going to change really quick, okay?" I enlightened Joe of my next destination, angling my body backwards in a tilt into the safety of his protective hands that instinctively cushioned my hips, placing my palm against his chest to steady myself and puckering my lips to his cheek in a gentle peck before retreating from his touch and traipsing a slow hike up the staircase into his bathroom directly facing the stairways landing - a room's intention so simple, for the acts of pure acts of washing, but in ownership of the most scenic views any Londoner could dream of possessing. As my fingers intruded upon the trickling stream of water, splashing my face with the refreshing droplets that sponged into my skin in an instant, I stared down the woman reflecting in the wall's mirror with an intense gaze before an exhale from the deepest emotion of upset was emitted through my pursued lips. There was no way that in this current semblance, the woman this reflection originated from would be presentable enough for an entire cyber broadcast in just a few minutes time. Extremely sheer pockets of sweat blankets, divulging the excessive exertion transpiring in our training room, shimmering in the lighting installations, were scattered throughout my uncovered body parts from our power runs. My beehive updo, a loosely tied ponytail with a rugged demeanour to it, was missing a few strands that acquired enough mental stability to abscond from the pack and stick against my forehead. My face embraced the au natural appearance, apart from the light brush of mascara lengthening my eyelashes outwards, this bare exposure to unknown individuals once a fearful action yet in Joe's presence, his compassionate nature envelops you in a comforting canoodle, it feels only standard. The ampled-shaping shirt, a random choice from the shambolic disarray of my drawers, was drenched with sweat, sections of salmon deepened in colour to a vivid rosette shade that prominated our hard work. In an attempt to fix this disorderly mess occurring before me, I assembled each lock into a messy bun that would rest upon my head and clothed myself in a pullover jumper to disguise the revealing image of my shirt clinging to my body. I inspired a hefty amount of oxygen to refresh my lungs before retracing my steps along the staircase.