[ At the confirmation she lets out a weary little cheer and a half-hearted fist pump to the sky.

Of course he looks fine. He looks fine in every sense of the word on any given day, even when he looks disheveled in the middle of a desert. She tries not to look too envious when he steps into view, and definitely brushes away the intrusive thought about what it would look like if he were more sweaty.

The offer is tempting. But as she takes his hand she gives him a bat of her eyelashes trying to look as pathetic as possible. ]

How about you just carry me instead as part of my consolation prize for losing so badly? I think my legs are jelly after that last round.