thank you so much for your march-fic, as amazing as always and just the right amount of fluffyness and drama! thanks a bunch my dear! 💖
It's still March but that took longer than expected. 😅 I wrote myself into a corner a little bit with Odi being mean to Zoé, and I didn't quite know how to solve that but I hope you like the end result. It begins in Kvitfjell and ends after the Super-G in Courchevel.
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"Good morning, sunshine." Niels' grin showed how funny he considered his words, though it turned a bit sour when Marco wordlessly took the remaining place at their table. Without sparing Niels a glance, he picked up the spoon, and dug into his muesli. It was Gino who glared at Niels with all the annoyance he could muster.
Beat had a tiny bit more sympathy, and shoved the pot of weak coffee they had to endure in Kvitfjell towards Marco with only a tiny smile. "The season's getting a bit long?"
Marco snorted softly. "Of course not. I wished it would go on forever."
"Clearly," Stefan said. "But it won't. So enjoy it while it lasts."
Later, Gino sat on the unmade bed and watched Marco pack his stuff for the race. Soon the hotel would be empty save for the athletes who would only start tomorrow, and he would have the gym almost to himself.
Marco zipped the backpack shut, and picked his jacket from the hanger. He nodded. "Yes. Why?"
Gino pointed at the nightstand. "You forgot your gloves." Before he could say anything more, Marco threw the backpack on the ground, and punched the table with his fist.
"Hey!" Gino exclaimed, and jumped up.
"I can't anymore!" Marco said, hunched over the table, face buried in his arms. "I give up. Let Kilde and Krisoffersen have these stupid globes, I don't care."
Gino's eyes softened. He put his arms around Marco's shoulder, pressing kisses in his hair. "It's okay," he muttered.
"I'm so tired," Marco whispered.
"I know. It won't be long now."
With a sigh Marco stood up again, and let himself be pulled in a hug by Gino.
"You're so close," Gino said, swaying both of them softly. "Only two more days, then you'll have some time off."
Marco stood with his shoulders hanging and watched as Gino picked the gloves from the nightstand, opened the backpack, and put them inside. For a moment, Gino scrutinised the content, then he walked over to the closet, and returned with goggles. Marco's lips were pressed to a thin line.
"Want me to come with you?," Gino asked as he put the backpack over Marco's shoulders.
Marco shook his head. "No, thank you. I'll manage." They kissed once more then he walked to the door. For a second he stood still like a discarded puppet until suddenly, as if guided by an invisible hand, his back straightened, his shoulders and head turned up, revealing the Marco Odermatt everyone knew. When he eventually opened the door, the well-known, cheerful smile assured everyone who looked at him that all was fine.
"Hey, do you have a moment for me?"
The days were finally noticeably longer again, and the southern mountainsides of Kranjska Gora lay green in the evening sun. Here, at the bottom of the valley, spring was in the air and on the meadows, and the prospect of this new beginning was a stark contrast to Marco's still ever-growing irritation. Tiredness coated his brain and weighed his limbs down like lead, and all he wanted to do was leave this place.
He stopped in the door, and turned his annoyed expression on Zoé. "Why?"
Zoé cleared her throat, pointing towards the hallway, away from the common room in their hotel. "I'd like to tell you this in private. It won't take long."
"Then you can do it here," Marco said curtly, and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Zoé hesitated for a second, throwing a glance over to the table where Justin, Loïc and Gino laid out a new game of Brändi Dog. "It's about your interview with Blick yesterday," she eventually continued. "We've had complaints."
Marco snorted. "Yeah, I have complaints too."
Zoé ignored him. "You know we've agreed that during the season, interviews first go through me. Coach Widauer was quite angry that you didn't say these things to him in person."
"We left right after the race," Marco shot back. "I had no chance to talk to him."
"Exactly! Which is why you should also not have talked to the journalist."
"You can't stop me," Marco scoffed, and turned around again. He had only managed a few steps towards the stairs before Zoé was by his side.
"Yes, I can!" she said sternly. "It's literally my job to handle how you communicate, and what you did was not okay."
Marco whirled around, and glared at her. "And what he did was also not okay!" he exclaimed. "He stole my chance! I could have…" He did not finish the sentence, too raw was the crushing defeat in today's Super-G, which had cleared the way for Kilde to the small globe.
"I know but it's not over yet." Zoé said softly but Marco was too worked up to back down.
"No you don't," he snapped at her. "You don't know shit, Zoé! All you do is take pictures for Instagram and point at people who jump up and down and wave their microphones around and that I could not miss if I fucking tried!"
He knew it was unfair and mean but his mouth was working on its own. In the common room, a chair toppled over before he had finished, and he barely raised his hands when Loïc came crashing through the door and slammed him against the wall.
"What is wrong with you?" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. "You do not talk to her like that!"
Gino followed only a few steps behind, and tried to pry him away from Marco. "Let go, man!"
Marco let it happen, and did not move as Gino tried to wrestle Loïc away. For a long time he had been feeling like a mute, desperate spectator under a cracking dam, and finally the last hold seemed to crumble. Loïc was still yelling at him but Marco's focus was on Justin near the door, who looked as helpless as Marco felt.
Eventually, Zoé found her voice again. "Loïc, stop it!" she said, calmer than anyone could have expected. He listened to her, finally, and let go of Marco. Gino placed himself between the two of them, shielding him from Loïc's wrath and the loathing in his eyes.
Zoé raised a hand, and Loïc took a few steps back. She made sure not to touch him, and when she spoke to Marco she used the cold, distant manager-voice reserved only for the pushiest gossip rags.
"It's been a long season, we're all tired, and we all need some time to ourselves. Let's call it a night, and tomorrow, I want to see you," here she pointed her finger at Marco, "in the meeting room on the first floor at eight o'clock sharp!"
Marco did not have to be ordered twice, and without sparing the rest of them a glance, he hurried off. Gino followed him, his hasty footsteps matching his pace step for step.
"Marco…," Gino said as the door fell behind them. Without slowing down, Marco walked into the tiny bathroom, and slammed the door shut. He turned on the water of the shower, and for a long time sat hunched on the closed toilet. He felt bad, even more than before, and even though there was barely any space between toilet, sink and shower, it felt like the walls were coming closer and closer. When Gino knocked at the door, he flinched.
"You can't stay in there all night."
Marco did not answer but he did get up, slowly undressed, and stepped under the hot water. Gino's words came back to his mind; it would not be long now. It did not feel like a consolation, or hope. When he eventually left the bathroom, Gino also did not look to be in a consoling mood. His lips were pressed to a thin line, and without another word he rushed past Marco. When he returned, Marco had changed into his pyjama, and was scrolling through his phone under the heavy blanket. Wordlessly, Gino got dressed, and disappeared under the blanket of his bed.
"I'm sorry," Marco whispered.
Gino turned off the light on his side of the room. "You don't need to apologise to me," he said.
Marco put his phone down, and climbed out of his bed. Gino's severe look softened immediately when Marco slipped under the blanket. He loved everything about Gino but his lips were among the things he loved most, and he lost himself in a kiss.
"That was the biggest dick-move I've ever seen you pull in all our years together," Gino chastised softly when he pulled back.
Gino smiled, despite everything, and with his fingers combed Marco's hair back. "Which, compared to others, is not terrible. But still." He kissed Marco again.
"You don't need to be scared, you know?"
"I'm not scared," Marco protested.
Gino smiled. "There is no way you can still lose, not if you switched to staves for the last races. And even if you did…" Again a kiss, more demanding this time, and hands wandering under Marco's shirt. "I'd still love you. And the rest too. Those that matter, I mean. Fuck the rest."
Marco sighed, and slipped even closer to Gino, until he could feel him all over his body. "No thanks," he muttered, and kissed him again.
The breakfast hall seemed almost as usual. A long, winding queue lead to the buffet, all the tables were close to each other again, unlike the year before, and the soft hum of hundreds of people talking filled the big room. Only the table of the Austrians was different. The entire group sat hunched over the table, heads stuck together. From time to time, someone would turn around, and look through the room before new hushed exclamations erupted. Most of the other teams heeded them no mind though most of them at least followed the spectacle out of the corner of their eyes when Manuel abruptly stood up. Stefan grabbed his hand but Manuel shook him off, and stalked over to the buffet where he pushed in front of a few Italian coaches, and stopped next to Loïc.
"Morning," he began, his casual coolness only a thin veil. Loïc turned around from the assortment of muesli in front of him.
"Hi." He took a bowl, and began filling it with cereals.
"So, there's no easy way to say it," Manuel began, "and I'm sorry you have to hear it from me. But if I were you, I'd like to know it."
Loïc frowned, and looked at him again. "Okay?"
Manuel took a deep breath. "We saw Odi carrying flowers through the lobby this morning, and disappearing in a room with your girlfriend."
Loïc's frown got a little deeper. "Like, a potted plant or a bouquet?"
Manuel blinked. He needed a moment to catch up with Loïc's words. "What?"
"We're going to travel 900 kilometres across Europe to France tonight," Loïc explained, "so did that dummy consider that and bring her a potted plant, or do we have to carry a vase with water along?"
"Ehm…," Manuel stuttered, "it was a bouquet."
Loïc rolled his eyes. "Go figure."
Loïc shook his head, and walked over to the milk. "No."
"So…you're okay with that?"
"Of course. It was the least he could do."
"Get your dirty fingers away from that!"
Justin grinned at Gino, and pulled the ribbon of the sheer medal over his head. "Make me!", he taunted from the other side of the couch, knowing full well that Gino would not move one inch. He arranged the medal on his chest, the prize for the second best Super-G racer, marvelling at the cut glass. "It's nice," he remarked. "Not as nice as the globe, I guess, but it'll do."
The common room was quiet, illuminated only by the lamp around the couches but outside, life was still buzzing, and even through the closed window they could hear the cheers and whoops in all languages of Europe.
"Only a few more hours for that," Zoé said, and tore the medal off Justin again.
"Thank you," Gino said, and held his hand out. His face fell when Zoé cackled, and put the medal on herself.
"Traitor!" Gino muttered.
Marco twitched, and Gino froze. For a moment It looked as if Marco would open his eyes but he only took a deep breath, and went back to softly snoring against Gino's shoulder.
Gino glared at Justin with furious rage. "If you wake him up, I'll end you!" he hissed. Justin raised his hands, and sunk further away from him.
Tenderly, Gino pulled Marco a bit higher, and pressed a kiss against his cheek.
"How will you get him to bed?" Loïc asked, throwing them a glance over the edge of his phone. He snapped a picture of Zoé with the medal, and turned it around to show her.
"Perfect," she smiled, and leant forward to kiss him.
"I'll think about that when we get to it," Gino huffed. "Maybe when you've finished playing dress-up."
Outside, another group walked past, and loud Italian wafted through the room. Zoé pulled the medal off, and handed it over to Loïc who proceeded to take a row of selfies with it. Justin hanged his head over the back rest of the couch, staring at the ceiling.
"That was a long season," he said quietly.
"M-hm," Gino sighed. Marco was a heavy, soothing weight against his body. He did not want to move yet but he could not resist and gave him another kiss. Today they had shared their second podium ever in the world cup, and his heart still beat hard in his chest when he thought about the sight of Odi to his right, his arm around his shoulders as they had smiled for hundreds of cameras. After their first time, in Sölden, they had celebrated the whole night. Today, Marco had fallen asleep not halfway through his first beer. Dark shadows lay under his eyes, the remnants of the last months. They all needed a holiday.
"The weirdest thing is that we've seen it coming for so long," Loïc mused, "and now that it's here, it's…" He did not finish the sentence, and simply shrugged. Gino knew what he meant, and nodded.
"That's because we couldn't party like we're meant to," Justin explained. "Just wait until tomorrow. There's this bar up on the mountain…"
Loïc groaned. "You mean that tourist trap?"
"Yes," Justin answered unbothered. "Tomorrow, we'll go there, and we'll raise the roof. It's what he deserves."
"Of course," Loïc smirked. "You're only thinking about your friend."
Justin nodded magnanimously. "It's just how I am."
