#schlierenwald saga

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

March 2020

The end of the season comes early this year, because the world is catching fire.

We travel to Lahti and then to Norway and everything between me and Gregor stays the same. We don’t share the room on the competition trips, we keep it professional, and that’s how it would have stayed until the end of the season, but the end of the season comes early this year, because the world is catching fire.

Stefan wins the overall cup, and we celebrate on the streets of Trondheim. Later we spend the day packing and instead of a competition, there seems to be a rush to get back home before we get stuck. It’s a weird feeling, something no one really knows how to handle.

Gregor gets grouchy and quiet as we travel back to Oslo, to the airport to wait our flight back home. I mostly try to stay out of his way as does everyone else, because clearly he doesn’t need the company right now. It isn’t until we are just about to be boarding that he approaches me. I haven’t been paying attention to what he does, until he sits next to me.

“So,” he says, looking around to check that no one is paying attention to us. “What are your plans?” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I don’t have time to answer before he continues. “They say there’s going to be a lockdown or something back home and it might take a while for things to get back to normal.” He shrugs like he doesn’t really care. “It’s probably going to be a bit lonely to spend so much time in your tiny apartment.”

“I never stay there during holidays,” I say slowly, trying to figure out where he’s going with his words. “I always go to my parents place.”

“Right,” his voice sounds weird.

“Are you alright?” I stare at him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he shrugs again and doesn’t look at me. Instead he seems to be very interested in staring at his phone.

“I don’t know,” I mutter. “You’re acting all weird.”

“Would you stay with me?” he blurts out, and I’m not sure I heard correctly. Surely we are not having this conversation in the middle of an airport with our team just a couple of meters away, snoozing.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Gregor sniffs defensively.

Yes, I want to say. Yes, my mind screams. He is asking, so he doesn’t think it would be too much. He likes having me there with him. But also I don’t know if he realizes what he’s really asking. We don’t know anything about this potential lockdown. The situation is stressful enough without adding a new relationship to the mix. He might not be able to handle me. Maybe we would be better off without each other. He’s basically asking me to come live with him.

Yes, yes, yes, I want to say. “Gregor – “ is what comes out of my mouth instead.

He takes it as a refusal, and his guard is back up before I have time to say anything else.

“Forget it.” He tries to stand up, and without even realizing what I’m doing, I reach out to grab his arm. Gregor stops, sits back down, looks at my hand, then me, and a month ago I would’ve let go and backed off as quickly as possible, but now I stare back and keep holding on to him.

“Are you serious?”

He shrugs.

“We haven’t really talked about what any of this means to us,” I continue.

“If you don’t want to then fine.”

“Of course I want to!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The problem is I might be falling in love, and I have no idea where he stands on that. If I go with him, I might not want to ever come back. The problem is I’m falling so deep so fast, it scares me, but at the same time, I’m so sure it’s what I want. I’m just not sure if it’s what he wants.

The problem is there seems to be no way out for me without getting my heart broken. The problem is I’m all in.

“There’s no problem,” I hear myself say.

“So you’ll come?”

“Yes.”

The problem is we are not really speaking about the problems.

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

March 2020

Every day I fall deeper.

The first week goes by easily enough. It almost seems like nothing has changed. The season is over, but it ended so abruptly that we both have a ton of work to do still. For media, for sponsors. I realize that even though his season was subpar, Gregor still has five times more sponsor work to do than I do. When I am already finished with everything and ready to start my summer holiday, he still has so much more stuff to finish.

With him locked in his study, I get bored. I’m not welcome into his study. It’s one of the rules he has. I don’t question it because it’s clear he needs his space. Some ways he is like a collection of contrasts. He needs to have his space, he absolutely can’t handle spending all the time with me. But he also seems to love to have me close. We have spent hours in bed together, mapping out each other’s bodies, and when he holds me after we’ve had sex, it almost feels like he might not freak out, if I told him what I feel for him. So far I’ve managed to keep my mouth shut. It’s too soon, I keep telling myself. Yet every day I fall deeper.

He guards himself with rules. Some of them are reasonable. Some of them are stupid. All of them I follow, because I need him to know that I will respect the boundaries he has. He needs to take things slow, and he doesn’t trust easily, that I know. I want him to trust me. I want him to know that I’m not walking away. So I follow the rules, all the rules. Even the stupid ones.

It’s been two weeks and he still spends most days on the phone or by the computer doing whatever. He doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t ask. I don’t see him much during the days, usually only if he takes a lunch break and most days he seems so tired, I’m afraid to say anything.

But one day he comes to have lunch, smiling, and I take my chances. I’ve been scrolling through social media for days now, trying to keep myself busy, when he’s working, and I have numerous new ideas for us to try. It’s boring to try them all alone. I tried to learn the stair shuffle thing but Gregor saw me and told me I looked like Bambi on the ice. That killed my motivation. Next I tried to get him to do the koala challenge with me, but Gregor has absolutely refused to let me try to climb on him. He has refused to do most of the other challenges too.

“No,” he says immediately when I ask him today. I frown.

“Come on! Don’t be boring.”

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head.

“Please?”

“No. Last time you nearly broke my television. And you kicked it in my face.”

“It was an accident,” I exclaim. It truly was. I suck at football, and apparently I also suck at kicking toilet rolls. Last time I tried, I indeed ended up hitting Gregor in the face with the roll while he was filming me.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m not kicking a fucking toilet paper roll around just because you are bored, darling.” The way he says darling makes my stomach flutter, and he knows that. He smiles at me, eyes sparkling, and clearly thinks he has already won. He looks gorgeous and smug, and he leans closer, knowing full well the impact he has on me. Cool, calm, composed, that is what he’s trying so hard to be for the outside world. He finds comfort in that, he needs to be in control.

But I’ve been living with him for two weeks now, and I know how to play this game. I know how genuinely happy he is when I get him to open up the tiniest bit and be silly with me.

“You’re just afraid you’re going to lose,” I smirk, because I know him, and I know how competitive he gets. He’s a professional athlete after all.

He stares at me, eyes narrow, and leans back, a little stunned. He’s silent for so long, I’m sure he’s not up for it today. But then his eyes soften and he shakes his head, surrendering to me. “Fine,” he huffs.

“Yay!” I cheer and run to get a toilet roll.

“But no filming!” he yells after me, when I rummage through the bathroom closet for extra toilet rolls. I roll my eyes. Of course no filming. Toilet paper doesn’t fit his brand. He freaked out the last time I got him to goof off with the toilet paper and took a picture of him laughing and kicking the roll. He made three new rules right then. No pictures, no videos, no evidence of the laughing, flirting, kind person he is with me. He didn’t elaborate, but I can see the difference between the person he is with me and the image he creates for the outside world. It means a world to me that I get to see behind some of those walls he has build around himself.

I come back with two toilet rolls. He tries to look indifferent, but I can see a small smile tugging his lips.

“Not here,” he says when I’m about to start. He quickly grabs my shoulders and spins me around towards the balcony. “New house rule.” He wraps his hands around me from behind, presses a lingering kiss to my cheek as he walks us towards the door. “No kicking toilet rolls inside the house.”

“You and your rules,” I sigh. He freezes behind me, and I bite my lip. Never complain about the rules. That’s rule number one with him. It’s a silent rule, one I have learned by myself. He seems to be waiting for the rule that would be too much for me. He seems to be waiting for me to find an excuse to leave.

I’m not leaving.

“I’m not complaining,” I add slowly. “I love – your rules.” I can feel him relax while I bite my tongue, relieved that I was able to catch myself in time.

He presses another kiss to my cheek. It almost feels like an apology, and that’s not what I wanted this to be. I don’t want him to apologize for the boundaries he needs to feel comfortable. I just wish he wouldn’t need all those boundaries with me.

“Come on, let’s go kick toilet rolls.”

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

Before Lahti 2020

It’s clear that something is different this morning. 

Gregor sits by the kitchen counter when I come into the kitchen next morning, and it’s weird, because he’s usually still out on his morning run when I wake up. I must’ve been sleeping for longer than I thought, or maybe he woke up earlier than usual. It’s clear that something is different this morning.

He’s freshly showered, nursing his morning coffee, not looking at me, when I pad into the kitchen.

“Morning,” I mumble.

“Morning,” his voice is as quiet as mine.

Last night he held me close, kissed me like he didn’t want to stop. This morning he seems to be avoiding my eyes, and I don’t know what I should do. I used to be good at this, I used to know what I wanted and I wasn’t afraid to say it. With Gregor it’s different because the more I get to know him, the more I realize how easily everything can slip away. I could push him too far too fast, he might never be able to open up the way I need him to, he might not want things I want, things I need. For him, this could be just what it was last night. For me, this is already so much more.

I want to stay.

“Why is this awkward?” I ask after a long silence. I turn to Gregor.

“Isn’t that what morning afters are supposed to be?” He glances at me, then looks away again. There’s an ugly echo in his words. I don’t like it. It’s his past, those things he still keeps so close to his heart and doesn’t let me see. I hate it, because I am greedy and I want to know everything about him. I want him to want to share everything with me. I want him to open up to me.

“No?”

“Oh.” He’s silent for a long time. “They used to be for me.” It sounds like an honest confession, a little piece of that past that I am so keen to get to know. He shrugs, trying to act carefree. “Sneaking out of the room, trying not to wake up to other.”

“You or him?”

“Depends whose hotel room it was.” He stares at his coffee mug, reliving some nights or morning afters before me, and something ugly crawls inside me.

I’m jealous.

I don’t want to be just another name on his list of partners. I don’t want him to think those times, those people, when he is with me, because they shouldn’t matter anymore. Only this should matter: us. It’s stupid to be jealous of memories, I realize that, but he seems to have so many, and he disappears so easily into them. He escapes from me, leaves me alone, when he struggles with the memories. I hate it.

I need to be patient and understanding and whatever else he needs me to be. But I can’t lose myself to him. I matter too, and this won’t work if he’s never letting me in.

“Do you want me to go?” I ask quietly. His head snaps up.

“Do you want to go?”

“I asked first.”

He looks at me, keeps looking as he slowly puts the coffee mug back to the counter. I wish he would talk but instead he pulls me against him. He wraps his hands around my waist. Sitting down he’s shorter than me and has to look up to when we’re this close. His breath feels warm against my face. I fit perfectly between his thighs.

This could be our life, the thought slams into my head. Every morning could be like this one. Just like this moment, with us holding each other. No memories haunting him, no awkwardness lingering.

He kisses me.

I love kissing. I especially love kissing Gregor. Kissing him feels right and easy and I love his lips against mine. Everything is better with kissing. The plead for words dies down, the need for talking is gone, I can feel us being us again: in this moment together, no past haunting us.

The kiss is slow, because the morning is ours and we don’t have to hurry. It’s familiar because it’s us and we fit. It’s intimate and gentle, and it doesn’t have any expectation behind it. Things are great the way they are, and both of us seem to be fine just being there, kissing.

Gregor leans back, but doesn’t let go of me. He looks at me as I blink my eyes open and take a deep breath.

“Was that supposed to be an answer?” I ask. It’s a serious question, but my smile gives Gregor an out he still needs. He grins.

I love his smile, I love the easy flirting between us.

I hate that I let him escape, I hate that we take an easy way out of this. We flirt instead of talking, and it can only carry us so far.

“Was it not good enough for you?” he asks.

“Could’ve been better,” I shrug, trying to pull back, but Gregor doesn’t let me go. Instead he pulls me closer again. It’s easy to take the step forward.

“Really, now?” he smirks and presses a short kiss to the side of my mouth.

“Definitely,” I mumble. He kisses the other side of my mouth, then my cheek, my neck. He presses short kisses to my throat, sucks gently but not enough to leave a mark. His lips wander until they find mine again.

“Really?” he whispers the word against my lips.

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t believe you,” I murmurs. “I think you loved it.”

“Not true.”

“Liar.”

“I think you should try again.”

“Okay.”

The kiss is as slow as the first one. It’s sweet and gentle, nothing too complicated. It feels like a lazy Sunday morning kiss, except it’s Tuesday and Gregor probably has a list of things to do later. He’s always working, but I’ll enjoy the short time we have together now.

“Better?” Gregor pulls back.

“Maybe one more time?”

He smiles.

We cannot keep kissing everything better. We can’t kiss the past away. But for now, we can choose to forget that and just be happy together.

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

Rasnov 2020

“Technically we’re off from work.”

Everyone else is long gone, when Gregor comes back. I don’t know where he has been or why it has taken so long for him to come complete his packing in our waxing cabin. I’m only here because I broke a drinking glass before, and Michael made me be responsible and clean up the mess I made before I’m allowed to leave. I’ve been cursing for the past ten minutes, cleaning up shards of glass, pissed off and tired, just wanting to go back to the hotel and sleep, but I forget all that when Gregor comes in.

Because Gregor is smiling.

I don’t mean the polite, professional smile he mostly has going on these days. I mean the smile everyone fell in love with years ago when he was winning everything like it was his second nature. The smile that doesn’t just reach his eyes but carries through his whole body. The genuine, happy smile, smile of a winner, of a legend. The smile of success.

The smile doesn’t fade when he sees me, and I thank heavens I’m sitting down on the floor because. Dear. Lord.

I’m very much screwed.

It’s that bloody hill record that is the reason for his smile, it has to be. He jumped 103 meters which sounds kind of sad, but it is the normal hill here in Rasnov, and 103 meters from that hill is six meters over hill size. It’s a shared hill record but that doesn’t seem to bother Gregor who is absolutely beaming. Still. Hours after the jump.

It must mean a world to him, if he’s still smiling like that.

I blink, twice, and stare at him, and he looks back, smiling wider, happier. It’s not fair. How am I supposed to be professional and cool when he smiles like that? How am I supposed to act as just his teammate, when he stands there looking like that?

He comes closer, pulls me up from the floor without saying a word. I scramble up, don’t have time to find my balance before he pushes me against the cabin wall and kisses me, our lips crushing together. It’s passionate, demanding kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth, hands clasping my face. I feel my toes curl, an electrical fire shooting through me, as he pushes closer, smiling as I moan against him. I’m losing myself into it, into the fire burning between us, the threads of reality slipping further away every second.

We’re both breathing hard, when we pull back. I take a shaky, shallow breath, put my hands between us, push him further away so I can think.

“Um, hi. What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Gregor is smiling, still smiling, licking his lips, the idiot.

“I thought you said nothing can happen when we’re working. That I’m just your annoying teammate or something.”

“Technically we’re off from work.”

“Technically we’re still very much at work.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to kiss me?” His smile fades, hands on my hips still, and the silence around us growing louder, and it’s easier to think straight, and I want to laugh. Does it look like I don’t want to kiss him? Like I’m not ready to just pull him back against me and get lost in the kiss without caring about anything else?

I’m confused, that’s all, scared of letting go so easily, when just three days ago he wanted time, boundaries between us. There were no boundaries half a minute ago. So I push back, confront him instead of letting him do whatever he pleases with me.

“I’m saying you should obey your own rules.” Wow, look at me all professional and cool. I should get an award.

Gregor sighs, but doesn’t move back. Instead he leans his forehead against my shoulder and breathes. It’s oddly intimate, him being so close, leaning against me. The fire is still there, burning inside of me, but it’s gentler now, not that raging passion that surrounded us a moment ago.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly, still leaning against me, hands searching for something to hold on to. “This is a mess. I didn’t know – it took me by surprise how much I wanted to share everything with you today. The record, you know. Fuck, you are – It didn’t use to be like this. I was happy alone.”

His words, in turn, take me by surprise. The fact that he’s willing to admit that, the fact that he feels like he wants to share things with me. Something in my stomach flutters. These are the moments when I realize that I – this, we, us – mean something to him. That it isn’t just for fun, it isn’t a game or just those moments of passion. He is truly trying, although opening up to someone is hard for him. You kind of have to read between the lines with him half the time.

“I keep trying to shut you out of the ski jumping part of my life, because it would be easier that way. I hate that it’s not working. Fuck it,” he sighs against my shoulder. His left hand keeps gripping the hem of my shirt, his right one travelling restlessly down my body, like he can’t get enough of touching me.

He’s biting his lip when I touch his face, make him look at me.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I kiss him.

“I – “

“Technically we are off from work,” I interrupt and kiss him again. It takes awhile for him to get out of whatever corner of his mind he was, but then he smiles against my lips, and I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer. Gentler, this time, slower.

We spend a lot of time kissing, when I spent the three days at his house earlier this week. We would sit on the couch, sharing lazy kisses, not really paying any attention to the movie that was going on in the background. We would lie in his bed in the evening and make out until the kisses turned into yawning, letting our hands wander. In the morning after his jog, we’d share slow coffee tasting kisses in the kitchen.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he sighs, pushing himself closer to me, lifting my shirt so he can let his fingers brush against my skin.

“You were the one who told me we couldn’t do this.”

“I know. I’m an idiot,” Gregor mutters. “I just – “ I kiss him behind his ear and his voice stutters, “ – oh, love it when you do that.”

“Yeah?” I smile against his skin, lips brushing beneath his ear, as I continue licking beneath his ear.

“Mmhmm,” he hums, craning his neck to give me more room to work with.

I kiss along his jaw, closing my eyes when I find his lips again. Slow, sensual, it’s as good as the burning passion that took me by surprise earlier. I’m getting lost again, drifting away, and that’s when I hear the sound. It sounds like the door closing, and my heart drops, reality crashing back in.

I pull back.

“Did you hear something?” I frown, looking over his shoulder towards the closed cabin door.

“What?” He leans away from me, turns to glance at the door. “No?”

“I thought I heard the door close.” Cold dread continues to run through my body. This isn’t the way I’d want to tell people. This is all still so new, fragile, that I want to keep it just between us. For now, until we’ve talked about it, about us. Until I know what we both want.

Gregor seems unbothered by the possible intruder, though.

“Must’ve been the wind or something,” he shrugs, turning back to me. The smile on his face is gorgeous. He keeps looking at me, leaning closer. His fingers travel along my back, on my sides, up to my shoulders. He brushes my chin, smiling, always smiling, and I feel myself relaxing again.

“What’s so special about this one?” I ask, pressing a light kiss on his lips. “You’ve had hill records before.”

“Timing,” he says immediately, and the fact he’s sharing this with me, sharing something work-related, feels massive. “After the catastrophe in Kulm especially. Feels so good to know I can still do it. It’s a relief.” He doesn’t look at me while he talks, opting to stare at the wall over my shoulder instead, but that makes no difference. He’s sharing, that’s what matters.

“It’s the best feeling, you know,” he continues. “I don’t even care that much that the second jump was garbage again. It’s just the consistency that I need back now.”

“I wish I could’ve been around ten years ago,” I murmur quietly against his lips, something I feel comfortable saying when he’s so open in front of me. I want him to know, feel how much I love seeing him so happy. I would have loved to be there before. When he was this happy all the time, succeeding, living his best life and being the happiest he has ever been. When he was smiling like this all the time.

“I’m glad you weren’t,” Gregor mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I was arrogant, self-centered asshole.” I pull back so I can look at him in the eye.

“You’re still all of those things,” I smirk at him, and he stares at me for a second before he laughs that joyous, carefree, open-mouthed laugh I love so much. The corners of his eyes crinkle, his whole body relaxing.

I smile, looking at him, peck his cheek just because I can, and he blinks at me.

“Come back to my place,” he blurts, laugh still evident in his eyes. “After this. Tomorrow, when we’re going back. Come home with me.”

“Are you going to kidnap me for the whole week again?” I grin. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, though I definitely need to go home at some point soon to get more clothes, and, you know, actually maybe live in my own apartment again, instead of spending all my free time with Gregor. It can’t be healthy. Then again, being with him feels so right.

“It’s not like you were complaining last time,” Gregor smirks and kisses me again, long and deep, smiling when I lean in for more and forget the thoughts I had. “I thought we could have our second date,” he mutters.

“Wouldn’t it be more like fourth date already? Counting all the days I spent in your house last time.”

“Fourth. Second. Whatever you want. I don’t care. Just come home with me. Please.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[trialround]

[NB: If I’d have a habit of rating my drabbles, this would be rated mature. Not overly graphic, but there’s sex in this part, just wanted to note that if that’s something someone wants to avoid.]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

After Rasnov

It goes from playful and fun to something quieter, more intimate.

Sex with a new person is always messy and kind of awkward. There’s a lot of shuffling around and figuring out how to do things and what works best. With Gregor it’s also a lot of fun. Every touch is a question, an answer, as I learn more, ask more, see what he likes, what works. The kissing is as amazing as always, the fire burning wildly, as our tongues dance together.

The anticipation keeps building, as we get rid of our clothes, and in the middle of everything, he accidentally elbows me in the stomach, then spends ages kissing around my stomach, as I try to stop laughing.

“Are you quite finished?” he asks, annoyed that my laughing keeps him from continuing, and when I’m still laughing, he huffs and continues anyway. And I’m laughing, still laughing, and not laughing anymore as he takes me into his mouth, and my laugh turns breathless. His mouth is hot around me, and my fingers card through his hair, struggling to find something to hold on to.

It’s messy and awkward and easy and fun. It’s him taking his time, driving me absolutely mad with how slow he is being. It’s teasing and light touches, and frustration and more laughing.

He hums around me, and that is too much. I drag him up, kiss him, and the kiss is sloppy and hard and perfect. He pulls back to look at me, and during those few seconds the mood shifts. It goes from playful and fun to something quieter, more intimate, and I can’t avert my eyes, because there’s something in his eyes, something I can feel reflecting in my eyes, and it’s scary and new. Gregor finds my hand, lets our fingers intertwine, and the moment feels like eternity, as we look at each other.

Too much, too soon. I expected the sex being fun and easy, I didn’t expect the onslaught of intimacy, of the raw feelings between us.

He rips open the condom, surging to kiss me, and I respond eagerly, wanting to get on with the act. Physicality is easier to handle than the emotions that are getting too much. This is supposed to be fun and getting to know each other. It’s supposed to be learning and asking and searching for the right things. It’s supposed to be just sex.

It isn’t supposed to be love.

Not yet.

Not so soon.

He distracts me with fingers, with a touch that is a welcome diversion, and I refuse to think about love and try to focus on him instead. His fingers, his mouth, his body against mine, the mild discomfort at first, the pleasure that follows.

He mumbles something to my ear, and I have no idea what he said. I’m too far gone, floating in the haze of pleasure. There’s heavy breathing, kisses with too much teeth and not enough focus. My fingers digging into his skin, his breath hard in my ears. Seconds that bring us closer to the climax. The peak that he reaches before me, I follow a short while after.

We breath each other, we breath together, and there are forbidden words trying to force themselves out of my mouth, but I bite my lip, trying to keep holding on to the reality. Too soon, it has to be the intense pleasure making me feel that way, it can’t be real, not yet.

I pat Gregor’s arm.

“Well done,” I say, and he barks out a laugh before rolling closer to me again, leaning against my chest and kissing me.

“Well done?” he repeats, searching my eyes, but I close mine, refusing to look at him. He seems to sense that it isn’t a good idea to poke further. The emotion is still too raw in my mind. So he finds my hand, squeezes reassuringly and places a soft kiss to my lips. “I know I’m amazing,” he says, and when I open my eyes, he’s smirking, and it’s good, so good, because I can laugh and I don’t have to think about it. About love.

We shower together and it’s a bad idea, because we keep getting distracted. An hour later we’re finally mostly clean and dry and in bed again. He has wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me half on top of him, so I can rest my head against his chest.

I want to say something, anything, but for once I can’t find the words. He notices, of course he does.

“You’re quiet.”

“Yeah.”

“Something on your mind?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

I trace my fingers on his stomach, thinking, trying to find the words. There are things I need to say to him, questions I need to ask. About him, about us, about the future, but I don’t know how to reach those words, those questions. I don’t know where to begin.

“Fuck,” I mutter quietly, shaking my head a bit. There are no words, not the right ones anyway.

Gregor moves, strokes my chin, turns my head so he can see my face. I don’t know what he sees on my face, but he pulls me closer, and kisses me. The kiss is gentle and deep, his hands wrapping around me, holding me close, and it feels good, safe, natural, and scary at the same time, because I don’t want to leave. Ever.

“Later?” he whispers, smiling as I sigh.

“Yeah,” I mutter, relieved that I don’t need to find the words today.  I nuzzle back against his chest. “Later.”

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

Rasnov 2020

“It’s just that – I need some time.”

Admittedly, it’s not my proudest moment. And I think that says a lot. That I’m willing to admit that. Or maybe it makes everything worse. That I know I shouldn’t do it, yet I do it anyway. I can’t help myself. When I heard, I didn’t believe it at first. I laughed at Michael who handed me the key to my hotel room. But then I walked into my room, and Daniel was there, asking me if I wanted to watch some Youtube video with him, and I couldn’t answer because – what the fuck.

So. I might be overreacting. Slightly. But it doesn’t matter. I have a right to do that.

I’m pretty sure.

I think.

Oh, whatever. I yank the door open.

“Are you serious?” It comes out louder than I intended. And yeah, I’m furious. At him for making me feel that way. At myself for thinking the last three days changed something between us.

“What’s wrong?” Jan asks when I barge into the room. His room. Which he shares. With Gregor.

“Get out,” I snap without looking at him. I stare at Gregor, who sits calmly on his bed and folds his clothes like nothing has happened. Like he hasn’t just ditched me as his roommate and choose to room with Jan instead. Gregor hates Jan!

“What?” Jan sounds confused. Gregor glances at me, lifts his eyebrows, pretending to be just as confused as Jan. Like he doesn’t know exactly why I might feel the need to be frustrated about all this. It hurts. That it’s so easy for him to replace me with someone else.

“Get out!” I repeat, and Jan keeps being confused, but complies nonetheless. Bless him.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of you,” Gregor points out, when the door closes behind Jan. He turns away from me again, continues folding his clothes like nothing happened. His indifference makes me even more furious.

I thought we were past this. I thought the last three days meant something, but now we are back to this: pretending like there’s nothing going on between us. I hate it.

“What is all this?” I wave my hand around the room.

“All what? I was having a perfectly pleasant evening before you came in yelling like a mad person.” His voice is calm and collected.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” I snap, too tired, too furious to play whatever game he’s currently playing. “We have a perfectly lovely date and the next thing I know you just – ditch me and choose to room with Jan instead. I thought we had something. What the fuck did I do? Is it because I wouldn’t have sex with you straight away? Because fuck you, I – “

“Look!” Gregor raises his voice slightly, and that makes me shut up immediately. Wow, good. I was starting to get embarrassed of the things that were coming out of my mouth.

Gregor gets up from his bed and looks at me. Still calm, still composed, but something on his face twitches, the tiniest sign that he might not be as calm as he’d like me to think he is. “It’s not that. It’s just that – I need some time. You just spend three days in my house.” It doesn’t sound like an accusation, but I feel the need to defend myself nonetheless.

“Because you wouldn’t let me leave,” I point out. Monday had turned into Tuesday and then there had been no point for me to go home anymore because we left to Rasnov earlier today and it was convenient to drive to the airport together.

Convenient, his word. Because even if he had admitted that he had been glad I stayed that first night, it was still hard for him to drop the mask of indifference completely. It had been mostly fine. When we kept away from certain topics: ski jumping, feelings, ski jumping. Feelings. It had been amazing. Spending time with him was so easy. Watching him cook for me, lying on the couch watching some TV show, kissing him, falling asleep next to him. It had been so good, so normal, so easy it was frightening.

This could be us, always, I had thought when he kissed me goodnight, and it scared me, because it was so true. But I was willing to face the fear of unknown, because it felt so good to be with him.

“I know.” He comes closer. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we’ve been together the entire beginning of the week. And I need to keep my private life and my work separate. This – “ He gestures at us “ – can’t happen.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I mimic his gesture.

“It means that we are here to do a job, and when I’m at work and I can’t have you here in my room, in the same bed, looking like that, or even yelling at me like you are doing right now. When – if this, we, go on, maybe we can figure out how to make it work at work too, but right now when we travel, I need to think you as my annoying teammate, because I can’t do my job if I think something else. It’s easier if I just room with Jan this weekend.”

When. He said when, even if he then hurried to correct himself, and that alone makes my anger melt away. Sometimes I let myself doubt because doubting is so easy, when he keeps himself so composed all the time. I live, love, openly and with all my heart, and yes, sometimes trusting so easily hurts and sometimes I get my fingers burned but I don’t know how to guard my heart the way he does.

He, though, he keeps his heart safe, guarded, and I know to treasure even the tiniest glimpses that he lets me see.

I’m being too hard on him, I think. I feel too much, too soon, and it’s scaring us both. I appreciate him being this open with me, because I know admitting this much can’t be easy for him.

“Are you saying I’m distracting you?” I try lightening the mood, apologize the way I barged into the room and did exactly what he wanted to avoid.

“I’m saying there needs to be boundaries,” he says sternly, and then – probably because I’m pouting – he rolls his eyes and adds. “Also yes, you are distracting me.”

I bite my lip, try to keep myself from smiling too much. He takes a step closer.

“Did you really think I’d back off because we didn’t have sex straight away?”

“Ah, yeah.” I rub my neck. “Sorry. I know that’s not it. I just – “

“Overreacted?”

I sigh.

“Look, it’s hard for me too. You have all these boundaries and I don’t want to push too much, but I also don’t want to give in all the time. I need to think about myself too, and if this is going to be so difficult, maybe – “ I shake my head, not wanting to finish that thought. I want us to be something, I want us to work.

Gregor takes a step closer, then another. His hand flattens on my lower back, pulling me forward, and then he is kissing me.

It’s a stupid thing to think about, but we fit. His lips against mine, his hand on my back, my hands on his chest. We fit here in this tiny hotel room in the middle of Romania as we fit on his couch back home. This is the easy part, being physically close to each other. Everything else is much harder.

I turn my head away, his lips pressing a short kiss to the side of my neck.

“You can’t just kiss me and think it’ll fix everything,” I huff, turning back to look at him, and he kisses me again, with more firmness. It’s frustrating and hot and perfect, and I let out a quiet moan against his lips, my body relaxing against his.

He smirks. I push him away.

“Fine,” I say. “ Just – next time talk to me first.”

“Next time please don’t barge in here yelling. You scared poor Jan.” He is grinning now, thinking he has won, whatever that means. Maybe he has, maybe this time, and I smile to him, because this game is much more fun when he plays it with me and not against me.

“Oh, like you care about Jan.”

The grin on his face fades.

“I do care about people, Philipp,” Gregor mutters quietly and brushes his fingers against my hand, and I know that by people he doesn’t mean Jan. “I do care.” It’s a quiet, honest confession, and maybe two weeks ago I would have laughed and brushed it off as nothing special, but I know better now. I know how hard it is for him to drop that mask, admit those feelings to himself and to me.

So I don’t brush it off. I smile at him, let our fingers intertwine.

“I know you do.”

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

After Tauplitz/Bad Mitterndorf

“Where’s my goodnight kiss?”

I realize the magnitude of Gregor’s offer the minute I step into his bedroom. The bathroom and the kitchen have been safe, neutral spaces, without a lot of traces of Gregor’s life in them, but his bedroom, that’s his world. Completely. It’s a private space, just for him, and it tells me so much more about him than any other room in his house has so far.

The opposite wall is covered in floor to ceiling windows. It’s dark outside so I only see a reflection of myself before Gregor draws the curtains shut. The bed is on the left, a door to the master bathroom on the right. It could be an ordinary room, if it weren’t for the tiny pieces of Gregor’s life, sprinkled around the room.

A golden eagle on the shelf. One of his snowflake medals on the wall, a crystal globe in the corner. A picture of the mountains, of him flying, these are the shards of him that he hasn’t let me see yet. This is the world of a man that once won everything, these are the memories he still carries with him, those that he keeps close to his heart and doesn’t share with anyone.

Yet, tonight, he let me in his room.

It means a lot to me. I hope he knows that.

Gregor is already rummaging through his closet, looking for whatever he sleeps in at home. And it’s so familiar but so different, because we have done this countless of times before in different hotel rooms around the world: gotten ready for bed in silence. We take turns in the bathroom, brush our teeth, change the clothes, and it’s like any other weekend.

Except it isn’t because this isn’t a hotel room, a neutral space. It’s his bedroom and he doesn’t build a pillow wall between us when he climbs to the bed.

He does, however, turn off the lamp on the bedside table and turn his back to me in the dark room.

“Good night.”

I sit on the bed next to him and stare in the darkness, stunned. Is he being serious?

“Wait, that’s it?”

He turns back towards me, turns on the lamp again, and stares at me, his brows furrowed in the dimly lit room. I gawk at him, trying to decide if he’s indeed being serious or not, and he keeps blinking like he really has no idea.

“You said you didn’t want anything else,” he says, sounding utterly confused, and he’s an idiot. An idiot! Oh my god.

“I said I don’t have sex on the first date,” I remind him.

“Exactly.”

“Sex,” I emphasize with an exasperated sigh. “Come on, you can’t seriously end our date with a good night and then turn your back to me. That’s the worst end to a date you can imagine.”

I love that he respects my boundaries, that he takes everything I say very seriously and makes sure not to pressure me, but this is ridiculous. And the tiniest bit sad, because if his ideal end to a date is this, I have some educating to do with him.

“What do you want then?”

“Where’s my goodnight kiss?” I ask.

“Oh, you want a kiss?” The confusion melts away. He has started to smile. Maybe this was his plan all along, I don’t know.

I don’t care. I only want one thing.

“Damn right I want a kiss.”

“Come here then.” He beckons me closer, but I don’t move.

“You come here. Why do I have to do all the work?” I grin and lean back on my elbows, let him come to me.

He does.

He places his hands either side of me, then stops, mere centimeters away from my lips. He looks at me and I meet his gaze, and something in my stomach flutters. His fingers brush my cheek, map their way down, to the corner of my mouth, down to my chin, to my neck, and this isn’t what I had in mind when I asked for a simple goodnight kiss, but I’ll take it. I take everything he wants to give me.

“Bossy, aren’t you?” he whispers, smiles when I grin at him, and then finally – finally – he closes the distance between us and kisses me.

Thoroughly.

I shouldn’t be surprised. He is very thorough in everything he does. A goodnight kiss isn’t an exception.

It starts as slow and sweet, and I open my mouth for more, and he complies easily. It might be my new favorite thing: having him so close, kissing him.

I close my eyes and let myself enjoy.

My feet tangle with his, as I pull him closer, and he comes willingly. I let him push me against the pillows and pull our bodies flush. For a second I have no idea what to do with my hands, but then he lets go of my neck, finds my hand instead and laces our fingers together.

The mood shifts.

Touching him, being with him, it’s real, and kissing has never felt so intimate before. It’s like we have all the time in the world to enjoy this moment, and it’s just the two of us, just how it should be. I feel him against me, his hand in mine, his chest rising and falling. I feel his lips, his smile against my own. He kisses the corner of my mouth, sucks a kiss to my lips and pulls back.

We look at each other, and I smile lazily, because this is the perfect end to this day, and he pecks another quick kiss to my lips, like he can’t help himself.

“Is that what you had in mind?” he mutters against my lips. 

“Close enough,” I grin at him, and he laughs, leaning his forehead against mine.

“Good. Can I go to sleep now?”

Cheeky. I push him away, laughing, and regret it immediately. I miss his touch the second he is gone.

“I guess. Since you asked so nicely,” I shrug and turn my back to him. If I can’t see him, I won’t have the urge to pull him closer, seek his touch again. Self-control, I have that. I do!

He turns off the lights again.

“Good night, Philipp,” he mutters in the dark, and that should’ve been it, but then I feel it. His fingers brush my waist, a fleeting touch, and maybe his self-control isn’t as good as mine.

I hide my smile in the pillow.

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

After Tauplitz/Bad Mitterndorf

“The date. Did you enjoy it?”

Gregor is gone in the morning when I wake up, and the house around me is quiet. When I stare at the ceiling it’s like he was never there at all, like it all was just a dream. For a second I fear that that’s all it was. But when I turn my head to the empty side of the bed, there’s the t-shirt he wore yesterday, a pair of socks on the floor. A half empty water bottle on the nightstand that wasn’t there in the evening. Little things, signs that tell me that it wasn’t a dream.

I smile.

I’m still smiling when I pad into the kitchen. Gregor isn’t there either, but his coffee machine is, and that’s all I need. I rummage the kitchen cabinets for a coffee mug and find an old sponsor mug. Good enough. The coffee machine is new and fancy and probably cost more than my entire kitchen supplies put together. I have no idea how to use it so I push some buttons randomly, and apparently that’s not the way to go, since the machine starts whining.

“Shit, shit,” I mutter and rub the sleep away from my eyes as the machine peeps. I try to find the right button to make the machine stop peeping, but they all look same to me. “Could you please – “ The machine keeps peeping. “Stop peeping at me!”

“Try the button on the left,” I hear the voice behind me. I whirl around. Gregor raises his eyebrows at me. I do as he says.

The peeping stops.

“Sorry about that.”

“No problem.”

He stands on the other side of the kitchen island, looking at me. He has clearly been jogging, and I feel kind of lazy to be still in my pyjamas, but technically it is our day off so this is allowed.

I guess Gregor doesn’t take days off, though.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t take a step closer, and I don’t know what I should do. Why is this awkward now, when yesterday evening was so much fun? Does he regret it? Does he want me gone?

“I need to work,” he says after a long silence.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just – “ I gesture towards the door. I need to call a taxi and hope one comes quickly because clearly he doesn’t want me here and maybe he thinks yesterday was a mistake after all. It’s a shame. He looked like he had a nice time, and I’m certainly not complaining. We could’ve been good together, I think.

“You should stay.”

“I – what?”

“If you want to,” Gregor shrugs like he doesn’t care either way. I eye him suspiciously. “I should be free in about two hours. You can use the gym if you want. Or watch TV. Or whatever you do on your free time.”

The mention of a gym distracts me.

“You have your own gym?”

“A small one.”

“Oh wow.” I shake my head. “Would you judge if I pick TV over the gym?”

He shrugs, and it’s starting to get frustrating. I just woke up, and playing this game is too frustrating when I’m still half asleep. And since he keeps circling around, I need to be straight with him.

“Come here,” I say and beckon him closer. I expect him to find some excuse, tell me he doesn’t like being told what to do or something, but he comes willingly. I reach for his hand.

“Did you enjoy it?” I ask, straight up.

“The morning jog?” He’s still trying to keep holding on to some sort of mask, a game that isn’t the reality.

“No,” I shake my head, not letting him distract me. “The date. Did you enjoy it?”

“Possibly,” he says, avoiding my eyes.

“Possibly is not good enough for me,” I say bluntly. It seems to surprise him.

“I let you stay for the night, didn’t I?” he tries, but I shake my head. Try again. I’m not playing this time.

He blinks at me, momentarily lost for words. I squeeze his hand, tell him I’m there, that I’m not going anywhere if he doesn’t want me to. I’ll be here. I just need him to meet me halfway. This will only work if we are both trying.

“I – I wanted you to stay,” he corrects himself. “I’m very glad you stayed, Philipp.”

I pull him closer, wrap my arms around his neck, and it takes him about five seconds to let go of the game of indifference he’s still holding on to, and the change is obvious. He goes from stiff and controlled into soft and open, and I smile as his fingers brush my waist.

“That sounds better,” I grin at him. “Now give me a kiss.”

He does.

[trialround]

[PART I, PART II, PART III]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

Tauplitz/Bad Mitterndorf 2020

“I need a ride.”

Michael once told me that if I ever wanted something from Gregor I should ask during a ski flying weekend because that’s when Gregor is the happiest and most likely to give you what you want. Clearly Michael doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s a Sunday in Bad Mitterndorf, and Gregor is fuming.

And I need to ask him something.

Not just something.

A very big thing. He will probably stare me to death the minute I open my mouth.

“About that date,” I begin, repeating the exact same words Gregor said to me when we talked about the date the last time. I don’t know why I start with that since the date doesn’t really have anything to do with the thing I need to ask him. It just comes out of my mouth.

Probably because that’s what I’ve been thinking about the whole week.

A date.

The date.

Our date. Gregor and me. It still doesn’t feel real. Things like these just don’t happen to me.

“Let me guess: you want to cancel,” Gregor spits out. His voice is bitter and cold, and he doesn’t look at me as he stuffs the last of his things to his suitcase. I have no idea why packing took him for so long. I thought he’d be long gone when I got back to our room after the competition. Gregor left the hill already after the qualification. And he wasn’t happy about it.

“No, what? Why would I want to cancel? Do you want to cancel?”

“No, I don’t want to cancel,” Gregor sneers at me. He still sounds cold, but his shoulders drop slightly, like he is relieved to hear that I still want to go out with him.

“Well, then,” I say. “That’s nice.” And because I’m an idiot, I think his words actually mean something so I reach my hand out for him, wanting to touch him, maybe bring him some comfort after an awful day at the hill.

Gregor dodges my hand and slams his suitcase shut. Clearly we are on the same wave length here.

Or not.

“Look, I was thinking. That maybe – Like, I know – but,” I fumble with the words and Gregor turns to me.

“Spit it out,” he snaps, and his tone makes me forget my nerves, my need to find the right words. People find it hard to be around Gregor on normal days, but when he gets like this, it’s impossible to be around him. I usually leave him be, that’s what he always wants: to be left alone. But today I can’t leave him, because I need to pack and I need to ask him something. I need him, even if he’s being an absolute dickhead right now.

“Fine,” I snap back at him.

Fine.

“I need a ride,” I say, looking at him in the eyes. “To Innsbruck.”

“Ask someone else.” Gregor turns away from me.

“Believe me, I have.” I remember the rules: no contact outside the competition weekends. Although I don’t know how our date fits into those rules. Maybe it’s an exception.

Anyway. I know Gregor never drives anyone anywhere. He always drives alone. But I’m desperate and I need to get back home somehow. I am fully prepared to beg if that’s what it takes.

“How did you get here in the first place?” he mumbles quietly, and I don’t know if he even meant to say it out loud, but I answer anyway.

“Patrick drove me.”

“Who’s Patrick?” He sounds annoyed and yanks the zipper of his suitcase so violently that I fear it might break.

“My brother. You know him. He used to jump too,” I remind him, and he glances at me over his shoulder. “Anyway. Is there room in your car?”

“Yes, there’s room in my car,” Gregor huffs. “There’s always room in my car. Because I like it when it has room in it. It means I’m driving alone. Just how I like it. Why are you only thinking about how you’re going to get home in the last possible moment?”

“Listen – “

“You should’ve thought about it sooner,” he snaps, and –

That’s it.

“Stop snapping at me,” I interrupt him, and maybe I’m speaking louder than necessary, because he turns to me, blinks, but I continue before he can say anything else. “Look, it’s not my fault that you had an awful day at the hill. Shit happens. I had an awful day too, but I don’t hear myself taking it out on you. So stop acting like an entitled asshole and tell me if you can drive me to Innsbruck or not.”

He stares at me.

I stare back. His face is blank. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, and I’ve probably fucked everything up which is just great, because now I have to call my parents to come pick me up. Or maybe I can catch a ride with the Hubers after all and then take a train from Salzburg. Everything in that thought is awful. Stefan and Daniel will bicker the whole car ride, they will annoy me to death, and if they don’t kill me, travelling on the train with my skis and all the luggage surely will.

I’m lost in my thoughts, thinking about the painful ways I’m going to die while trying to get home, so I almost miss his next words.

“I leave in twenty minutes,” Gregor says.

“Fine.”

He turns away from me and heads to the door.

“So start packing, because I’m not waiting if you’re late.”

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

Tauplitz/Bad Mitterndorf 2020

“This won’t work if you’re not willing to make an effort.”

So far it’s been all fun and games, but when I close the car door and fasten my seatbelt, I realize, how real it’s becoming. I have never been in Gregor’s car before. I have never been in his presence outside work. There is a line we all draw between ski jumping and our private lives, and I’m about to cross that line with Gregor.

I thought the date would be the big step, but I was wrong. It’s this right here, because the line was closer than I thought. I crossed it as I sat in the car, and maybe I’m freaking out, because this is all very new to me and I want it to work out.

Gregor has started the car and is already curving away from the hotel parking place. He keeps his eyes on the road and doesn’t say anything, and maybe he’s freaking out too, but I’m too nervous to look at him at the moment. So I talk instead. Which might make things even worse, but at least talking will ease my nerves.

“Tough day at work?” I ask.

He doesn’t say anything.

We are off to a very good start. Maybe a ride with the Hubers would have been better after all. I turn to look at him, and he shifts in his seat, but still doesn’t say anything, and I’m pretty sure falling in love isn’t supposed to be so hard. That should be the easy part.

And there’s the doubt, clouding my thoughts, and I have to tell him, because he deserves to know. I deserve to know, before I let myself fall any deeper.

“Look,” I continue. “This won’t work if you’re not willing to make an effort.” We have been circling around the subject, talking about the date but not really of our expectations towards it, and I need this to be real, and if having an awkward conversation in the car with him is what it takes for us to be on the same page, I can have that conversation. Or try to, at least.

“Things is, I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t know what you want. I already told you what I want and I’m going to say it again, just to make sure you know.” I look at him. He keeps staring at the road, gripping the wheel so his knuckles turn white. “I like you, Gregor. I’d like to get to know you better. I feel like we could be good together.” I take a deep breath. “I’m not looking for a one-night stand or even some friends with benefits type of arrangement. I am not a toy you can play with. I won’t be a stress relief for you, or someone you can kiss during the weekends and have fun with whenever you want.”

“Is that what you think I want?”

“I don’t know what you want, Gregor. That’s what I’m trying to figure out here, but it’s pretty difficult when you don’t even talk to me.”

There’s the silence again, but this time it doesn’t last long.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and for a second I’m sure I’ve heard wrong. He is – is he really apologizing? “It was a bad day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he shakes his head immediately. “No, can we talk something other than work?”

“Sure,” I say, because this is more than I hoped for two minutes ago. We don’t have to jump in the deep end right away. We can start with something easier. “What’s your favorite cheese?”

He laughs, and it’s a surprised, joyous sound that reminds me of that time a couple of weeks ago when the phone charger incident happened. The time when we first kissed. I grin at him, when he turns to glance at me.

“I’m trying to get to know you better,” I shrug.

“So you ask me about cheese?”

“Cheese is very important, and if you don’t think so, we might have a problem.”

“I love cheese. Brie is my favorite,” he says immediately.

“Mine’s Manchego. What would your Tinder profile say?”

“My Tinder profile?” He glances at me to check if I’m serious.

“Are you going to question me every time I ask you something?”

He mumbles something under his breath, then falls silent for a while when he thinks.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs finally. “Hey, I like to photograph, would you be my model?”

“Oh my god,” I laugh. “That’s awful.”

“What’s awful about that?” he sounds offended.

“Are you trying to date me or get laid?”

“Both,” he smirks, and I laugh again.

“I literally just told you I don’t want a one-night stand.”

“I didn’t say anything about that.”

“I don’t have sex on the first date,” I tell him.

“That’s fine,” he says, and it sounds like a truth.

It’s easy from then on, that’s the only way I can describe it. It’s so easy to be with him, talk to him, laugh with him, and maybe some part of me thought the whole car ride would be a disaster, but that part was wrong. It’s not a disaster. It’s the opposite. It’s great.

He has fallen quiet when we are getting closer to Innsbruck, though. I’ve been staring outside of the window, and the silence around us isn’t awkward anymore. It feels as natural as everything else.

“Listen, that date,” he begins, and for a second I have this irrational fear that he wants to cancel after all. I don’t have time to freak out about it, since he continues. “You free tonight?”

I turn to face him. He looks at me briefly, before turning back to stare at the road.

“Um.” It isn’t an answer, I know that. But I need a second to think, to form the words, arrange them so he’ll understand. “It’s been a long weekend. I kind of don’t feel like going out.”

It’s not a no. At least I hope he hears that it’s not a no. It’s just the truth. That after a weekend of being around people, I love to go home and just be by myself for a change. The thought of going out, being somewhere public, is too much right now.

It seems like Gregor is reading my mind.

“We could go to my place. Stop at a grocery store on the way. I could cook.”

“Can you cook?”

“Of course I can cook.” He sounds offended.

“Of course you can,” I mumble.

“So?”

I think about going back home, doing laundry and lying alone on my couch in the evening. I think about my tiny, depressing apartment. And then I think about spending the rest of the evening with Gregor, and the answer to his question is easy.

“Sure.”

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

After Tauplitz/Bad Mitterndorf 2020

I want to fall and trust that he falls with me.

It was awkward at first. Gregor parked the car in front of a house that I could only describe as a mansion. It stood on the hill, overlooking the quiet town beneath it, and it was huge and white, yet still so natural part of the nature around it. I thought about my own tiny, old apartment and the vast difference of the places we called our homes.

Gregor carried his luggage inside, and I followed with my own luggage, asked where the toilet was and had a two-minute freak-out session in his giant bathroom because I realized I didn’t have any date appropriate clothing with me. I had dreamed of taking my time getting ready for this date. I had thought about dressing up, choosing my clothes carefully, making an effort for him, because during the competition weekends he mostly sees me in a ski jumping suit or plain sponsor t-shirts. I wanted to wear something different, something I’ve chosen to buy for myself, something that didn’t have a Volksbank logo on it.

Dreams are made to be shattered, it seems.

I end up sitting on a bar stool by his kitchen counter wearing old sweatpants and a worn t-shirt.

With a Volksbank logo on the chest.

Gregor doesn’t seem to mind. He changed to sweatpants and t-shirt as well, after seeing my outfit change. He come back from his bedroom looking like a god and has been cooking ever since. He didn’t offer me a house tour and I didn’t ask for it because I don’t want him to think I came here to snoop. I am curious, of course I am, because the house is huge and I want to see more than just the bathroom and the kitchen, but for now I’m fine sitting in the kitchen watching him cook.

I’ve been instructed not to help after I almost burned myself when I got too close of the pot of boiling water on the stove. Gregor handed me a beer instead and told me to sit still and look pretty while he cooked. I’ve been making faces at him the entire time since then, and he keeps laughing at me while he whirls around the kitchen looking like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Our conversation flows naturally. We keep on the easy topics, random facts, and silly questions. I ask him about cooking and photography and he keeps talking about his camera so much, that I don’t know if I should be jealous or smitten. We don’t talk about ski jumping or anything related to our work, since Gregor clearly refrains from mentioning anything about it, and I don’t have any interest in talking about work after the weekend we just had. And although jumping is such a big part of our lives, it’s ridiculously easy to find things to talk about that don’t have anything to do with that part of our lives.

I talk about growing up in a tiny village and nature and what it means to me, and he keeps nodding like he knows exactly what I’m talking about. We talk about the mountains and freedom and the feeling you get when you stand on top of a mountain, high above the clouds looking at the world around you.

We sit at the table to eat and he asks if I want another beer and I tell him no, because we leave to Rasnov already on Wednesday and the world we have tried to forget during the evening is still out there and I need to remember that.

The food is delicious and I ask Gregor if there’s anything he’s not good at.

“Lots of things,” he says, and I don’t push for more, because it feels like a sore subject.

Maybe someday, I promise myself, but not now. Not on the first date when everything is light and easy and fun, and I love every minute of it.

We sit on the table, for hours it seems, and he leans his elbows on the table and rests his head on his hands and stares at me, smiles at me while I talk and it’s quiet in the house around us. He is calm and relaxed, more open than usual, like he has finally let his guard down, and I am tempted to poke, ask, see if I can get him to open up more, but I know that if I ask the wrong questions, he will close himself off, get snippy and distant again, and I don’t want that.

So I ask the easy questions, the light questions, and he answers. With every word he brings me closer to him, opens up that tiny bit more, lets me further into his world, and maybe that’s his way of thanking me of being patient with him. It might not be much, but I’m willing to take whatever he wants to give me, and it scares me, because I’m already falling in too deep, and I can’t back down.

I want to fall and trust that he falls with me.

When I check my phone – the first time that evening – I’m surprised to find that it’s nearly quarter to eleven in the night. I bite my lip, not wanting the evening to end, but knowing that I can’t just stay forever.

“I should – it’s getting late.”

“Oh,” he says like he hasn’t realize the time either.

“Yeah. The taxi driver will be thrilled to have my skis in his car, don’t you think?” I laugh, already googling a phone number for the taxi. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a taxi with my skis and all my luggage before. Usually it’s just easier to use your own car to drive to the airport and back, because the hassle of getting all the equipment packed inside a normal car is an interesting one. I can’t wait to see the look on the driver’s face when he sees everything he needs to fit in his car.

“You could stay for the night.” The words are quiet, and I raise my head to look at him. His tone doesn’t hold an implication for more, but I can’t help but raise my eyebrows at him. He rolls his eyes, understanding what I’m thinking.

“Yes, I know you said no sex,” he huffs. “I might be able to control myself. You could sleep in one of my guest rooms, if that makes you more comfortable.”

“Your guest rooms? Plural,” I grin at him, because to a person who lives in a tiny one bedroom apartment, the thought of multiple guest rooms is absurd.

“Yes.”

“Oh, right. Sometimes I just forget that you are – “ I shake my head and bite my tongue. It’s been so easy, the whole evening has been great, so of course I slip, make that mistake eventually. He gets up from his chair, clearly not wanting to hear the end of my sentence. The unspoken words still echo around the room.

That you are Gregor Schlierenzauer.

A legend, a champion, one of the best of all time. Filthy rich. Way out of my league.

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. He isn’t though. He hasn’t been that person, that caricature of himself this evening, not this weekend even or any of the others before it. He has a past, but then again that’s what we all have, and I don’t judge him according to what he might have once been or what he has achieved. Or how much money he might have.

To me he is Gregor. My annoyingly handsome roommate, an interesting person, someone I want to get to know better. That’s all.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly, wanting to correct my mistake, wanting to show him what I’ve been trying to show him the entire evening: it’s him who I’m interested in. Not his money or his medals or the titles he has won. “I’m pretty good-looking, I don’t think you would be able to resist.”

He looks at me, sees the challenge in my eyes: play with me, just for a while. Let’s forget the echoes in the room.

For a second I fear he might not want to play, might not want to change the mood for something lighter again. But then he raises his eyebrows and leans to rest his arms on the back rest of his chair. I lean my elbows to the table, my face just a breath away from his. It wouldn’t take much effort from him to close that distance between us and kiss me, but of course he doesn’t do that.

“I’ve been sleeping next to you the entire season, Philipp. I think I can handle one more night,” he says instead, his tone indifferent, but his eyes are sparkling at me.

“You sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Then I guess I’ll stay.”

[trialround]

[Previous parts]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

After Rasnov 2020

His house feels more home than my apartment ever has.

As promised, I go back home with Gregor on Sunday, and mostly we pick where we left off. It’s easy. He cooks, I watch him cook. It felt stupid at first, I felt useless, but when I tried to leave he’d grab my hand and pull me back. So I stayed, he seems to like the company.

We spend the evening watching television, and I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Sometimes the exhaustion just hits you, and it usually hits me on travel days after a competition weekend. I’ve been leaning against Gregor’s shoulder, nodding off for the past half an hour, when Gregor finally shuts the television, and nudges me.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Time for bed,” he mutters, pulling me up. I follow him to the bedroom, yawning as I go through the evening rituals. Gregor takes his time getting ready for bed. He leans to kiss me, when he finally crawls to bed with me, and I yawn to the kiss, already half asleep.

He laughs.

“That’s encouraging.”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’m so tired.”

“That’s alright.” His fingers run through my hair, caressing gently. “You should sleep. Good night.” He kisses me softly. I’m asleep in minutes.

*

Monday morning I take Gregor’s car and drive back to my place. I haven’t been there in a week and a half and that’s not even that long of a time, but it still feels weird being back. I don’t particularly like spending time in my apartment. It’s tiny and cramped, not really a real home, just a place I spend time in. I prefer going back to my parents’ place whenever I have time.

Considering how I feel about my place, I guess it’s no wonder I like spending time at Gregor’s instead. His house feels more home than my apartment ever has.

Maybe it should be concerning. Falling too quick too deep. But the thought makes me smile.

I end up spending most of the day at my apartment anyway, figuring Gregor is probably working the whole day so there’s no point of me loitering around his house all alone. I do some laundry, pack more clothes and some other random stuff I might need. I realize I’m packing so much that I could go back to Gregor’s after Lahti too.

Which.

Fuck.

I need to talk with Gregor about this.

I drive back in the late afternoon, planning the speech in my mind. It’s ridiculous. Absolutely absurd to be even thinking about possibly moving in, after only about week of… whatever this has been. Gregor will probably get bored of me soon, find someone better suited for him. Maybe he doesn’t want anything serious to begin with, maybe he’s happy with just casual dating.

But maybe…

I think about the way he looks at me sometimes, the way he smiles with his eyes. I think about how he keeps calling us us, how he keeps trying to open up, how he seems to want me to be around. How quiet he got in the morning when I told him I’d go home today and he had thought I wasn’t going to come back. And how he kissed me when I told him I’d be coming back.

Maybe.

I’m determined to speak with him right away. No point postponing to inevitable.

Of course my plan fails. They usually do.

Because he’s waiting for me, when I get back. I drop the keys to the counter, chuck off my jacket and take a step towards the living room. That’s as far as I get, before Gregor walks up to me, pushes me against the wall and kisses me.

It’s one of those toe curling, satisfying kisses that leave me breathless.

“Oh wow. Missed me?”

Gregor hums against my lips, watches me catch my breath for a minute before kissing me again. The kiss is slower this time, soft lips and lingering tongues, searching fingers mapping their way on my sides. I close my eyes, as his fingers reach my neck, losing myself to the touch, the words I so carefully thought slipping away, as he pushes his body closer. I can feel his chest rise and fall, he leans his forehead against mine.

“Bedroom.” It sounds like a statement, a thing that is going to happen, but there’s a question in his eyes. Like he thinks I’d say no. Like anyone could say no to him. Like I’d ever want to let go of this reality that is just the two of us.

“Okay.”

[trialround]

[PART I, PART II]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

Willingen 2020

“This is all hypothetical.”

“About that date,”  Gregor says, and he is probably continuing some conversation we had earlier, and as we just came back from the team meeting and haven’t talked since, his words make me panic. Did I miss something again? I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any talk about any dates in the meeting? Right? Or was there? Michael has reminded me countless of times not to nod off during the team meetings. He says they are important. I think they are mostly boring and waste of time, and half of the time I’m not really listening, but maybe I should have this time.

“What date? Did we talk about a date in the meeting? I wasn’t listening.” I don’t know why I am so readily confessing that to Gregor. He doesn’t need to know I sleep during every team meeting. It’s very unprofessional, and Gregor hates everything that is unprofessional.

I don’t want him to hate me.

“Not a date,” Gregor huffs. “The date. Our date.”

“Our date?” I raise my head to look at him. He is lounging on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I’m sitting on the floor next to my suitcase. I’ve lost one of my jumping gloves again, and I’ve been trying to sneakily look for it for the past five minutes without Gregor noticing. I definitely can’t lose anything anymore in front of him. Things… escalated more than enough already with that phone charger.

“You know. The one we talked about – two weeks ago,” Gregor sounds annoyed, and I almost want to continue to play dumb to rile him even more. It could be a fun game, but I don’t want to keep playing forever. I need this to be real.

“Right,” I nod slowly. “The date you still haven’t asked me out on.”

“There would need to be rules,” Gregor continues, ignoring my words.

“There could be rules, if you’d actually ask me out first.”

“This is all hypothetical,” he snaps at me. I look at him. He has sat up on the bed. He sounds annoyed. He even looks annoyed, but his fingers keep tapping against his thigh, like he’s on edge, afraid of falling, and I realize something, another tiny piece of information about him: he is nervous. This date, our date, it’s hypothetical, because he needs to make the rules before he can let himself fall.

“Oh, of course then,” I nod, watching as his fingers slow down, then go still all together. “Hypothetically, where would this date take place?”

“In Fulpmes,” Gregor says immediately.

“I think there are better restaurants in Innsbruck.”

“No Innsbruck.” He sounds annoyed again.

“Okay.”

“Also no restaurants.”

“Fine then. What would we do on this hypothetical date?”

“I don’t know.” He doesn’t seem happy about admitting that so I try a different approach.

“What do you like to do on your free time?”

“Photograph,” Gregor says immediately.

“Well, I’m not much of a model,” I laugh, expecting him to laugh as well, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me.

“I think you’d be great,” he says, sounding serious.

“Right,” I look away, because I’m not sure how to react on the compliment he just gave me. “So. No Innsbruck, no restaurants. What other rules you need?”

He starts listing: no crowded places, no PDA in public. Basically he needs us to be as private as possible, not a secret though, no lying, he emphasizes, and it seems to be important for him. It all sounds very reasonable so I nod along.

“That’s cool. When this hypothetical date would be then?”

“After Kulm.” He gets up from the bed like the conversation is over. I stand up too, not quite ready to let him go just yet. Not when this is finally starting to be real, not when he’s finally talking to me, finally showing that he cares, wants, and is willing to make an effort.

“Why not next week?”

He looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Never before ski flying,” he sounds absolutely horrified, and I would laugh, but he seems to be completely serious. Right then. Maybe I should’ve guessed. He takes jumping very seriously, but ski flying is on a whole other level.

“Right then. After Kulm. Tuesday cool for you?” I try to keep my voice light, although every part of me is screaming inside. It’s getting real, and it feels like a dream.

“Fine,” he shrugs and takes a few steps towards me. Maybe he wants to leave the room, maybe go to the bathroom, and maybe he expects me to move out of his way. I stay where I am. He takes another step, and yet another when I still don’t move. And then we are suddenly close, very close, and I have to look up at him, because he’s a tiny bit taller than me, and that tiny bit counts when we are standing so close.

“Great,” I say, grinning up at him, and he stares at me. Maybe his eyes wander to my lips, and maybe he wants to lean in and kiss me. Maybe I do too, but neither of us moves. It’s not just his game anymore, it’s both of us playing now. “Is this still hypothetical?” I ask.

“No.”

“Cool,” I say. “Then ask me.”

“What?”

“Ask me out,” I say.

He knows I’m going to say yes, he has to, and I desperately want to touch him, pull him closer to me. I want to reassure him, but I also need him to realize, that while we can act like this is a game between us, it’s really not. I want it to be real, I don’t want to play. I can tease him, play along for a minute or two, but at the end of the day, it’s real, and I need it to be real for him too.

“Fine,” he huffs, trying to sound annoyed, but his voice wavers the tiniest bit. “Will you go out with me?”

I smile, because it’s not a game, it’s real, and I’m winning.

“Yes.”

“Great,” he says, leaning closer, and I need that kiss. I need to touch him, to feel his body against me, and he’s right there, but then he moves me out of his way, hands on my hips, a brief touch that is gone too quickly, and heads to the bathroom. He stops at the bathroom door and looks at me. “Your other glove is in your ski bag.”

“What?” Hands on my hips, I miss the touch that was too brief, the kiss that never happened, and I blink at him, when he grins at me.

“Your glove. That’s what you were looking for earlier, right. Look, Philipp, you really should take better care of your stuff.” He smiles victoriously, then disappears to the bathroom.

Fuck.

He always has to have the last word, and maybe I’m not winning after all. Maybe there’s no way to win this. He is just too good.

[trialround]

[Here’s the beginning]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

Zakopane 2020

Everything is fine.

Fine.

I hate that word.

We had the conversation two days ago when we arrived, and maybe it should have been awkward and weird, but it kind of felt like any other conversation we have.

“So.”

“So?”

“So we’re just not going to talk about the kissing?”

“That’s right.”

“Seriously?”

“Shut up.”

And that was it. Short and simple, with Gregor being snappy towards me like he usually is. Gregor went to take the shower after, and I stared at the door for five minutes before I stood up and left the room. I spent the evening with Daniel and Jan and it was fine.

Everything was fine. Yes, the kissing had been great the other week, and yes, maybe I had had dreams of us continuing the kissing in the future, but I knew those were only dreams and the reality was, it probably had been just a game for Gregor. It was fine. Maybe even good that it had turned out that way, because I knew myself, and I knew that kissing, however great, wouldn’t be enough for me. Still it had felt nice to have someone so close to you, if even for a little while. To share that moment of intimacy with someone else. With Gregor.

But I was fine with how things had turned out. Everything was fine.

Everything is fine.

Fine.

I hate that word.

Everything is not fine. Everything is fine with Gregor ignoring me. I was expecting that. I wished it wouldn’t go that way, but it was Gregor and I expected nothing from the older man.

But this. This was not fine. I was innocent. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had passed by the stupid can on the counter. I had maybe brushed it, the tiniest bit, and of course the can had taken the opportunity and jumped to the floor.

I almost had a heart attack for those two seconds when I watched the can fall, because it would’ve been just my luck to see the can of energy drink explode over all of Gregor’s clothes. But it hadn’t. It had stayed intact, and I did a little victory dance before picking the can up.

That’s when everything went to hell.

The fucking can of Red Bull exploded in my hand, soaked my t-shirt and the floor.

I panic.

Then stop panicking. Because it’s fine. Fine, like everything else in my life.

I curse out loud, take my soggy t-shirt off and use it to wipe the floor. The floor is sticky and it smells – I smell – but otherwise I am able to clean of the mess. I’m still crawling on the floor, making sure I have cleaned off every drop, and that is of course when Gregor walks in.

It’s fine.

Just a man of my dreams staring at me while I crawl shirtless on the floor looking like a mess. Do I always have to be crawling in his presence? Can’t I act like a normal person for once?

Fine.

I probably shouldn’t open my mouth. Opening my mouth usually makes everything worse. But I need to defende myself. So –

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t do anything! It just exploded.”

Gregor looks at me up and down, and I know he doesn’t believe me. I get up from the floor, remind myself of all the dignity I have, and meet Gregor’s eyes. Gregor cocks his head to the side.

“Right.”

“I cleaned it up already. Nothing got near your stuff, don’t worry.”

Gregor sniffs the air. The room reeks of energy drink. Or maybe it’s mostly me. Gregor grimaces, while I try to sneak a peek around the room to make sure Gregor’s camera is far away from the war zone. He’d never speak with me again if I ruined his precious Leica. Thankfully, it lies on his side of the bed, safe from any potential splashes of energy drink.

“Take a shower. You stink.”

“Right. Yes. I’m on it.” I escape to the bathroom with my ruined t-shirt.

Gregor is sitting on the bed, when I come back from the shower with a towel around my waist. He is fiddling with his phone and doesn’t look at me when I dig clean boxers out of my suitcase. That means he’s not mad. Which is great.

Although maybe it would be better if he was mad, because at least then he would look at me, and I’d know for sure that I exist in his world.

Gosh, I’m pathetic.

I crawl to my side of the bed, careful not to cross the line between our sides. I take my own phone and start to scroll the Instagram feed, hoping that the pretty pictures would be enough to get my mind off of everything that happened.

The silence around us is nothing new. We usually go the whole evening without saying anything to each other. That’s how Gregor likes it. This time though, this time the silence lasts only a couple of minutes.

Gregor sniffs twice, turns to me and sniffs again.

“You still stink.”

“I just took a shower,” I huff.

“Did you wash your hair?”

“It got to my hair?” I turn to him, and try to lift my hand to feel if my hair is sticky from the energy drink, but he beats me to it. He lifts his hand, fingers brushing my hair as he leans closer. He’s looking at me, maybe searching my face for something, some sign that his touch wouldn’t be welcome. He finds no such sign.

I blink as he leans over the invisible line between our sides of the bed. I blink as his hand drops from my hair to my neck. I blink as he pulls me closer.

And then we are kissing and I don’t blink anymore, because I have closed my eyes and I’m breathing him in as he is kissing my bottom lip, then licking his way into my mouth, and yes, he was right.

I do still stink. I can smell a faint whiff of Red Bull in the air, and the smell keeps me from forgetting the world around us, and I pull back, and Gregor makes a noise, which almost sounds like a whine.

“We are kissing.” Well, good job, genius. Very attentive.

“We are”, he smiles at me, and I’m blinking again. “You have a problem with that?”

“No.” No, not when he looks at me like that, with that soft smile on his face, the smile I’ve seen only once before, the last time we kissed a week ago.

“Good,” he smiles as he leans closer, and for another moment I’m lost on his lips. It’s definitely not a game for him this time, I think randomly, as he smiles against my lips.

Except.

Except maybe it is. Maybe he’s bored and figured kissing me would be a great way to spend an evening. Which it is, but I don’t want to be just a pastime for him – not for anyone.

“Yes,” I breathe against his lips, and for a second he thinks I’m encouraging him on, because he moves closer, pushes me against my pillow as he pulls our bodies flush together, and it’s like a dream come true, except it isn’t, because I dream of so much more than just a meaningless kiss. It would be so easy to let go and just go with him wherever he wants to take me, but – “Yes, I have a problem with that.”

The effect of my words is instant. He pulls back, back to his side of the bed, the smile fading from his face, and I realize the difference my words made. It’s a mask he keeps on his face, a mask he only ever drops when we are kissing: the mask of indifference.

“Okay.” It’s the only thing he says, grabbing his phone and starting to scroll again. It’s like the past two minutes never happened.

“It’s just that,” I feel like I need to explain myself although I’m not sure if he wants to hear my words. “It’s just that last time you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s right. Still don’t.”

“Right, yes. And see, I kind of do want to talk about it,” I continue.

“Clearly,” Gregor says, and although his voice is neutral, there’s a tiny smile tugging on the corner of his lip, a crack in his mask.

“I mean, just kissing is great, but I’m kind of past the stage where I just want to kiss guys without it meaning anything. Like, don’t get me wrong, you’re a great kisser. Which obviously you know that.” I’m rambling. Someone shut me up before I have time to embarrass myself any further. Of course no one does stop me, because Gregor is the only other person in the room with me and my rambling seems to amuse him. So I continue. “But it just bothers me to kiss you and then not talk about it for a week and I think it’s fair for both of us to be on the same page with that. I don’t know how you have done things in the past. Not that I’m implying that you’ve been sleeping around. Which. I doesn’t matter if you have. Or haven’t. Really, it’s none of my business what you’ve been doing in the past. But it is my business what you do with me. And. Yeah. The kissing and not talking after. That doesn’t work for me.” I stop to take a breath, and I’m fully prepared to babble even more, because that’s what I’m good at, but apparently Gregor takes pity on me, because he interrupts before I can continue.

“So you want me to take you out on a date or what?”

“No,” I laugh. He looks at me, lifting his brow. It’s infuriating. “Yes?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” I repeat. He turns back to his phone. “Wait? Okay as in okay you’ll take me out or okay this conversation is over?”

“Okay,” he says again and refuses to look at me. I blink at him, trying to understand. There’s a smile on his lips, one he’s definitely trying to hide, but he’s not as successful as he probably likes to think he is. Maybe it is still a game for him. Maybe everything is. Who knows.

“You are the most annoying person ever, did you know that?”

“I know.”

[trialround]

Michael Hayböck (with a hint of schlierenwald)

Sapporo 2020

“He has no idea what he’s getting into.”

Sometimes it hits Michael that they are getting quite old. He is 28, and Gregor just turned 30. They are not kids anymore, not those blue-eyed newcomers who can do anything they like because they don’t know the rules. People expect them to know everything by now, and they have to act accordingly. Even Gregor, who could pretend not to care about the rules longer than anyone else. During the golden years, Gregor was always the youngest one in the team so he got away with everything, and when he wasn’t the youngest anymore he was so successful he could invent his own rules. He still can, if he wants to. He still does, and it drives Michael crazy.

But he understands. Because normal rules aren’t suited for Gregor. Gregor isn’t normal by any means, even if he desperately would want to be.

When they were younger, Michael remembers, Gregor never wanted to be normal. He wanted to be the best, the one who always stood out. Now, though, now things are different. Michael knows that even though Gregor never talks about it anymore. After years and years in the spotlight, Gregor has become a rather private person. He rarely opens up about anything anymore.

This is one of those rare occasions, and Michael thinks, it’s mostly because after a long trip to Japan, they are both jetlagged and should probably be sleeping right now instead of roaming around the city streets together. The rest of the team went back to the hotel already, but they stayed behind. Because Gregor wanted to, wanted to talk.

“He sees me as me,” Gregor mutters as they walk slowly towards their hotel, and Michael understands, because no one has seen Gregor as Gregor for a long time now. People see him as Gregor Schlierenzauer: a champion, legend, winner. Even for most of their teammates Gregor comes with the past of dozens of medals and trophies. People think of him as a champion in his twenties, and can’t see past the front of the winner. They can’t see a man, a thirty-year-old human with hopes and fears like any other person.

“It’s just – “ Gregor continues, looking away. “It’s stupid.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, because he knows Gregor doesn’t want his words. Gregor doesn’t need to hear any advice. He just needs someone, who listens, and someone who maybe understand even the tiniest bit of what Gregor wants to say.

“It won’t work.” Gregor says it like he doesn’t care, but Michael is sure Gregor cares more than he wants to admit. Gregor has always cared. Even during those golden years, he cared, although he tried to hide it, hide any weakness, because that’s what is was for Gregor for years: a weakness.

He has tried to get better about it, but Michael knows it’s not that easy. It’s easier to act like you don’t care about anything, than admit you care, have the courage to trust, and then fear the other person doesn’t catch you when finally let yourself fall.

“Okay.”

“He has no idea what he’s getting into,” Gregor continues, and Michael lets him talk.

This is progress, because for so many years ski jumping was all Gregor ever talked about. And now he’s talking, maybe still not about the past, but about the future, and even if there aren’t any names, Michael knows. Of course he knows, because he is close enough to see how Gregor stops to look at Philipp, how he follows the younger man with his eyes. How he cares, in his own way, the only way he knows how: hesitantly, keeping his guard up as long as possible.

“He wants to date me,” Gregor says and then shakes his head, like dating is some foreign concept he doesn’t understand. “He’s an idiot.”

Maybe an idiot is what Gregor needs, though, Michael thinks. He needs someone newer, someone who wasn’t there during those golden years, during what was the best and worst of Gregor. Maybe Gregor needs someone who would understand the past but who wasn’t too close, when it happened.

And Philipp is good. Michael likes Philipp. Everyone likes Philipp, even Gregor, and Gregor doesn’t like anyone. No one was good enough after those trophies and medals, but maybe now Gregor would be willing to give someone a true chance.

Michael hopes Gregor lets himself fall.

[trialround]

Philipp Aschenwald/Gregor Schlierenzauer

January 2020

“Looking for this?”

Gregor sits on the bed looking smug while I run around the tiny hotel room, throwing stuff into my suitcase, trying to make sure I don’t forget anything. Gregor refuses to help like he always does. He told me yesterday that I should pack everything ready so I didn’t have to do it in the morning, but I didn’t listen to him. I was exhausted last night after the competition, and I thought it would be better to wake up earlier today and finish packing in the morning.

Well, newsflash, it isn’t better. Mainly because I didn’t wake up earlier. I kept snoozing my alarm until it was too late, and now I’m in full on panic mode, because I don’t have enough time. The departure is in twenty minutes, and I refuse to be late.

Gregor thinks it’s hilarious. He came back from his morning jog while I was crawling under the bed trying to figure out where I had lost the phone charger. Instead of just going to take the shower and then taking his stuff downstairs and leaving me to panic in peace, he sat on the bed after his shower, making sure to let me know how I should’ve listened to him in the first place. He of course did all the packing yesterday, and all his stuff waits neatly by the door, ready to go.

“Yes, yes, you know everything,” I mutter to him while throwing clothes into my suitcase and frantically hoping the charger will magically appear from underneath the clothes. I made a New Year’s resolution and promised not to lose anything for the rest of the season. Gregor is always complaining how careless I am with my stuff, and I wanted to prove him wrong. I told him I could take care of my stuff if I wanted to and not lose anything anymore.

I’ve already lost five pairs of socks during these weeks of January but Gregor doesn’t know that. He does know, however, that I’ve lost my charger, and he’s being extra smug about it.

Where would I hide if I were a charger. I scan the room, desperate for the charger to appear.

“Looking for this?”

I turn to Gregor. He is lying on the bed, one hand propped beneath his head, the other one holding my charger, casually swinging it back and forth.

The thing with Gregor is, he doesn’t usually tease anyone. He’s snarky at best, but most of the time he just doesn’t care about things that are happening around him. I call my teammates friends because that what they are to me, but for Gregor everyone is a competitor, a colleague maybe if he’s in a good mood. But a friend, no. Never. He is very strict about keeping his private life completely separate from his work. I had to beg for months to have his phone number, and even then he would only give it to me, because we sometimes only have one key to our room and we need to coordinate our comings and goings. He made me swear I’d never call or text him outside the competition weekends. I broke the rule once because I needed to check if he had accidentally taken my gloves after one weekend, and he refused to talk to me for two weeks because of it.

So yeah. Gregor doesn’t treat the rest of us like friends, he doesn’t tease. Much less flirt. But sometimes – sometimes he does something like this, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s only doing it for his own amusement or if there’s something else behind his actions. With Gregor, it’s hard to tell.

Sometimes I catch him looking at me with a thoughtful expression on his face, sometimes I think he seems almost fond when I do something particularly stupid. Sometimes I think he might actually enjoy spending time with me, maybe even consider me as a friend. Sometimes I let my fantasies take over and dream of having the courage to maybe ask him out. It’s a ridiculous fantasy, I know that, but sometimes – sometimes it feels like maybe he wouldn’t just say no and laugh in my face.

I know the rules with Gregor. He has made it very clear that he doesn’t like people touching him. He’s very particular about personal space, I know that. There are pillow walls between our sides of the bed, there are those times I get too excited and try to hug him and he has to impolitely remind me to back off. He always stiffens when someone tries to give him a hug on the hill after the competition, and if someone forces him into a hug, he never lingers.

But I’m desperate and I definitely don’t have time to be amused by whatever game he is playing right now.

So.

Fuck the rules.

A lot of things happen during the next couple of seconds. I lunge for the charger, aiming to surprise him with my unexpected attack, but I trip over the corner of the bed, and instead of swiftly snatching the charger off of his hand, I end up lying halfway on top of him on the bed. He seems surprised – who wouldn’t be when you suddenly find your teammate lying on top of you – so at least I manage to do that, although flinging myself on top of him definitely wasn’t my plan.

I expect him to push me away and snap at me, but when I reach for the charger he’s still holding, he raises his hand further away from me.

I huff, frustrated, and look at him. His face is too close, and I must be heavy on top of him, leaning on his chest the way I do, but he smirks at me, raising his eyebrows, and my competitiveness kicks in.

There’s no way I’m letting him win this one.

I have no idea if he’s ticklish. You don’t just ask Gregor personal questions like that. I’ve tried but he gets snappy and never answers. So I’ll take my chances.

Quickly – before I have time to second-guess my plan – I attack. I dig my fingers into his sides.

He lets out a sound I’ve never heard from him before. It’s a laugh, I realize a second later. It’s a surprised, joyous, carefree sound, and I almost stop tickling him when I hear it.

I think I might be in love.

I dig my fingers deeper into his sides, and he shrieks, trying to squirm his way out of my reach, but our legs are tangled together and I’m lying on top of him, and there’s nowhere for him to escape.

At that moment it’s easy to forget that he is Gregor Schlierenzauer – a living legend, that snarky, distant idol, I used to look up to when I was younger and he was out there winning everything you could imagine. At the moment he isn’t an idol, a legend. He is just a man, an ordinary man, trying to wrestle my hands away, laughing uncontrollably. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the mask of professionalism drop off of him so completely.

I get my hand on the charger eventually.

He is out of breath, surprised, when I lean back, smiling victoriously down at him.

“I won!” I declare happily.

He blinks at me, trying to catch his breath. I grin, expecting him to have a snarky comeback and come up with some weird rule to belittle my victory.

I don’t expect him to wrap his arm around my waist, pull me back against him and kiss me.

I breathe my surprise against his lips. He swallows my quiet oh easily, pressing his lips firmer against my own. My mind goes blank, but my body seems to know the proper way to react. I open my mouth slightly, but he keeps his shut.

He tightens his hold of me though, kissing me with a closed mouth. His fingers stroke my back, his other hand finds my hand, and I drop the charger in order to lace our fingers together. He smiles against my lips, finally opening his mouth slightly.

I should not be surprised that Gregor, who hates being bad at anything, is a fantastic kisser.

He starts out with a gentle touch, pulling back whenever I try to deepen the kiss too soon, and it’s driving me crazy, but whenever I think of pulling back to complain he gives me more: explores my lips with a tip of his tongue, pulls me closer, lets his tongue slide against mine. I let out a weird sound, and he smiles against my lips, humming happily before I have time to be embarrassed.

When he finally pulls away, I blink my eyes open. Did we kiss for minutes or hours, I don’t know. The world around us seems distant. He’s staring at me, a smile on his face, and for a brief moment his face is soft and open, his eyes sparkling at me. But when I lean in to kiss him again, he blinks, the softness on his face disappearing. He pushes me away and gets up. Confused, I roll over on the bed, only to find him standing next to the bed, smirking down at me.

“I won,” he grins at me, showing me the charger he’s holding in his hand. I stare at him, willing my brain to understand what he’s saying.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

There’s no way. No way that kiss was just a distraction.

“Oh, no,” he assures me with a mock serious expression. “I take competing very seriously,” he continues and stuffs my charger into his pocket. “I’d finish the packing if I were you. You’re going to be late.” He turns away, opening to door to the hallway before coming back to get his luggage.

“Yeah, well.” I sit up on the bed, digging through my brain, trying to come up with something clever to say back at him. “Whose fault is that?”

“Not mine,” Gregor says cheerfully, walking out of the door.