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Spring, far-off spring, as I close my eyes, right there
You, who has given me love, I hear your nostalgic voice
My heart, which I’ve entrusted to you
Is still waiting for your answer
No matter how much time passes
Always, always, I will wait
Emilien felt like he was waiting for a spring that would never come. During all his life he had felt like waiting.
Waiting to be better, to be good, than to be enough. Once he had felt enough, when he was younger, before biathlon took all his life. He had felt like he was enough, skiing with his friends, laughing about silly jokes and thinking about the future. Then, dreaming about the future became dreaming about success, about fame, about having it all.
Now the future only seemed like a never-ending winter. He felt like his future was gone.
He had ruined his best season. He had never been that good before. He wore the yellow bib, he got a victory in France, only to ruin all his effort with self-loathing and doubt.
It was hard, especially knowing the man causing his doubt was in return living his best season. Quentin was, the center of each problem Emilien had. He felt not enough because of him, he felt lost because of him… He felt wrong because of him.
Quentin and him always had a strange friendship. Emilien wasn’t even sure they were friends really. More rivals maybe. Colleague at best. They always bickered about everything. Rifles, skis, training… Everything was a reason to fight.
After Le Grand Bornand they had fight a bit less than usual. Quentin had congratulated him on his win, on getting the yellow bib. He seemed at peace with losing it, like losing to Emilien made it not that bad.
“You won, you did a great race really you deserve it Emil” Quentin had said, using the nickname he usually never used. Maybe it was the post-race euphoria, maybe it was all the happiness he had felt today. Maybe it was something else.
He had smile, and kissed Quentin on the lips. A small kiss really, barely a touch. He could already tell that Quentin was going to push him away, to tell him he wasn’t gay and that he especially wasn’t interested in his rival.
Quentin hadn’t. His hands had touched Emilien, but only to push him inside the intimacy of the room. His hands hadn’t left him that night, their body getting closer than they had ever been before. Emilien remember bitterly, moaning for Quentin, whispering his name with want, with love.
He had loved that night. He had love belonging to Quentin, only to him. How sweetly Quentin smiled during this night, how lovingly he had hold him.
Then, Quentin had been gone. He had left Emil alone in this bed they shared. Every morning was cold when you were a biathlete, but this one had been the coldest. Emilien felt like screaming and crying at the same time. He had been stupid, hoping like a fool that Quentin would stay. Hoping that the warm presence he had felt during the night would still belong to him the next morning.
Quentin wasn’t his. He never had been.
It hurts, but it was the truth.
Quentin became less and less his as the day went by. The small break they had for Christmas gave him a good reason to not talk to Emilien, to not contact him. Quentin’s touch on him became more and more blurry. He feared that he would just forget about one morning. That he would wake up and the touch would have completely left his mind. It felt better to hurt thinking about it, than to forget it had ever happened.
His nights were horrible, he spent his time moving in his bed, holding out his hand like he could touch Quentin face next to him.
Oberhof came both as a blessing and a curse. He saw Quentin once again; the other man couldn’t avoid him as they were in the same team. He was so happy about just seeing the man he succeeded in doing one good race. Then, he realized that even if Quentin was here, it didn’t mean he was here for Emilien. Quentin avoided him as much as possible, leaving the room when Emilien came in, speaking to him only when necessary.
His races became terrible then. He believed his skis were at fault at first, before admitting to himself that his feelings for Quentin were leading him astray. This… love he was feeling for the other man was the only reason he was not performing. With night haunted by an absence, he had not right to sleep or to relax.
Quentin was doing perfectly well. He was winning, keeping the yellow bib. It was like whatever happened between the two of them had just been a small rock on his road, easy to dismiss and to avoid. Emilien was invisible, he was nothing on Quentin’s Road. He was also nothing in his own road, incapable of getting over that.
It was hard realizing at the same time he was hopelessly in love with his teammate, a man, and realizing his affection will never be returned. The races became blurry in his mind, waking up everyday became blurry. All there was left was the painful realization that he had trapped himself in this cold winter. He couldn’t leave the cold because his feeling for Quentin were there. If he left the cold, he would be happy again, but he would be without this small piece of Quentin that was only his.
One morning when he opened his eyes the Olympics were already there. He was in Beijing, and he couldn’t even remember leaving France. He could see how worried his teammate seemed to be about his sorry state, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The only person who’s worry he would care about was Quentin. And the other man clearly couldn’t care less.
Fabien had taken him aside the evening after the individual. After his pitiful performance. One that was so pitiful he wasn’t sure he should even call it performance. It was just a failure. Everything was failing in his life, and he had not control over it. Fabien must have seen his internal pain because he hugged him, a bone crushing hug. Still, all he could think about was how he wished the hand holding him belonged to someone else.
“Emil? I don’t know what’s happening but… do you want to talk about it?” he had asked him with such a nice voice Emil had started crying. He had told him everything, the night he had share with Quentin, how much of a failure he was, how he couldn’t get over what they had share that night. Fabien had hugged him until he stopped talking, listening with care and a friendship Emil wasn’t sure he deserved anymore.
“You need to tell him how you feel Emil. It’s the only way for you to get better”
Fabien was maybe right. Maybe he needed to tell Quentin. It might not make things better, but they couldn’t be worst right? He was sitting on his bed, thinking about how to tell Quentin everything. How to tell him he was so in love with him he barely slept at night. How he imagined his body next to him every night since December… How he just wished Quentin would see what he felt, even just a fraction of it.
He heard a soft knock on the door. That was weird, Fabien never knocked before coming in.
“Come in” he said, trying to look as presentable as possible. He put a hand through his hair and whipped his cheek one last time just in case any unwanted tear was still here. He couldn’t afford to look more broken than he already did.
The door opened, letting in the core of all his thoughts.
Quentin was here, looking so beautiful in the clothes of the French team. At first Emilien had thought the tricolored clothes were a bit much but seeing them on Quentin the first time had deeply changed his opinion. Quentin seemed agitated, something that did not happen a lot. Emilien should take this opportunity to tell the other man how he feels. That could give him a good reason to be agitated.
“Get out” is the only thing he succeed to say. His voice his slow and small. He isn’t even sure Quentin heard him.
“Fabien told me… No screamed at me to come here because I was, and I quote, a dumbass who broke his roommate. So, no I’m not getting out.” Quentin voice was full of determination. It was also weirdly…tired? Quentin looked at him with care, like he was afraid even breathing would break Emilien in thousand pieces. Emilien loved this look on him. It almost looks like Quentin was caring about him. Quentin came closer to him, sitting next to him on the bed. Close enough so that Emilien could feel his presence, but so far at the same time. Emilien decided not to look at him. He needed to pretend Quentin wasn’t here to say what he needed to say.
“I’m going to tell you something. You have to promise to listen, not say anything, then leave like nothing happened alright?”
Emilien didn’t look at Quentin, only waiting for his answer.
“I’m listening” he simply answered, his voice very attentive.
Emilien tried to put his thoughts in order. He didn’t want Quentin to feel guilty, or to feel bad. He just wants him to know. He simply wants the other man to know he had his heart.
“I’m in love with you. There isn’t a day where I don’t wake up thinking about you, wishing you were mine like I … I thought you were at le Grand Bornand. I don’t need you to answer, I just need you to know that whatever happen, no matter how much time pass I… I’ve given my heart to you”
It was the right way to say it. So that Quentin knew he loved him, that he would always maybe but that he wasn’t expecting anything. Quentin hadn’t left the room like he had promised. He was still there, on the bed with him.
Quentin’s hand covered his. His hand was pleasantly warm and soft, and Emilien wanted it to stay there forever. Emilien looked at him, surprised. Quentin looked back, his eyes so emotional.
“Is that why you’ve been so … down these last months?” His voice so soft, so scared.
“Yes? What else would make me so…”
He was interrupted by Quentin kissing him. Softly, like the first time Emilien had kissed him. Barely a brush on his lips. He closed his eyes, wanting to enjoy whatever was happening. He had waited so long for that, for Quentin to look back at him. For him to acknowledge him. He feels tears running down his face, but they are quickly catched by Quentin’s hands.
Quentin stopped kissing him, but he still looked at him. His gaze was the same as it had been at Le Grand Bornand. So full of tenderness… So full of love?
“Quentin why did you do that? Now I’m starting to think something I shouldn’t think about.” He said softly, is voice scared. Quentin’s hands were still brushing his cheeks with utmost care, like Emil was precious to him.
“Emilien… I left that night because I’ve been in love with you for years, but you never realized it. I thought you had kissed me in some euphoria moment and that you would hate me for it the next morning, so I left”
“You’ve… been in love with me for years?” he asked quietly, his heart drumming so hard in his chest. Had he heard right?
“I have yes, I am still. I love you so much, why did you think I spent all my time talking to you?” he asked, his voice amused and touched at the same time.
“You… we didn’t talk, we fought?” He asks lost. Quentin smile is so bright it physically hurt his heart to look at him.
“You fought, I didn’t. You wanted to fight with me so I just… Let it happen, I guess? It was better to fight than to share nothing.”
Quentin is…in love with him. It’s the only think Emilien can think about. He might be crying again but he doesn’t care this time, because Quentin is here to wipe his tears. Quentin hands are on him, soft and caring, and they are not leaving this time. He finally feels like he had found the sweetness of spring, the warmth of a loving embrace again. When he wakes up the next morning Quentin is asleep next to him, and he hopes that it’s a sight he will see every morning from now on.