5.8 - dinner on a balcony

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Willow's POV

I stay by Alex's side for the rest of his interviewers, barely talking to him or the reporter. I felt out of place and even though he his arm around me or in mine the whole time, I couldn't help but feel extremely uncomfortable. My mind kept snapping back to the bar, when he got so defensive at Domi and me. I know I was wrong to dance with Domi, not just in respect to Alex, but also because I was still technically dating Denis at the time. But after that night at the bar and Alex speaking to me with such force, I start to wonder if he should be the one who I should be standing next to right now.

I shift on my heels, back and forth, waiting to each interview to be over, and listening to Alex answer all of the same questions over and over again. I wonder if he ever had any press training. His answers were all bland and general. My mind then wanders to the last few nights when we were home. Riding in his car, kissing him in the alleyway during the US Open, kissing him again in the field, him getting me the dress... I was totally, utterly, confused. I'm mad at myself for letting myself get tangled up in this web of two boys... or three boys?

"You alright?" Alex nudges me with his elbow. "You're quiet."

"Oh," I shake my head, snapping back to present. "Yeah."

The camera around us slowly faded out as they directed their attention to more tennis stars arriving. Stef, Andrey, Danil, Diego, they were all here.

"You sure?" Alex asks again. "Is something bothering you?"

I shake my head, "Just tired from the plane ride."

He stops walking and turns to me, kissing my cheek softly and quickly. "You look beautiful," he smiles. "I don't know if I've told you, yet. But you do."

"Thanks," I whisper. "For all this."

"Willow, I want to talk to you about the other night. At the farm. I want you to know-"

"Alright, last interview," Alex's manager interrupts, leaving us at the very top of the steps to speak to the TennisTV interviewer. I try to peak through the doors, inside. All I wanted to do was to sit down. My mind was racing. What did he want to talk to me about? What more could there even be?

"Hey," Domi says, walking into the interview. He shakes Alex's hand and the interviewer boasts, overly excited to have two tennis players in frame. "How are you?" Domi whispers to me.

"Alright," I respond.

Domi frowns at the response and turns to the interviewer to say 'hi.'

"How excited are you two to be playing together in a few days? Any doubles with you two that we might see?" The interviewer asks.

Domi shrugs to the reporter, "Maybe. It usually depends on the score and who's played already, but hopefully, maybe. It's always fun playing with Sascha... I'm going to head in, but it was good seeing you." Then he directs his attention to me, "Wanna come in?"

"Oh," I say, glancing to Alex at the invitation. Here was not the place for another fight to break out between the two. I wonder if they've already talked things out.

Alex gives me a quick and approving nod. I guess they have worked things out. "Yes, please." I exhale and then smile apologetically to the interviewer. "Sorry, I've really gotta use the bathroom." I give Alex's hand in mine and quick squeeze before letting go and walking into the venue as fast as I could at walking pace. "You're a savior."

"Something's wrong with you?" Domi asks. "Overwhelmed?"

I shake my head but then shrug, "Um, maybe... I don't- I don't know. I'm just," I look up at Domi. "I'm confused."

"Why?" Domi asks kindly. A couple people walk in past us and nodding 'hello' to Domi. "Here," he says, pulling be back behind the wall and away from everyone watching. "Are you okay? You can talk to me."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I smile. I knew I could talk to Domi about literally anything from my irregular period to vomiting in his bed. But this was so hard to talk to him about. "I'm just confused because..." I try to find the right words to make a sentence. "I'm not sure what Denis wants and I'm not sure what Alex wants and..." I let out a long sigh. "And I'm not sure what you want."

Domi gives me a confused look, "What I want? What do you mean?"

"I just feel like things have been different between us. Not in a bad way," I add. "But just, different. And I feel like everything's been different between me and everyone else, too and I just got off a nine-hour flight and my luggage is lost and I'm just really overwhelmed at the moment, I'm so sorry." I feel like I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown and I know Domi can tell, too.

He looks around, like someone's going to jump out and scare us, "This way," he says, turning around quickly and I follow behind him. We duck into the corner and then through a door that's labeled 'Stairs.' I follow him as fast as my heels allow me to, up three cases of stairs, and by the time we reach the door to exit the stairwell, I'm out of breath and my heart is racing. "This way," is all Domi says, pulling the door open and letting me walk out first.

My breath hitches and I am in awe of the site. It's a large, empty balcony with rows and rows of seats that draw as far back as I can see. "What?" I let out breathlessly.

He walks to the front of the balcony, where there's a glowing golden light beneath us and peers over. "This should be good." He then walks a couple steps back and sits in the middle of the first row of seats. Then, he looks over his shoulder and calls to me, "You coming?"

I make my way over to him and soon, my eyes are cascaded with the most beautiful view of the building. Beneath me, I can see all the tables and people sitting down and mingling. In the front is a large stage with a microphone in the middle. There's a band softly playing in the background to the side. I turn back to look at Domi, gleaming with awe. "How did you find this place?" I ask.

Domi chuckles, "I knew you'd like it. It was open a couple years ago when we came, but I'm guessing they're keeping it closed this year. A sat in this row, staring out, and I thought you'd like it, too." I walk over to sit next to him as he continues, "A couple years ago was my first time at a team even as large as this. I was so scared and I thought I fucked up all the interviews. But when I sat up here with a few people coming in and out, I was able to take a deep breath away from the crowd. You're kinda looking like you need this, too, right now. We can stay up here for as long as you'd like. No one's going to notice we're missing."

I smile at him, grateful. He really was the greatest friend I could ask for. And just like he's reading my mind, he says. "And to answer you from earlier, I'm not sure what I want either. But I want us to always be friends and if that means letting you go, then I understand." He pauses. "I'll go sneak us some dinner plates." And just like that, he's gone and I'm sitting in an empty theater. 

Until Then. // denis shapovalov - sascha zverevWhere stories live. Discover now