Work Text:
Kamil was about to head into the little bathroom that was attached to his hotel room to brush his teeth, when there as a knock on the door.
He had just slipped into a comfortable pair of pants and a cosy long-sleeved shirt, his hair still somewhat wet from the shower he had taken a few minutes ago.
By now, the adrenaline of setting a new hill record and winning the team competition at home in Poland had worn off, but his heart was still beating a little faster than usual, while the smile on his face probably would not fade all too soon. The last weeks had been crazy, unbelievable even, and with the Olympics ahead, there wasn’t much more he could be asking for.
Kamil went to the door with quick steps and froze in his movement when the opened door revealed who it was that had knocked.
“Peter,” he said surprised and instinctively opened the door some more, “you… here..?”
Taking a closer look at the Slovenian, Kamil could see that the younger man was actually looking miserable.
The skin of his face was even paler than usual and his hair was messy as if Peter had been running his hands through it again and again. Kamil was sure that the other ski jumper had been crying, if the reddish skin around his eyes and the wet tracks on his cheeks were any indicator and as if that wasn’t enough, there was also dried blood on his bottom lip. A sure sign that Peter had been biting down on it.
Before he could open his mouth to ask the younger man about it, Peter lowered his gaze to the ground, insecurity showing in his posture.
“I… I know I shouldn’t come here, Kamil. I’m… sorry.”
He kept his gaze fixed on his own feet and did not make any attempt to come in.
Worry was flooding Kamil’s insides at the sight and he didn’t even bother to hide it. Not with Peter. Not after a day like that.
“Come here…” he whispered and they met each other halfway, Peter’s arms flying around Kamil’s neck while Kamil wrapped his around the Slovenian’s small waist, pulling him against his chest and drawing him in closer by placing a hand in his hair, gently guiding Peter’s face to his own shoulder.
He kicked the door close with his knee and when it fell shut, Peter jumped in his arms, a painful noise escaping from his lips.
“You know that you can always come here when you’re sad, Peter. I’m here for you, always.”
Peter nodded and tightened the grip he had on the Pole.
“Shhh,” Kamil whispered into the hair of his young boyfriend that had grown up so much during those last years, “it’s all fine, Peter. Is it because of your crash today?”
The other man mumbled something that Kamil identified as a conformation, so he loosened their embrace and placed two fingers under Peter’s chin, forcing the Slovenian to look at him.
“Come on, sit down and tell me about it, yes? There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Kamil knew that he had pushed a sore spot when Peter flushed in a deep shade of red, insecurity once again lighting up in his bright eyes.
The Pole took his lover’s hand in his and guided him to the bed that made up the biggest part of his small room, waiting until Peter had lain down, with his legs drawn close to his body, which made him look even tinier than usual.
Carefully, Kamil lay down right beside him and pulled his sheets over both of them.
Peter was wearing an oversized shirt which only added to the impression he gave the Pole – that he was completely lost.
They lay in silence for a while – Peter not speaking up about the events of the day and Kamil not pushing him to do so, knowing well enough that the younger one would open up about his feelings once he felt ready to do so.
In the meantime, Kamil watched the younger man closely, studying the way his chest was heaving without a rhythm, a huff of air leaving his pink lips once and then.
He had been 5 years younger than Kamil when they had met, but even back then, Peter had already seemed wise beyond his years and sometimes the Pole actually forgot that he was a few years older than his boyfriend.
But right now, Peter looked so vulnerable, so young, that a lump started to form in his throat and could not stop himself from reaching out and running his fingers up and down Peter’s neck, drawing soothing circles against the fabric of his shirt.
Eventually, Peter’s gaze found his and Kamil gave him a supporting look.
“Things had been going good, lately,” the Slovenian started, “not great, but good enough. And being on the podium at the world championships last week was so much more than I had expected.”
“It was well deserved, Peter. You deserved that.”
“Thank you,” Peter said under his breath and cleared his throat to continue.
“The crash today… That can happen, always. And it won’t bring me down. I’m on such a good path again at the moment, after… last year.”
There it was, that wisdom and maturity that Kamil had always admired about the Slovenian.
But when Peter’s gaze met his again, his eyes were full of emotions – which had been exactly what Kamil had fallen in love with, all those winters ago.
Instinctively, the Pole lifted a hand and wiped the single tear away that was rolling down Peter’s cheek.
“Then why are you crying, Pero?”
A small smile formed on the younger man’s lips at his nickname and he let out a deep sigh.
“I’m afraid, Kamil. That things will be bad again… that… I will disappoint again.”
In moments like this, Kamil hated that things had to be how they were.
That he hadn’t been able to just wrap his arms around Peter after the crash, maybe calm him down with a quick kiss, like a normal partner would.
Instead, they had to hide away in hotel rooms and containers and behind closed doors and Kamil absolutely despised it.
But he had also promised to protect Peter as much as he could and yet, as much as he wished it was different, they would never be able to focus on their sport if the world knew about the secret promises and forbidden kisses they exchanged after each competition, when they were sure that the rest of the ski jumping circus was already asleep.
“That won’t happen, Pero. And you know why? Because disappointment is just a concept, created by the pressure of the media or your own expectations. But you’re stronger than that,” Kamil placed a soft kiss against Peter’s forehead and held his gaze when he continued, “you have a bad day? Fine, that happens. A bad day, a bad jump, isn’t a bad season. It’s not a bad life, Peter.”
Peter smiled at him and nodded shyly.
“I know that, Kamil. And still, sometimes I need someone to remind me of that.”
Kamil took the Slovenian’s hand in his and intertwined their fingers.
“Plus, your worth is not defined by your performance on a hill.”
Peter’s lips were light as a feather when they found Kamil’s, just a soft brush of sensitive skin against his lips.
“Can I stay the night?”
A wide grin split Kamil’s face apart.
“No way I’m letting you go now, Pero.”