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Marc didn’t know he could be this happy. After all he’s been through for all these years, the harassment from fans and journalists, hatred in real life and on social media, distancing from the rest of the riders …

Don’t get him wrong, all of that was still very real for him. It didn’t magically get better with time. The other riders were still avoiding like the plague outside of the paddock, the threat of sympathising with the enemy of Valentino Rossi looming over their heads. No one was checking on him when he would crash and get injured, except for his brother. Fabio, the French one, and Aleix did text him in 2020 and 2021, but their bond wasn’t strong enough for it to last in 2025.

It’s partially his fault, he was aware of that. He was distrustful of most people, thinking they would try to take advantage of him or of his physical state. The only person he kept close to his heart was Alex. But did it actually count, since it was his brother. They’ve always been attached by the hip, since they were kids, and they even lived together now.

They may potentially be a bit codependent, but it was their own problem. But when it comes to the rest of the grid, he didn’t reach out to them. They looked so uncomfortable, even when he came to congratulate them for a win or podium, or to check if they were alright after a crash. Some of them were outright hostile, like some of the VR46 riders and the others just avoided looking him in the eyes while whispering in his back.

And, he was mostly fine with it. Sure, it stung. But he had his family, his championship title and an arm which was becoming a bit more functional as the years went on. It started to change when he switched teams. The Honda’s bike was making him so miserable, it was a relief when the mechanics, the engineers, and the communication people told him to leave them.

Marc cried profusely, before and after the announcement, but it had to be done. Gresini started a bit tricky, but the warm and familial atmosphere made it easier. It was fun to be in a team with his brother again and he won again in Spain, after more than a thousand days without any win. He succeeded in getting the factory seat, even if many people thought Jorge Martin deserved it more. He then trained like hell during the winter break, and when he came back this time on the red bike, he started to win continuously.

He made mistakes, obviously, like when he lost focus at the American Grand Prix, but he was having fun. He could fight at the front, use the bike to its fullest potential and was either first or second in the standing, but never far from getting the championship.

Marc’s relationship with other riders also started to change. With Pecco for example. If his now-teammate was polite but cold, they got closer along the way, often joking with each other. Even as the season advanced, badly for Francesco and better for Marc, the younger man stayed kind and never slandered him in front of the media.

He also got close with Fermin Aldeguer, the Gresini rookie who took his seat when Marc got promoted to the factory seat. He was very young, only 20, but he was funny, bold and a bit enamoured with Marc, if he was honest. Alex had a great time with the younger rider, and none of them minded the fact that everybody said Fermin was the 3rd Marquez brother. The tall Gen Zer was blushing so much when Marc teased and congratulated him, the Ducati rider made it a game, with no maliciousness of course.

He remembered how horrified Fermin was when he rear-ended Marc during the cool down lap. He thought Marc would be mad, that he would avoid the younger man after it. When the gresini rider apologized profusely, almost crying in anxiety. It shook Marc to his core, especially since he’s been on the other end of the apology in 2015. He accepted the apology without a doubt and reassured Fermin that he wasn’t mad at all.

The main difference in the relationship was with Marco Bezzecchi. The younger man used to hate Marc, it was almost comical. The guard dog of Rossi almost assaulted him when the younger man fell at the Valencia GP in 2023. The man celebrated Pecco victory and championship title with a stupid temporary tattoo on his forehead, telling everyone who would listen that it was all Marc’s fault.

After drinking way too much, he came pounding on Marc’s motorhome door and started to shoot obscenities at the then Honda-rider. Marc was deeply unimpressed, hearing the same lies and terrible things about him that were being repeated since 2015. And the younger man looked kind of pathetic in his attire, smelling of alcohol and weed. Which was so stupid since they had the test a couple days later, and if he was drug tested, he would be in big trouble.

But they were never tested at the Valencia test, because the racing direction was lenient, many riders drank too much after the gala, consuming all kinds of substances more or less illegal. Marc never took anything that could destroy his career even younger, which made Bezzecchi lose the little respect that Marc had for him.

The man who was both a VR46 academy rider and a rider for the VR46 team used to be a fan of Marc, until 2015, before starting to repeat mindlessly all his mentor's hatred. It didn’t make much of a difference for Marc, he wasn’t the first to act like that, and wouldn’t be the last.

It was annoying, sure, to be glared at as soon as he entered the same room as Bezzecchi, but what could he do ? It lasted like that for the first 3 years that the younger man passed in motogp. But, strangely, he started to change his attitude and his mind about Marc when he went to Aprilia. Even if Marc had to admit the criticism of the younger man did lessen and even stopped in 2024.

Bezzecchi started to be able to make the black bike work with him and shared the podium with Marc. Just like that, he became Bez to Marc, to his insistence. The Aprilia rider admitted sheepishly that he didn’t like it when people called him by his full last name, so Marc was even more irritating to him before. Marc took a little time to get used to it, but the big smile he received was all worth the trouble.

And it wasn’t the only switch in Bez’s attitude toward Marc. The Ducati rider started to notice the glances Bez was throwing to him when he thought that the older man wasn’t paying attention. But also how dilated Bez pupils would become when Marc would come hug and congratulate him when they finished a sprint or a race. How he was clearly checking out Marc when he was in regular clothes, since they shared many press conferences, being the two big surprises of the 2025 season.

If Marc first hesitated to try anything, the fun of teasing and flirting with the younger man took over. When he wasn’t insulting or glaring at him, Bez was funny, a little strange but Marc was not exactly normal either. And lord was he pretty. Marc always noticed how hot the younger man was, with his curly hair and his tattoo.
A few years earlier, when the rider wore a meshed top, Marc got an eye-full of his nipple piercing and he was pretty sure his brain was court-circuited. He immediately understood that the younger man must be a bit freaky in bed, and it woke Marc’s appetite.

So Marc started to plan, and to conquer. He started by grabbing Bez’s hand after the races to congratulate him and squeeze it multiple times. When he was hugging him before a podium, he would hold him a bit too long, while praising his riding. The Italian was becoming all flustered, red and biting his lips. It was adorable, Marc had a great time.

The more he was doing it, the more Bez grew comfortable with him, teasing him back and praising Marc's riding. The first time Bez did that, it was such a big difference from his previous attitude, that Marc got whiplash for a second. The Aprilia rider admitting he had fun while fighting at the front with Marc, even if Marc won, in front of the camera was life-changing.

And then it happened. After Sachsenring, one of Marc’s favorite circuits, where he won his nickname “King of the Ring” many years ago, they finally acted on their desires. Bez had crashed, so he wasn’t exactly the happiest, but he did finish 2nd at the Sprint.

But when Marc cornered him at his motorhome right after the media, when they were both still in their race suits, Bez had no problem finding enthusiasm. The Spaniard came to check on the curly-haired man, but he was still so full of energy, he was almost vibrating. Bez invited him inside his motorhome with a nod and a smile.

He didn’t exactly remember how it happened, but a few seconds after, Marc was plastered against the door, Bez against him and his lips on him. They took no time to take off their clothes and Marc had one of the best fucks on the last 5 years. Bez was obviously a bit nervous and wary with his arm, but he didn’t act like Marc was disabled.

The Italian insisted for the Ducati rider to be on his back, and Marc didn’t know if it was because Bez wanted to see his face or because he guessed Marc wouldn’t last on his hands and knees. He didn’t make a spectacle of avoiding or focusing on his scars, just applying a sensual lick to them, making Marc shaking in want.

The Spaniard had been happily discovering that it wasn’t going to be a one-time thing, because it had been Bez who came to find him at the Czech Republic Grand Prix. And that’s how Bez became Marco.

Because if Bez was the one having sex with Marc, Marco was the one staying after. The one who cleans his body with so much softness it could be qualified as worship. It was Marco who was sending him a silly meme and photo of Robik, the younger man’s pitbull. It was Marco who had suggested that they saw each other during the summer break.

Marc decided to invite him, after a few moments of doubt, to Spain, because being in Italy for pleasure was not a good idea. Him being in his lover’s country was never a good idea, but he still had to race. Alex was going away on vacation with his girlfriend for almost two weeks. And those 10 days were so good to Marc, lounging in the pool with Marco, making him taste his favorite spanish dish, waking up beside him after they made love.

It had to end because Bez needed to go back to Italy to race at the ranch, since it was a tradition at every summer break. The Italian departure had been harder on Marc than he thought it was going to be, but he still managed to pretend that he was alone in the house when his brother asked about it, saying Marc was acting weird and looked sad.

He didn’t tell Alex about Marco. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his lover, of course he wasn’t. Marco was not only kind and drop-dead gorgeous, he was Marc’s. It wasn’t the fact that Marco was a man, Alex would not care about that in the slightest. He knew about Marc’s homosexuality since they were teens, and that Marc came out while stuttering and red as beet.

And Alex was also queer and profoundly unashamed of his attraction for the male species.

But he knew that Alex would have a hard time accepting their relationship. He didn’t like Marco, finding him overly critical and being a show off. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. The Italian was way more shy that anyone gave him credit for, and incredibly humble. He would get all flustered when Marc praised for his riding, or when he was saying how proud he was of him.

And Marco was inevitably linked to Valentino Rossi. The man who made their life hell, who made Marc the enemy of a whole nation and a lot of motogp fans. He was the man who banned Alex from joining Yamaha, the one who insulted Marc and said he had no place in the sport. Marco had been such a faithful student, a worshiper of the motogp God. So, Marc couldn’t say he didn’t understand Alex's distrust of the Aprilia rider.

So for now, they stay hidden from the rest of the world, comfortable in the darkness, enjoying being shielded from public judgement. Marc knew that Marco didn’t say anything either to his friends. He also feared judgement for dating Marc, who wasn’t their favorite person.

The one who appreciated him the most was his teammate, Pecco. The Ducati rider was never outright mean to him, always polite as his nickname “The gentleman” reminded everyone of his conduct. But despite having a terrible season, he got warmer with Marc, being more open and genuine. After the Misano Grand Prix, which was Marc's first Italian Grand Prix as a Ducati rider, they spent the evening together.

It had been a bit overwhelming for the both of them, but they were glad for the 1-2 finish. They first started to talk a bit after the dinner, before Francesco offered Marc to come help them build the lego set he was currently working on. Saying that Marc had been taken by surprise was an understatement. But he agreed, lured in by Pecco’s gentle smile.

And so he spent the next two hours building a little spaceship, or at least helping the best he could with Pecco and some of the engineers and mechanics from the younger man’s side of the garage. Marc had been afraid that he would be too bad at it, messing it up and ruining the moment. But Luigi, the mechanic from his left, gently guided him, aiding him when he was stuck and everything went well.

It felt good to spend an evening with the team without screaming, dancing and drinking. He didn’t get to do it again yet, but he was looking for another evening like that. He thought he may be able to, because Pecco told him he would invite him again, and Marc felt like he passed some sort of test he didn’t know he was taking.

Luca was the second nicest guy from the VR46, strangely. Despite being Valentino’s brother, the younger man assured Marc he could think for himself and decide by himself if he liked someone or not. The fact that Marc helped and pushed for his transfer to the factory seat at Honda definitely helped, but Luca never was outright hostile before that. Marc didn’t help Luca because he wanted to prove Valentino wrong or something like that, but just because Luca had potential, and deserved to show it. He was also assuring a future for his beloved team.

Franky Morbidelli was a touchy subject, with him being Alex ex when they were in moto2 and because Alex and Marc saved his life during one of the tests. But he never really liked Marc, and was screaming to the media about Sepang when he could. He said Valentino was right, that Marc rode dangerously and it was audacious coming from him.

Andrea Migno didn’t succeed on being a motogp rider, but offered a space to criticize Marc with pleasure, which wasn’t exactly nice. And for Celestino Vietti, Marc didn’t know a thing about him, apart from the fact that Marco and him were best friends and often smoked majiruana together during the winter breaks. Vietti never said anything mean about him or to him, so Marc didn’t care for his existence. He was just another moto2 rider, and probably one who would get to motogp, as he wasn’t a prodigy.

So Marc really got Marco not telling them he was in a relationship with him. Nobody knew how they could take it, and the probability of one of them telling Valentino, on purpose or not was too important. They didn’t talk about telling others about their relationship, as it was so new, so exciting.

When they came back from the summer break, they continued like that. They were stealing kisses between corridors, trying to be discreet but being terrible at it. Marc was whispering filthy things in his ears when Marco was trying to stay serious, but ended up as red as Marc’s bike every time. They were having sex every Sunday, being especially wild when they were both on the podium, which was becoming a recurring occurrence.

They became more comfortable with each other in public, sharing prosecco bottles on the podium, and hovering closer than they should for the official photos. They were more careful when the looming threat of Rossi in the paddock was overshowing them, but to Marc’s surprise and delight, the younger one didn’t run from him.

He was still coming to Marc, even if more silently and with a guilty look on his face, getting worse every time. So Marc was distracting Bez, kissing him silly and offering his body as entertainment. But the Spaniard never felt like he was just a distraction, never felt like he was just a nice body and a nice fuck. Marco’s eyes were all loopy and soft after they were intimate, kissing the older man like he was something precious and fragile.

During media day at the Hungarian Grand Prix, at the end of August, Marco said he couldn’t go to the hot springs because he didn’t have a girlfriend, during a press conference. He didn’t know why, but it bugged Marc. It was silly, why should he care.

It was true, Marco didn’t have a girlfriend. And Marc wasn't even his boyfriend, they never talked about it properly, never made it official. He probably also said that so the press and the fan wouldn’t snoop to try his identity if he said he had a partner.

But, still, he mattered to Marc. So when they finished their happy business, collapsing on the Ducati’s rider bed happily, having finished first and third, Marc asked Bez if he wanted to go to the hot springs the day after. As they didn’t have a Grand Prix next week-end, they could afford two days of vacation.

Marco looked at him, his eyes wide in surprise and silent for a bit too long. Marc started to backtrack, saying it was stupid, that he should have known that the Italian had better things to do than spending time in Hungary with him. But before he could spiral further, Marco kissed him with so much devotion and something special in his eyes.

So they went to the hot spring the day after, they had fun and Marc officially asked the younger man if he wanted to officially be his partner. Marco giggled and said yes. It was still one of their fondest memories. They ate too much fatty food and went to bed, content and satisfied.

When they arrived at the Misano Grand Prix, things escalated. They agreed that they would probably not see each other much, as it was Marco’s home Grand Prix and so close to Rimini. But they did send each other texts all the time, making Alex sighed as Marc refused to tell him why he was smiling so much at his phone.

Marc was also way more stressed and tense in this Grand Prix. He was getting very close to possibly winning the championship. To be a ninth time world champion. It was as exciting as it was nerve wrecking. He suffered from so many years, crashed so many times and now, it was at his finger tips. But it was too good to be true, and just after overtaking his lover at the 6th lap of the Sprint race, he fell.

He was used to the atmosphere of the Italian Grand Prix. He was used to being booed during 3 days non-stop, to see puppets of him being hanged and sign of him being fucked by Jorge Lorenzo. It was never pleasant, and if it was slightly better since he was a Ducati rider, it still stung. Hearing the roar of happiness of the fans because he crashed got to his head, during his walk of shame to his garage.

Thankfully, he didn’t hurt himself. He was very glad he didn’t win at the Catalan Grand Prix the week before, even if he had been a bit disappointed to be unable to catch Alex. His team cleared him to go to the media directly, where he had to justify himself countless times. Yes, he had been a bit stupid and didn’t pay attention. No, it wasn’t because he struggled more to race in Italia, it was a track like another one ( even if it wasn’t). Yes, he was still confident for tomorrow ( but not really).

When he finally reached his motorhome, he was exhausted. Peeling himself off his leather suit was such a chore, he put it off. He did answer all the texts of his worried loved-ones, especially his mother’s and father’s before going to bed. He learned to not be too harsh with himself over the years, but the little voice from the back of his head was particularly vicious at the moment.

He knew that his boyfriend won, because people on social media were really happy about it. He was glad for his lover, who hasn't won a sprint race since 2023 but that also meant that he probably wouldn’t be seeing him at all until tomorrow. He would be celebrating with his friend, mentor and all the Italians surrounding the VR46 academy.

He tried to pout, but he longed for his boyfriend's comfort, for an embrace, a hug. Nothing sexual, he wasn’t in the mood. He didn’t have much time to sulk about it because he immediately fell asleep, absolutely worn out by the circus this Saturday.
Not too long after, but with enough time for the night to settle, he was woken up by a whisper, a voice calling his name. Marc opened an eye, reluctant to be woken up in the middle of the night but jumped at the sigh of Marco.

The bewilderment visible on Marc’s face greatly amused Marco, who was petting his hair with only what could be described as awe. But very soon after, the Italian eyebrow furrowed when he saw Marc’s state.

“Amore, what are you still in your race suit ?”

“I was tired” Marc retorted, knowing damn well it was the worst excuse in the world.

“That can’t be comfortable. Come on, let’s get you all comfy.”

Marc felt like his body was weighing a ton, all his limbs heavy in exhaustion and anxiety. Marco, the sweetheart that he was, helped him all the way, passing the sweatpant over Marc's hips and the sweater over his head and shoulder. It took a little while, the leather stiff and snug on the Spaniard's body, but none of them complained. As soon as they were done, Marc immediately got back on his bed, struggling to go under the blanket but very determined to fall asleep quickly.

He still kept one eye open, watching his lover changing into the pajama Marc had especially for him. Despite the exhaustion, Marc was still very much capable of appreciating the body of the one who was sleeping with him. He could see the scratch on his muscular back, being the artist behind it and almost purred in contentment when Marco positioned himself behind him letting Marc be the little spoon.

It was never really comfortable to be the one embracing the bigger body, when he could be snuggled in the Italian’s arms. He was almost back into Morphe’s embrace when he suddenly remembered that they weren’t supposed to see each other today. He totally forgot to congratulate his sprint-winning boyfriend.

“Marco, Marco ! Are you awake ?” The Ducati asked urgently, panic taking over.

“Hum, yes” Marco grumbled, his hair in his face, trying to make Marc lay back into the bed.

“Marco, I’m so sorry, I forgot to compliment you for your win !”

“Don’t worry, that’s alright” The younger man tried to reassure him, his eyes now open but full of sleep.

“No, it’s not ! I’m so, so proud of you ! You rode like a champ. Why aren’t you celebrating ? Why are you here ? ”

“I celebrated ! For hours with all my friends and all the academy. But now, I want to be with my wonderful boyfriend and sleep with him.”

Marc gnawed on his lips, unsure on what to do. Of course, he was over the moon to be with the one he was in love with, so sleep into this warm and safe embrace. But Marco deserved to be praised and appreciated more than Marc was currently able to do. He won the sprint at his home Grand Prix by riding flawlessly. Upon watching Marc, Bez sighed before forcing Marc back in a hug.

“Baby, there is nowhere I'd rather be. I love the guys, but I needed some quiet time, where I can relax and rest for tomorrow.”

“But I don’t want you to prioritize me over your happiness just because I was stupid and crashed” Marc replied quietly, shame taking over his voice.

“You weren’t stupid because you fell ? I crashed several times this year, and you always reassured me that it was normal. Even superhuman like you make mistakes Marc ! I bet your tires were dead after staying so long right behind me, weren’t they ?”

Marc’s silence was enough of an answer for Marco and he considered the matter settled. He waited for his lover’s body to relax and fall asleep to follow him, but Marc’s head must still be full of insecurities, spiraling for nothing.

“Marc, I love you. I’m not happier elsewhere than in your arms, please, believe me.” The Italian declared, his voice a bit shaky with his confession.

“You love me ?” Marc wondered, his voice suddenly very awake.

“Of course, I do.” Marco repeated, blushing profusely.

“Well, so do I. Marco, I love you so much.”

And just like that, Marc stopped doubting himself and the fact that Marco deserved to be in a better place than his bed, their mouths colliding against each other in need. They didn’t do anything that night, since they would have to race in a bit more than 12 hours, but they needed to demonstrate how much the other mattered to them.

The next day, Marc’s head was clearer. The title fight wasn’t on the table for today, all he had to do was what he did best : riding and winning. And so he did, under the unforgiving Italian sun and in front of thousands of people who were praying for his downfall.

He was exploding with joy, with jubilation and delight. His team welcomed him in their arms, roaring with exhilaration, throwing him in the air in Parc Fermé. Marco was right behind him in 2nd place and Alex was third. It couldn’t be a better day. If everything would go well, he would win the championship in two weeks at the Japan Grand Prix, having to score only 3 more points than his beloved baby brother.

He only hesitated a second before starting to get off his suit between the coolroom and the podium, with the help of his exasperated brother. Alex may be tired of his shenanigans, but he was still the one peeling the suit off his brother's upper body, with a fond smile.

Only slightly insecure, Marc jumped when his name was uttered and he presented his suit to the world, brandishing it like a prize. He felt completely naked in only his under suit, his bulge evident with the adrenaline running through his veins after winning the Italian Grand Prix on an Italian bike.

When he turned around to climb on the highest step on the podium, his eyes crossed with Marco, whose month was wide open in shock. Of course, he didn’t tell his lover about his plan to celebrate by copying Messi, and he definitely enjoyed the sheer arousal rolling from Marco.

Marc still quickly put his suit on, feeling a bit too vulnerable for his liking, and Alex immediately assisted him, probably annoyed at the increasing whistling. They received their trophies and medals, the national hymn of Spain echoed in all the circuit and soon after, they were drawing each other in prosecco. Marco sent his own bottle to his team and accepted a take a swig from Marc without much convincing, swallowing while staring into Marc’s eyes.

Marc wanted to jump his boyfriend in front of everyone else. He wanted to tell the world that this incredible, beautiful and talented rider was his, and his only. That nobody except for him knew how he looked when Marc was on his knees, how he sounded when he was coming.

But decency and secrecy obliged, they separated themselves, Alex sending his brother a pointed glare which meant “What the fuck is that” as much as “We’re SO talking about it later”. But he didn’t matter at this moment.

It didn’t matter either when Marco tackled Marc against his sofa, in the Italian motorhome. They didn’t even reach the bedroom, impatient to taste the alcohol of each other. They were both shirtless, groping what they could without actually focusing, too excited to be precise.

Marco started to pant into Marc’s mouth when the Spaniard stuck his hand into his pants, looking for the prize. But while he was starting to get to the good part, they were suddenly interrupted by a loud gasp. They tore off each other and jumped like they were burnt.

Turning their head toward the culprit, they found not one person but a whole group of people gaping at them. The whole academy was staring at them, like it was the last thing they expected to find in Bez motorhome. Pecco was the one leading the group and grimaced, trying to back track and get everyone out of here before a cataclysm could happen.

But because Marc apparently couldn’t be happy too long or the universe would decide to fuck him other, someone taller grumbled for the riders to step aside so he could enter. And before either Marc or Marco had the mind to cover themselves or do something sensible like running, Valentino Rossi entered the motorhome and his gaze fell on both of them.

The reaction was immediate, anger and revolution promptly taking over. Rossi was looking at Marco like he grew a second head and at Marc like he was a particularly disgusting creature. Which was probably how he was considering Marc, so the Spaniard shouldn’t be surprised.

“What the fuck is HE doing here ?” Rossi’s voice rang out in the small space.

“He … huh …”

Marco was visibly panicking, trying to adjust himself and to button his pants. His checks were red from shame and embarrassment, his eyes were starting to fill with tears. Marc knew it wouldn’t be good when Rossi would find out about them, but he wasn’t expecting a panic attack.
“He was just leaving,” Marco concluded, sending Marc’s shirt into his face.

Marc lost his composure for a second, his face becoming white as a sheet. He had harder and more embarrassing moments than someone walking on him during preliminaries. But when Marco announced his departure, avoiding his gaze and holding himself, like he was protecting himself from everyone else in the room, he felt a pang in his chest.

Just like that, Marc was dismissed. Like a particularly embarrassing one-night stand, one very ugly than you would rather die than presenting to your mates. But he also knew how important Valentino Rossi and the VR46 riders were to Bez. How much the younger one struggled with judgments from his peers.

So Marc acted like everything was fine and normal, like he wasn’t discarded like a used tissue. He put his shirt back on, grabbed a random sweater from the pile and started to lace his shoes. The silence was so heavy, he felt like he was choking on it. But the Ducati rider was determined to not run out of the door like he was chased by death.

He took his sweet time finishing dressing up, and only glanced one last time at Marco when he took hold of his phone on the counter of the kitchen. The younger man was openly sobbing, even if it was silent. Marc couldn’t decipher if he was crying because he was ashamed of the position he was found in or because he was ashamed of who he was found in this position.

Marco was barely put together, his hair a mess and his clothes all wrinkled. The Spaniard tried to catch the Italian eye’s, just for a second. Just so he could manage to express to Marco that everything would be okay, that it will arrange itself. But he was unable to, and Rossi suddenly put himself between them, his gaze severe and unforgiving.

“You did enough, get the fuck out of here” Valentino spat.

Marc didn’t hesitate to stare back, looking as cold as he was feeling. He may be avoiding to look at the older man the best he could in front of the cameras, trying not to utter his name in interviews, but if Rossi thought that Marc was scared of him, he couldn’t be more wrong. He hated the 9th time world champion. He was a despisable person, who hurt everyone who wasn’t acting the role he gave them in his head.

The VR46 team principle was the one flinching, when Pecco passed close to them to get to Bez. It filled Marc with smugness, but also comfort. Francesco was a kind man, and even if he was a bit upset that Bez was with Marc, he wouldn’t shut out his best friend. Marco was in good hands, so he needed to leave now.

So he did, walking quickly through the paddock. He may have put a good front but he was starting to panic. What would happen now ? What would Bez do ? Surely, the younger man got scared and panicked, but it wasn’t the end of the world. He would call Marc once he talked about it with his loved one, and everything would go back to how it was before, right ?

He tried to make sense of it in his head, remembering how sweet Marco was. How he said he loved Marc for the first time the day before, how he was caring for Marc like he was worth it, how cuddly he was at night, without any sexual innuendos.

When Marc finally reached his motorhome, he was almost hyperventilating. The sheer fear that was coursing through his veins would be the end of him. God, he hoped, he prayed that Valentino Rossi and his terrible influence wouldn’t destroy everything in his path.

Because, historically, that is what he would do. Rossi was a cruel individual, who was acting like a God with everyone around him, deciding your fate or cutting the red string if you weren’t good enough for him.

What was he going to do ? Was he currently hurting Marco ? Of course, the Spaniard didn’t think his old rival was going to hit his lover or something like that. But the harshest blows weren’t only physical. What if he decided to force Marco out of the academy ? Marc knew it was the worst fear of the Italian, to be kicked out of the structure he was considering family.

Would he put an ultimatum on Bez, to choose between Marco and the Ranch ? It didn’t seem stupid. It even seemed rational. It was typically what Rossi would do in this type of situation. And, in this case, what would Bez choose ?

As much as Marc wanted to say he would choose him, without a doubt or a beat of hesitation, he wasn’t really sure of himself. Choosing him above multiple people he knew and loved for more than 10 years, choosing him instead of his mentor and hero.

The thought of being left alone, to be the one discarded started to make him sick. Like, actually sick. He rushed to his bathroom, which thankfully wasn’t very far since a motorhome couldn’t be that big, even if you have money.

He made it in time, hunching over the toilets and puking all he ate during the day. He severely regretted the cherry tomatoes he ate after the Grand Prix, and their acidity. Whole pieces of his nuggets were also in his vomit, which disgusted him even further.

Marc hated throwing up, and even thinking of vomit could make him throw up. His father called that him being “emetophobic”, but giving it a name didn’t change the fact it was disgusting and made him have a hard time. Because of the pain, the taste of the barf and since it was coming up through his nose, Marc started to cry.

Not the small amount of tears that you can associate with disliking being sick, but full on sobs. People would think someone is dead with how much Marc was bawling his eyes out. The door of the bathroom that he closed in a hurry opened itself with a bang, and Alex appeared, his hair disheveled. His younger brother rapidly took account of the situation, and concern was coming in waves from him.

He didn’t ask what happened, fortunately , because Marc was completely unable to talk at the moment. He just gently grabbed his older brother, putting him on a carpet by the door, far from the disgusting mess in the toilet. After flushing it, Alex grabbed a clean towel, humidified it and started to clean Marc’s face.

The gentleness of the action, associated with the sadness he could see in his brother's eyes, almost sent Marc into another fit of tears. But the Gresini rider shushed him, and helped him change into clean clothes as well.

Everything was quite a blur after that. He could understand that he was guided by his brother toward the sofa, could feel the blanket put on him and a few seconds after, or minutes, he couldn’t really tell, a warm mug full of tea was put between his trembling hands.

The soft hum of jazz music coming from their vinyl player grounded him to reality, and he finally was able to breathe. The sofa’s cushion dipped at his left, and Alex was at his side, giving a quick squeeze to his knee.

“Can you tell me what happened ? Just nod yes or no, if you don’t feel like talking.”Alex stated, his voice still soft.

He was used to his brother being non-verbal from time to time, especially when he was overwhelmed. And the moment after throwing up definitely entered the overwhelmed category. Marc was infinitely grateful for his brother. He was so understanding, never judging him for his differences and quirks, when they irritated Marc himself. But Alex never made him feel like a burden. When Marc acquiesced, Alex started his questioning.

Was Marc sick ? Was it because he ate something he wasn’t supposed to and couldn’t stomach it ? If not, did something happen ? Was it the fans ? The media ? Ducati ? Another rider ?

When Marc nodded shyly at the last supposition, Alex stiffened immediately. He, of course, remembered the 2015 chaos. When Marc and Valentino had their fall out after the Sepang Grand Prix. Not many people were aware of their actual relationship. They weren’t only rivals fighting for the titles.

They were intimate with each other, since Marc entered the main category to be honest. They started much like Bez and Marc's own relationship started, after a heated fight on the tarmac, they started to have sex. But the similarities stopped there. While Marc and Marco’s relation was balanced, his with Rossi wasn’t in the slightest.

The older Italian was controlling, rough especially when it was Marc who won, and didn’t hesitate to humiliate him and degrade him. Marc tried to convince himself he was into it, that he didn’t cry himself to sleep when the older rider left, not even asking if he was okay after intense scenes they didn’t agree on before.

But Marc was in love with Rossi, terribly so. So when the occasion presented itself to be with him, even if it was in secret, only in their sheets, he wasn’t going to refuse. But after the Ranch, their dynamic started to change. Valentino was borderline hurting him, refusing to see Marc’s face when they were fucking, shoving him into the bedhead . He was angry with Marc, and Marc would be the one paying for that.

After the Sepang Grand Prix, all these anger and hurt climaxed. Marc was pained to have been shoved, because Valentino actually harmed him on purpose. In their sport, a crash could equal a career-ending injury or even death. The championship title wasn’t worth it. And Rossi was so sure that Marc helped Jorge to win the championship, when it didn’t make sense at all. Marc didn’t care for the older Spaniard at all.

If anything, he would prefer Rossi to win the title. But not at the cost of his own season. So, in their shared hotel room, they argued. They screamed at each other, saying terrible things they both meant. And Rossi ended it, telling he knew Marc would betray him, and kicked him out of the room.

So, ashamed and hurt, he had to ask Dani, his teammate for help. Jorge was already there, of course, because the two of them were already in love at this time. They weren’t in the best shape either, since Valentino insisted to Dani that Marc and Jorge had been together. It was such an ugly mess. And Alex remembered that.

“Tell me you didn’t get back to him” His younger brother pleaded.

“Of course I didn’t” Marc exclaimed, his voice rough from throwing up.

He immediately saw the relief in his brother's shoulders, and hated himself for that. Rossi hurt him a lot, but he did even worse by hurting his family. His family who had been stalked, harassed, doxxed. It was a terrible affair and the authorities had to be involved.

The fact that Alex thought Marc would go back to this fan despise that just showed how volatile and unexpected he was for his relatives. His self disgust must show on his face because Alex quickly reassured him, explaining that not many people were capable of creating this extreme reaction in Marc, and Rossi was one.

Marc needed to weigh his options now. He could still decide not to tell anything to Alex, or a very bad unprepared lie. But his brother stayed with him for so long, supporting him, taking care of him. Of course, Marc was doing his very best to do the same but he was the big brother, so it was his predefinite role, it was normal. Alex didn’t owe him that, but did anyway.

So he felt like he owed the truth to Alex. If it was going to be ugly, he could at least prepare himself, and Marc would rather that it’s him who told Alex, than an academy member while spewing hatred. It wouldn’t go well.

So he took a big breath, his hands shaking as he asked his brother not to interrupt him. Alex immediately looked more serious and nodded, showing his support and concentration. The Gresini rider relaxed a bit on the sofa when Marc started to narrate.

Marc started to explain he started to see someone without specifying who. It was just sex, consensual on both sides, and Alex made a small disgusted face, not really willing to not talk about his brother's sexual adventures. But Marc continued, his voice shaking more and more, and started to describe how their relationship changed.

How they both cared for each other, being tender and showing actual support after good races and bad races. How this person succeeded in breaking all his inner walls, that he built to protect himself over the years. How it had been scary, but how relieved he was that someone discovered the real him and actually appreciated him.

Loved him even. Alex’s eyes widened a bit at the use of the L word. Marc never used it once to talk about his previous relationship with a certain Italian. But it was because Marc was aware that Rossi never loved him. He had fun, toyed with him. But that’s all. If Marc had been in love with the older man, it had been one sided.

“Who is it then ? Because it’s obviously a rider, but you didn’t tell me his identity.” Alex interrupted, growing impatient at the suspense Marc was creating.

“It’s … Alex, you have to promise me not to get mad. I’ve been through hell tonight, and I can’t bear you being upset with me.”

“I can’t swear I will like your choice in men” Alex warned, before softening when he noticed how stressed and sad Marc looked. “But I’ll stay respectful. I may not like it, but I won’t make you pay for it, that I can promise.”

Marc gulped and swallowed with difficulty. It was already a lot, and couldn’t ask for more, really, but it was still very stressful for Marc. He didn’t know how to reveal the identity of his lover. The pull of keeping their relationship a secret was strong. It had been so good because it was between them two only. And also, it didn’t seem very fair to out his boyfriend to his brother without his consent. But well, it was not like Marc gave consent when the VR46 academy smashed Marco’s door and walked on them while they were about to be intimate.

“I can guess it’s not someone I’m familiar with, because you wouldn’t hesitate so much to tell me otherwise” His younger brother estimated. “You told me he raced this season alongside you, so I can cross any retired rider like Andrea, which sucks because he would be a lovely brother in law, as well Dani and Jorge since they’re almost engaged at this point. It’s not Cal or one the Espargaros either …

Alex’s little game of guessing who just broke Marc’s heart made the Ducati rider laugh weakly. Or course his little brother would love Marc to be with Dovi, Alex always loved the Yamaha test rider. They have been in bed a few times between 2017 and 2019 and it was good, but Marc wasn’t in love with the older man. And Dovi obviously cared for him, so it seemed cruel to go on since they didn’t have the same motives.

“So I can also cross any rider you get on with currently on the grid off my list like Joan or Fabio. You don’t seem to care much about them, I mean not in a romantic aspect anyway …” Alex was still thinking outloud, but suddenly stiffened and started to look somber. “It’s one of the Italians then. Is it one of Rossi ducklings ?”

“Yeah,” Marc admitted, hoarsely.

“Is it Pecco ? Because since you’ve been a teammate you’ve been much closer. And he’s definitely one of the nicer ones. He looks a bit like a rat, but well … you don’t choose what you look like. Are you sad because he said something mean about the season ? This man is going through a nightmare, and even if it’s no excuse, that doesn’t seem unthinkable, especially …”

“It’s not Francesco” Marc interrupted, overwhelmed and upset. “It’s Marco. The man I love is Marco Bezzecchi.”

The silence after his confession suddenly weighed 2 more tons. It was suffocating and Alex was looking like a deer in headlights. The sheer surprise and astonishment visible on his brother’s face seemed a bit much. Marco was definitely the “friendship” nobody expected with Marc. They’ve hugged countless times on camera, praised each other riding to the journalists, shared prosecco bottles in front of Alex.

But apparently, his brother couldn’t put two and two together, and still looked puzzled. It made Marc suddenly insecure. What is surprising ? That someone like Marco was with someone like him ? Marc knew he wasn’t that young anymore, that he was expected to retire in a few years, and that Bez was beautiful and at the beginning of the highest point of his career.

“You went for Rossi’s lap dog ?” Alex quizzed, his voice high.

“Don’t speak about him like that” Marc riposted violently.

“Well, sorry, but that’s true. He looked at the man like he would suck him off if he asked. So, what happened, then ? For you to put yourself in the state I found you ?”

Alex’s words had frozen Marc. They were so cruel, so unexpected from his brother’s mouth. Of course, he wasn’t saying that to hurt Marc, it was spontaneous. Marco did look much like a worshipper when he began his career, and still did sometimes, even if it lessened when he started to ride for Aprilia. But it still hurt to hear his brother talk about Bez like that, especially when Marc had just admitted when they were together.

His baby brother rapidly apologized, sensing he had been going too far. The sting of the metaphorical slap was still ringing Marc’s ears, but his brother looked genuinely sheepish. So he reluctantly started to describe how his evening went. How they started to make love to each other and were interrupted. How disgusted the other boys looked, how ashamed Marco looked, how he had been dismissed for what seemed forever.

Marc was properly sobbing at the end of his tale. He knew he shouldn't spiral, that he should just give Marco some space and time to recover from what happened. He genuinely trusted his lover, and had faith that he would call in the following hours or days. But for now, he was just crushed by heartbreak and anxiety.

To his surprise, Alex didn’t try to reason with him. He just held his arms in Marc’s direction and the Ducati rider dived in his brother’s arms. The hug wasn’t gentle, the two riders crushing each other, showing how much they cared for each other. Marc was trying to convey how glad he was for Alex's support, while Alex was showing that he understood Marc, that he didn’t think he was crazy.

And it was worth so much more than any word the Gresini rider could have said. Alex did look very worried when they finally parted, after Marc finished sobbing, his eyes red and his body dehydrated by so much crying.

It was funny how so little people could affect him this much, and yet it was almost always silly Italians that cared more about each other than about Marc.

The following days were a blur. They came back to Spain, in their concrete home that Alex was going to leave next year, once his own would be done. Marc was acting as he was automated, like a robot. He woke up, trained, ate, napped, trained again, ate again and then went to sleep. It lasted for the whole week like that.

He had no sign, no text, no call from Marco. It wasn’t that Marc gave up, lord no. He himself tried to contact his lover. He sent the first text the next Wednesday, it seemed appropriate to wait 3 days after the disaster before asking for news.

But Marco left him on read. So, as the days passed, Marc grew desperate. He started to send more texts, asking if everything was fine, if Marco was mad at him, if he was safe at the Ranch. But he still got no answer. So he decided that he had to call. They both hated that most of the time because they didn’t know what to say, but something had to change.

When Marc ended up on Bez’s voice call for the 4th time, the realization finally drew on him. Bez made his choice in the situation, and it wasn’t him. The Italian chose to stay at the Ranch, in the comfort of the academy and closer to his friends than with Marc.

At first, it was anger that took over Marc. It was unfair. How could the younger man suddenly decide that he didn’t want Marc anymore. Just the day before the catastrophe, he was saying he loved Marc and acted like.

And the worst was that Bez was such a coward that he couldn’t directly tell Marc, wouldn’t pick up the phone and utter what was for Marc a death sentence. The younger man preferred to stay silent and hidden like a big baby.

What did Bez tell the boys about them anyway ? That it was just a one-time mistake, that nothing happened before. That there was nothing real between them, nothing meaningful ?

When Marc was in love with someone, properly in love, it took time for him to fall, but once it began, he was going down quicker than anyone. He has been in love with two people in his life, and both times it ended badly. Both times, they suddenly decided that Marc wasn’t worth it, wasn’t the trouble.

So then, the Ducati rider turned sad. From being mad, he became unconsolable. Of course, Marco wouldn’t choose him over his close friend, his family. He was so much work, he was a headache to all the people he loved, a burden, really. So when someone as amazing and talented as Marco found himself in a pickle, asked to pick between the plague and happiness, why would he purposely make himself sick ?

It lasted until they landed in Japan, under his brother's worried gaze. Marc did his best to act normal, cheerful and excited for the important Grand Prix they were heading for. But he probably was doing a poor job at that, because Alex was excessively gentle.

But the small things gave him away anyway : he was always up by 7:30 without an alarm, and no< took hours to get out of bed. The training was such a chore, he was procrastinating it until the last light of the day. Nothing seemed appetizing, so he didn’t reach his protein goal.

It was such a mess, but god, was he sad. He just tasted happiness, true and unfiltered happiness for such little time, and didn’t want to go back anymore. He still tried his best, because he still had a championship to win.

At least, he didn’t have to worry that if he won the ninth title this year, and equaled Rossi, there would be trouble between him and Marco. The Aprilia rider wouldn’t have to worry about taking sides, since he already did. Marc could also entirely focus on his riding, not losing time trying to find a moment to see a curly-haired Italian.

It was perfect for him to be in good conditions for the Grand Prix, in theory. In practice, his head was hurting all the time and his heart was weighing tons. He was at least glad that they were going to Japan now. He always adored the Japanese fans.

When he had been Honda’s golden boy for so long, leading victory after victory, championship after championship for the Japanese team, it was normal for him to be attached to the country. When he raced here with Gresini for the first time since leaving Honda, he’d been scared that the fans wouldn’t like him anymore. That they would be outraged by his treason and betrayal.

But he received that same warm welcome, the same round of applause and excited young fans that asked him to sign their 93 caps. It had been a relief, a weight he wasn’t aware he was holding. Winning the championship here would mean even more, to him, than winning it in Italy. Perhaps not as much as in Spain, but that’s because everybody dreamt of winning a title in their home countries.

The first day of the weekend, the media day was the same circus as the rest of the time. They seemed unable to ask him anything else about the championship, Rossi and being one of the best. He was very careful not to even utter the same of the looming ghost, determined to not give him more spotlight. When he was saying his name, even if it was just during a game where he had to list the world champions, the Internet was unbearable for a few days, up to a week.

And Marc decided to not give more attention to the man who broke his heart for the second time. He had every right to break up with Marc, even if you couldn’t really call what they had a proper relationship, but he definitely meddled in his relationship with Bez. And that was unforgivable.

He was aware he was dressing a portrait where Bez was entirely innocent and Valentino the only guilty person. Much like Valentino did in 2015, but he didn’t give a damn. You become what you hate most, or something like that. He was sad, missing sleep, proper nourishment and happiness.

It was like the world was slightly dammed. And it lasted when he ended up third in FP1, FP2 and in Q2. He assured himself to be on the front row for the sprint, and it was good enough for him. Alex being in 8th position to start the races was almost assuring Marc that he would win the championship in the next 24 hours.

And everything went well, with him being able to snatch the 2nd place at the last moment to Pedro Acosta, who still didn’t have a clue about tire degradation and how to manage it. He tried to explain it multiple times to the KTM rider, but the younger Spaniard was so overly confident that he wasn’t listening to a word said by Marc.

Pedro used to listen to him, to respect him and even to praise Marc when he was younger, in moto3 and moto2. But when he entered the main category, he started to act as if he never did. As if Marc was just another young rider. The Ducati rider was aware it was also part of his plan to seduce Rossi to have a spot in the VR46 team in 2027.

The KTM was very unpredictable, being a terrible bike at the beginning of the year and on certain circuits. Their financial situation was also in a very bad state, and it was better to leave the ship before it starts to sink. Rumors were spreading that Tech3 wouldn’t remain the satellite team of KTM, which was huge.

When Marc was finally able to get off his bike in Parc fermé, it was such a relief. He had been so tense, so unsure of himself during all the sprint. Every lap was a torture in itself, especially with his bad start. It was like he forgot how to race, like he wasn’t waltzing with the bike anymore.

He was still an experienced rider with one of the best bikes of the paddock, so he managed, but he wasn’t comfortable. The highlight of the sprint was actually on his teammate, who well deserved it after being in the trenches for so long. Pecco was wearing one of the biggest smiles he ever had in the season, you would believe he just went first in the standing.

Since the beginning of the weekend, they both avoided each other carefully, trying not to stir any troubles or arguments. Marc had no doubts that Francesco’s loyalty was lying, and he needed to protect himself from any negativity who would throw him off his game.

But right as he was going to go on the second stairs of the makeshift podium, the younger Ducati rider grabbed his elbow. Marc stiffened, not knowing what to expect of his teammate. But as he did during all the season, Pecco was kind and polite. He congratulated Marc for his remontada, giving him a soft smile that looked sad to both of them.

It greatly surprised Marc. It wasn’t just an acknowledgement, it was a public congratulation. They both usually do, to appease PR and make the boss happy, but nobody would have noticed if Pecco skipped this one. A rider who won after a series of bad races would be too ecstatic to remember to put a good face on his greatest rival : his teammate.

And it was even startling for Marc when you had the personal layer : what happened in Marco’s motorhome the day before. But the moment ended as soon as it began. They received their medals, posed for the picture and went to do their interview.

The usual routine didn’t change, they changed into team kits and went to discuss their performance and debrief what they needed for the day after. It was rather short, for once, because Pecco did well so he didn’t complain, and Marc knew he couldn’t have done better given the tension and stress he was feeling.

Gigi clasped their shoulders in genuine care and told them to go rest for the day after. The two riders left the room while the engineers were still discussing what they wanted to check for the main races, and walked in tensed silence toward their shared cars to the hotel.

They both assured the team they could be in the same car to go back to the hotel when they weren’t at the europeans races to gain money and avoid polluting more than necessary, but Marc was seriously regretting his act of kindness now.

The driver glanced at them before putting on the radio, which was playing some retro Japanese songs. Marc gritted his teeth, determined to not be the one who broke the silence for once, looking by the tinted windows. Pecco was staring at him intensely, like he was trying to catch Marc’s gaze, to find something he was looking for.

When Marc finally relented, Pecco was the one breaking quietness and told something entirely unexpected, shaking Marc’s world.

“I’m sorry for last week. We should have known better and knocked.”

It was so unpredictable for Marc, he was expecting a cold shoulder, to be avoided or maybe even insulted. An apology was the last thing he could have imagined. His shock was apparently evident on his face, because Francesco looked even sadder, like he understood that Marc always expected the worst coming from him. Coming from anyone linked to Valentino Rossi.

The guilt almost knocked Marc off his feet. His younger teammate didn’t do anything to deserve it. It has always been polite, kind and understanding. He could have spread rumors about Marc, or could have even tried to make his life harder, making his team change harder than it had been.

Marc used to do that to his teammate when he was younger, making their life unnecessarily harder than it needed to be. He was aware that it was mean to do that, that it wasn’t mature. But his sole focus used to be to win the championship, and Dani Pedrosa took the blunt from his ambition. He used to ask for the pieces he wanted only, unable to compromise. Compromising to help his teammate seemed impossible to understand or even think about.

But now, with a motorcycle that was working enough for him but was terrible to his peer in the red team made him feel a bit guilty. The problem for Pecco was that his struggles during the season weren’t actually only because of the bike. He lost his confidence when he lost the championship despite his 11 wins in 2024, and he put too much pressure on himself to perform better than Marc. To win the championship, reclaim the narrative and prove he was part of the “Greats” alongside his mentor and his teammate.

But now, Pecco did hold power over Marc. He could use the knowledge he had about Marc, could taunt him from the fact he was the one alone now, that the man he loved decided to stay with the Academy, and not him. Pecco’s best friend chose Pecco, and not Marc, contrary to most of the fans, head of Ducati and mechanics. Having his team disappointed with him but happy with the newcomer couldn’t have felt good.

But now, the younger man was looking at him with pity. Not the kind you would look at a competitor because he lost to you or at a rival who crashed, but the one you would give to a dog who lives outside during a storm, like a stray cat whose ribs are sticking out in hunger.

It made every defense in Marc’s body hackled, to make himself look strong, sure of himself, independent. But at this moment, he wasn’t any of that. He was tired, his body ached in all the wrong way and he was miserably alone.

“It’s okay, it was going to come out at any day at this point” Marc muttered, trying to get the frown off Francesco’s face.

But it didn’t help, because the younger man looked regretful. It warmed a bit Marc’s icy heart that his teammate was feeling guilty of having forced both of them to come out of the closet, even if Marco was probably already out since a few years, and everybody knew or suspected that Marc and Valentino fucked.

To be stripped of the choice to come out when they were ready and how they wanted to do it did hurt. And for Francesco to acknowledge that was a big thing for Marc. So many people harmed him, on purpose or not, but never once apologized to him and gave a second thought of his metaphorical scars.

Pecco looked hesitant for a moment, then his face hardened in determination and Marc braced himself for the slap. Whether it be verbal or physical, Marc endured worse and would also do in the future, what the younger man was about to do couldn’t be harsher.

But against all odds, the Italian just extended his arms before closing them in the most gentle hug Marc ever received. The embrace was not exactly relaxed or natural, as both the men hadn't done it before and Franceco wasn’t really tactile, at least with the Spaniard.

“I’m sorry about Marco. He’s being an idiot, and I don’t support his decision to keep you far from him. Please, be patient with him.”

The plea made Marc stiffened, because apparently, Francesco was on a mission to do the least probable thing or to utter the less predictable sentences in man’s history. To Marc’s horror, his eyes started to fill with tears.

He was NOT about to cry on the poor Italian shoulder who just wanted to make him feel better. But what could Marc do when Francesco admitted to be on his side, when everyone had always been against him, except for his brother. He tried to take a big breath, to fill his suffering lungs with a bit of air, but instead of composing himself, a sob found a way out of his throat.

Pecco acted the best he could, just slightly distance himself from Marc in astonishment, his eyes wide with genuine surprise. But as Marc thought he was going to get shoved away, in disgust of his repulsive overflowing feeling, and mocked, maybe filmed, the hug became more forceful, and their chests were sticking.

Marc all but collapsed. The pain of being kept in the dark, to be discarded as a washed doll by a growing child, of not being loved enough finally drawing on him. He didn’t cry anymore after the evening where Alex found him.

He didn’t allow himself to shed any more tears, before he felt like he didn’t deserve it. He should have seen it coming, he should have prepared himself better. It had been obvious that he was going to be the second choice of the curly-haired Italian, how could it be different ?

But now, all the ugly thoughts that went through his head, all his spiraling and hurt was coming out of him in a crashing wave, closer to a tsunami than a calm undulation of water. Pecco didn’t falter for a moment, providing a shelter from the outside world, even if it was only for a few minutes.

Marc wasn’t used to sobbing, he had always been always a child who cried for very little time. As soon as the worst of the pain passed, he could regain composure quite quickly since he was young. His eyes were dried from embarrassing weeping, his throat as dry as the desert.

He wriggled out of Pecco’s hug, who finally relaxed his hold on the older man. When Marc finally gathered enough bravery to glance at his teammate, he didn’t see any sign of discomfort or mockery. Only genuine concern.

Marc didn’t get to apologize, as when he tried to utter the words, his throat seized and cursed himself for being non-verbal at this time. But Pecco just nodded, smiled at him like to reassure him it was okay when it wasn’t.

The Italian was obviously quite worried about his mental state, because he walked Marc to his hotel room with a hand on his back. It was more a small reminder that he was by the Spaniard side than an insistence for him to continue to walk, and Marc didn’t know what to do with this sign of affection.

He just sent a weak wink with an unconvincing smile to the other man, who seemed overjoyed by the small gesture and went away. Back into the impersonal bedroom, Marc just went under the cover and went to sleep.

He didn’t eat dinner, which woke him up around 3 in the morning, and he cursed himself for his carelessness which was costing him precious minutes or hours of sleep. He refused to call room service, because they also deserved a bit of time off. In these types of high-end hotels the teams were spoiling their riders with, they could order anything at any time.

Most riders, despite being rich and overindulged, didn’t use it anyway because they needed to stay in top shape, especially during Grand Prix weekends. So Marc just lighted his bed side light, observing the colors of the neon from outside painting his wall. He didn’t close the shutters either in his exhausted state, and it was kind of pretty.

Getting out of his trance, he got out of his bed, the coldness of the air attacking him, so he hurriedly grabbed his handbag, and rummaged to try to find a protein bar. But as he was distracted when he packed, he didn’t bring enough.

Well, he would have to go out. As much as he didn’t want to, his stomach was grumbling, and he would have bigger troubles trying to fall back asleep hungry than actually fetching some proper food. So he sighed, put on a hoodie with a hood to try to hide his identity to be left alone that late in the night.

If a fan saw him and posted a picture of them during the middle of the night, the team wouldn’t be happy with him, and his family would worry that he was having trouble sleeping. It wasn’t exactly untrue, but he gave enough scares to his family, especially related to his health for many years, he didn’t need to add to it.

His sneakers were easy to put on, and after a silent elevator ride, where he tried his best to be discreet to not wake up any other guests. He was outside in a few minutes, looking for a convenience store. As they were open 24/7, Marc thought again to himself that he was happy to be in Japan.

A store with a recognizable green neon welcomed him, where he muttered a small hello in Japanese to the bored cashier who answered a bit too late to be natural. He grabbed 2 onigiris, since he knew that he liked them, especially the egg one and the tuna one. He decided to indulge himself with a small box of Dango, since it wasn’t too heavy on the stomach.

He went to pay, and the young woman, who was in her early twenties, probably a student in need of a small salary, scanned his purchases. Her style was very alternative, with a punk ground that he recognized as Bratmobile. He told her he liked her shirt in broken Japanese, and she suddenly raised her head in surprise.

She didn’t look asleep in the slightest, despite the late hour of the night, but it was probably thanks to the help of the white monster beside her. She smiled softly at him, her eyes shy but kind and he paid. Right as he was about to go back outside, she screamed :

“Good luck ! Seeing you ride and succeed always brings joy to my day, thank you for not giving up .”

And she said it in english. She obviously recognized him, when it was one of the closest shops to the circuit and the hotel around it. But she didn’t ask for a picture or tried to make him talk. She just supported him while he was leaving. And if that wasn’t one of his favorite types of interactions.

He gave her a wild smile and nodded, making her blush in happiness. Even if he felt miserable, that he was spiraling and felt like his heart was going to give out, he had support from so many people. So many people whose fans were unknown to him were cheering for him, he had no other choice than to continue what he was doing best : riding and winning.

So he decided that he would. He returned quickly to his hotel room, practically inhaled his food and got back to bed without too much struggle. He woke up a few hours later, went to breakfast and joined the circuit with his brother.

He saw that Alex was looking at him warily, like he was expecting Marc to be so stressed that he would be shaking, or eating the skin around his fingers. Even if he wasn’t at ease exactly, Alex was forgetting that Marc already did that.

6 times already, he woke up at the morning of a race week-end where he could win the championship in motogp. You can even add 2 times if you count the moto3 and moto2 titles, which mattered as much as the motogp championship when he was going through them.

It's unacceptable that liberty media is trying to make it so these titles don’t count as regular championship titles, like formula3 and formula2 titles don’t count as F1 world championships. It’s completely stupid, according to Marc.

Moto2 and Moto3 are as intense as MotoGP in terms of Grand Prix and pressure from the team. And it would make so many people who were also world champions … not world champions. Including Alex, so maybe he was a little biased, but who cared ?

His results at the warm-up helped a little to make Marc regain a bit of confidence, being first even if it didn’t mean much. But it also permitted him to feel more at ease with the bike. It felt like he was working with the bike again, and not against it. They were one unit, not two entities.

Until the Sprint, Marc had been shielded from the press by his team, not letting one journalist get to him, except for the one during the rider’s parade, but it was inevitable. It was nice, letting Marc be able to focus on his performance only.

He tried his best not to think about everything else, about the mess that Marco represents. He would allow himself to think about the Italian once he was the 2025 world champion. When he came in the garage, Pecco had been looking at him with the same eyes he watched Marc breakdown, so the older rider carefully avoided his teammate for now.

It wasn’t out of pettiness or because he was trying to be mean, but to shield himself for the time being. The last thing he needed was to cry again. And he wasn’t actually feeling like crying, so he might as well avoid any reminders of his life outside of racing.

When it was time to get on the bike for the main race, Marc was feeling like his skin was too narrow for him, like he needed to get out of it. The anticipation, the excitement was so great that he jumped everywhere in the garage to try get rid of all this excess energy.

He had been a bit insecure about doing this silly routine at Ducati. He always did it at Honda, Santi being the one putting him to it. He would take one look at Marc and order him to do his “bunny rounds”.

It allowed Marc to feel more grounded, and avoided him making stupid mistakes on the track because he was overwhelmed by his energy level and his agitation. In Gresini, some team members were doing it with him, to not make him self-conscious, and to Marc, it showed the blue team's actual character.

He didn’t do it in Ducati at first, but after his crash at Cota, which was the stupidest mistake he did in the red team because he wasn’t paying attention, loving being back on his beloved track and being able to be in the front.

When he came back to the garage, his suit all fucked-up, Gigi and Davide had conered him and demanded explanations, which Marc gave sheepishly. He decided to do his “bunny jumps” from now on, and he had never been made fun of.

It certainly made some mechanics or engineers smile and giggled, but it was never mean. They understand it was one of Marc’s quirks, and it wasn’t the strangest one a rider could do. He knew Jack had some peculiar ones, and he had been a Ducati rider, so the team members were used to this kind of thing.

Back to the Japanese Grand Prix, it was finally time for them to race. Right before the light turned green, Marc filled his lungs with all the air that could pass in his helmet and the sound from the tribunes suddenly felt very far.

As soon as the lights weren’t red anymore, he gave a strong push from his legs and his bike rushed to join the other red bike of the grid, the one his teammate put in pole. His start was way better than yesterday, and he successfully put himself in second place.

He had no intention of trying to be first, all he wanted was to end the Grand Prix on his wheels and NOT on the floor. It was perfectly acceptable for him to stay in P2. When he was younger, he would have tried to get his teammate, chasing him down.

It would have been more for his pride and for the narrative. Winning the Grand Prix and grabbing the title at the same time was wonderful. It makes you look especially good, and the media and the fans adored it.

But now, he was older, wiser and his pride had been beaten down for the last 5 years, and he understood that it wasn’t the most important. He waltzed with the bike, feeling much more in harmony with it than the day before.

Grazing the asphalt with his shoulder every time he was turning in a corner, looking only in front of him in the straight line, he didn’t let himself feel anything, until his board told him he was doing his last lap. His feelings then caught up to him like they were the one hunting him down, not Joan or Pedro.

To his horror, he felt his eyes starting to wet, his chest getting caught in a sob. Pushing it down, even for less than 2 minutes, was necessary. When the finish line finally appeared in his vision, he forced himself to do one last effort, to push himself one last time.

And he screamed. 5 years of struggling, pain and suffering came out of his mouth in a shoot he would be embarrassed when he could look at the footage later, but lord, did he not gave a single fuck at the moment.

It was his time. He did it. He won his 9th championship. All the people that supported him screamed with him in unison, the circuit seeming much more filled than it actually was. Even if they were only hundreds of thousands, it felt like millions of people were celebrating with him.

Hands coming from everywhere started to grab his thighs, his helmet, elbows and hands. So many riders came to congratulate him, and whether it was genuine or not, Marc didn’t care either way. Pecco was looking at him with his eyes full of joy and care, and he held his teammate for a second more than anyone else.

Marc almost choked when Marco arrived at his side and grabbed his left thigh and gave it a squeeze. Marc desperately wanted to see the younger man's expression, but his helmet was close up. He wanted to feel mad, and waited for anger to fill his body.

But none of that came to him, he just wanted the other man. The simple display of affection was enough to send him into another fit of tears, that the cameras were 100% catching and broadcasted. It wasn’t everyday that Marc Marquez was allowing himself to be vulnerable to the world, it had not been seen since 2015.

But he couldn’t care less who was watching at the moment. He finally did it. He was the 2025 Motogp world champion. Nobody could say he was washed. That he didn't deserve a spot on the grid or a seat at the Ducati Lenovo.

When he reached his brother, he was openly sobbing, and his brother was not in a better state. Alex just lost to him, he couldn’t be a world champion anymore this year but he was celebrating with Marc like he was the one who won.

“Marc, I’m so proud of you” The Gresini rider was shooting at him to cover the roar of their bikes and of the crowd. “You did it, you made it through!”

Nobody could get to him like his brother. He knew that Alex would always be his number one supporter, the person who loved him no matter what, you brought the best of him. Marc tried to tell him so, but the tears and emotions were too strong. But Alex nodded and smiled, like he entirely understood what Marc tried to say.

He had to leave, so they would be able to do the proper celebration. Marc posed with the championship helmet, watched the small documentary of his struggles while desperately trying to dry his tears. The last frames said what the tee-shirt his team helped him to put on : more than a number.

Because yes, his 9th championship was so important, putting him as one the greatest, as the equal of the monster under his bed. But it was also so much more than a number of championships. It meant that all the pain and struggles were worth it, that Marc was worth it.

The hours following the race were full of hugs from everyone, his team, his bosses, his friends, Santi. He made everyone giggle by struggling to add his plate to the new championship trophies and did so many interviews where he shed many more tears. Damn DAZN and showing him his late grandfather.

When all of that, the hotdog shared with Pecco, all the dances with Ducati and the speeches he half-heartedly prepared were delivered, he was completely exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted. The kind you have when you finally pass all your exams, and you know you can finally rest.

Alex finally appeared at his side, smiling softly and Marc said goodbye to everyone. He needed a shower, to eat and prepare himself to go out again. To celebrate as he should with his favorite thing in Japan : karaoke.

His skin was buzzing during the ride home, Alex telling him silly jokes and showing him the support from all the fans on his phone. Marc was so euphoric, he felt like he could finally breathe again . He told Alex so, who suddenly looked a bit pale telling Marc something was waiting for him in his room.

It made Marc eyebrow furrow. He was sure that if Alex green-flagged this, it would only make Marc happy. He wouldn’t allow anything that would ruin this day for Marc. But his stomach still churned when his brother pushed him inside his hotel room, a hand between his shoulder blades.

And Marc was NOT ready or prepared in any sense for what was waiting for him in his room. Or more precisely, who. Marco Bezzecchi, in regular clothes, was sitting on the carpeted floor of his room, looking very sweaty and anxious. Pecco was also there, standing with his back to the door.

When Alex and Marc entered, Pecco turned around, smiled at Marc and left. Alex squeezed Marc's shoulder, telling him that everything would be okay, that they needed to be honest with each other, before leaving too. The sound of the door closing sounded way stronger than it actually was, making both Marco and him flinch.

They were both frozen, looking at each other bewildered, like Marco wasn’t the one sitting in his hotel room. It made Marc gulped, and he remembered how warm Marco’s hand had been on his thigh at the end of the Grand Prix. But it wasn’t the subject that mattered, so he pulled himself together.

“What are you doing here ?” He asked, his voice colder than he expected.

“I- I wanted to… ” Marco stuttered, trying to stand and almost failing in his panic.

“Wanted to do what ?” Marc snarled, tired and cranky.

Because suddenly, the sight of the man he loved was unbearable. If Marco promptly decided to act right, to officially break up with him on the night of the championship, he could go fuck himself. He could at least wait a few days. And Marc told him all of that, turning his back to the Italian, starting to change into his leather suit, sticky with prosecco. He had better things to do.

“What ? No, no, Marc, wait !” Bez exclaimed, his voice going high. “I’m not coming to break up with you. I would never want to break up.”

“Really Bezzecchi ?” Marc wondered while facing the other man, making tim flinch at the use of his last name instead of his first name. “Because that’s not the impression you gave me for the last 14 days.”

“I - I know. I’m sorry, I should have never ghosted you.” Bez pleaded, his eyes starting to water. “I made a mistake. Multiple ones. I … got scared. And I know it’s no excuses, I know I’m a coward, I’m so sorry Marc.”

The Aprilia rider was starting to work himself in a panic, his whole body shaking like a leaf, looking more white as second passed. Marc started to get worried he would pass out, but he couldn’t let himself talk, baffled by what he was hearing and seeing.

“I’m so in love with you, Marc. And I know I acted so, so wrong. I … You probably want nothing to do with me anymore. And I understand that, when I was such a shit boyfriend. I should have stuck to you, with you when the guys walked on us, when Vale talked to you like that. It was so bad. And I’m such a chicken, because I was terrified he would turn around and decide it was my turn. And then, at the Ranch, it was so bad, he kept on taunting me, criticizing you and saying horrible things. And I couldn’t bear it anymore, so I told him to get fucked, that you were the only man in my life I would ever love, even if I knew you were done with me. So he told me to leave the Ranch, that I was a whore, but … it’s not important. I promise I don’t try to get pity, I know I don’t deserve to ask for forgiveness-

“Hold on, Marco, what ?” Marc interrupted.

Too much information was coming to his brain. He needed time to digest all of that, but he couldn’t let the man he loved continue to say such things about himself. It would be unacceptable. Before Marco could continue his monologue, he grabbed the younger man by the shoulders, who looked properly terrified, like he was about to get punched.

Marco forced Bez to sit on the bed, and not on the floor like he did before and hugged the life out of the curly haired Italian. The latter squealed, before closing his own arms around Marc’s frame. As it was a pretty uncomfortable position, he decided to get closer to the other’s body, and sat on his lap.

He felt like he was choking on everything Marco just told him. He still loved Marc, at the present tense. He apologized for his behavior, and recognized how shitty what he did was. He stood out against Valentino Rossi, his mentor, hero and god because he loved Marc. He took Marc's side and was kicked out of his home, the Ranch for that. And he thought Marc didn’t want to be with him anymore.

Absolutely unacceptable. He needed to fix that immediately. So he did.

He took the smallest distance he could, grabbed the back of the hair of his lover and smashed their lips together. Marco, to his credit, only took a second before responding, more eager than he ever was. They kissed for what felt like eternity, before they had to separate for a basic human need, which is to breathe.

The whine coming out of Bez's mouth was as heart-breaking as filthy, and Marc had to stop the younger man from catching his lips again. Marco had the opportunity to tell him what he needed him to know, but Marc didn’t.

“Marco, my love, of course I still want you. I love you, I don’t think I would ever be able to stop. Yes, what you did hurt me.” Marc admitted, making the younger one looking even more miserable. “You did, and that’s not okay, but … you got yourself kicked out of your home for me. You came, apologized and even if I can’t forget all the pain at the moment, I couldn’t let yourself criticize yourself like that. You’re the love of my life, Marco.”

“You’re mine too” Marco answered, his voice hoarse from crying. “I didn’t think you would still want me. I needed to apologize, but I didn’t want to steal your spotlight from the championship. Because I’m so happy for you, you deserve it so much. But Pecco told me you cried yesterday, because of me, so I wanted to try to make things right …”

“You’re proud of me ?” Marc wondered, his voice faint and weak.

“Of course I am ! How could I not ? The most incredible man I know, who is my boyfriend, won the world championship after 5 years in the trenches. And even if you decide to not be mine anymore, I will always be proud of you.”

Since this silly rider decided to keep on saying stupid things, like Marc not wanting to be with him, he decided to show him how much he wanted him. Don’t blame Marc, he’s still high from his win, and his lover is wriggling on his bed.

So they made love. They practically worshiped each other on the white sheets of the hotel, Marco being determined to break Marc with his mouth and fingers. When they finished, the Italian collapsed on his lover, being the best weighted blanket Marc could ask for.

They still needed to talk. Not everything was resolved. They needed to be more honest, to talk about the fact they both sucked at communicating. They also needed to address the lack of self confidence of Marc and how Marco was dealing with being kicked out of the academy.

Alex finally decided to see if they didn’t kill each other or themselves, and screamed about indecency when he saw them still in bed, Marco’s butt being the first thing in sight. It made Marc giggled and Marco was so embarrassed, it had taken some coaxing to convince him to still come to the karaoke, where every single VR46 academy rider came, congratulating Marc and showing support to Marco.

Maybe they weren’t such a lost cause. They would be fine, and Marc was finally tasting happiness again, from the lips of a certain Italian riding for Aprilia.