Chapter Text
Eating had become a chore.
That’s how Didier realized how low he had sunk. Normal things had become a hassle. Trying to stay alive was difficult. Days all looked the same and sometimes he’d conveniently forget about it.
But eating wasn’t the problem, it was just an anomaly, revealing a bigger cause. A cancer, deep, insidious, that was eating his bones. Oh, it was all figurative for sure. He wasn’t really sick, he wasn’t really dying in any other way than the treatment he was inflicting on himself.
But his mind was sick.
Sick to a point where things that used to make him happy barely did anything to him now. It had to be kind of ironic how his love had tainted everything. It used to be the thing that made him feel like the strongest person in the world, but now it was like a disease, spreading so far that everything had become grey.
He wandered through his apartment, letting the shadows settle over him in a way he never used to notice before. The world kept moving, without asking him if he wanted to follow and everything reminded him of that. Clocks, lights, sounds.
Sometimes he spent days not wanting to move, not wanting to go outside. He had kept to, out of obligation, out of love for his sport. Though he didn’t know if he still loved his sport now. It was almost more by routine that he was training, because he didn’t know how to do anything else. Because not doing this certainly meant not doing anything, meant death.
He was effortlessly kind and selfless, had always been. So when questions were asked, he’d always answer with a smile, one that he also learned to fake without too much trouble. He didn’t really recall what really smiling was like, what really laughing was like either. All he had done lately was to cry and then stare into the void when no tears were left.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants. Sometimes he tried to think of something else, anything else. But the moment his mind wandered, it circled back to Tommy. Always Tommy. The way he laughed, the way he lingered just a second too long, the way he said things that sounded like love but never committed to it. Every memory, every fragment of their closeness, was both a balm and a blade. He had loved him for years, loved him until the edges of himself had worn thin.
Even breathing felt like a negotiation. He told himself he could survive another day. That was enough, wasn’t it? Survive another day. But the days stacked one after the other, heavy and unyielding. He could almost feel them pressing into his chest. And in the quiet moments, when he stopped moving and just listened, he could hear the echo of his own exhaustion. It wasn’t just fatigue, it was surrender.
He closed his eyes, letting the darkness behind his eyelids mix with the darkness in his chest. And then, inevitably, a memory slipped through, a bright, sharp thing, unlike the grey haze around him.
It was the first night he and Tommy had crossed that line. Didier remembered the hesitation, the way the air had felt thick and fragile, like it could shatter at the slightest wrong word. Tommy had been smiling, nervous, and Didier had felt his stomach twist with anticipation and fear. Everything had seemed too easy and too heavy all at once, laughter spilling into silence, hands brushing over fabric, the quiet thrum of a heartbeat loud enough to drown out everything else.
He could remember the small details even now. The scent of Tommy’s cologne, the warmth of his skin, the way he had leaned closer, just slightly, not quite letting himself go. For a few moments, it had felt like the world was only the two of them. That night had been perfect : fragile, fleeting, impossible to hold onto.
The cracks had already been there though. Tommy reaching for his phone mid-laugh, fingers hovering over the screen, distracted, restless. He had looked at Didier, and for a moment the smile faltered. “I shouldn’t stay too long,” he had said softly. But he stayed anyway. And Didier, in his foolishness, had believed that meant something. That maybe, just maybe, this was real.
Now, years later, the memory still made Didier wonder if love had ever been there, love in the way he meant it. After all, he had never been enough. He could still feel the echo of that night pressing into him, a reminder that he had given himself fully to something that Tommy had never chosen to hold.
But that wasn’t the only reason Didier had let himself foolishly hope that something more would happen. Throughout their whole relationship, things had been the same way. There had been teasing, small bets on who could hit the targets first, quiet jokes that nobody else would have understood.
Tommy had leaned close more than a few times, brushing snow off Didier’s shoulder with a fingertip, touching his waist, his cheek, anything, and for a moment, everything felt right. For outsiders, it seemed like nothing. For Didier, it was all he needed. They had looked like something almost real, almost theirs, in a world that had never been made for them.
The world made sure to remind him of that. Tommy always had that subtle edge, a way to glance over his shoulder, maybe at a teammate waiting nearby, maybe at some other obligation he couldn’t name. Every time, Didier had felt the tug of distance even in the warmth. No matter how close they could be, it was always temporary. Always borrowed time.
But for that afternoon, he had let himself believe. He had let himself feel it, the easy laughter, the quiet touches, the tiny, reckless joy that came from being near someone who mattered more than anything.
And then there had been what Tommy would say sometimes in passing, or even in interviews.
There had been thousands of interviews, but Didier recalled one in particular. He had been there, a few steps back, dealing with his own things. Tommy had spoken, casual at first, about the race that had just ended, but then his gaze had drifted, and Didier had felt it on him, warm.
“You know,” Tommy had said, almost as an afterthought, almost like it was meant for nobody, “I’m really glad to have Didier with me, he matters a lot to me.”
The admission had been so casual, that it probably wasn’t planned, not with the way Tommy was always ever so cautious. It had run through Didier’s chest, making him smile, heart swelling with that dizzy, dangerous hope. Back then he thought that it had to be love.
Later, in private, Tommy had said it again, softer this time, leaning against the doorway, eyes avoiding Didier’s. “I meant it, you know.”
And Didier had clung to that. He had memorized the way Tommy said it, the pause before the words, the nervous shrug of his shoulders. Every time he replayed it, it was a lifeline, a proof that something did exist, that he wasn’t mad.
But maybe it was never real, or to the extent of what Didier wanted anyway. After all, it had never translated into choice, commitment. Tommy's life wasn’t one where Didier had mattered enough to be included.
He remembered trying though. He remembered that date, that was a date even if it wasn’t allowed to carry that name because Didier was Tommy’s dirty little secret and Tommy had made it clear that he wouldn’t break up with his girlfriend, even if what they had was important for him.
Didier had been excited about it, even if it wasn’t anything extraordinary. Tommy had arrived late and Didier hadn’t even let himself be mad about it. Instead he had just smiled because he was content with what he could have. With anything. Begging for scraps.
They had walked along the frozen river, bundled in layers, the cold biting at their noses and fingers, and yet it had felt alive, almost ordinary, as if they could be two people out in the world without anyone noticing. Tommy had laughed when Didier slipped on the ice, steadying him with a hand on his arm, and for a few minutes, they were back in their bubble.
But the moment lingered only briefly. They were maybe an hour in when Tommy glanced at his phone, then at the path ahead, and Didier’s heart had sunk in his chest, realizing exactly what was coming.
“I’m so sorry-” Tommy had started, biting his lips, like he really felt guilty. He probably didn’t, it was just all he could give him. Tommy had continued about an excuse, something about his girlfriend that Didier didn’t listen to. Didier’s vision had blurred but he had forced himself to nod. “It’s okay,” he had said, though it had been far from okay.
Tommy had kissed his cheek, apologizing again, before he walked away. Didier had watched him, his back fade. Tommy never once turned back. Didier had let a few tears escape making his way back alone and miserable.
Like often with Tommy, all he had left was feeling misery. Tommy would offer him warmth, closeness, stolen minutes, and then inevitably retreat. The soft excuses. The polite departures. Each one was a reminder that no matter how much Didier loved, no matter how much he hoped, he was never allowed the whole story.
Half-way through their relationship, Didier wasn’t capable of letting it go as much as he was in the latter stages. He had sucked it up too much and at some point, he exploded. It had been their first real argument, and almost the only one. The only time Didier really voiced his hurt and let Tommy face the damage he was doing to him.
It should’ve been a moment Didier would’ve given up on Tommy. He should’ve left. But he couldn’t. It was all the vice of this relationship.
He remembered the tight knot in his chest, the words burning behind his teeth, the tremor in his hands as he finally spoke them aloud. “I need more from you,” he had said, voice trembling. “Not just… little moments, not just when it’s convenient. I need time. I need to matter more than an afterthought.”
Tommy had frozen, eyes wide, caught off guard in a way Didier had rarely seen, probably because he didn’t expect Didier to voice that out loud when he’d been so quiet, so obedient until then. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, shifting from foot to foot. “Didier, that’s not fair-” he started, but Didier had cut him off, shaking his head.
“It’s exactly fair. I’m here. I’ve always been here. And you… you never really see me.”
There had been a pause, heavy and charged, and then Tommy had nodded quickly. “Okay,” he had said softly, almost as if saying it would be enough. “I’ll… I’ll give you more time. I promise.”
Didier had felt his chest loosen for a moment, relief mingled with hope. It had felt like a small victory, like the argument had shifted something. He had let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time it would be different. That Tommy would finally choose him in a way that mattered.
Of course, it hadn’t mattered at all. It had just been an empty promise, nothing more than words. The time never came, the attention never changed, the choices never shifted. Even in that moment of supposed concession, Tommy had not truly crossed the line. And Didier, in his need and hope, had stayed.
It was silly though. Everyone but him already knew that Tommy wasn’t considering him at all in his life. Didier was so stupid back then that even hearing it from someone else wasn’t enough to entirely shake him off.
He remembered afternoons and conversations between Tommy, Marco and a few others, laughing about plans for the summer. They were discussing houses, trips, maybe even weddings, things that Didier had never been a part of. But in a cruel way, Didier was participating, getting questioned about a potential girlfriend he could get the more he was nearing his thirties, all along while Didier was trying to soften the hollow ache in his chest.
Tommy always was at the center of these talks, his hands moving along, head tilted as he laughed, excited about all the details. Tommy liked to think ahead with those things, and in those futures Tommy was creating, Didier was never there.
He had no role in that life, but a bystander. A friend of the family. An uncle to Tommy’s kids. Didier should’ve asked back then if Tommy would’ve fucked him in the closet while his kids were having birthday parties. Their friends would’ve probably made a face hearing that, it would’ve been funny.
No one knew about their relationship, though some might have suspected it, when Didier thought about Elia’s behavior back then. About his worry.
But Didier wasn’t brave enough to defy Tommy. So he had stayed there, nodding along, laughing along. He had been invisible, even when standing right next to the person he loved more than anything.
He had tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter. He knew what this kind of relationship entailed and told himself he was fine, that it was just part of the arrangement, part of loving someone who couldn’t choose him completely.
But it was things like this that had ended up destroying him. The proof was undeniable. Tommy’s life was moving forward, building itself around people who were not him. And all Didier had ever been allowed was the leftover moments, stolen, tentative, never enough.
In the last years of the relationship, the hemorrhage had become too consequential. Didier tried to leave, several times, but Tommy never really let him then.
He remembered one morning in particular, after a night together that had felt more fragile than ever. He had finally said it aloud: “Tommy… we need to stop. I can’t keep doing this.” His voice had cracked on the last word, but the resolve behind it was firm. He had grabbed his coat, tugged at the door, ready to step away before the next fracture of hope broke him further.
But Tommy had caught him, hands on his shoulders, gripping just enough to stop him. “Didier… please,” he had said, voice low, urgent, almost trembling. “Don’t leave me. I’ll… I’ll change. I swear. I can give you more. I’ll be better. Just… stay.”
Didier had wanted to tear away, wanted to prove to himself that he could survive without being a second thought. But Tommy’s eyes, the desperation lurking in the familiar warmth he always wore for him, had pulled him back, like gravity he couldn’t resist. For a moment, it had felt like surrendering was the only way to breathe.
And Tommy had been so domestic then, walking to the kitchen and making breakfast. It had shattered and soothed him all at once. Eggs, toast, coffee steaming in the cold morning light. They had eaten together, quiet and tender, the way they always had in small, stolen moments.
The rest of the day had unfolded in the same pattern: laughter, small touches, the illusion of normalcy that made Didier almost forget the ache he carried. They had skied together, wandered through the city, sat on the couch pretending everything was simple. Pretending like they were normal boyfriends. When Tommy wouldn’t even let him call them that.
But then as Didier was sitting across Elia in a café, reality caught up. Elia had leaned closer, eyes curious, bringing it up casually, as if it were nothing. “Didier… did you hear? Marco said Tommy and his girlfriend… you know…” His words had hung in the air, incomplete, teasing the truth.
“What? No, I… I haven’t heard anything.”
But Elia had pressed, frowning. “Are you sure? I mean… you’re close to him. You must know, right?”
And in that moment, the world had shifted, in a crushing way. Didier didn’t know. He didn’t know, and it hurt like a wound a knife was digging through. He had tried to laugh it off, brush it away. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding,” he had said, voice tight, throat raw. “Maybe someone misheard something.”
But even as the words had left his lips, he knew the truth. He was just in denial. Just desperately clinging to the hope that the world hadn’t fully turned against him yet, that the life Tommy was building could somehow still hold a place for him.
Tommy had probably told nothing to him because he was a huge coward. But now that Didier knew, it was just bitter. The knowledge that Tommy was trying for a baby with his girlfriend, that this life was moving forward without him, gnawed at the edges of every thought. And Didier, clutching at the remnants of hope like scraps of paper in a storm, felt the slow, inevitable collapse of everything he had ever counted on.
That promise had really been just an attempt to appease him. Didier didn’t even understand why it had happened, why Tommy had tried to make him stay. In a way Didier had been a little thankful for Elia to break the news to him. That way, when the even bigger one dropped on him, Didier already knew that it had been a losing situation from the start.
It came on a quiet evening, which only made betrayal feel sharper. Didier had been scrolling through his feed when he froze, Tommy, smiling in a carefully framed photo, ring on his finger, captioned: Engaged. Five months to go.
Fury surged first, hot and immediate and pain. Learning through social media. Not even from Tommy. Five months left. A decision that had been surely taken before that.
Tommy kept pretending to want to have a part with him, while he was planning this life, this marriage, even kids, without once thinking of him.
The coincidence made it that Tommy was with him when it happened. Such poor timing Didier wondered if Tommy thought he was this stupid not to react when he’d see the post. Did he think he would stay silent? Did he think he would never address it?
He was shaking, with rage, with despair. Within one glance, Tommy seemed to understand what it was about. “Didier…” But Didier didn’t let him talk. He didn’t know what he would say, instead he asked : “Say, it never came to your mind to mention that to me? That you were getting fucking married?”
His anger turned to hysteria. He was ridiculous. He was the only one consumed by the devastation, while Tommy sat there calm, almost untouchable. What a striking contrast. “Since when… since when did this happen? Were you- were you taking off your ring every time you came to see me?”
Tommy looked down, guilty, and his behavior was enough. That was it. He wasn’t even defending himself. He mumbled an apology, soft, inadequate, hollow. The truth laid, ugly and bare, between them.
Didier’s anger ebbed slowly, leaving in its wake a far more corrosive feeling: exhaustion. Hopelessness. All the energy to fight, to cling, to hope, had drained out of him. His chest felt hollow, like a cavity where desire and love had once lived. He covered his eyes, not wanting Tommy to even see them wet, to see him this pathetic. “Let’s… stop. Let’s stop everything. Sex and the rest. Let’s just stop this.”
Tommy didn’t protest. He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to coax him back, to make him stay. That silence said everything. He had fought before, pulled him back, made him believe for a day, a week, a month, but now he offered nothing. Not love, not warmth, not even the illusion.
Didier wanted, for just a moment, to hold onto that last time, to cling to it as though it were proof that he had mattered. But even that desire felt like too much work. He didn’t even want to see Tommy anymore. Not now. Not ever.
With a crushing humor, he thought that he would’ve tried to enjoy the last time they had sex more if he knew back then that it was the last time. Maybe he could have laughed, even, instead of sobbing pitifully as Tommy left his apartment, leaving behind only the echo of a life he would never have.
The months after that were a blur.
It wasn’t softened by nostalgia or dulled by time. It was a blur because nothing quite registered anymore.
He still woke up in the morning. That much hadn’t changed. But even that felt less like a choice and more like a reflex, something his body did without consulting him. Sometimes he would lie there for long minutes, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what he was supposed to do next. Eat, maybe. Train. Answer messages. Exist. The list felt exhausting before he even moved.
Eating had become worse. It now felt almost optional, something he could forget entirely if he wasn’t careful. Hunger came and went without urgency, a distant signal he could ignore. His body grew lighter, weaker, but even that didn’t feel entirely real. It was as if he were watching himself from a distance, noticing the changes without quite inhabiting them.
Training followed the same pattern. He showed up when he had to, went through the motions, but the sharpness that had once defined him was gone. His movements lacked the speed and certainty they used to carry. Coaches said things, teammates asked questions, but their voices felt muffled, like they were speaking from behind glass. Didier nodded when appropriate, smiled when expected, made excuses, and let it all pass through him.
There were days he didn’t show up at all. Those were the easiest.
He stayed inside more often than not, letting the hours stretch in the quiet of his apartment. The walls felt closer somehow, pressing in without quite touching him. His phone would light up occasionally, messages from teammates, from friends, but he rarely answered. He told himself he would later. Later became never.
And through it all, Tommy existed somewhere at the edge of everything. Not present, not entirely absent either. Just… there. Like a constant he couldn’t remove, even when he tried not to think about him. Tommy maybe worried too, but Didier didn’t notice.
Sometimes Didier would catch glimpses of his life without meaning to. A photo, a mention, or even passing comment from someone else. Each time, it felt like pressing on a bruise he couldn’t let heal. Tommy looked happy. Whole. Moving forward in a life that had no place for him.
Didier, on the other hand, felt like he was fading away.
Even his body seemed to follow. The exhaustion settled deeper, heavier, until it became something he carried in his bones. One day, it caught up to him in a way he couldn’t ignore anymore.
It happened during a training session, just like any other or, at least, like the hollow version of any other his life had become. The air was cold, biting at his lungs as he moved through the course, skis gliding over snow with a rhythm that used to feel natural but now that felt forced.
Everything was the same now, bothersome. Every movement required thought. Every breath felt a little too short.
He missed his first shot. Then another. The sound of the misses echoed louder than they should have, each one jarring, out of place. Didier frowned slightly, more out of habit than concern, and pushed forward. It didn’t matter. None of it really did.
His arm had been bothering him for a while. A dull ache, easy to ignore, easy to dismiss. He had ignored worse, after all.
During the standing shooting, he brought the rifle up again, movements slower now, a painful reminder of when his shooting had become difficult in his career, except now he was hollow to it. His fingers moved to charge it, muscle memory guiding him where his mind barely followed…
And then it hit.
A sharp, blinding pain shot through his arm, violent and sudden, tearing through him so abruptly that his grip gave out before he could even react.
The rifle slipped from his hands.
It fell, too fast, too heavy, hitting the ground with a dull, unforgiving sound that seemed to echo far louder than it should have in the still air.
Didier didn’t move. For a moment, he just stared at it.
The world narrowed, sound collapsing into a distant, muffled hum as the pain pulsed through his arm, insistent, unbearable. His breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat, uneven, shallow. He couldn’t quite process what had just happened.
The rifle lay in the snow, some bits broken, looking almost foreign now.
It wasn’t supposed to be there.
It was his. Something he had carried for years, something he had adjusted, refined, built into an extension of himself. The weight of it, the balance, the familiarity, it had always been constant. Reliable.
Now it just… lay there. Separate from him. Broken apart. Like it had been taken away, and yet he was the one who had made this happen.
Someone called his name in the distance. He didn’t answer. He wasn’t even sure he heard it properly. He kept staring at the rifle like if he looked long enough, things might go back to how they were supposed to be.
They didn’t.
The pain didn’t fade, the moment didn’t reset and, eventually, voices got closer. Hands reached him, guiding, insisting. Didier let them. He didn’t resist. He didn’t do much of anything, really.
Later, there were explanations. Words like stress, fatigue, overuse. A fracture, small but significant enough. He was told to rest. To stop training for a while. To take care of himself.
Take care of himself.
The irony almost made him laugh.
Instead, he just nodded. Of course he did. What else was there to do? It was easy to pretend to be concerned about this, to pretend to be crushed by the fact he could no longer train as he should’ve wanted for a while.
But deep inside, he felt nothing. His mind was clear, the pain was still here, though it seemed faded now, just like the rest. No more biathlon meant he no longer had to go through this every morning. It was fine. It wasn’t fine.
And without it, the days stretched wider.
At first, he told himself it would just be temporary. A few days of rest, maybe a week. He would recover, slowly get back into it, pretend that nothing had shifted too far out of place. That things could still be… normal.
But time didn’t behave the way it was supposed to anymore.
Mornings came later. Or maybe he woke up earlier, he couldn’t really tell. The distinction blurred. Sometimes he stayed in bed long after he was awake, staring at the same point on the ceiling, unmoving, as if getting up required a decision he wasn’t capable of making. Other times he got up immediately, restless, only to find himself pacing his apartment with no real destination, no real purpose.
There was nothing waiting for him anymore.
His phone buzzed less and less. Or maybe it didn’t, and he just stopped checking it. At some point, people seemed to understand he wouldn’t answer. The silence stretched both ways after that.
He didn’t go out much. There wasn’t a reason to. The outside world felt distant, almost abstract, like something that existed separately from him. Inside, everything was quieter. Easier to manage. Easier to disappear in.
He ate when he remembered to, which wasn’t often. Food lost what little meaning it still had, reduced to something mechanical, unnecessary unless the dizziness became too strong to ignore. Even then, he didn’t bother much. A few bites. Enough to keep going, if that was even what he was doing.
Sleep followed the same pattern. Too much, or not enough. Hours lost without him noticing, or nights spent awake in a heavy, suffocating stillness.
And through it all, his mind stayed… empty.
There were moments, brief, sharp, where something broke through. A thought. A memory. Tommy’s name appearing somewhere, accidentally. Those moments hurt, violently, like something tearing through a surface that had barely managed to hold.
But they never lasted. Everything always settled back into that same dull, muted quiet.
Didier started to understand that this wasn’t something that would pass. This wasn’t a phase, or a bad week, or the consequence of one mistake he could somehow undo. It had been building for too long, spreading too deep.
It was all he had left. He needed help but he also knew that no one would help him.
He was desperately alone, just the way he had chosen to be.
He didn’t even know why he had met Tommy one more time. Maybe it had been an attempt from his brain, an attempt at survival. He couldn’t escape the idea, the delusion of Tommy saving him, even now.
Tommy noticed it immediately.
The moment he saw him, something shifted in his expression, his brows knitting together, his posture tensing slightly. “Didier… what-” He stopped himself, but his eyes didn’t leave him, scanning his face, his frame, taking in everything Didier had stopped seeing himself. “You look… are you okay?”
Didier almost laughed. The concern felt out of place, so late. Tommy had been silent lately, probably too busy with his wedding.
“I’m fine,” he said automatically, the lie slipping out with ease. His voice sounded distant even to his own ears.
Tommy didn’t look convinced. He stepped a little closer, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to anymore. “You don’t look fine.”
For a second, something in Didier wavered. The tone, the familiarity, it almost felt like before. Almost enough to make him forget why he was here. But he hadn’t come for that.
“Don’t marry her.”
The words came out abruptly, cutting through everything else. Tommy blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“Don’t go through with it,” Didier repeated, more firmly this time, though his voice trembled slightly. “Just… don’t.”
Silence stretched between them.
Tommy’s expression shifted, confusion giving way to something tighter, more guarded. “Didier…”
“I’m serious,” he insisted, stepping closer now, urgency bleeding into every word. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late, you can still-”
“Stop.”
Tommy’s tone wasn’t loud, but it was enough. Firm. The kind of tone Tommy had always used when it came to her.
“You don’t get to say that,” Tommy continued, shaking his head slightly, like he was trying to steady himself. “You don’t get to come here and- and ask me something like that.”
“Why not?” Didier’s voice cracked. “Why not, Tommy? I’m just asking you to choose me. Just once.”
The words hung there, fragile, desperate.
“I chose you so many times,” he went on, quieter now, the strength draining out of him as quickly as it had come. “Over and over again. Even when I shouldn’t have. Even when it was killing me. And you-” His breath hitched. “You never did.”
“That’s not-”
“It is.”
The interruption was softer this time, but it didn’t waver.
A bitter laugh escaped Didier, hollow and humorless. “I should’ve realized, right? You never loved me the way I loved you.”
Something in Tommy snapped at that.
“Take that back.”
The sharpness in his voice cut through the air, sudden, almost angry. Didier went still. For a moment, he just looked at him. Then something in his expression shifted- like the last piece clicking into place.
“…What?” he asked quietly.
“Take it back,” Tommy repeated, more forcefully now. “You don’t get to- to say that like it’s true.”
Didier searched his face, waiting. Tommy almost sounded like he meant it. But you didn’t do that kind of thing to people you loved. You didn’t. And maybe, Didier only heard what he wanted to hear, like he always had. Though, Tommy was still unable to say what mattered.
“I’m not taking it back,” he said, almost gently. “You’re a coward.”
Tommy flinched, the word landing harder than anything else had. For a second, it looked like he might argue. Like he might push back, defend himself, say something, anything. But instead, he exhaled, long and tired, running a hand through his hair.
“This isn’t…” He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me,” Didier whispered.
“I’ve been… a terrible boyfriend.” The words came out uneven, like they were being forced out of him. “I know that. I know I have. But now I need to do this right. I need to be there for her.”
He paused.
“And the baby.”
“The… what?”
“She’s pregnant.”
The words settled slowly, heavily, like something sinking through water. “Pregnant”. Of course she was. Of course she was.
Didier let out a small, breathless sound, something between a laugh and a sob, though it didn’t fully become either. His vision blurred, but he didn’t move to wipe his eyes this time. It hurt when he thought nothing else could touch him again.
Tommy was saying something, apologizing, probably. It didn’t really matter. The words didn’t reach him anymore. They slipped past him, meaningless.
“I’m sorry, I really am.”
There was nothing left to say. Didier had tried and tried and tried again and every time Tommy hadn’t cared. And now, Tommy was leaving again, without looking at him and at the damages he was doing to him.
Didier stayed where he was. He cried, at first. Quietly, then harder, until his chest hurt and his breath came in uneven, broken pulls. It felt endless, like something tearing its way out of him all at once.
But at some point, it stopped.
The tears dried, the sobs faded, leaving behind nothing. No anger, no sadness, no hope. Just a deep and devouring apathy. Emptiness that had been here for so long it seemed like it was Didier’s whole identity now.
As if something inside him had finally, completely given out.
He didn’t remember the walk back. Not really. It folded into everything else, another stretch of time that passed without leaving a mark. He had somehow made it back to his apartment, it was all that mattered.
The days that followed were quiet.
He didn’t count them. There was no point. Time had already lost its meaning, slipping through his fingers without resistance. It could have been two days. Or five. Maybe more. It didn’t matter.
He stayed inside.
The world outside continued, he assumed. People trained, competed, laughed, made plans. Tommy probably did too. The thought didn’t hurt anymore. It felt just distant, like everything else.
Didier didn’t eat anymore. He tried, once or twice, out of habit more than anything else, but the act felt foreign. His body didn’t protest much. It had grown used to being ignored.
He slept sometimes. Other times he didn’t. The difference blurred.
There was a strange kind of calm settling in him. It wasn’t happiness, it wasn’t relief. It was just… quiet. All the noise seemed to have stopped. All of the thoughts crowding his mind had burned themselves out, leaving nothing behind.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t fighting anything. It was weirdly peaceful. Decided. Didier didn’t question it anymore.
He found himself moving through his apartment slowly, almost thoughtfully, as if seeing it from a distance. Small details stood out in a way they hadn’t before, everything that had always been there but that he had been unable to see.
It felt oddly detached, like none of it really belonged to him anymore. Like he had already left, in some way.
At some point, he made his way to the bathroom. He didn’t rush. There was no urgency in his movements, no hesitation either. Just a steady, quiet progression from one moment to the next.
He turned on the water.
The sound filled the room slowly, steadily, breaking the silence that had settled everywhere else. Didier watched it for a while, the way it ran, the way it filled, the way it continued without pause.
It was simple. Easy.
He let his fingers rest under the stream for a moment, feeling the temperature without really registering it.
Then he stayed there, unmoving, listening to the water run.
Tommy should’ve been happy. Everything pointed to it.
The wedding was in a few months now, close enough to feel real, far enough that there was still time to prepare everything properly. Elisa had taken care of most of it. She always had a way of making things fall into place, while he followed along, present where he needed to be, attentive when it mattered.
They had been together for years. Long enough that it felt natural, obvious even. She had even waited for him. Longer than she should have, maybe. She was older, after all, and she had made it clear, gently but firmly, that she didn’t want to wait forever.
So he hadn’t made her wait anymore.
They had agreed. Marriage. A child. A life that made sense.
Biathlon was going well, too. His results were steady, his performances clean, his name climbing where it was supposed to. Everything was aligning, falling into place, in the way he had always wanted things to be.
His parents were happy. Their parents were happy. Their friends were happy. Everyone was happy. He should’ve been the happiest he had ever been, and yet…
There was something sitting at the back of his throat. A bitter taste he couldn’t quite swallow.
He tried not to think about it. He had gotten good at that lately. Focusing on what was in front of him, on what mattered now, on the life he was building instead of the one he had… complicated.
Still, it came back. It always did. It was like a ghost, haunting his daily life. Sometimes it was nothing more than a fleeting thought, easy to push aside. Other times… other times he would close his eyes just for a second, and there it was.
A fully fleshed memory, passing on before his eyes. Didier, standing by the door. His voice, broken. Begging. Don’t marry her. Don’t do this.
It was brief, sharp enough to make him inhale a little too quickly. Tommy opened his eyes again, jaw tightening as he bit down on the inside of his cheek, grounding himself in the present.
Not now. He couldn’t think about that now. He had made his choice, he had done the right thing. But sometimes the right thing seemed to blur and to make him hesitant, nauseous even in the depths of the night.
He had heard things, of course, even without trying. Elia had mentioned it once, carefully, like he wasn’t sure how much Tommy wanted to know. Others too, in passing. Concern, thinly veiled.
Didier wasn’t doing well. First there had been the injury. A stress fracture. It wasn’t trivial. Tommy knew the causes of it. Knew that it could’ve meant Didier had overtrained, or hadn’t rested properly, or eaten properly or…
Tommy hadn’t been here for it, he was at a medical appointment with Elisa. Elia had told him about how shocked Didier looked, about how his rifle had broken onto the ground and Didier had stared at it for minutes before they had come to get him. Tommy, you need to do something. Elia had asked.
Still, Tommy hadn’t reached out. He didn’t think Didier would want him to, anyway, given how their last conversation had ended. You’re a coward, Didier had said, all the sadness in the world visible in his eyes.
Tommy tried to chase it from his mind.
Didier also wasn’t answering messages anymore. This time, Tommy had texted him. Once. Twice. More than that, maybe. The messages had stayed unread.
He hadn’t gone back to see him. He had thought about it, more than once, but every time, something had stopped him. Timing, excuses, the certainty that Didier wouldn’t want to see him anyway. That it would only make things worse.
So he hadn’t gone.
Yesterday had been flowers. They had picked between several, according to the idea that Elisa had of their wedding and if Tommy was honest, he had found the flowers beautiful, though bothersome. Today was cake tasting.
“Tommy?” Elisa’s voice pulled him back.
He looked up, blinking, forcing a smile as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had crossed his mind at all.
“Yeah?”
She was laughing about something her mother had said, light and easy, her hand coming to rest absentmindedly over her stomach. The gesture was still new, still almost unconscious. The swell was barely there yet, it was just the beginning, but it was enough. Enough to make everything real.
Tommy felt something tighten in his chest again. This was it. This was his life. Elisa. His soon-to-be wife. Their child. Something stable. Something right. It was normal, it was what it had to be.
“Try this one,” someone said, sliding a small plate toward him.
Tommy nodded, picking up the fork. The cake looked perfect. Carefully made, decorated just enough, balanced. It was one of the three flavors Elisa was hesitant about, he was supposed to give his opinion after this.
For a second, something flickered in his mind-
Didier, pushing a plate toward him with a crooked smile, almost shy despite himself. He was pretty, dressed well, just for him.
Tommy had refused to call it a date. Every single time it had happened. But it had been. Even if now he still was denying it.
Didier had looked… happy. Hopeful. His face had stayed bright all along, he didn’t show him anything but pure patience, gentleness, because that was how Didier was. He never knew how to hate anyone, if not himself. His greatest quality and biggest flaw, a reason for which Tommy loved him-
The memory shifted, twisted. The last time he had seen him appeared instead. Pale. Tired. Eyes rimmed red, voice breaking apart as he spoke. Don’t marry her.
Tommy’s grip tightened slightly around the fork.
He swallowed, forcing himself to take a bite. It tasted good. Of course it did. It was a flavor he was used to. It was familiar, simple, perfect.
“Elisa? I like this one.”
She smiled and nodded as he glanced at her again, at the way her hand rested protectively over her stomach.
Good. This was good. This was what he had chosen. He just needed to focus on that, only on that. Anything else was useless and wasn’t worth it. He had promised to himself that he would be a good partner, a good husband and a good father now, he couldn’t go back.
He had left everything in the past. He had no right to regret. No right to think of what could’ve been. Maybe Didier was right and he was a coward after all.
He knew the ache in his chest would disappear after a while. He’d move on, and so would Didier. Didier would be happier with someone else, maybe a girl even, and they will be able to be friends again, best friends and…
His phone buzzed.
It was such a normal, easy thing. Tommy barely thought about it at first, his attention still half-caught in the conversation around him, in Elisa’s voice, in the polite back-and-forth about frosting and decorations. But something, something in the timing, in the suddenness, made his hand move almost automatically.
sorry i existed and burdened you so much
It was small on the screen. Unusual, unlike Didier. A message after many ignored, unanswered.
Tommy read it once, then again, as if his eyes could have been misleading him. As if it could’ve been a mistake. A cold heaviness bloomed behind his ribs, slow and suffocating, spreading before he could stop it.
Around him, nothing changed.
Someone laughed. A chair scraped lightly against the floor. Elisa was saying something about colors, about wanting it softer, more pastel. Her hand brushed his arm as if to include him, to pull him back into the moment.
Everything was normal. Too normal. There was nothing about the storm he was feeling reflecting around him. Fear. His thumbs hovered over the screen.
What are you talking about?
Didier, answer me.
Please.
He sent them quickly, one after the other, his fingers not quite steady, but nothing happened. He stared at the screen, waiting for the little typing bubble to appear. It was going unread, like everything had.
“Tommy?” Elisa’s voice again, closer this time.
He looked up, a fraction too late.
“Yeah- sorry.”
“You’re okay? You look pale.” She asked, tilting her head slightly, her expression soft but searching.
“Yeah,” he said automatically. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
The lie came easily, too easily, when his phone felt heavy in his hand and his throat seemed so tight.
The last time they’d seen each other, Didier had begged, looking so miserable. Tommy had snapped back. Defensive. Sharper than he meant to be, because Didier always made things harder.
He had told himself that Didier’s state was passing, that he would get better, that he would move on when he’d see how Tommy had.
Now the memory crawled up his throat.
His phone stayed silent, while they were still talking about the cake. About details that suddenly felt unbearably trivial. Tommy nodded when he was supposed to, murmured agreement at the right moments, but his attention kept snapping back to the screen in his hand.
His fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
Something was wrong. He could feel it now, unmistakable, coiling low in his stomach, rising up into his chest. A bad feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried to reason it away.
He told himself he was overreacting. That it was just the way Didier was lately, emotional. But he knew instantly that this kind of pretense didn’t work. Didier hadn’t been here lately, if anything he had been fading away.
His hands were trembling. It was bad enough that he noticed and that he had to set the phone down on the table for a second, pressing his palm flat against the surface as if that might steady him.
“Tommy, what do you think about this one?”
He looked up again. The cake was different now. Or maybe it wasn’t. He couldn’t tell.
“It’s good,” he said, too quickly, making Elisa smile.
“You said that about the last one.”
“Then they’re both good,” he replied, forcing a small laugh that didn’t quite land.
His phone buzzed again. Tommy’s heart skipped, but it wasn’t Didier. Just another message. Something stupid again. That didn’t matter. The heaviness in his chest deepened.
He sent a message to Elia, asking him if he had seen Didier lately but when Elia had no idea what he was talking about, Tommy felt like he was under water. Why did no one know anything about where Didier was and how he had been lately?
The feeling just got worse and his hands felt tied. His eyes kept looking at the clock, any clock, at his phone, for any message. He needed to leave, he had to leave. He wanted to move on, for sure, but he didn’t think this was the way he wanted it to happen. He was scared of what it could’ve meant.
“Tommy?”
He looked up again, slower this time, like it took effort to come back. Elisa was watching him more closely now, her brows slightly drawn together. Her mother had stepped a bit aside, giving them space.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
No.
“Yeah, but I… I think something came up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just… I need to check on something. It’s-” he ran a hand through his hair, already stepping back slightly, like his body had made the decision before his mind caught up, “it’s probably nothing, I just- I’d rather make sure.”
She studied him for a second longer, searching his face for something he wasn’t sure he could even name himself. Then she nodded.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Go. I’m here with my mom, it’s fine.”
Guilt twisted immediately in his chest. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. It lingered just a fraction too long, like he was trying to convince himself of something.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
“Drive safe.”
Tommy didn’t answer that because he was already moving. He barely registered the walk to his car, his thoughts running too fast, barely even registering. The message sat in his mind occupying all the space.
It didn’t sound like something you sent and then just went on with your day.
He got into the car, hands fumbling slightly with the keys before the engine finally turned over. He immediately started driving then, too fast.
He knew these streets. He could’ve driven them blind, muscle memory guiding him through turns and lights and intersections, but everything felt off, distorted, like the world had shifted just slightly out of place.
His phone sat on the passenger seat, screen dark now, but he kept glancing at it anyway, like it might light up if he looked at it enough.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, voice tight. “Come on, Didier…”
Nothing. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. The last time they’d seen each other replayed again, louder this time, Didier’s voice replaying in his mind. Choose me. For once, just choose me.
“I’m going,” he said aloud, as if Didier could hear him now, wherever he was. “I’m coming, okay? Just- just wait. Please.”
The words sounded ridiculous the moment they left his mouth. Wait for what? For him?
Didier’s building came into view too slowly. Tommy parked badly, but he was already out of he car before the engine had fully died, rushing up the stairwell. His footsteps echoed loudly as he took them two steps at a time.
He tried to tell himself that it was nothing, that it was an overreaction, that there was no way Didier would’ve done anything like this-
He reached the door and knocked, but there was no answer. He knocked again, louder this time, the sound harsh against the silence.
“Didier, it’s me.”
Nothing again. He tried the handle. It gave. Tommy froze for half a second, his hand still on the door, something deep inside him already knowing-
The apartment was dark. Not a single light on. It felt wrong. So wrong.
“Didier?”
His voice sounded wrong. Too loud in the silence, and at the same time not loud enough. It seemed like Didier wasn’t there and, yet, everything pointed to the fact he hadn’t left.
The air felt heavy, thick in a way he couldn’t immediately place. There was Didier’s scent, but underneath something else. Metallic.
The living room looked untouched. A jacket thrown over the back of a chair. A mug in the sink. His rifle laying down… though still broken, like Didier hadn’t touched it since the incident. Like he could’ve come back any moment.
Tommy’s gaze shifted to the bathroom door that had been left half open. There was no light in it either but something, an instinct made his body react before his mind did. Dread crawled up his spine, heavy in his stomach.
“No,” he muttered under his breath, like he could still stop it, like saying it might undo whatever was waiting on the other side of that door.
His hand reached it and pushed. The door creaked open fully. And then the world… it tilted.
For a second, everything went quiet. It wasn’t exactly silence, or at least it was different from before. It was like sound itself had been pulled out of the room, to leave it immobile, totally devoid of movement.
Didier was in the bathtub.
It was atypical because he was entirely closed while he had immersed himself in it. The water around him had gone still, cold. Too still.
His skin… Tommy’s eyes caught on it first. Pale in a way that didn’t belong to sleep. Not soft, not warm, not alive. Just… pale. Wrong.
There was blood, too much of it.
The way Didier had torn his own skin… Tommy’s gaze flickered away almost immediately, refusing to settle there, like his mind couldn’t process it all at once. Instead, it fixed on Didier’s face.
His eyes were closed. His expression was calm, almost peaceful. Like he was resting. Like he could wake up any moment from now.
“...No.”
It came out as a breath more than a word.
Tommy stumbled forward, his legs giving out before he fully reached the tub. He hit the ground hard, barely registering the impact, hands scrambling against the edge as if he could anchor himself to something real.
“No, no, no-”
His voice broke apart, panic flooding in all at once now, violent and unstoppable.
He reached for Didier’s arm. Cold, so cold. The shock of it made him flinch, but he grabbed tighter, fingers pressing in like he could force warmth back into him, like he could fix this if he just tried hard enough.
“Didier-” His voice cracked completely. “Didier, hey- hey, I’m here, I’m-”
He fumbled for a pulse, fingers shaking so badly he could barely keep them in place, not helped by the water and the blood that made everything slippery. Pressed harder. Moved. Tried again.
“Please,” he whispered, the word collapsing in on itself. “Please…”
The silence didn’t change. It pressed in, suffocating, filling every corner of the room until it felt unbearable.
Tommy let out a sound raw, torn out of him, something between a sob and a gasp. Then he folded forward, his forehead hitting the edge of the tub. His shoulders started shaking, uncontrollably now.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry-”
The words came fast after that, tripping over each other, desperate and useless.
“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t- I should’ve stayed, I should’ve listened-”
His grip tightened around Didier’s hand, holding onto it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
“I should’ve chosen you,” he sobbed. “God, Didier, I should’ve chosen you.”
His voice echoed faintly against the tile, swallowed by the room just as quickly. He continued murmuring other things, telling him he wasn’t alone anymore… But that was a lie.
Because Didier had been. For too long.
Tommy pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him again, like he still couldn’t believe it, like if he looked long enough something might change. But nothing did. He reached out, cupping Didier’s face gently, before kissing his forehead, as if it could’ve done anything.
The world outside the bathroom felt impossibly far away, like it belonged to someone else entirely. Tommy stayed there on the floor, knees pressed into the tile, holding onto a hand that would never move again, never answer, never reach back.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, once and then again. It didn’t make him move, answer, or even look, because nothing outside this room mattered anymore. And somewhere, buried under the grief and the shock and the crushing weight of it all, one thought kept repeating, over and over-
Too late. He had been too late.
The sirens came later.
Tommy didn’t remember calling them. He must have. Someone must have. Did he?
They arrived in a blur of movement and noise that didn’t quite reach him, like everything was happening behind glass. Voices overlapped, firm and urgent, hands moved him gently but insistently out of the way.
“Sir, we need you to step back.”
He did but his legs moved without him really feeling them, his body guided more than anything else. His gaze stayed fixed on the bathroom, on the glimpse he could still catch between shoulders and uniforms.
They already knew. He could tell.
There was no rush in their movements. No real urgency. Just procedure. Quiet words exchanged that didn’t need to be said out loud. Time stretched. At some point, someone was in front of him, speaking directly to him.
“I’m sorry.” A medic said, though Tommy couldn’t even see their face. “He’d been gone for at least an hour.”
The words didn’t make sense at first. An hour. Tommy stared at them. An hour. His mind caught on it, looped around it uselessly. An hour before, he had been-
Cake tasting.
The thought landed wrong. Completely wrong. He opened his mouth, but nothing coherent came out. Just fragments. Maybe he was answering something, maybe he wasn’t. The medic seemed satisfied with whatever he had said back as they moved past him again.
At some point, they took Didier away. Tommy noticed that. He noticed the way the space emptied, the way something was gone now, not just from the world but from the room itself. The water had been emptied as well, leaving nothing but a pungent smell behind.
He didn’t follow, he couldn’t. Instead he gathered himself and crumbled onto the couch. There was a jacket there, that smelled like Didier, that smelled like life, and so he buried his face in it, dizzy and numb, unable to comprehend everything that would never come back.
Then Elisa was there.
He didn’t remember calling her either, but maybe someone else had.
She was holding him, her arms tight around him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head like she could keep him from breaking apart completely. She was saying something, his name, over and over again, but the words didn’t reach him.
It didn’t feel real. None of this did. It felt like a dream, a very bad dream, the kind that he would have woken up from.
But days passed and he didn’t. They passed fast and not at al at the same time, Tommy didn’t feel conscious of it. Everything blended together into something shapeless. Faces, voices, hands on his shoulder, condolences that sounded the same no matter who said them.
He answered when he was spoken to. Sometimes. Most of the time, he just nodded. Elisa didn’t seem to fault him about that, but she probably didn’t know the impact the whole situation had on him.
The funeral came.
He stood there because he was supposed to. Because people expected him to. Because there was nowhere else to be.
Tommy thought he would’ve preferred the coffin to be closed. At least he could’ve denied what was lying underneath. He could’ve gone through it like that. But it wasn’t as he approached and as he stood in front of it.
Didier was there. Still, very still. His skin had a weird light to it. It didn’t look pale, the way Tommy had found him, but the liveliness looked artificial. Rigid. He was dressed well, too well, like he was being presented to the world one last time. And, in a way, he was.
It was what his family had chosen for him, a neat appearance. Controlled. Acceptable. But it wasn’t. Tommy couldn’t do this.
“No… Didier-”
His voice broke instantly, the name falling apart on his tongue. His hands hovered uselessly, like he didn’t know what he was allowed to touch, what was real, what wasn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, louder now, desperate. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it, I didn’t-”
Someone tried to pull him back, but he resisted.
“I should’ve listened to you,” he went on, words spilling out, uncontrolled now. “I should’ve stayed, I should’ve- I should’ve chosen you-”
His voice cracked into something almost hysterical, too loud for the quiet of the room, too raw, too much.
“I was here now,” he said again, like before, like it might matter this time. “I was here, Didier, please-”
But Didier didn’t move, didn’t get up, didn’t answer. It could’ve been a joke. In the deepest parts of Tommy’s mind, where denial laid thick, it had to be one. But with this, there was no pretending otherwise and as they nailed the coffin, Tommy broke.
The wedding happened after that.
Elisa had told him they could postpone it, they could wait. It didn’t have to be now. It was too fresh… He had refused. He didn’t know why. Maybe because stopping would’ve meant thinking, trying to be aware about everything in a way he was incapable of at the moment.
So it happened. He got dressed in the fanciest suit of his life, he said the words, put the ring on her finger, and celebrated with his family. People smiled and cried, and Tommy did his hardest not to stare at the empty chair where Didier’s portrait had been carefully disposed. Elisa had insisted, he had felt too sick to say no.
This was his life, this was everything he had wanted before. And yet, he felt as if he was watching someone else live it.
Their first child was born a few months after. He held the baby carefully, like something fragile. It should’ve changed something, it should’ve shown him that all of this was real and that this was what he had chosen.
It didn’t.
Time moved, almost without his agreement. He would go to Didier’s grave often, bringing new flowers. It hurt every time. It was the only thing that made him aware of how he was getting older.
There were three children, eventually. A house with her too. Biathlon, until there wasn’t biathlon anymore and he had cabinets full of trophies. Routine, laughter. Retirement brought other things, other kinds of jobs, tasks, anything to keep him busy.
From the outside, his life looked complete, happy. Successful.
Tommy learned how to exist in it. He knew what to say, how to smile, when to respond. He knew how to be a good husband, a good father. He did everything right.
But there was a space that never filled. An emptiness within him that made him feel like he was half dead already. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, it would hit him. A memory, no, a voice- or maybe both. Choose me.
And for a second, just a second, everything else faded, and he was back there again, walking near that lake, holding onto his arm while he laughed about something he said, happy and so alive.
What ifs only ruined him further now. He had built an entire life that tasted like lies and misery. His children grew older, married and had their own children in turn, some even picked biathlon as well, and every time Tommy was faced with what he had chosen.
Over and over.
It could’ve made him go insane. It did, in some ways. He grew more silent with age, less required to force himself to smile, ready to let himself die at some point, hoping that at least, once he’d be up there, he would see him again.
And then, one day-
Tommy wakes up.