rat bastard @altisssimozucca - Tumblr Blog

Sep 11, 2024

Do you ever consider writing more for the pierre/esteban alpine skiing au you wrote? I only found it recently after @estebanbicon recommended it and it is amazing. I just finished it and want to cry.

hello anon! yes, I did indeed plan a sequel but that sequel's since been practically forgotten about (it's been three years!!!)

I did manage to dig it out of the files for you, though (and anyone else who's interested). enjoy the unresolved 5300 words under the cut. at the cut off point it isn't finished and will never be, so you don't get your pierresteban fuel, I'm sorry, but you can read it to check out what's been happening in the couple of years after the end of the first part. if anyone wants to finish it, be my guest:

____

Albertville, France [early 2019]

____

“Bend it like this.”

Pierre does as Pyry asks, bending his leg at the knee, wincing as a stab of pain spreads through the joint and up his thigh. His trainer taps his fingers on it twice before motioning for him to put it down, looking only partially guilty for the look on Pierre’s face. “That bad still?” Pyry questions, looking up at Pierre from where he’s kneeling between his legs.

“It’s not as bad as it used to be. Still pretty bad,” Pierre replies. His trainer nods and stands up, then plops down on the couch next to Pierre. “You want something to drink?”

Pyry shakes his head, “I’ll be going soon. I just came to check up on your leg.” After a moment, he adds, “And you. I don’t want you to give up hope because it still hurts. It’s getting better. Healing. Trudging forwards. You’ll be fit enough to make my heart jump out of my chest during runs soon.”

Pierre bumps their shoulders together, “The season is already done for me. Best I can hope for is to be ready for the Cup, in October.” He shakes his head and looks at his friend, “Cyril’s been asking about me, according to Charles. He says he’s five seconds away from telling him to call me himself.”

“Little does Charles know you get calls from Cyril on a daily basis,” Pyry finishes, chuckling when Pierre nods. “You’ve always been his favourite. Even a blind man can see that.”

“And now I’m stuck at home with a broken leg and he’ll probably forget all about me by the time I’m back.” His comment is met with a punch to his shoulder. He glares at Pyry before biting out, “And a bruised shoulder, now. You’re supposed to be nursing me back to health, not making me feel worse. I don’t pay you for this.”

“You pay me to keep you in your best condition. That includes punching you when you’re being an idiot.” Pyry’s expression softens, “Your knee will be alright for the next season, Pierre. Seriously. I give you my word. Trainer’s promise.”

Pierre slumps. He knows Pyry’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Next season, he’ll be ready to come back, his leg will probably have healed, and he’ll be able to fight for the top of the table just like the previous few years, especially when it comes to slaloms and giant slaloms.

“When’s Charles coming back?” Pyry’s voice brings Pierre out of his thoughts. “They’re doing USA this week, right?”

He nods in response, “Beaver Creek downhill, 7th of December. After that he’s coming back until the nineteenth, and then he’s off to Gardena.”

“Downhill again?”

“Downhill again. There’s some stuff between, obviously, but Charles doesn’t do any of them.” As he grew older, Charles realised that the speed disciplines sit better with him and dropped out of the technical ones completely. It’s weird to travel without Charles, sometimes, when their schedules aren’t aligned, but Pierre doesn’t travel at all at the moment.

Following his first season in the Euro Cup, Pierre moved to Albertville, like he had planned. Charles came with him, wanting to be closer to Val d’Isère as well, and Cyril had taken to training him like he’d been training Pierre. The next season, Charles became a permanent member of the French giant slalom team, one of Pierre’s designated disciplines, until he started doing downhills and super Gs under Jean Alesi’s mentorship.

Eventually, they both graduated to the World Cup team. Pierre finished thirteenth in the overall and fifth in the slalom standings in his first year with the big guns, to the excitement of everyone in France. It was their best result since the early 2010’s, and to say the whole country was waiting for their next world champion was an understatement.

But then Pierre went and got his knee injured in the preseason training at Val d’Isère before the start of this season and is now stuck at home rehabilitating while the rest of them are going at it in full swing.

To make matters worse, his replacement at the team is his ex-boyfriend; worst of all, Esteban’s been doing good, meaning he’ll probably stay as a part of the team even when Pierre comes back. They can have as many skiers as they want, and Pierre doesn’t see any good reasons for Esteban to drop out.

He tried watching one of the early races of the season. It felt far too weird for a multitude of reasons so he turned it off after about twenty minutes and instead went to work on the exercises Pyry had left for him, doing all in his power to get back on the slopes as soon as possible.

One of the reasons for his dismay towards the sport is that he got so used to being the one on the trail that watching them pass through the gates leaves a bitterness in his mouth. The itch to drive down to Val d’Isère in his gear and just try keeps getting worse and worse, even though Pyry strongly forbade him from doing so.

Pierre knows he can’t, not yet, not when he still can’t walk properly, but in those moments, everything in him was telling him to tell Pyry to fuck off and somehow get to Val d’Isère and step on his skis again.

The other, bigger reason was that seeing Esteban’s face left him with an odd feeling of melancholy sprouting from his brain and throughout the rest of his body. In the minute-or-so it took for Esteban to finish the slalom in Sölden, painful flashbacks of their childhood attacked Pierre like a swarm of angry hornets. It became too much far too soon, so he turned it off for his own sake.

He hasn’t turned any of the technical races on ever since. Instead, he only watches the speed disciplines because of Charles and Arthur, and lets the two of them update him on the standings in the ones he’s supposed to be competing in.

It hurts less that way, Pierre has come to realise.

“I hope Charles does well,” he speaks out loud, after a good couple of minutes of silence have passed between him and his physio. Pyry hums in agreement, and Pierre continues, “He’s the fastest guy there at the moment. He has to win.”

“He’ll win it,” Pyry responds, clasping Pierre’s shoulder with his hand, “He won’t be beaten to first place by a couple of milliseconds again. Otherwise, I fear for the one who beats him.”

____

Charles comes back home two days after the race with a first-place trophy in his hands and Pyry drives Pierre to the airport to pick him and Arthur up. At the arrivals gate, they chat quietly amongst themselves, keeping a constant lookout for their loud Monegasque friends.

He’s been feeling bad since he woke up, leg hurting. It didn’t help his head at all, so he’s been cranky and moody the whole day, something Pyry noticed immediately. Pierre dismissed his offer to stay back and let him drive the brothers back home. Ever since they moved to Albertville, Pierre and Charles have been driving back from the airport together.

That isn’t going to stop just because he’s injured.

Though he does have to find a seat after about five minutes of waiting, arms hurting from holding himself up with the crutches and leg hurting from pushing his balance onto it in order to help his arms out. Pyry gives him the eyes that say I-told-you-so, which, truly, are deserved, as Pyry told him to sit down the moment they stepped inside.

Pierre ignores him for the time being.

Pyry doesn’t understand and thinks he’s being stubborn, anyway.

Eventually, after they’ve both been silent for a while waiting for the plane to land, Arthur walks into the arrivals area, followed by his older brother and a taller, dark-haired person talking to him. It takes Pierre one glance to recognise Esteban, even from a distance. He can’t stop the pained sound from leaving his mouth. Pyry looks at him questioningly until he follows Pierre’s gaze and realisation crosses his face.

“I can’t believe I forgot there’s a giant slalom in the US in the same weekend,” Pierre mutters, “And that the next one is here.”

“Behave,” Pyry whispers, shaking his head at him. Pierre throws him a look but shuts up and crosses his arms over his chest.

He tries his best not to bring Esteban’s attention to himself, but when Charles spots him and Pyry, he feels Esteban’s eyes burning into him, too, with that same force as they did years ago. Suddenly, he feels eighteen again, standing at the top step of the podium in Jasnà, and it takes everything in him not to look back into Esteban’s eyes.

He feels them – all three of them – walking up towards him, and an inexplicable rage wells up inside of him, directed at Esteban. For the first time in years, Pierre sees Esteban in person, and it’s more painful than he ever could have expected.

It becomes too much too soon, so he grabs a hold of his crutches, stands up and walks away. His leg aches from the strain, and people around him are giving him odd looks while they watch him limp, but he needs to get out of the airport as soon as possible.

He can’t face Esteban, not now, not today, not when his leg’s been hurting like a bitch the whole morning and when the possibility of being unable to get back on the slopes crossed his mind for the first time since that day in Val d’Isère, when his ski got stuck in the snow and all his hopes of winning this year’s cup slithered down the drain.

____

Charles makes him go to Val d’Isère for the giant slalom, as a member of the crowd. He doesn’t want to go, not really, not to a race that he was supposed to take part in, but Charles is persistent, and Pierre really doesn’t know how to say no to his friends.

Pyry comes along, both as their friend and as Pierre’s security blanket in the environment that could very easily send him spiralling. The Finn chats to Charles and Arthur’s trainer, who Charles has somehow roped into joining them, too.

A part of him hopes that the giant slalom gets cancelled. He knows it won’t happen, not in such nice weather and in such good conditions; the only reason for cancellation could be a big accident, and that’s the last thing Pierre wants to witness. There’s still that part of him that doesn’t want to watch, that doesn’t want to see someone else stand on the podium while he’s stuck at the stands with his crutches.

“Don’t overthink this,” Charles whispers to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him into a side-hug. “If you want to, we can go home. I won’t be mad.”

Pierre shakes his head. “No, let’s watch, seeing as we’re already here. No point going back now.”

His best friend smiles. “That’s the spirit. You can point out mistakes they do, that’s always fun.”

“I don’t think I’ve got any right pointing out others’ mistakes,” he replies, raising one of his crutches up into the air. Charles rolls his eyes but doesn’t call him an idiot this time, so they fall into silence and go settle somewhere from where they have a nice view of the track – at least the bottom part of it.

Pierre’s thoughts wander to the women’s slalom back in 2002. He can see the tiny version of himself trying to peek over the barriers at the bottom of the trail, trying with all his might to catch a glimpse of Carole Montillet; it’s funny that now, seventeen years later, he’s met Carole so many times at various events hosted by FIS.

It takes a while for the giant slalom to start, and Pierre spends that time drinking mulled wine and reminiscing of his childhood. Val d’Isère feels like a second home, with how much time he’s spent here. The whole of the French team usually trains here or at Chamonix, seeing as there’s no point of them going anywhere outside of France.

Pierre lives a short car drive away, too, so the slopes are one of his favourite places to be. Or used to be, seeing as how Pyry strictly forbade him from going until he heals.

“They’re starting,” Charles announces, squinting to try and see the top, but fails. Pierre resists the urge to laugh at him, and instead just shakes his head fondly before focusing on the trail.

He takes it quite well, to his own surprise. The first couple of guys do great, as per usual, since the snow is still fresh and there are no bumps and crevices but watching them doesn’t feel near as stifling as Pierre was expecting it to.

When he voices it out to Pyry, his trainer says, “I think it’s because of the environment. When you watch it over TV, you’re at home and they’re here, or in Austria, or somewhere else. Now you’re here and it’s different, because you feel the atmosphere and it doesn’t hurt as bad.”

“I still want to be up there with them,” Pierre replies, nodding towards the slope. He winces seconds after as the current skier makes a mistake, making him go off the trail and out of the run. He doesn’t finish his previous thought, and instead comments, “Too eager. Too greedy. Sometimes it pays off, but most of the time, it ends with disappointment. It’s better not to risk so much and try and do everything precisely; you’ve got a better chance of success.”

Charles agrees with him, “It’s true. With slalom and giant slalom, risk is very rarely rewarding. If you make it, yeah, it pays off, but if you don’t, you’re out.”

“And with downhill?” Pyry asks, taking a sip of his own mulled wine.

“With downhill, if you risk, you can either be the greatest there is or you’ll end up in the hospital. There’s no in-between. It’s up to you if you want to take it,” Charles replies.

“I hate watching you,” Pierre says, “I know I’ve done some downhill myself, but I still hate watching you on there. It’s different than when I was a kid, because now I know everyone, and with the knowledge that you, or Arthur, or any of the other guys could end up in the hospital if you make the smallest mistake… it’s hard.”

Pierre doesn’t listen to what they say next. He turns his attention back to the skiers, watching as the current guy aces all gates, but then makes a small mistake in the last part that leaves him just short of the first spot.

Esteban comes up next. It takes everything in Pierre not to ignore his run.

He ends up knocking the previous guy down a spot, leaving him second in the first run with a time that won’t be easy to beat for any of the upcoming guys, especially as the trail wears away and becomes more and more slippery.

When he stops at the bottom, he waves at the crowds. His eyes meet Pierre’s and widen in surprise, for just a fraction of a moment so short Pierre thinks he must’ve imagined it.

He doesn’t see what Esteban does next, but for the rest of the run, he feels the burning of his gaze on his skin.

____

Rouen, France [early summer 2019]

____

By the time summer comes rolling around, Pierre’s leg has already healed nicely. He no longer needs crutches, though Pyry checks up on him at times throughout the day; Pierre really isn’t sure if it’s because of his mental health and him going mad at home or his injury.

Despite his condition getting better, he still hasn’t stepped on the skis once. He wanted to, but he’d been strictly forbidden by his coach, and though the itch to get back on the slopes scratched at his insides, he wasn’t about to break his promise to his friend.

After all, it’s not who Pierre is; no matter how annoyed he is, he’d never go against Pyry’s professional word.

He’s going back home to Rouen for two weeks, to visit his family. Pierre knows it must feel empty to his parents, going from having a bunch of rowdy kids loitering around to having none. The guilt for rarely visiting home pools at the pit of his stomach, though the knowledge that his brothers visit more often dulls it out.

Usually, his parents would come to Albertville to stay at his and Charles’s place while Charles goes back to Monaco, but for the first time since they’ve been living together, Charles isn’t visiting home. For whatever reason, Charles decided to stay in the city, so Pierre boarded the plane for Normandy instead, leaving Charles to his own devices.

His dad picks him up at the airport, dressed in beige shorts and a light blue polo that makes Pierre want to gouge out his eyes.

“What are you wearing?” is the first thing he asks his dad when he sees him, not condescendingly, but with a teasing tilt to his voice.

He ducks to dodge the hair moving to swat the back of his head before he gets pulled into a hug, into which he melts the same way he used to back when he was a child. It brings him the comfort he so desperately seeks, easing away the weight that’s been hanging off his chest for months.

“How’s your leg?” papa asks once they separate. He grabs Pierre’s suitcase and starts walking, Pierre trailing after him with a much slower and a much more tentative pace.

“Better,” he replies, “I don’t need crutches anymore. It still hurts sometimes, but Pyry says it’ll be fine soon. He thinks it’s probably just my brain playing tricks on me now, making me think it still hurts because I got used to it. It’s a bit weird to walk by myself, though.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re getting better. You’ll be back to work in no time.”

I hope so, Pierre thinks, but just nods back at his dad. He falls silent, only half-listening to his papa talk about what they’ve been up to, trying his best not to get lost in his thoughts.

The drive back is filled with some soft pop tunes coming from the radio. When his family home finally comes into view, Pierre can only sigh in relief.

____

Pierre doesn’t like coming home because everything reminds him of Esteban.

They’ve spent so many years of their childhood playing there together, young, and naïve and excited for what the future will bring, have spent their teenagerhood tiptoeing around one another before eventually kissing underneath the shades of the trees in the backyard, lying together on the swing and just existing. Being here without Esteban leaves him feeling weird, like there’s something missing to fill out the never-ending silence.

It feels wrong, and Pierre doesn’t like it.

And Pierre knows it shouldn’t because Esteban was the one who made the choice to leave. He was the one who gave up on them, he was the one because of whom Pierre spent the rest of the summer of 2016 glued to his bed until Charles eventually dragged him out, at the pleas of his parents who didn’t know what else to do.

In a way, it was Esteban who had been the reason behind Pierre putting everything he had into skiing and becoming one of the best of his age, one of the greats even at just twenty-two. If he hadn’t left, Pierre wouldn’t have put as much time into the sport and continued climbing the ranks in the same manner he had.

Maybe I give him a thank you note next time I see him, he thinks, pettily, as he sits at the kitchen table and gazes out of the window and into the garden.

A mug of hibiscus tea sits in front of him, cold, his mother’s attempt at nursing him back to health even though his wounds are of a different form. He feels her moving around the kitchen, cutting meat and cheese delicacies into thin slices, just as she had when he was a kid and picky about his food.

She places the wooden cutting board with the food in front of him and sits across, pushing it closer to him as she does. “Eat,” she says, voice soft yet stern at the same time.

To fulfil her request, he takes a slice of smoked ham and chews on it. Her eyes watching his movements remind him of a hawk; he knows she’s waiting for him to be done before she starts asking questions he doesn’t have an answer to.

“How have you been?” She looks concerned, scanning his face for any insinuation he’d been neglecting his wellbeing following his injury.

“I’m good, maman,” he replies, quirking his lips up into a smile for her to see, an emphasis to his words. “Pyry’s been helping me,” he adds for added measure.

His mother purses her lips before nodding, “Good. He’d better.” The expression on her face softens as she notices his raised eyebrow following her words. “I just worry about you. You might be an adult, but you’re still my baby. This is the longest you’ve been out since going professional and I don’t want it to take a toll on your mental health.”

Pierre wipes his fingers on his shorts before standing up and walking around the table to his mother. She leans her head on his chest as he wraps her into his arms, then places his cheek to her scalp. “Don’t worry about me, maman. I’ll be okay. I’ll be back to winning slaloms soon.”

His chest tightens at his words. Even though his leg’s been doing better, he hasn’t skied in so long he doesn’t know how he’ll get back into it. His return to the World Cup is still under a big question mark, and the shimmers of hope he had for getting back into the top spots have become almost non-existent.

____

“I put away all the clutter from your room,” Pierre’s maman says, after he’d been there for almost a week. “It makes it harder to dust, so I just put it all in a box and put it in the closet.”

He noticed the items missing from his desk and shelves when he first walked in, but opted against saying anything, having an inkling that his maman had put them away for the reasons she has just confirmed. A part of him is surprised they kept the room mostly intact, with how little he’s been visiting.

It’s not like he misses any of the items he left back in Rouen. All the trophies and medals sit in the living room of his and Charles’s place in Albertville, and what’s been left home are mostly playing cards, action figures and toy cars his teenage self couldn’t throw away out of nostalgia. His beloved Yu-Gi-Oh! deck is probably still there somewhere, too, tied with a rubber band he’d nicked from the rice bag when he was nine.

Pierre smiles at his mother, the crinkle next to his eye deepening as she ruffles his hair with her warm hand.

He forgets all about the box until he retreats to his room for the night. His eyes catch the door of his closet and then he remembers, curiosity bubbling.

The box his mother had put all the things in used to be the one Pierre kept his LEGO in, until he gave all of it to his nieces. The click of the plastic lid as he unlicks it brings forth an odd feeling of longing which only furthers once he takes a look at the contents.

Just as he’d thought, his Yu-Gi-Oh! deck tired together with a yellow rubber band sits at the top, the head of Exodia the first card of the deck. He chuckles as he sees it, remembering the day he got it in a pack, the missing piece of the five. He shuffles through the cards after removing the band, monsters he used to know by heart staring back at him.

It doesn’t take long for him to go through every card until he reaches the one at the bottom of the deck. The round face of the Time Wizard stares at him and memories of tossing coins with Esteban come to the surface.

Pierre sighs and lets go of the card. He ties them all back together and puts them in the box, closing the lid.

Rummaging through the rest of the contents would no doubt end up being a memory trip, which Pierre wouldn’t be so against if the majority of those memories weren’t of Esteban. At twenty-three, he feels a bit silly for being unable to look through his stuff and remember, but on that day back in 2016, he didn’t just lose his boyfriend.

He lost his best friend, too.

And that’s what makes it a thousand times more painful, when for fourteen years he couldn’t live without Esteban.

____

Val d’Isère, France [early autumn 2019] ____

The layer of freshly fallen snow crunches underneath Pierre’s boots as he trails after Pyry, Charles and Cyril, skis and poles in hand. His company talks amongst themselves whilst he does his best to try and soothe his nerves and get back that courage he so desperately needs to be doing this.

A week ago, Pyry gave him the green light to go back to training. His leg doesn’t hurt anymore, at least not constantly, only sometimes, due to some outside factors he’s yet to learn all. He called Cyril to tell him the news, and his coach set out to Val d’Isère to help Pierre face the demons of the French Alps.

Being here brings forth an unexplainable feeling inside of Pierre’s chest. It’s different this time than it was when they were here to watch the giant slalom, and it’s so very different from preseason training the year before, when for the first time in his life, his skis betrayed him.

Val d’Isère will always hold a special place in his heart, both the ski slopes and the village itself. It’s more of a home than Albertville ever was.

It pains Pierre to feel dread coming here. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if today goes the wrong way, doesn’t know what to make of his life when his life has been skiing since he was a child, and he prays to whatever deity will listen to not give up on him, not now, not at the time he needs them the most.

Never has he been particularly religious, but, if everything he’d been told throughout his life is true, God won’t give up on him now, not before the biggest task of his life.

Pierre looks up at the sky, at the clouds gliding over the mountains, and smiles when he notices the shape of the heart. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, before cracking them open. The heart is gone, torn apart by the wind, yet Pierre feels more peaceful than he had this week.

They reach the slope. Charles tucks himself into Pierre’s side and whispers, “Are you sure you want this? If you’re not ready, you don’t have to. Cyril will understand.”

“I want to,” Pierre replies earnestly. He places his equipment to the ground while shooting Charles a smile, amused by the worried look on his face. “I’m usually the one to worry about you. This is a nice change, for once.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one who’s been moping about for the past year and avoiding the village like the plague.” Charles sighs and casts his eyes downwards for a moment. Pierre waits for him to settle his thoughts. “I just… I just don’t want you to feel disappointed if you’re not as good as you were. The fact that you’re attempting to come back after shattering your knee is amazing in itself, but I know you and I know you won’t feel that way. I just don’t want you to get lost in your head.”

Pierre furrows his eyebrows in response, scrambling through Charles’s words as he tries to come up with something to say. He doesn’t really know what to say to Charles, when he’s worried about him.

Instead, Pierre simply nods. Charles looks him in the eyes and nods back, then his lips curl into that mischievous smile Pierre got used to seeing before his shoulder gets tapped and Charles takes off in the snow.

Shaking his head, Pierre looks after him, having no intention of chasing after Charles and playing tag in the snow. He’s having troubles stepping through the white mass, let alone running. It’s why he’s a skier. Walking through snow is a pain.

“How long do you think it’ll take him to realise?” Pyry asks, coming up to Pierre’s side.

Pierre glances at him, then at Cyril who seems amused, before replying, “Maybe five minutes. Ten, if we’re lucky.”

“Are you ready?” his trainer changes the subject. Breathing in deeply, Pierre nods. Pyry smiles at him encouragingly, “I don’t doubt you’ll do it, Pierre. Believe in yourself as much as everyone else believes in you.”

“He’s right, you know,” Cyril says from behind them. He comes up to Pierre and places a hand on his shoulder, “Pierre, you’re one of the best French skiers ever. And you’re still so young. You can do it. If anyone can do it, it’s you. You’re a champion.”

He nods again, breathing out. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you.”

“I don’t want to overexert you today,” Cyril starts. “I want to see your balance and your posture. Speed and techniques, we can come to later easily. For starters, I just want you to reacquaint with the skis and the slopes. We’ll work from there.”

As Pierre goes to put on his skis, Cyril’s voice snaps his attention back to him, “Oh, and Pierre?” At his questioning look, his coach continues, “Believe in yourself. You can do it.”

____

For that first moment of stepping back on the slopes, Pierre felt like a child learning his first steps. He’s not stepped on the skis for almost a year now, and so he wobbles until Pyry reaches over to steady him.

Taking a small breath, Pierre shakes his trainer’s hands off of himself despite the worried look he’s been getting and tries making a couple of steps forward. Though he doesn’t fall, he loses some of his balance and instinctively pushes his poles into the snow to prevent him from falling, even though they can’t help him much.

“Are you alright?” Cyril’s voice rings from behind him.

Pierre closes his eyes but nods, pulling the poles out of the snow. He takes one more tentative step forward, then another once that one doesn’t end badly for him, and soon enough he’s sliding down the bunny slope like he used to.

Baby steps, he repeats to himself like a mantra.

Voices of those around him mix together in a mash that he can’t decipher, so he just focuses on doing his own thing. The flash of a phone from the side makes him squint and he loses his footing, going wide only for a moment before gaining control once again.

Cyril yells both praise and critique from the side, letting him know he’s doing okay but showing him where he’s going wrong.

It’s already dark by the time he stops, despite Pyry telling him he should ages ago. His whole body aches, but there’s a smile on his face, the progress he’d already made in one day giving him back the hope for getting to where he once was.

He stops at the bottom of the slope. A hand clasps his shoulder, and when he looks to his right and sees the proud look on his coach’s face, Pierre thinks to himself, for the first time since his accident, I can do this.

#asked #anon

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