You quickly walked down the long way from the garages of the track towards the parking lot — arms crossed over your chest, breaths coming out in white puffs. Snow was falling all around, the white flakes falling slowly. Seeing a familiar figure in the distance, his hands buried into his pockets to shield himself from the cold.

You walked close enough and dropped the soft material of the jacket he had forgotten in your car over his head, covering him from the cold with the black jacket. An adorable noise of suprise left him as he halted in his steps and turned around, the jacket covering half his face, over his eyes.

Theo Milano, the famous champion winning moto gp racer, and your childhood best friend. The man. No one knew Theo like you did and no one knew you, like Theo did. You were the first girl he knew and had in his life after all — his first girl.

Theo was everything. He — in everything, always — was so gentle, soft spoken, respectful and protective. And that was rare, but not rare when he was with you. He had grown into a man and you were there, by his side through it all and watched it happen.

The way he treated you, god. He had you falling more and more in love. Nothing more than a secret — one that was hard to keep.

The effortless grace he carried, how he smiled, spoke and moved. The small details and actions that were only for him, done by him. He was all in your system — everything reminded you of him — he was driving you crazy.

This man was ethereal.

The gentle touches, secret glances, small smiles, soft murmurs, unwavering attention, lighthearted laughs, comfortable silences, deep conversations and safeness of his presence. Those things kept you alive.

You looked up as he pulled the jacket back, meeting the beautiful emerald green of eyes and the way the snow flakes clung onto his brown hair, making him look like he was still a little boy, his nose and cheeks tinted slightly red from the snow, the soft strands of his hair blowing in the breeze.

He looked down at you as you paused, a small arch in his brow as his gaze roaming over your features, his eyes tired from the day’s events — speed, adrenaline, victory — and yet glistening with youth and life followed along with a faint, confused smile on his lips.

“Can I help you, beautiful?” He rasped and chuckled lowly.