Hello Hurricane {English Translation}

37. Domen - Bischofshofen - Day of competition

Pitch-black cloud mountains obscured the night-blue sky. The tips of the tall fir trees were silhouetted dark against the sky, weighing slightly in the wind. Domen stared blankly into the distance. He pulled on his jacket to protect himself from the cold that had already taken possession of him. With his last jump of this tournament all tension had dropped off him. Now he felt exhausted. Tired. Alone.

The masses raged behind him. In front of him, Piotr Zyla pushed himself into the air, opening his skis to a perfect V. It boomed dully in his ears. Every single glance followed the Pole. Enthusiastic cheers followed, as he flew over the green line and thus took the lead. The tension on the hill and in the stadium rose with every second. The tournament would be decided within the next few minutes and there was absolutely nothing that would have less interested Domen now.

All he could think about was, that it was over. He should be relieved that at the last moment he had realized what a big mistake he was about to make. What Daniel had almost done to him. But he wasn't. He still felt trapped. Pressed. Confused, he was still looking for answers.

"Late again, Butterprincess?"

Grinning, Daniel stared at him from the far corner of the windowless elevator into which Domen had jumped at the last moment. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't seen the Norwegian when he was rushing through the closing doors.

"Actually, I'm early," Domen replied uncertainly and turned his back on Daniel. Stared at the silvery surface of the elevator in front of him to distract himself. His breathing was much too loud and excited in the silence. Like his heartbeat. He felt Daniel's presence with every fiber of his body. The Norwegian could have touched him as well. The tingling sensation that ran down his spine would have been the same. And he wanted that, as much as he didn't want it.

A quiet rustling behind Domen brought him back from his thoughts. The blurred reflection of the elevator told Domen that Daniel was now standing directly behind him. Domen closed his eyes. Waited, for what would happen, unable to move even a centimeter, when Daniel's warm breath tickled his ear and sent more small shivers through his body.

"Trophy room at the other end of the hallway. Right across the toilets. In five minutes? "He whispered in his ear. Domen turned around in surprise and looked, speechless, in the overjoyed eyes of the Norwegian. "What? "The Norwegian whispered amused. "You're not the only one who is on wrong ways now and then," the elevator doors opened with a pling. Daniel stepped out into the corridor without looking back, leaving Domen behind in confusion.

He had expected a lot, but not that. Not after the volleyball fiasco and another meeting with Peter. Nevertheless, Daniel had just stood in front of him. Solved and somehow happy. Daniel had found a way to keep going. While he still didn't know how to handle it. He only knew that he wanted to spend more time with Daniel. And that scared him more than he was willing to admit.

Domen was so lost in thought that he almost missed stepping out of the elevator. Only the doors closing in front of his eyes brought him back to reality. He stumbled out into the hall, right in front of an oversized picture of Stefan Kraft. Triumphantly, he held up the golden eagle.

Domen looked around stealthily as he put his skis against the wall. Daniel had gone to the lounge like everything was normal. And before he could think further, Domen followed the passage in the opposite direction and without hesitating disappeared behind the door opposite the men's room.

Cautiously, Domen groped for the light switch in the darkness. Sniffily, he looked around the dimly lit room. On each free wall were shelves in which subjects numerous trophies had been issued. Signs of past fame, that no one paid attention to any longer. Probably not even the cleaning lady. The faded yellow-brown wallpaper had been decorated with pennants, dishes, and old black and white photos at every vacant place. This strange arrangement was completed by a small round table with four old wooden chairs. The room radiated something forbidden. It reminisced Domen about the back room of a mafia boss, in which cries of pain could fade away inconclusively.