A/N: A couple of years ago I wrote a series of Max/Mariam kisses for Valentine's, and I wanted to do something like that again. I decided on several separate oneshots, centered on different ships, for Valentine's Day and the days after. There are now officially six in total! Each is based off of a different kiss cliché or trope. Last, but not least, is TyHil.

A Kiss for the Winner

World Championship victories called for flashing lights. There were tons of them, punctuating the deafening roar of the crowd cheering for her team, as fans whipped out phones and photographers brandished their cameras, all eager to capture the moment.

There were even more the second Tyson dropped his half of the Championship trophy in favor of taking her by the waist and kissing her.

She closed her eyes reflexively. She'd always remember how the flashbulbs looked through her eyelids and how her heart sounded in her ears, drowning out the cheers and Max's laughter and Daichi's complaints as he buckled under the unexpected weight of the trophy.

One day, maybe she'd look back on it fondly, but in the moment, she was mortified.

She knew the kiss would be all over tabloids and fan sites in a matter of hours. The thought alone was enough to activate her fight or flight. When the crowd of family, friends, and fans flooded the stadium, she took her chance and slipped away. It was easy ducking under reaching arms when none of them were reaching for her.

The back hallways in stadiums were always strangely empty after a battle. There wasn't a soul to witness her retreat to the sanctuary of the Bladebreakers' locker room. The sounds of the crowd were muffled as the door fell shut behind her. She leaned against it and sighed.

The room didn't look any different than it had when they left. The table was taken over by Kenny's tools and beyblading parts, the contents of Daichi's locker were strewn all over the place, and Tyson's lunch wrappers were at the top of the trashcan.

"Tyson? Cleaning up after himself?"

"Will wonders never cease!"

"Shut up guys!"

Tyson had laughed his friends off and told them to save him a spot on the bench. Max and Ray had followed the others with knowing looks on their faces, while Hilary hung back. To oversee, she'd told herself. If she concentrated, she could still feel the touch of Tyson's lips from before they'd joined the rest of the team in the stadium lights.

Their friends knew they were dating. Once it happened, there was only so long they could hide it. Hilary wasn't surprised to have their support or to have Daichi order them not to be gross around him.

She also wasn't surprised when the fans started figuring it out. From every question Tyson dodged in interviews to the influx of one on one time they spent together, the hints were there way before they were ever publicly confirmed as a couple.

One thing that did surprise her a little was how, all of a sudden, there were cameras everywhere they went. It put her on edge, knowing that instead of being just another staple in Tyson's entourage, she was now in a position where people would take her picture and use it to judge whether she deserved him or not.

Tyson, normally one to ham it up for his fans, handled her reluctance with more grace than she'd expected. He put himself between her and the cameras whenever he could and used his particular brand of charm to shoo people away without ruffling their feathers. They stuck to hand-holding in public, saving anything more for when they could have their privacy.

That was, until today.

She was startled out of her thoughts when the door opened behind her. She scrambled over to the table and started packing up Kenny's things in an effort to look like she was doing more than just hiding.

"Hilary?"

Ever since they were in eighth grade, Hilary had been annoyingly hyper-aware of every move Tyson made. Back then that meant forgetting his books and sleeping in class. Now, she could feel his approach – cautious even though he was still buzzing from victory – without looking.

"Do you need me to come out for another picture?" she asked, hoping Tyson didn't notice the quiver in her voice or the way she fumbled a handful of weight disks.

"What?"

He sounded so lost that she couldn't help but turn around.

Tyson had the audacity to stand there looking confused. And handsome. With confetti in his hair and a shiny gold medal resting in the center of his chest, it was hard to resist the urge to throw her arms around his neck. Hard, but nowhere near impossible.

Hilary huffed and crossed her arms. "I thought we agreed not to kiss on camera," she said and saw his expression shift from befuddlement to realization to guilt.

"Hil," Tyson started, obviously about to defend himself, but Hilary was having none of it.

"I thought you cared more about what I wanted than attention from your fans," she said, turning her chin up at him and going back to packing up beyblade parts. Her eyes were starting to burn, a telltale sign that she was fighting back tears and she didn't want him to see. "Maybe I was wrong."

"Hilary, I'm not out there with my fans right now – I'm here with you!" Tyson's touch was as gentle as his voice when he came up behind her and rested a tentative hand on her shoulder. He must have heard the oncoming tears in her voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't think—"

Hilary whipped around.

"That's right, you didn't!" she cried, smacking his hand away. "You just kissed me in front of all those people when you knew how I'd feel about it! It was sneaky and performative and it'll be on every newsstand by morning and all you can do is pretend to be sorry?!"

"I'm not pretending!" Tyson argued back, with more disbelief than defiance in his tone. He took a step back to give her space and watched as she wiped a few angry tears away. When she didn't say anything else right away, he asked, "Can I talk now?"

Despite her sudden exhaustion, Hilary was ready to shoot him down if she sensed a single smidgen of attitude. But Tyson had his palms up and an earnest expression so she just shrugged.

"You usually don't ask."

Okay, maybe she was the one with an attitude. But it was justified.

"Fair enough," Tyson conceded. He took a tentative step in her direction, but didn't try to touch her again.

"I meant it when I said I didn't think," he began, sincere brown eyes searching her face for any hint of forgiveness. "After I won that last battle, you were the person I wanted to celebrate with most. I didn't think about how many people had cameras. All I remember thinking was how the one thing that could make me more of a winner would be kissing you."

One of the things that Hilary would admit she and Tyson had in common was that neither of them were frequently rendered speechless. But she was now. It made sense that it was all his fault. She acknowledged his words with a silent nod.

"I really am sorry, Hil," he repeated. "If there's something I can say to the press to make you feel better…"

"I don't think more press is going to fix this, Tyson," she sighed, having found her words and lost her bluster in one fell swoop.

As usual, Tyson's heart had been in the right place, but his execution left something to be desired.

Tyson had been riding the high of being the World Champion ever since they'd met. Eighth-grader Hilary would be equal parts shocked and disgusted to know that he cared more about kissing her than holding his trophy up for the world to see.

Today's Hilary was actually starting to feel touched.

"Yeah, I understand," Tyson said dolefully. "Sorry again."

When Hilary didn't show any signs of launching another verbal assault, he closed the final distance between them at a glacially slow pace. She had plenty of time to stop him from leaning in, but she really didn't want to. One of his hands lifted her chin and her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her softly and sweetly, with no one else watching.

The kiss was quick, but butterflies were already threatening to take over her stomach as he backed away. The light caught on the medal around his neck and Hilary felt pride start to bubble up inside her. World Champion again. Following her training regimen, naturally.

"Tyson?"

"I'll go find the others so we can get outta here," he said, jabbing his thumb towards the exit. He turned, sheepishly, with his head dipped more than it should have been for someone who just claimed another World Championship victory.

"Tyson, wait!"

He turned back around just in time to receive an armful of Hilary. This time she didn't fight the urge to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless.

Tyson initially stumbled, but managed to catch them both. He kissed her back and Hilary could feel all of the pent-up energy and adrenaline fizzing to the surface to replace his guilt. His arms circled her waist and she wanted them to pull her closer than was physically possible.

She wasn't wasting time on finesse; she kissed Tyson with every bit of pride and enthusiasm she'd felt during his final battle. One of her hands found its way into his hair, tipping his hat onto the floor. When they finally came up for air, Hilary's heart was thudding fast against her ribs and she couldn't find it in her to be irritated with him anymore.

She gave it half an hour – irritating her was his talent.

"I'm confused," Tyson admitted, eyes wide and lips red. He maintained his vice-like grip on her waist and Hilary was just as content as he was not to allow any distance between them ever again. "Happy, but confused."

Hilary gave him a squeeze. "You should feel like a winner," she said, smiling proudly at him. "You are the World Champion, after all." Then, so it didn't go to his head too much, she added, "And the boyfriend of the best coach in the BBA."

Tyson laughed and dropped his half of their embrace. She was about to ask him why when he carefully removed his gold medal and transferred it from his neck to hers. The strap was still warm from his skin and the metal wasn't chilly either, having been squished between the two of them.

"That last one'll always be more important to me, Hil."

Just for that, she kissed him again.

A/N: Maybe next year Hilary will be the one to kiss Tyson when he wins. :) Because I fully assume Tyson wins some crazy number of World Championships before retiring form the sport lol And then it can become a thing: the one TyHil kiss the paparazzi get is the annual World Championship kiss. I do think that they - Hilary especially - would prefer to keep their relationship out of the public eye as much as possible. Tyson's Winner's Kiss is the exception.

Thank you to all who read this and any of my other Valentine's Day fics this year. I truly appreciate you! :)