Chapter Text
Predazzo, February 16
The problem with the Olympics was that they smelled completely different. Not in the poetic sense; the village truly had its own distinct smell of synthetic materials, canteen food, and many, many people crammed into one place, people trying very hard. And underneath it all, if you stood outside for a while, you could feel the chill of the Fiemme Valley. Sharper than Engelberg and wetter than Wisła. Jan had gotten to this point around the fourth day, and he'd been there for nine days by the time February 16th arrived, and he'd gotten used to most things. The noise, the flags, the cameras appearing out of nowhere every time a team moved together. The waiting, which was a discipline in itself, the feeling of being constantly watched; not by a single crowd, but by something much larger and less tangible: millions of people in their living rooms, people he would never see, who had their own opinions about the ski jumping he had been preparing for his entire life.
The first individual competition endured the same way he dealt with most things, boiling them down to practical elements: the wind, the beam, the timing. He finished fifth on the large hill, a fair and clean result that he tried to accept without much emotion, which wasn't easy, as he was one of the main medal contenders. Stephan, on the other hand, finished seventh twice, with a precision and solidity that sparked a torrent of words from Andreas after the competition, and that meant more to the twenty-two-year-old than it might seem. Despite this, Austria had yet to win a ski jumping medal. This fact existed somewhere in the background. Unspoken in the hotel, because saying it would have given it too much weight, but present everywhere. Hörl saw it in the way the team moved around the village, avoiding the curious gazes of reporters as much as possible, in the silence and somewhat artificial smiles of the staff, and above all, in the media.
The super team competition was a competition that had become etched in the blond's memory even before it took place, one that he was both excited and nervous about at the same time. Even before the Games, he had a premonition of the lineup the coaches would choose, and he hadn't been wrong. He and Stephan. Together... on a team, of course. He was careful not to dissect that sentence.
×
The morning of the competition was quiet in that unpleasant way when there's nothing left to do and all that's left is the waiting, which stretches on longer than it should. Jan prepared, as always, without rushing, without unnecessary intensity, so as not to burn out completely before the competition. He ate, moved, checked his equipment with the same care he always had, and didn't think about the evening. There was nothing left that thinking could improve.
Stephan knocked on his door at ten. The blond hadn't expected it at all, and when he saw his younger colleague behind the door, he didn't say anything for a moment, just held the door, looking at him in slight bewilderment. Embacher stood in the hallway in his training clothes, hands in his pockets, looking like someone who was going somewhere but wasn't quite sure where or why.
"I wasn't going to..." he began hesitantly, then quickly stopped. "I just wanted to say... It's about today."
“You don’t have to say anything-” Jan started to reply, but was silenced by a shake of his companion’s head.
“I know I don’t have to.” He looked at him with that directness he’d had in his eyes since Engelberg. Not pushy, not reckless, but definitely not a shyness. “I want to.”
So Hörl waited, and Bambi took a deep breath.
“We’ll win,” he said calmly and matter-of-factly, as if stating a fact. “I just wanted to say it out loud… to you,” he added, less confidently, his gaze shifting to the open window behind the blond.
The blond stared at him for a moment. Somewhere outside, someone was playing music, which carried faintly in the cold air. Sarà perché ti amo, ironically.
“Well… okay,” he replied, pushing the thought of the Italian hit from his mind.
Bambi nodded, as if putting a period at the end of a sentence, and scuttled away like a deer in front of an oncoming car. Hörl closed the door, stood in the middle of the room, and briefly thought about the fact that Stephan Embacher had come to him the morning before the Olympic final just to tell him they'd win... and he hadn't expected anything in return. He simply said it and left. He thought about it a little longer than necessary. Then he put on his shoes and went to breakfast, for which he already felt late.
×
Evening came early, enveloping the valley in that characteristic February darkness that descends quickly and completely, while the light cut across the hill from below, drawing it out of the darkness so sharply that everything beyond—the valley, the trees, the expanse—was drowned in blackness. The stands were packed, the flags overlapped so tightly that they were impossible to count, the sound rippled like a sea, and the tension of the crowd hung in the air, a long wait whose energy seemed to pulse with intensity.
They stood on the top longer than usual. The Austrians, as the Nations Cup leaders, were last to jump, so they watched as the tension of the evening built up in layers: successive jumps, short breaks, slight delays, nervous movements on the beam. The stress built slowly, heavily, and there was nowhere to put it. Jan looked down at the hill, at the lights, at the people, at what had happened earlier in the competition, and thought that sometimes the worst part isn't the waiting itself, but the realization that everyone else already knows, and you're still in limbo.
The format of the super team competition was simple: two athletes, three rounds, one total score. The hill was fast that evening, the frost had hardened the track, and the wind cooperated surprisingly well during the measurements, showing its better side. Hörl had already felt this in the practice round and had put it in the appropriate box in his head. The conditions are good, take advantage of them.
He jumped in the first group. He had asked Andreas to do it himself, knowing that when push came to shove, it could ruin their medal chances. He was composed, but not that composed. He didn't think about Stephan watching. He thought about the gate, the angle, the inrun, and then he stopped thinking altogether. The jump was clean, long, calm, and the landing was stable. One hundred thirty-seven meters. On the outrun, he knew it was good, even before he glanced at the board.
He crossed the mixed zone and slowly made his way to the lift, and when he sat down, still focused more on himself than on what was happening around him, on repeating the jump, on the brief, almost automatic sorting of everything that had just happened, Stephan moved from the gate.
He didn't look.
Only the swish of skis on the inrun tore him from his reverie and he looked up. He was high enough now to see the ball almost at eye level, a mere fragment of space, a fragment where everything was decided in a split second. He saw the moment of take-off, the brief suspension in the air, and the silhouette so perfectly composed that the rest of the jump could be imagined. And then came the sound, not violent, but lower, fuller, spreading through the stands like a wave. Jan looked away, because he didn't need to see more. His phone vibrated in his pocket a moment later, and he glanced at it briefly. One hundred thirty-five meters.
He put it back before the lift brought him to the top.
×
After the first round, the board showed Austria in first place. The waiting room was crammed with equipment, people, a silence broken only by short sentences that ended faster than they began. And that damned pressure weighing on everyone. He sat down, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a moment stared ahead, not focusing on anything in particular, rubbing his temples as he did so. A few minutes later, Embacher appeared next to him as if he'd sprung from nowhere. For a moment, neither of them said a word.
"I told you so" the brunette finally asked teasingly, glancing at his friend out of the corner of his eye.
Hörl didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched before he could stop it.
×
The second round began calmly, but Jan felt something different. He was the last jumper in the first group, and he immediately felt in the air that his movements were lighter, more instinctive. It wasn't just about technique; there was a fleeting ease to it, as if the brief interaction with Stephan in the waiting room had given him wings. The feeling filled him quietly, pleasantly, though he tried to flatten it as much as possible, as if he didn't want to let any unnecessary thoughts get to him.
The flight was long. One hundred thirty-nine meters, calmly in the air, he landed perfectly again. The crowd roared, but Hörl wasn't sure if he heard it or simply imagined it somewhere in the back of his mind. He walked past the media again, mounted the lift, and gripped the metal handle, thinking about the next details of his jump and what he could improve on in the third round. Concentrated, almost mechanically, he looked up when he heard the familiar swish of skis on the inrun in the air. He glanced to the side and saw Stephan in mid-air, hovering above the hill at eye level.
What he felt was new and difficult to define. He found himself thinking more than before about Bambi not overdoing it in his hunger for victory, about being relatively safe. He thought fondly of him, but quickly dismissed the thoughts, his cheeks flushing, even though it was harder than ever. The results on the app showed Austria in first place, Poland in second. Two rounds of dominance for a team that still hadn't won any medals.
When the lift carried him to the top, Jan entered the waiting room, leaving his skis on the rack by the door, and stood against the wall, sipping water from a disposable cup. He had a few minutes' break, which he intended to use for quiet meditation and nibbling on the thin, white plastic, but then he noticed a familiar head of hair entering. There was no longer a crowd between them, just their colleagues, a few staff members, and one intrusive camera and its operator, squeezed into a small space. Despite this, Stephan embraced him tightly, without caution, without reserve, immediately resting his face on the blond's shoulder. Hörl absorbed his weight, and for a moment everything else vanished: the snow outside, the quiet grunts of his colleagues, the camera. The world was filled only with the quiet pull and warmth of the younger boy, which he absorbed with all his being.
He couldn't yet say it out loud, but he was certain that something had just happened. Bambi pulled away a little, just enough to see his teammate's face. That gaze no longer had anything to do with cautious shielding; it was full, unashamed, as bright as the spotlights surrounding the ski jump.
"Jan, I-"
"Cameras," he replied quietly, carefully placing a hand on Embacher's chest and gently pushing him away. Not coldly, not dismissively, simply carefully.
Stephan blinked, looked around sheepishly, then looked back at him, politely taking half a step back.
"Oh. Sorry..."
A quiet, not entirely comfortable moment passed between them before it was time for Jan to move to the gate.
×
For a long time, the third round looked as if it would take place in its entirety. The competitors returned to the top, and everything returned to its rhythm, even though the snow was falling more and more heavily, but not enough to halt the competition. Down below, after his jump, Jan saw that the ribbons at the gate were beginning to show the true conditions, that something was shifting, that the wind was starting to get erratic, but for a long moment, that suspension that can be the most tiring of all states in competitions persisted.
Stephan was still up there, waiting for his jump. The television camera caught him at the right moment, sitting motionless on the steps by the gate, as snow began to settle on his shoulders, helmet, and the sleeves of his suit. He didn't shake it off, which slowly made him resemble a snowman. As if he didn't want to move, lest he spoil anything; after all, Olympic gold was within his grasp; as if he were impatiently waiting for someone else to make the decision for him.
A delay, then another.
And one more.
Time lost its structure and stretched into something unpleasantly soft, where nothing happened, yet everything was already on the verge of happening. Jan stood at the bottom, staring up the hill with his arms crossed over his chest, squinting. The ribbons on the beam were no longer mere decoration - they moved erratically, restlessly.
When the decision was finally made, it didn't come immediately. First, there was movement among the officials, gestures, a camera showed someone upstairs talking to the athletes, who were getting up and returning to the waiting room. Only then came the announcement: the third round had been canceled.
Austria had won.
Hörl needed a second for it to truly sink in. He'd known for months that they were the favorites, but seeing this result with his own eyes, standing in the snow settling on his jacket, staring at the number one next to their nationality like a halfwit, was something entirely different. More tangible, harder to grasp.
Stephan found him first.
He didn't approach immediately with euphoria, didn't laugh loudly like everyone else around him. He stood close, not touching the blond, and looked at him with an expression that was completely different from the one above. Quieter, more reserved. Like someone who desperately wanted to celebrate, but was still afraid of the further embarrassment that might befall him.
"We won," he muttered to him timidly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.
There wasn't much sense in that, because it was obvious they had won. Jan, however, understood that the young Austrian wasn't talking about sense.
"We won," he replied, smiling gently, and stepped closer, already holding out his hands to the boy, but everything around them was growing faster than weeds in the garden. The staff, Wildhölzl himself, Manuel, who had just whizzed past them out of nowhere, running to his husband, the preparations for the ceremony. Somewhere off to the side, the Poles were rejoicing like children over their silver medals, the Norwegians nervously checking the standings, as if they still couldn't believe they'd actually won bronze. Jan caught Wąsek's eye for a moment and recognized it as if it belonged to him. The boy also couldn't believe he'd just become an Olympic medalist; fortunately, his partner was already there, looking as if he were personally trying to remind him.
He looked away when he realized where his thoughts had wandered.
×
The ceremony was cold and bright, saturated with the screams of the fans. The medal hung around Hörl's neck, and for a moment, he allowed himself to feel its weight. Something that for years had been only an abstract concept. Olympic gold.
He instinctively looked at Stephan. The brunette stood still, his jaw tense, his eyes bright and focused. The twenty-two-year-old, in his first Olympic final, reached for the most precious metal. Jan remembered the morning and his teammate's certainty: we would win. Skubany was right. As the anthem played, Embacher moved closer and, without question, embraced him from the side. The blond reciprocated the gesture; their arms joined, the medals weighing them down, though they both felt as if they were still floating in the air. For the crowd, it was one of many celebrations this winter, something irreversible for them, something that lingered in their heads, in their hearts, in every nerve quivering with excitement.
Jan looked away before Stephan could notice. But Bambi didn't take his eyes off him, though until now he'd only glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He watched as Hörl moved his head slightly, as he finally allowed himself to smile. He felt every tense muscle in his face, every tension in his body melting under the weight of victory. His mind was swirling with thoughts: pride, relief... and something else. A warmth that shouldn't be there, not amid the glare of cameras and the cheering crowd. But it was there. He knew Jan felt it (he wasn't as good at hiding it as he thought), though perhaps he wasn't quite ready to admit it yet. Embacher allowed himself a moment to immerse himself in that thought, because, after all, this was a moment no one could take away from him. And in that brief moment, between the medals, the lights, and the anthems, he felt everything that had been between them for these months slowly finding its place.
×
It was much quieter behind the locker rooms. Far enough from the cameras that no one would notice him, yet close enough that he could still hear the blurry noise of the stadium. The snow had stopped falling, so Jan took off his hood and stood in just his hat, leaning against one of the metal barriers. First there were people, the noise, the questions, someone talking too close to his face, someone else trying to catch his attention, take a photo, record something for social media, and he responded, nodded, doing everything you do automatically when your body is still on autopilot. And then it stopped.
So he stood there at the barrier, leaning against it with his entire weight, leaning forward as if it were suddenly too much, as if everything - the sound, the light, the medal - had arrived simultaneously and without warning, crushing him with its enormity.
Gold. The word refused to settle into anything solid in his head. It was too big, too unreal, for too long an unattainable abstraction, especially after the miserable past few days. He breathed quickly, feeling his facade of order and cold calculation crumble, piece by piece. Not violently, not spectacularly, more like a dam bursting. Slowly, until the current was so strong that it tore through all the masks that had been so carefully crafted for the public.
That's when something else appeared. Not just the result, the media, not just those two jumps. Everything he'd been carefully putting off until later. What he'd been dismantling so as not to have to look at it as a whole that didn't favor his worldview. What he called observation, support, discipline. What, out of fear of himself, he didn't even name. He closed his eyes for a moment and rested his forehead against the cool metal of the railing. He felt tears streaming down his cheeks, allowing himself this moment of weakness, knowing no one would likely notice him there. Not for long, and not fully, but enough to feel what it truly felt like to lose control, to let go of everyone and everything.
Stephan stopped a few steps away. He didn't approach immediately; he saw the way Jan stood, the tension in his back, the hands clenched around the railing, heard the quiet sniffles. Something inside him instinctively wanted to close the distance, to take that one step, to touch him, to say something. He didn't. He stayed where he was, giving him that space, just as he had before. On the jump, in the air, in the hotel, in everything, he had given him time and space, not moving a step closer.
After a moment, Jan lifted his head. His breath returned slowly, unevenly, but it did. He wiped the tears from his face with a quick, almost mechanical movement, as if to lock it all back into a familiar pattern. He turned and saw the brunette standing a little further away. Bambi stood silently, observing Hörl without pressure or expectation. He simply was, as if to show that he respected his boundaries but wanted to be with him at that moment.
Jan didn't say anything for a moment; he didn't need to. Something in his gaze was different than before. It was less controlled, less closed off, as if that brief moment at the barrier had unraveled something that couldn't be put back together exactly the same way. Stephan saw it too and understood. Not everything, but enough for that moment.
"Come on, they're looking for us... The last bus to the village leaves in about ten minutes," the younger of the two finally said, smoothing his hair before pulling his cap over it.
Hörl nodded. He pushed himself away from the barrier, and for a second they stood facing each other in that tight space between noise and silence, between what was reserved for the cameras and what still had no name. He could have said something, could have tried, but he didn't.
Not yet.
"I'll be right back," he finally said quietly, almost to himself, and his eyes met Stephan's, which caused their cheeks to flush almost the same shade of pink. "I just need a moment."
Bambi nodded in understanding and walked away, heading for the aforementioned bus. He didn't look back, not wanting to embarrass his friend any further. Jan was left alone at the barrier. His breathing was still uneven, something hot, unnamed smoldering in his chest, undiminished even as the distance grew wider. Every breath, every tiny movement reminded him that this feeling was real, that it didn't fade with distance.
And though they weren't standing side by side now, they both felt the same thing inside: something had shifted forever. Something had finally sprouted and grown, been named, even if not yet aloud. The fresh snow continued to muffle sounds, softly enveloping the area, and the ski jump, still full of journalists and activists, was left behind them like a frame from a movie they had already starred in and didn't need to return to.