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The mountains were a nice change of pace. Not silent, never silent, but it was definitely quieter. Even her thoughts seemed less loud up here, less accusatory.
Y/N hadn’t told many people she was leaving for a few days. She’d framed it as a spontaneous winter break, which was technically true. But spontaneity had only come after months of staring at her ceiling at night, wondering if the life she was building was one she actually wanted.
But she didn’t really know how to ski.
That was perhaps the most absurd part of booking a stay in Bionaz, tucked high in the Aosta Valley. She liked biathlon. Loved it, even. Had followed the World Cup circuit for years. But watching professionals glide across snow with impossible precision did not translate into personal competence.
Her first attempt at cross-country skiing had been humbling.
The skis slid out from under her with betrayal. She had fallen in a way that felt both dramatic and anticlimactic, landing in a puff of white, staring at the sky as if it had personally orchestrated it.
She’d laughed. Alone. Slightly embarrassed.
It felt good, strangely. To fail at something that didn’t matter.
The trail she took the next morning was quieter, less frequented. She was walking this time, instead of skiing. The air was sharp enough to sting her lungs in the first few breaths, and she welcomed it. Pain that made sense was easier to manage than the vague pressure she’d left behind at home.
She noticed him before she allowed herself to recognize him.
A figure moving further up the path, skis cutting clean, deliberate lines through the snow. There was something unmistakable about the posture, upright but relaxed, shoulders steady, movements economical. So professional.
She slowed. Her mind supplied a name she immediately rejected. It wasn’t possible. That would be ridiculous.
He stopped, just enough to shift his weight and glance back, as if aware of being observed.
Their eyes met.
And he smiled.
It didn’t seem like a fake, practiced smile like you’d see for the cameras. It seemed smaller than that, warmer too. Maybe a bit curious.
Her stomach dropped.
She pushed forward before she could talk herself out of it, boots crunching softly against the snow at the trail’s edge. Up close, recognition became undeniable.
It was him.
Didier Bionaz looked slightly different without a race bib and rifle strapped to his back. Younger, almost. Less constructed, less unapproachable.
“Sorry- um. Are you… Didier Bionaz?”
He tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the careful phrasing.
“Yeah.”
The confirmation did nothing to calm her pulse.
“I thought so. I just- I didn’t want to assume.”
“That’s fair.”
His voice was softer than she expected. Television didn’t do justice to how good looking he was in reality.
There was a pause she could have let stretch politely. Instead, she ruined it.
“You’re my favorite biathlete.”
The words spilled out faster than she intended, the landing was messy and she felt very, very embarrassed of her own admission.
For a second Didier only looked at her, something unreadable flickering across his expression.
“That’s unexpected,” he said lightly. “I haven’t done much to deserve that lately.”
The self-deprecation caught her off guard. It wasn’t performative. It was too quiet for that. She frowned without thinking.
“You’ve done more than enough to deserve it,” she said. “You’re a world class biathlete. It’s not because it’s going less well that it means you don’t belong there.”
He watched her more closely now.
“You sound very certain.”
“I am.”
The conviction surprised even her. She hadn’t planned to sound reassuring. It wasn’t her place to reassure him.
She was just someone who watched races from her couch, who had no real experience. Someone normal, who did sport in her spare time but who wasn’t professional.
But she didn’t like the way it sounded strained, a little final. She had seen enough to know slumps didn’t erase potential. It happened to everyone, even great talents.
Something in Didier’s shoulders eased. Not dramatically. Just enough to notice.
She hesitated, then gathered the courage for one more request.
“Would it be okay if we took a picture?”
“Of course.”
Relief surged, immediately followed by mortification. She pulled out her phone. The screen stayed black.
“Oh. No. No, no, no.”
She pressed the button again as if desperation might generate battery life. It didn’t. She frankly hadn’t checked whether it was on since she had started her trail. A terrible idea.
“I swear it was charged,” she muttered, horrified. “This is so embarrassing.”
He laughed under his breath.
“I can take it on mine,” he offered. “I’ll send it to you.”
“You… you would?”
“Sure. Unless you don’t trust me with your image.”
“I- no, that’s not-”
He was teasing. Gently. The corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
She gave him her Instagram handle with fingers that felt less cooperative than usual. He typed it in, took the photo, closer than necessary, she realized too late, and showed it to her briefly. She looked flushed. Wind-touched. Ridiculously happy.
He followed her before she could overthink it.
“There,” he said. “Proof.”
“Thank you. Really.”
The moment lingered in a way she didn’t quite understand.
She cleared her throat.
“Anyway. I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re training.”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t move immediately.
She did.
“Good luck,” she added quickly. “You’ll figure it out.”
He watched her for a second longer.
“I hope you’re right.”
She turned before she could say anything else unnecessary.
Her heart pounded all the way back down the trail.
It felt ridiculous to react this way to a brief encounter with someone she’d only ever seen through a screen. And yet the warmth in his smile replayed in her mind with unreasonable persistence. At least she had memories, forever.
Later that afternoon, when her phone buzzed with a notification, she stared at the screen for a full ten seconds before opening it.
A message request. From him.
The photo appeared first. Then a second message.
Thanks for what you said earlier.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
She typed, erased, retyped.
Thank you for the picture!! And I meant it.
She hovered over the send button longer than necessary.
It wasn’t her place to say more. So she didn’t.
She wouldn’t push her luck. This had been enough already. How many people could gloat about having met their favorite athlete? Not many for sure. This was enough, this was great.
Y/N stood awkwardly near the counter, staring at rows of neatly stacked cross-country skis as if they might reveal their secrets if she looked long enough. The man behind the desk was explaining something she only half understood, nodding politely while trying not to look as inexperienced as she felt.
Next time, maybe she should look into a place she actually mastered for her “finding herself” trip.
Instead, she was about to pay money to fall down more efficiently.
She shifted her weight, glancing toward the door when it opened. And then immediately wished she hadn’t.
Didier Bionaz stepped inside with the kind of casual familiarity that only locals possessed. Snow clung lightly to his boots. No race suit this time. Just a jacket, gloves tucked loosely in one hand.
For a split second she considered pretending she hadn’t seen him.
Too late.
He noticed her almost instantly.
“Oh, hey.”
The ease in his voice did something unsettling to her heartbeat.
“Hi,” she managed, far less composed than she would have liked.
He looked faintly amused, eyes scanning her from head to toe in a way that wasn’t invasive, just curious.
“You survived the trail.”
“Barely.”
That made him smile.
There was a brief pause before she realized something painfully obvious.
“Oh. I didn’t even properly introduce myself the other day. I’m Y/N.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I know.”
She blinked.
“Instagram profile, remember?”
Right.
Heat rushed to her face. This was super embarrassing. She was not capable of being normal, for real.
“Right. Of course. That was- yes.”
He let her flounder for half a second longer than necessary, clearly entertained.
“So what are you doing here?” he asked, nodding toward the rental counter.
“I’m trying to rent skis. And possibly find someone brave enough to teach me how to use them without causing public danger.”
“I thought booking a trip here meant you liked skiing.”
“It was spontaneous,” she admitted. “I just thought the trip would do me good.”
Something in his expression shifted at that. Softer. Understanding, maybe.
He shrugged lightly.
“I mean… if you’d like, I could be your instructor.”
Her brain stalled.
“You don’t need to force yourself to,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t dare-”
“I wouldn’t be proposing it if I didn’t want to.”
The simplicity of the statement left no room to argue.
Didier Bionaz proposing to be her exclusive guide and ski teacher. This had never happened even in her wildest dreams. She still wanted to pinch herself to see if she wasn’t dreaming.
She swallowed, a little uncomfortable, and most of all, trying to quell in her excitement.
“Okay,” she said, trying to sound less breathless than she felt. “But if I fall again, I’m blaming you.”
“That’s fair.”
He helped her pick a pair of skis and showed her the basics, how to put them on, nothing too difficult until there.
The snow felt different this time, less intimidating. Or maybe she was just more distracted.
Didier then moved on explaining how to ski, things about stance, weight transfer, how not to panic when momentum took over. His instructions were clear but occasionally too advanced, muscle memory assuming she understood more than she did.
She did not.
“Wait, wait,” she said, wobbling slightly. “Can you explain this one more time, but in normal human terms?”
He paused, reconsidering.
“Okay. That one might be on me.”
She laughed, breath visible between them.
He adjusted her position gently, hands hovering first, then settling at her waist to steady her balance. The contact was brief. Necessary.
Her pulse reacted anyway.
“There,” he said quietly. “That’s better.”
She pushed off again, more stable this time. Not graceful, but functional. Enough to try to follow him, at her own speed.
When she managed a longer stretch without falling, she turned to him with open triumph.
“See? I’m improving.”
“Maybe I’m just a very good teacher.”
“Oh, is that it?”
He laughed, properly this time.
The sound was warmer than she expected.
They skied for longer than she realized. Conversation came in fragments between practice attempts, little pieces of personal information offered without weight.
He didn’t feel like a public figure out here. Just someone who had very superior ski abilities (and shooting, but she wouldn’t go through the humiliation of trying that out).
Eventually, when the cold started biting through her gloves and her legs trembled with fatigue, she stopped near the edge of the trail.
“Okay,” she admitted. “I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I absolutely do.”
She hesitated before saying the next part, but the decision felt instinctive.
“At least let me cook for you. As a thank you.”
He looked at her for a moment that stretched slightly longer than expected.
“You cook?”
“Better than I ski.”
That seemed to convince him.
She gave him the address and they picked an hour. He brought some dessert, presenting right on time. With him inside, the chalet felt smaller.
She moved around the kitchen with nervous energy, grateful for something to focus on besides the fact that Didier Bionaz was sitting at her small wooden table, watching her with quiet interest.
“You can relax,” she said, not turning around. “I promise I won’t poison you.”
“I trust you.”
The words landed more heavily than intended. She busied herself with chopping vegetables, pretending she was not too affected by it.
“And it’s not like I can be particularly judgy, given my own cooking level.” Didier added, with a smile.
“Oh I know, I’ve seen that cooking video with Tommy Giacomel.”
She realized she had yet overshared again a moment too late. Embarrassment immediately flooded her. There was a beat of silence. Then Didier chuckled.
“You’re a real fan, aren’t you?”
Her knife paused mid-slice.
“I’m sorry, that probably sounded-”
“It’s fine,” he interrupted gently. “I think it’s nice.”
Relief loosened something tight in her chest.
They ate slowly. Conversation shifted from surface to something deeper without either of them forcing it.
She spoke about work, about pressure that felt self-imposed and externally reinforced at the same time. About waking up unsure whether she was chasing something she truly wanted or just something that looked impressive on paper.
He listened. Then, almost reluctantly, he spoke about biathlon. Not performances. Not rankings. The mental weight.
“How do you deal with missing when you know you shouldn’t?” he asked quietly. “When it’s not physical, when it’s not your body betraying you. When it’s just… in your head.”
She didn’t rush to answer.
“You don’t define yourself by the worst version of a moment,” she said eventually. “It doesn’t make you who you are, it’s not because you’re failing now that it negates what you did before, or what you’ll do later.”
He looked at her differently after that, like she’d said something that reached further than intended.
The evening softened around them. Snow falling lightly outside. Wood creaking gently as the temperature dropped.
It would have been easy to pretend this was normal. It obviously wasn’t.
When he finally stood near the door, jacket back on, gloves in hand, neither of them moved immediately.
“Thank you,” he said. “For tonight.”
“Thank you for today.”
There was a fragile pause. She acted before she could analyze it. Stepping forward. Rising slightly on her toes.
Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth. Soft. Barely there.
She pulled back instantly, mortified.
“I- I’m so sorry. That was- I shouldn’t have-”
He didn’t step away. He just looked startled. Not angry. Not amused. Just… caught off guard. Like he didn’t expect her to do that. She didn’t either, to be clear.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly.
Which somehow made it worse.
She opened the door too quickly.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The door closed. She pressed her back against it and stared at the ceiling, groaning in the palms of her hands.
What had she done?
It wasn’t her place.
He was kind. That didn’t mean-
Her phone buzzed before she could spiral further. A message. She opened it too fast, almost desperate for something.
Thank you for tonight. I needed that.
She sat on the edge of the bed, reading it twice.
Her reply took longer.
Thank you too. I had a really good time.
A second message appeared moments later.
Tell me if you’re ever back here.
A pause.
Or at a World Cup.
Her heart tightened in a way she didn’t have language for. It was more than anything she could have wished for.
She would leave Bionaz soon, leave this moment suspended in time. This would never happen again.
Yet, she had hope in her chest. Hope that was too dangerous. It was delusional of her to think it may mean more than what she had seen. It was … she should forget about it.
When she left Bionaz, she told herself it would settle.
The memory would soften into something pleasant and self-contained. A strange, cinematic detour in an otherwise structured life. Snow. Laughter. A kiss she would pretend she hadn’t initiated.
Instead, it lingered.
The first few weeks were easy enough.
He sent a photo from that morning again, taken when she hadn’t noticed. She reacted with a laughing emoji and told him he made her look more competent than she had been. He replied that he had indeed excellent teaching skills.
The messages were light. Infrequent, but not absent. Short note after training, a few messages here and there. It stayed innocent enough, almost ephemeral in a way it could have almost been a dream.
She found herself smiling at her phone more than she liked to admit. She kept her responses measured. Friendly. Never too eager.
It wasn’t her place to become anything more than what she was. Just a person he had coincidentally met, a fan who happened to exist outside a stadium barrier.
The rhythm during the World Cup was different, Didier traveled constantly. Different countries, different life paces and pressure. The messages shifted from playful to brief check-ins, then to gaps.
She expected it, with some sad finality. Two different worlds. A place that she didn’t belong to and it was fine.
She watched every race anyway. From her couch. From her desk, muted, during work. She cheered for him all the time.
He missed shots he normally wouldn’t. It was the real problem that kept degrading. Like a vicious circle. One shooting then another.
She typed once after a particularly rough sprint.
It will be okay. It’s hard now, but you can still do it. You’re more than that, you belong here.
She deleted it. Instead, she sent:
Tough one. Next race.
He replied hours later.
Yeah.
Just that.
Something in her chest tightened.
The spacing between conversations widened gradually, almost politely. Like two people slowly stepping backward without acknowledging they were doing it. She told herself it was healthy.
What had she expected?
They had shared two days in the mountains. A dinner. A kiss that technically hadn’t even been centered properly. It wasn’t the beginning of something. It was just one moment.
The first photo appeared on a Sunday afternoon.
She wasn’t looking for it.
It was simply there.
A tagged image on his profile, not posted by him, but by someone else. A group setting. Smiling faces. Teammates. And beside him, a girl she had never seen before.
Pretty in a way that felt effortless, in a way that fitted Didier’s own beauty perfectly. Hand resting lightly against his arm.
Y/N stared at it longer than necessary.
It could mean nothing but she had a feeling it wouldn’t. It could’ve been just a friend, just some social circles overlapping, but there was more to it.
There was Elia and his girlfriend there. It almost seemed like everyone in the group had a pair. And Didier’s was obviously her.
She scrolled a little, investigating despite her own reluctance.
The second photo removed ambiguity.
This one was clearer. Less crowded. A dinner table. His arm unmistakably around her waist. The caption casual but intimate.
It wasn’t a big announcement or anything too explicit but it was enough.
Her stomach dropped in a way that felt embarrassingly disproportionate.
Of course. Of course he would meet someone.
He lived in that world. Travel. Sponsors. Events. People who understood the rhythm without explanation.
What had she imagined?
She replayed Bionaz in her mind and suddenly everything felt smaller. Less mutual. Less charged. She had projected warmth onto politeness. She had mistaken attention for intention.
She had been so stupid, really.
The messages from him slowed further after that. They were still friendly. Still kind. But shorter.
She didn’t ask about the girl. He didn’t mention her. Which somehow made it worse.
She felt insignificant and she probably was. It was the thing about getting her own hopes up despite not wanting to. Hope didn’t wait for her to agree.
At night, she lay in bed scrolling through race photos she told herself she didn’t care about.
In one, he was smiling at something off-camera. The girl stood beside him. She looked like she belonged there. It was natural.
Y/N turned her phone face down on the nightstand.
“I’m just a fan,” she murmured into the dark.
Fans didn’t get complicated access. Fans didn’t get confused by late-night messages or half-finished invitations to future races.
Fans watched. Fans supported. Fans stayed in their place. She wasn’t supposed to be anything more, she had imagined it all, for sure.
The next time he messaged, it was after a race where he’d missed three targets in standing.
Bad day.
She stared at the words for a long time. Her instinct was to ask how he was really doing. She could’ve come with so many answers, but all she felt was small. Not her place.
It happens. Long season.
Neutral. Safe.
He reacted with a thumbs up.
She set her phone down carefully, the weight of the messages dragging her mood down. She tried not to think about how he was likely asleep beside someone who understood his world better than she ever could.
More unreachable than ever.
The mountains of Bionaz felt impossibly far away now.
Y/N stared at the tickets in her hand and sighed.
She had bought them months ago, long before she realized just how complicated seeing him again might be.
She had gone with a friend, someone who knew the story in fragments and who didn’t push questions. They had chosen seats, bought coffee, and tried to distract her with small chatter about the crowd and the weather.
But now, every time she glanced down the course, she felt it: the anticipation, the weight of possibility she had no right to indulge.
She kept her phone face down most of the morning, pretexting she was saving battery through a long day. She hadn’t opened Instagram, except to repost a story of her friend.
Maybe it was careless, maybe she wanted not to care, or maybe she desperately wanted him to notice. In any case, she distracted herself, chattering with her friend, pretending she wasn’t tense.
Until she couldn’t. Because her phone vibrated, in a very characteristic way.
It was a message from him.
Oh hey, didn’t know my biggest fan was around!
Her chest tightened.
The words were playful, but there was a subtle edge. Something in the tone that reminded her of Bionaz, of wind-chilled snow, of laughter she shouldn’t have remembered so vividly.
She hesitated before typing.
Hey. Sorry, didn’t think you’d notice 😅
Safe. Neutral. Honest, without revealing hope.
He replied almost instantly.
Why wouldn’t I notice?
She blinked at the screen, fingers hovering.
You probably have more important things to think of. Didn’t want to disrupt your high athlete focus.
The ending made it a little teasing, a little joking, lighter than what she really meant. She couldn’t admit that she imagined herself in that world, not with a girlfriend now in the picture, not with him as taken.
You would never!
Seriously, we should meet. Can’t let my biggest fan leave with nothing 😉
The wink hit her in the stomach.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. Her pulse was loud in her ears.
Meeting him wasn’t dangerous, not really. Not physically. But the gravity of familiarity and memory, their shared days in Bionaz, made it feel heavy, almost wrong.
And yet… the invitation was gentle. Insistent, but light.
Okay. But… just for a little while. I’m not sure I’m supposed to be here anyway.
He responded with an easy confidence.
Good. I’ll come find you!
He gave her a spot where she would wait. She told her friend she’d leave for a few moments. It wouldn’t be anything more, she thought, anyway.
There were a lot of people, music, flags, fans. The announcer’s voice carried over the crowd, loud and official. Yet for Y/N, the thrumming energy of the event faded.
Her heart was somewhere between the snowy trails of Bionaz and the quiet warmth of a small chalet dinner, both memories she hadn’t dared revisit until now.
She spotted him before he saw her, moving casually among staff and athletes alike to come to her.
He caught her gaze instantly, and smiled. There was a lot in that smile, something intimate, like he remembered her.
She told herself she should stop overanalyzing everything, that it may mean nothing. She reminded herself that he had a girlfriend. Yet, as he stood before her, she found that it was difficult.
“Hey,” she said, voice tighter than she intended.
“Hey.”
Her stomach flipped. She scolded herself: this wasn’t Bionaz. This wasn’t private. She wasn’t here by accident.
“I… didn’t think I’d see you here,” she admitted.
He tilted his head, eyes crinkling in amusement.
“Neither did I. But I’m glad you came. Though you tried to hide it from me.”
The teasing was more biting than what it really was, to her. She could have apologized, after all he had asked her to tell him, but she chose against it.
She thought about the photos she had seen, about the girl beside him, about everything she had been trying to rationalize for weeks. She shrugged and chose neutral. Safe.
“I’m here with a friend.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “But I hope I’ll still get a little of your attention.”
She swallowed. Some part of her wanted to say: You’re taken. I shouldn’t. But she didn’t.
Instead, she nodded, letting him guide her toward the depths of the stadium. Past the fans, past the barrier, past where she thought she belonged.
There were a lot of people there, but this time athletes, coaches and technicians. She was impressed, seeing so many faces she had seen on TV only. Y/N felt slightly out of place, a spectator.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he said, voice low enough that only she seemed to hear as he led her forward.
She nodded, words caught somewhere in her throat. It made him smile softly, gently. They reached a corner that seemed a bit more private.
But it wasn’t just the two of them there, there was also Tommaso Giacomel, who grinned when he saw the two of them. Didier briefly turned away, looking for something.
“Hey, I don’t think we’ve officially met,” Tommy said, extending a hand.
Y/N shook it, though the words made her frown a little. “Officially”, what did that even mean? She tried not to feel intimidated either, though meeting Tommaso Giacomel also felt unbelievable.
“I’m Y/N.”
“Didier’s mentioned you,” Tommy added casually.
Her stomach did a subtle flip.
“Oh. In, um, a positive way I hope?”
Tommy smiled at the way she voiced it, something so friendly it almost seemed like they hadn’t just met.
“Dido doesn’t smile much lately,” Tommy continued instead. “So it’s… nice that you’re here.”
She processed that carefully. Noticing the implication, the unspoken praise. She didn’t feel like she deserved it.
“I see,” she murmured. “I didn’t think it’d matter much. I’m just… a fan.”
The words were soft. Not bitter. Not accusing. Simply stating facts. Tommy tilted his head, thoughtful.
“Hmm. Fair enough. But for what’s my opinion’s worth, I think he was genuinely looking forward to talking to you.”
It felt like something he’d say out of kindness. Or it’s more the angle she chose to analyse it through. It was pushing her luck too far. Tommy flashed her one last smile before walking away.
Didier, meanwhile, had moved closer. From some unseen angle, he produced a race bib, numbered and folded neatly.
“Here,” he smiled, holding it toward her. “For you.”
She stared.
“Your… race bib?”
“Signed, if you like.”
He unfolded it, and before she fully realized it, he was helping her slip it over her shoulders. His hands lingered just slightly too long, adjusting the fit with care.
She could feel the heat of proximity, the quietness between them that no words could fill.
“There,” he said softly. “Better?”
“Better,” she whispered, heart hammering.
Her pulse spiked. His eyes met hers for the briefest moment. A spark. She knew what was coming. She leaned in slightly. He leaned in too.
Almost-kiss. Barely. His breath on her lips.
Interrupted.
A teammate called for Didier. He straightened, glancing back only once. Her hands tightened on the bib. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to step away first.
“I should- thank you. Really.”
“Of course,” he answered quietly.
The crowd swallowed them, noise and movement making space for something intimate that existed only for a heartbeat.
She left, heart racing, aware of every footstep. Protecting herself from imagined consequences.
The messages didn’t come that night. Or the next.
She stared at her phone compulsively, waiting, rationalizing that silence could mean anything.
Didier hadn’t reached out. Perhaps he regretted the closeness. Perhaps he remembered a girlfriend, public expectations, responsibility. Perhaps he had never intended to try to kiss her.
She didn’t know, and that uncertainty made her stomach ache.
But then, she got another notification. One from Tommaso Giacomel.
He had followed her Instagram.
This was something small, but it definitely meant more than what she thought it would. It was attaching her to that dazzling out of reach world where she didn’t belong.
Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it didn’t not mean anything.
Maybe the story wasn’t over yet.
Y/N tried to keep her hopes low. But her pulse still spiked when her phone buzzed on a quiet evening in her apartment, a few days after the encounter.
The notification made her glance down automatically. A message request. From Tommaso Giacomel. She hadn’t expected that, though she had liked their conversation.
Hi, I wanted to say it was nice meeting you at the World Cup. Did you get home okay?
It was polite, cautious, friendly enough to invite conversation but not intrusive. It was kind of him to ask that question, he certainly did not have to.
Y/N hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She pondered on how to answer that, on how to stay receptive.
Hi! Thanks. Yes, got back safely. It was unexpected seeing all the people here.
Yeah, I figured. Those events can be a little overwhelming, especially for fans. How was it for you?”
She paused, considering how much she should say.
Honestly? A little surreal. I’m a big Didier fan, which you must know already.
Though I also couldn’t believe I’d met you. I follow you and am always rooting for you in races.
There was a short delay before he responded.
Wow. That’s really nice. Maybe I should try to steal you from Didier then 😏
Y/N bit her lip, half-amused, half-uncomfortable. It was a weird feeling, really. Attention she did not think she would receive from people she never thought she’d even meet.
I got enough space to stan more than one person, no need to fight for it 😆
It’s great though to be able to talk to someone from the circuit!
Tommy’s messages came easier after that. Casual questions. Small jokes. Questions about her work, about what she did outside of biathlon, about favorite winter spots she had visited.
He wasn’t overbearing. He wasn’t flirty beyond that tiny, teasing comment. Just… friendly. Which felt good in itself. She could use a few new friends, and VIP ones at that.
Her phone buzzed again one evening as she was typing a long reply about her job.
I hope Tommy isn’t bothering you too much.
It was a message from Didier.
Y/N froze mid-typing. She didn’t expect him to check back. It almost sounded like it could’ve been jealous, but there was no way, right?
No, not at all. We’re just chatting. He’s very easy to talk with.
Am I not?
She raised an eyebrow, pausing again. It was impulsive. It was going too far. It was addressing the distance between them and she did not know how to take it. She chose an easy way out, again.
Never said you weren’t.
Good 😄
Tommy mentioned you have a big work project coming up? Good luck with that. You can always talk to me if anything.
It felt like all of the distance between them had suddenly been crushed. She didn’t quite get why. There was no mention of that almost kiss, nothing, but she didn’t dare to talk about it either.
Instead there was this attempt, not intrusive or controlling but protective in an understated way. In a way that shouldn’t have been destined to her. Competitive with Tommy, almost.
She stared at the screen for a long moment.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. There were many words she wanted to type; Thank you, I’ve been thinking about you, or even I wish you weren’t taken. But none of them could be said.
It was unnecessary. It would change nothing, and could risk everything.
So she typed instead:
Thanks. You too.
Short. Safe. Neutral.
She put her phone down, taking a deep breath. Her mind wandered.
She thought about the quiet days in Bionaz. About his soft smile in the snow. About the dinner, the kiss at the door, the race bib he had signed for her.
And she realized that part of her wanted to say more. Wanted to reach across the distance, to fold the warmth from memory into words that could travel through screens.
But she couldn’t.
He was with someone, he was still a biathlete, and she was still a fan, albeit a friendly one. What they had shared could’ve been accidental. Could’ve been the spur of a moment.
She exhaled slowly. She felt the weight of longing settle across her chest.
Y/N pressed her palms to her eyes.
Her heart was full of a memory she shouldn’t have cherished, and a present she couldn’t yet fully reach.
She sat back, trying to disentangle herself from hope, knowing deep down she wouldn’t entirely succeed.
Because no matter what, she still wanted to be part of that world. How silly of her.
The messages from him had grown quieter over the weeks.
She had assumed travel schedules, fatigue, the usual rhythm of a high-level athlete. She had tried not to think much about it, because the last time, it had been because he had gotten a girlfriend.
She was still texting Tommy though and he had said nothing about it. So she was thinking the cause had to be rather normal, she didn’t want to assume. She had other things to do too, work.
But then came the one that made her heart skip.
I need to tell you something before it goes public.
Her fingers froze.
Okay…
That’s what she answered, though the ellipsis felt inadequate. She was a little bit scared, she didn’t like it.
Minutes passed. Then another message:
I’m ending the season early. I’m not going to Pokljuka and Oslo.
Her breath caught.
It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t casual.
She felt the weight of distance, of responsibility, of unspoken understanding. She knew it had been difficult for him, she had watched his race, how he couldn’t seem to find a sense of self.
Still, she wouldn’t have imagined he would quit early. Maybe it would do him good. She was so surprised he had told her and yet she felt thankful and worried.
Oh… I’m sorry. Are you okay? Can I do anything?
I’ll manage. I think.
There was no elaboration.
She stared at the screen. Her mind pictured him in empty stadiums, alone with skis and rifles and aching muscles. The public would never see exhaustion like this. Not this sincere, not this private.
He was telling her this because he trusted her. She felt insane. It felt impossible, unfair. She wasn’t part of this world. She was a fan, a guest in the periphery. And yet he had reached across the distance.
Like she mattered to him. Maybe she did.
Minutes later, the call came. The phone rang once. Twice. She swiped to answer, her hands shaking.
“Hi,” his voice said. Low. Tired.
It wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing. It was a reflection of how deeply this had impacted him. So raw it made her throat tighten.
“Hey,” she whispered, almost forgetting how to speak.
Silence stretched. She could hear faint traffic in the distance, the subtle hum of a heater behind her. And she knew, impossibly, that somewhere far away, he heard her breathing too.
“I… don’t know what to do,” he admitted finally.
Her stomach tightened.
“It’s okay. You’ve done enough. You can rest. You can… recover. You’re allowed to pause.”
He was quiet.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
And then a thread of hesitation, a question she wasn’t sure she should ask, whispered out before she could stop herself:
“Is your girlfriend with you?”
There was a pause so long it felt like the line itself held its breath.
“Why does that matter?”
Her heart skipped. Not with shock, exactly. But with recognition. The emotional line had been crossed.
“I- I just… I worry. I mean, it’d be best if you had someone with you right now. Someone who isn’t… far. Someone who can…”
“She’s not here,” he replied quietly. “Right now… all I care about is your voice.”
The words were dangerous. They were intimate. It was like it was authorizing her to feel the way she felt.
Y/N’s chest ached.
She was needed. Guilty. Special. Wrong.
“I wish I could be there,” she whispered, almost to herself.
“I wish you were.”
The call lingered, the sound of each other filling spaces they weren’t supposed to.
“Don’t say anything you’ll regret. You have to think about… consequences.”
“I’m thinking about the moment,” he replied softly. “Not anything else.”
Her fingers gripped the phone tighter. Their voices were barely more than whispers now. An intimate conversation.
Outside, her apartment was silent. The world continued without them, unaware of the distance that had vanished between two voices on a line.
And in that silence, Y/N realized that it didn’t seem like it would stop any time soon. Ever since they had met in Bionaz, there had been something strong.
Something she wanted to deny. Something he probably too. But it existed.
She exhaled slowly, letting the weight of words, of proximity, of trust, settle.
“Rest for now. Take some time for yourself. I’m sure you’ll find your way back, you are made to be here.”
“I’ll try,” he whispered back.
The line went quiet.
She set the phone down and pressed her hands to her face, feeling the tremor of something she hadn’t named yet, a mixture of guilt, longing, and gratitude.
She was a fan. She was not supposed to matter.
And yet, in that moment, she did.
The World Cup had gone by, another season ending. Y/N was thinking of taking a break from work, she could afford it. Maybe it was time to enjoy some snow again before she set her mind to spring fully.
Her phone buzzed while she was sipping lukewarm drink, a small notification from Tommaso Giacomel.
Hey! We’re going skiing with a few people over the break. You should come. Could be fun 😄
She blinked.
Fun. Right. That word felt deceptively light. Like it wasn’t an invite that seemed too dangerous.
Even if the thread of friendship with Tommy had not vanished. They talked, frequently, though not always regularly.
She hesitated, fingers hovering.
Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I should.
I don’t really know you all, and it’s not really my place.
Have fun though! 😊
Tommy replied quickly, almost immediately:
Fair enough. But you know Didier’s been off lately. He could use some company.
Not me, him. You.
She froze. Her mind raced. She hadn’t heard that name in weeks, not recently, at least. Her pulse quickened.
Didier had gone a little bit silent after he retreated from the World Cup. She imagined he was spending time with her girl, and stopped herself from checking his strava, looking for signs.
I’ll think about it…
Then came the quiet revelation, delivered almost casually:
He broke up with his girlfriend.
Her breath hitched. Relief collided instantly with guilt.
Relief that the obstacle she hadn’t been able to name, his girlfriend, no longer existed. Guilt that part of her, however quietly, had felt a selfish hope for this outcome.
She set the phone down and stared out the window, trying to reconcile the warmth of relief with the twinge of shame.
Tommy added one more message:
It’d be good for him if you came.
It wasn’t pushy. Just honest. Just simple.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, restless. Thoughts of Didier, the way he had looked at her in Bionaz, the tiny sparks in his eyes, the almost kiss on the World Cup and the conversations they had shared in messages and over that one call all swirled together.
I’ll think about it.
Same reply, but this time a little more certain.
Minutes later, another notification appeared. She picked her phone, thinking it would be a casual answer from Tommy, or maybe him having liked her message.
But this time, it wasn’t Tommy.
Tommy said you might come.
Her pulse skipped.
I think you should.
I wasn’t done teaching you.
Simple words. Casual, almost teasing. But loaded.
No girlfriend. No obligation. No excuse to hold back.
Her mind raced with a thousand considerations. She could stop herself. She could stay home. She could pretend the messages hadn’t landed in the soft spot where memory met longing.
But something in her chest refused to let her.
She exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of decision settle.
Okay. I’ll come with you.
As soon as the words left her fingers, she felt it, the first spark of anticipation she hadn’t allowed herself in weeks.
It was safe now. Morally, emotionally.
And that made the flutter of excitement all the more dangerous.
The road had been a little difficult. Y/N had to check several times that she had the right address. It still felt unreal that she was going there and that she would be with them, him.
Coming here had sounded simple when she typed the message. It had felt like a weight was off her shoulders, but now? Now she wondered if it wasn’t a mistake.
She just felt so nervous.
This time there was no coincidence to hide behind. No accidental meeting in a small village. No excuse that fate had simply placed them in the same place.
She had chosen to come. And he had wanted her to.
The chalet appeared at the end of the road, half buried in snow, smoke rising faintly from the chimney. Warm lights glowed behind the windows, giving the place an almost postcard-like charm. They had booked it, with enough rooms for everyone. She had attempted to pay her share, but Tommy and Didier had politely, but firmly, declined.
Her stomach tightened as she stepped out of the car. Cold air hit her cheeks immediately. She grabbed her bag, trying to steady her breathing.
She told herself that it was fine. That there was no reason this would go awry. At worst, it was a paid vacation where she could have fun.
Inside, voices drifted through the hallway, laughter, someone talking loudly in Italian, the faint clatter of dishes. She didn’t even speak Italian. Oh gosh.
She hesitated for a second before pushing the door open. Warmth wrapped around her instantly. And then someone looked up.
A guy she didn’t immediately recognize leaned casually against the kitchen counter, raising his eyebrows in surprise. He had dark curls and looked really pretty.
“Ah. You must be Y/N.”
His smile was quick, confident, easy. She blinked.
“Uh… yes. That obvious?”
He laughed softly and pushed himself off the counter.
“Well, Tommy said someone was arriving today. And he said she was pretty.”
Heat rushed straight to her face.
“Oh-”
“Relax, I’m not gonna eat you,” he added lightly when he noticed her reaction. “I’m Marco, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, still a little flustered.
Marco Barale. Now, she could recall why he seemed familiar. She should have at first sight, really, but she was so dizzy, still in disbelief, that it made it difficult. Marco glanced at her for a moment longer than necessary.
“Didier has good taste in fans.”
Her brain stalled completely.
“I- I’m not-”
The door opened behind them. Cold air rushed in again. And suddenly the atmosphere shifted.
Y/N didn’t even need to turn around to know who had arrived.
But she did anyway.
Didier stood in the doorway, snow still clinging faintly to his jacket. His eyes moved across the room, first to Marco, then to her.
And then he went very still.
Something unreadable crossed his expression.
Marco noticed too.
“Well,” he said casually, lifting his hands slightly. “I’ll let you two talk.”
He stepped away, disappearing into another room with suspiciously perfect timing. Y/N barely had time to process that before Didier crossed the space between them.
“You made it.”
His voice was softer than she remembered.
Before she could react, his hand closed gently around hers.
The contact surprised her just enough that she didn’t resist when he pulled her a few steps away from the kitchen and toward the quieter hallway.
Her heart was beating faster now.
Once they were alone, his grip loosened. But he didn’t let go entirely.
“Was the trip okay?” he asked.
She nodded quickly.
“Yeah. Long, but… it was fine.”
His shoulders relaxed a little.
For a moment they simply looked at each other.
Up close, he looked slightly different than the last time she had seen him. Maybe a little more tired. But his eyes were the same, warm, attentive, focused entirely on her in a way that made everything else fade.
“I’m really glad you came,” he said quietly.
She had imagined this moment so many times on the way here. Different versions of what he might say. Different versions of how she might respond. Now all of those rehearsed answers had vanished.
“It’s nice to see you too.”
That’s all she said instead. Her voice came out softer than she expected. He studied her face for a moment longer, like he was confirming something to himself. Then a small smile appeared.
“Come on. I’ll show you where you’re staying.”
He finally released her hand, though the warmth of his touch lingered.
As they walked down the hallway together, Y/N knew that she was finally stepping into something real. Something she had hoped for and that had never been this close.
The mountains were bright, the sun high, it looked like a perfect winter day, despite the more advanced season, Y/N thought.
To tell the truth, the reflection off the snow was so strong that it almost hurt her eyes when she stepped outside the chalet. The air was crisp, cold enough to sting her lungs.
Behind her, the door swung open again.
“Careful,” Tommy’s voice called dramatically, “first step outside and you’ll blind yourself. Happens to rookies all the time.”
Y/N laughed, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes as Tommy stepped beside her, already halfway into a story she hadn’t asked for.
“You say that like you’ve seen it happen.”
“Oh I have,” he said solemnly. “Three times. One guy walked straight into a ski rack.”
“That sounds made up.”
Tommy put a hand over his heart.
“You wound me.”
More footsteps crunched through the snow behind them as the rest of the group filtered outside. Among them was Didier, pulling his gloves on slowly while scanning the slope.
His eyes landed on Y/N. And then on Tommy standing a little too comfortably next to her.
Tommy noticed first.
“Morning, old man,” he called cheerfully, and Didier raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not that much older than you.”
“Mentally, you are.”
Y/N hid a smile as Didier approached them, his gaze flicking briefly back to her before settling on Tommy again.
“You ready to ski?” Didier asked.
“That depends,” Tommy replied. “Are we doing actual skiing or are we watching Y/N try not to fall?”
Y/N groaned.
“I said I’ve skied before. Didier even gave me lessons.”
Maybe it wasn’t exactly the right thing to say because it made Tommy raise an eyebrow. The kind of reaction that sounded like Tommy could be insufferable about it.
“Did he? Is he even capable of teaching someone? Explaining stuff isn’t his specialty.”
Didier crossed his arms, clearly offended by the remark. Y/N was tempted to tell Tommy that he wasn’t exactly wrong and that a few things had needed more extensive explanations but well. He didn’t need to know.
“I’ve taught her just fine, mind you. She’ll be fine.”
Tommy pointed dramatically at him.
“See? That’s dangerous confidence. That’s exactly the kind of thing people say before someone faceplants.”
“I won’t faceplant,” Y/N protested.
“Famous last words.”
After that, they started to ski with a few others. They were halfway down the beginner slope when Tommy’s prediction almost came true.
Y/N had been doing fine for the first few minutes. Careful turns, slow but steady progress. The snow was smooth, the slope gentle.
Then Tommy skied backward in front of her.
“Look at this,” he said proudly. “Multitasking. Coaching and skiing.”
“You’re going to fall,” she warned.
“I absolutely-”
His ski clipped a small ridge. Tommy wobbled violently.
Y/N burst out laughing. And that was exactly when she lost her balance. Her ski caught sideways. The world tilted.
“Oh no-”
A second later she disappeared into a soft cloud of powder. Snow exploded everywhere as she landed with a muffled whump.
Tommy skidded to a stop nearby, staring.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “technically I didn’t fall.”
Y/N groaned from the snow.
“Tommy.”
“Yes?”
“Go away.”
He laughed, reaching a hand down to help her up. But before she could take it, another pair of skis carved sharply into the snow beside them.
Didier.
He had come down the slope much faster than either of them.
His expression was calm, but his eyes flicked between Tommy’s outstretched hand and Y/N sitting in the snow.
“I’ve got it covered,” Didier said.
Tommy slowly withdrew his hand, lifting both palms in surrender.
“Whoa, okay. Territorial.”
Didier ignored him. He crouched slightly, offering Y/N his hand instead.
“Can you stand?”
She took it.
The moment their gloves touched, something small but electric passed between them. Didier pulled her up easily.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, brushing snow from her jacket. “Just my pride.”
Tommy clapped his hands once.
“Excellent! First fall of the day. I win.”
“You weren’t even competing,” Y/N said.
“I’m always competing.”
From further down the slope, another voice called out.
“Looks like someone needed rescuing.”
Y/N looked over to see Marco gliding toward them with an easy grin. He stopped beside them, looking Y/N up and down.
“You alright?”
“Apparently falling is part of the experience,” she said.
Marco smirked.
“Depends who you ask.”
His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary. Tommy noticed immediately.
“Oh here we go,” he muttered.
Marco gestured casually toward the slope below.
“I could show you an easier line down.”
Before Y/N could respond, Didier spoke.
“She’s skiing with us.”
The sentence came out calm. But unmistakably firm. Y/N blinked. Marco raised his eyebrows slightly.
“Relax. I was just offering help.”
“She doesn’t need it.”
Tommy coughed loudly. Y/N felt heat creeping up her neck.
Didier seemed to realize how it sounded a second later, because he added quickly,
“I mean… we’re already going down together.”
Tommy leaned closer to Y/N and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“He’s in protective mode now.”
“I can hear you,” Didier said.
“That’s the point.”
Marco chuckled, clearly amused by the dynamic.
“Well,” he said lightly, pushing off his poles, “try not to fall again.”
Y/N rolled her eyes.
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
As Marco skied away, Tommy turned to Didier with a smirk.
“You realize that looked extremely jealous.”
“I wasn’t jealous.”
Didier’s protest sounded a bit weak. Tommy nodded thoughtfully.
“Right. And I’m the king of Switzerland.”
Y/N bit back a laugh. She loved it there honestly. There were obvious reasons that made her heart beat fast in her chest but the mood was also fantastic.
“Are we skiing or talking?” Didier answered, glaring at Tommy.
Tommy pushed off immediately, as if he wanted to get away from them.
“Skiing! Before the tension gets worse!”
Y/N started moving again, but Didier slowed slightly beside her.
“Take the next turn wide,” he said quietly. “The snow’s softer there.”
“Thanks!”
For a moment they skied side by side in silence. Then Didier glanced at her.
“You really are okay?”
“Yeah.”
Another small pause. Then he added, almost under his breath,
“I’d rather catch you before you hit the snow next time.”
Y/N felt her heart skip.
Unfortunately for both of them, Tommy yelled from further down the slope at that exact moment.
“Hey Love birds, you coming or should I send a rescue team?”
Didier groaned.
“Why did we bring him.”
Y/N laughed as they pushed off down the slope after him.
And neither of them noticed that this was the exact moment the tension between them had quietly crossed a line it couldn’t uncross.
By the time they returned to the chalet, the cold had settled deep into Y/N’s bones.
Her cheeks still tingled from the wind, and the muscles in her legs had that heavy, satisfying ache that came from a full day on skis. Inside, the chalet felt impossibly warm in comparison, the smell of food filling the air, boots scattered by the entrance, someone already opening a bottle of wine.
The atmosphere shifted quickly from the sharp brightness of the slopes to something softer. Comfortable.
Marco was the first to claim the kitchen counter, already slicing bread while talking loudly about a run he had done earlier that afternoon.
“You should’ve seen Didier,” he said with a grin. “Fastest line down the ridge. Show-off.”
Didier, leaning against the fridge, didn’t even look up.
“That’s called skiing.”
Tommy snorted from the stove.
“No, what you did was skiing aggressively for no reason. Y/N, you saw it, right? He was trying to impress someone.”
Y/N laughed softly, setting a stack of plates on the table.
“I thought he just liked going fast.”
Tommy pointed his spoon at her.
“See? She believes the lies.”
Didier rolled his eyes.
“I don’t need to impress anyone.”
“No, but there sure is someone you want to impress.”
The room filled with laughter at Tommy’s remark.
Y/N tried to focus on the simple rhythm of helping set the table, but she could still feel Didier’s presence somewhere behind her. Every time she turned slightly, she was aware of where he stood in the room.
And somehow that awareness felt stronger than the cold air had been on the mountain.
Once the table had been settled dinner started. It stretched longer than expected.
Someone found another bottle of wine. Then another. Stories from races and training trips started piling on top of each other, growing slightly more dramatic with every retelling.
At one point Tommy stood up in the middle of the room to demonstrate a crash he had once had during training.
“It was exactly like this,” he said, flailing dramatically.
Marco nearly choked on his drink.
“That is not what happened.”
“It absolutely is.”
Y/N laughed so hard her stomach hurt.
For a moment, she forgot about the strange tension that had followed her all day. Forgot the way Didier’s hand had felt when he helped her up in the snow. Forgot the quiet intensity of the way he sometimes looked at her.
But eventually the evening began to unwind.
One of the guys yawned loudly and announced he was going to bed. Another decided to go out with friends in the nearby village.
The lively noise of the dinner slowly thinned into smaller conversations. Then fewer voices. Then the sound of the front door opening and closing.
Until the chalet was quiet.
Y/N hadn’t even realized how the room had emptied until she looked up from her glass.
The lights in the living room were dim now, softer than before. The kitchen was mostly dark, only a small lamp left on above the counter.
And the couch beside her still held one other person.
Didier.
He was leaning back slightly into the cushions, one arm stretched casually along the back of the sofa. Behind her shoulders.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly. Just… heavier than before.
Didier broke it first.
“You survived your first full day.”
His voice was quieter now than it had been during dinner. Y/N smiled faintly.
“Barely.”
“You didn’t fall that much.”
“Tommy would disagree.”
Didier let out a low laugh.
“That doesn’t mean anything. Tommy can be annoying.”
She laughed a little at that and then she shifted slightly on the couch, turning just enough that she could face him more.
For a second their eyes met.
Y/N felt that same strange awareness again, the one that had followed her all day on the slopes. Like every small movement between them carried more meaning than it should.
“So,” Didier said after a moment, “how’s your project going?”
Y/N blinked, slightly surprised he remembered.
“Oh. Um… good, I think.”
“You sounded stressed about it.”
“Yeah… I was.”
A small pause. Then she admitted quietly,
“I still am, actually.”
Didier tilted his head slightly.
“You hide it well.”
“That’s part of the job.”
Another silence settled between them. Y/N felt it before she consciously noticed it.
The way Didier had turned slightly toward her. The way his gaze kept drifting to her face, then away and then back again.
And slowly, unmistakably, she realized something else. His eyes kept dropping to her lips. Just for a second each time.
Her heart started beating a little faster.
It felt ridiculous, really. They were just sitting there. Talking. Except they weren’t talking anymore.
Didier’s gaze dropped again. Y/N noticed it this time for sure.
“Didier…”
He hummed softly in response.
“You’re looking at me like you want to say something.”
A faint smile touched his mouth, but it wasn’t teasing. Not this time.
“Maybe I do.”
The answer made her stomach twist.
She set her glass down on the small table beside the couch, mostly because her hands had suddenly become too unsteady to hold it.
“You’re very mysterious tonight.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
He let out a soft laugh at that, but then it faded and the quiet returned. His arm was still resting along the back of the couch behind her shoulders.
Slowly, almost absentmindedly, his fingers brushed lightly against the fabric of her sweater.
It wasn’t quite a touch, but the tiny movement sent a shiver down her spine.
“You know,” Didier said quietly, “when Tommy told me you might come here…”
He stopped. Y/N waited. He looked at her again, this time without looking away.
“I hoped you would.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“You told me.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “But I didn’t say how much.”
The air between them suddenly felt thinner. Y/N forced herself to breathe normally.
“I’m really happy you’re here. Maybe more than I should be.”
That made her look up sharply.
Something in the atmosphere had shifted, subtle but undeniable. The lightness of earlier conversations had disappeared.
Didier leaned forward slightly.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he admitted.
“About what?”
“About you.”
Her heart skipped.
“You shouldn’t,” she said quietly.
It came out before she could stop it.
Didier frowned slightly.
“Why?”
“Because … because you had a girlfriend. You shouldn’t have considered me.”
The words hung in the air between them.
“And well,” she continued softly. “You kind of stopped talking to me when that happened.”
A flicker of regret crossed Didier’s face as he exhaled slowly, acknowledging it.
“I know.”
She looked down for a moment.
“I didn’t really know where I stood with you after that.”
For a few seconds Didier said nothing, then he shifted even closer on the couch. She could have touched him now, barely lifting her arm would’ve done the trick.
“That was a mistake,” he said quietly.
“The girlfriend?”
“Yeah.”
His answer was immediate.
“Elia introduced us,” Didier continued. “She was nice. Easy to talk to. And I think I convinced myself it was a good idea.”
“A distraction?”
He nodded slightly. Y/N watched him carefully, curious in a way. It could’ve been from the races but it sounded more…
“A distraction from you.” Didier confirmed and her breath caught.
“You barely knew me.”
“I know,” he said gently. “I know, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you after we met.”
The honesty in his voice made her chest tighten again.
“I thought maybe it was just… a strange moment. Two people meeting randomly in the mountains. It felt unreal.”
He looked down briefly.
“I told myself it probably wouldn’t happen again.”
Y/N understood that feeling all too well. She had thought the same thing. She had thought it was ephemeral, that it was a once in a lifetime thing. She had kept denying the reality of it.
“But then,” Didier said, looking back at her, “you showed up at the World Cup. And when I saw you there, I was just… so happy.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Too happy.”
“I remember that,” she said softly.
He nodded at her words, his clear eyes soft, and then he added more quietly,
“I also wanted to kiss you.”
Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“You almost did.” she whispered.
He nodded once. Shame flickered briefly in his expression.
“I knew it wasn’t fair to my girlfriend. I just didn’t know what to do. But I also knew I couldn’t pretend nothing was happening here.”
Y/N looked away for a second, trying to steady herself.
“And then Tommy started texting me.”
Didier huffed softly.
“Yes.” A hint of jealousy finally slipped into his voice. “That was… difficult.”
She glanced back at him.
“Why?”
“Because… he could talk to you like it was nothing. He didn’t have to think about every message. Every word. Every moment.”
Didier’s voice dropped lower.
“But I did.”
Their eyes met again.
“And then I stopped my season and… After that call with you, I knew I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”
His fingers finally moved. This time they rested gently against her shoulder.
“So I broke up with her.”
Y/N swallowed.
“For me?”
“For honesty,” he said softly, before he added : “But yes. Also for you.”
The room felt impossibly quiet now. The distance between them had almost disappeared. Didier’s hand was warm against her shoulder. His gaze had softened again.
“And now?”
“Now I’m hoping,” he said carefully, “that you might want the same thing.”
Her heart felt too big for her chest. She had imagined this moment before. But hearing him say it out loud still felt unreal.
“What if I do not?” She answered, more of a teasing.
“Then I’ll just… I mean, I guess I’ll just apologize for the way I acted before.” He mumbled, his nervousness visible in his eyes, to a point it was cute. “And I’ll be very disappointed.”
“I guess I’ll have to save you the disappointment then.”
For a second Didier simply stared at her, then he smiled slightly, a bit incredulous.
“You mean…”
“That I was thinking about you? Yeah. All the time.”
The tension that had been building all evening finally snapped.
Didier leaned in slowly this time. Carefully. Giving her time to move away if she wanted.
She didn’t.
When his lips finally touched hers, the kiss was soft. Tentative at first. Like both of them were still half afraid the moment might disappear if they moved too quickly.
But after a second, Y/N’s hand slid gently into the front of his sweater. And Didier’s other hand came up to cradle her face.
The second kiss was deeper, warmer.
Months of unsaid feelings finally catching up with them.
When they pulled apart, both of them were slightly breathless. Y/N rested her forehead lightly against his.
“You took a very long time,” she whispered.
“I know.”
After that they kissed some more before finding their way back to bed. They fell asleep next to each other, Y/N in his arms, like it was the way it should always have been.
The first thing Y/N noticed when she woke up was warmth. Not the warmth of the blankets or the quiet heat of the chalet’s radiators. Something heavier than that. Something steady.
A weight draped across her waist.
For a few seconds she stayed perfectly still, still halfway between sleep and consciousness, trying to understand why the bed felt different.
Then memory returned all at once.
Her eyes opened slowly.
Didier was still asleep beside her.
One arm was loosely wrapped around her, his hand resting against her side as if he had pulled her close at some point during the night and never let go.
His hair was slightly messy, his face relaxed in a way she had never seen before. Peaceful.
Y/N watched him quietly for a moment.
It felt strange, and unreal.
If someone had told her months ago, when she had been wandering the snowy paths of Bionaz trying not to overthink her entire life, that she would one day wake up like this…
She probably wouldn’t have believed it.
Her gaze softened as she studied his sleeping face. Her fingers moved before she fully thought about it. Just a small motion. Brushing lightly through the front of his hair.
The reaction was immediate. Didier shifted slightly, his brow furrowing for half a second before his eyes slowly opened.
For a moment he looked confused.
Then his gaze focused on her, and the memory clearly caught up with him too. A slow smile appeared.
“Good morning.”
His voice was still rough with sleep.
Y/N smiled back, a little shyly.
“Good morning.”
He didn’t move his arm from around her waist. If anything, he pulled her slightly closer.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Better than expected considering everything.”
Didier chuckled softly.
“Everything?”
“You know,” she said, glancing at him. “The emotional confession. The unexpected kissing. The life-altering decisions.”
He laughed quietly at that.
“Right. That.”
For a few seconds they just looked at each other. Then Didier tilted his head slightly, his smile wider, more teasing.
“You’re not pushing me out this morning.”
Y/N frowned slightly.
“Why would I?”
“You did last time.”
Her cheeks warmed immediately.
“Oh my god.”
Didier laughed.
“You kissed me and then practically closed the door to my face.”
“I was embarrassed!”
“You didn’t look embarrassed.”
He grinned. She groaned and nudged his shoulder lightly.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Just a little.”
For a moment he studied her again, his expression softening. Then his thumb brushed gently against her arm.
“I’m really glad you came.”
“Me too.”
Before either of them could say anything else, a loud voice suddenly echoed from somewhere outside the room.
“Didier!”
Both of them froze. A second later the voice came again, louder but also closer.
“Didier, if you’re alive we’re making coffee!”
Y/N blinked.
“Is that-”
“Yes.”
Didier sighed dramatically.
“Tommy.”
There was a short pause. Then the voice returned.
“…And if you’re dead I’m stealing your computer!”
Y/N burst out laughing.
Didier groaned into the pillow.
“I regret inviting him.”
A knock suddenly landed on the door. Not even a polite one. More like someone hitting the wood with unnecessary enthusiasm.
“Didier!”
Silence. Then Tommy’s voice again.
“…Wait.”
Another pause.
“Oh.”
Y/N felt Didier tense beside her.
“Why did he say ‘oh’ like that?” she whispered.
Didier closed his eyes briefly.
“Because he’s thinking.”
“It doesn’t sound that dangerous.”
“It is with him.”
A second later Tommy’s voice came through the door again. But this time it sounded suspiciously amused.
“Didier! Are you perhaps… occupied?”
Y/N buried her face in the blanket. Didier rubbed his face with one hand, he looked clearly unamused with his friend’s attitude, albeit used to it.
“Go away, Tommy.”
“Oh my god.”
Footsteps pacing outside.
“I knew it.”
Another knock.
“Y/N, if you’re in there I just want to say I’m very happy for you.”
Didier groaned.
“Tommy.”
“Yes?”
“Leave.”
But Tommy clearly wasn’t done.
“I mean it though,” he continued cheerfully. “This has been emotionally exhausting for me.”
Y/N peeked up from the blanket.
“Emotionally exhausting?”
“Yes,” Tommy said through the door. “Watching Didier pine after you like a tragic character all season.”
Didier sat up immediately.
“What.”
Y/N stared at him.
“You pined?”
Didier looked horrified. Outside, Tommy sounded delighted.
“Oh yeah. Absolutely tragic. Very poetic. Lots of staring at his phone. Looking like a kicked puppy and all.”
“Tommy!”
“I’m just saying the truth!”
Y/N was now laughing uncontrollably, she couldn’t help it. Though the idea was just as endearing as the situation was hilarious. Didier ran a hand through his hair in defeat.
“But seriously,” Tommy added, his tone warmer now, “I’m glad you two finally figured it out. Now please come downstairs before the others realize something scandalous happened.”
Didier sighed. Then looked at Y/N.
“Well.”
“Your friends seem nice.”
“They’re terrible.”
Didier’s face softened when he saw her smile, then he leaned down and kissed her quickly. A soft, warm kiss Like a promise rather than a question.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s face Tommy together.”
Y/N laughed.
“United against chaos.”
“Exactly.”
And for the first time since she had randomly decided to take that trip to the mountains months ago, everything finally felt simple. Not perfect, but right.