Work Text:
The Only Ones Who Know.
It was late 2020, as young Rose Valentine makes her way through a crowded bar, the young motor gp rider, known for her brilliant talent comes face to face with a man many call a legend.
Valentino Rossi, the man, the not so much of a myth was seated with Jorge Lorenzo, the crowded Italian bar was quite quiet. However, as Rose makes her way through to order herself a drink. She comes face to face with him.
“Hello..” she mutters, she can’t believe it, somebody who she’s loved for so many years is actually in front of her. However, not in the nicer situation as his drink splashes itself on her once clean rose gold dress.
He stutters, his voice breaking into English, “I’m so-so sorry!” He stumbles as he tries to help her clean her dress but she simply tells him not to worry about it. He offers to buy her a drink and that’s how it started, a messy steamy night filled with everything loving.
To a lonely 2021, 28th of December as 41 year old Valentino sits by himself, his phone hanging off the side of his palm as he sits in utter silence. Many knew that Rossi always had people around him, women, men who wanted to adore him.
But for once, Valentino truly was alone.
His mind was aching with her, the young woman he hadn’t seen since last month. A one night stand, that’s all it was. But then why did they see each other again? If it was so pointless why does he ache to touch her again, to see her.
‘And I hope you’re holding hands by New Year’s Eve.’
He was a jealous man, truly, an aching to he loved, jealous man. Who wanted to feel something new, some sort of adrenaline, some sort of bursting romance that leaves fireworks on his tongue and his sheets never empty.
But as the clock strikes half 11, these lates nights become overbearing. As he drinks his life away at the hands of a now empty bottle of vodka. Nobody knows of what happened that night in Florence with Rose.
Rose, Valentine.
He knew who she was from the moment she step through that door, everybody did. She was Rose Valentine! The only woman in the Grand Prix circuit, a 4th time world champion.
But she was younger than Valentino. By many, many years, it was sinister. She was 23, he was 41, it would always be wrong, but he’s selfish.
And he stalks her instagram, watching as she posts photos of herself with such loving captions as she loves another, helps another, wants another.
He wasn’t a guilty man, and he knew how to be kind, to be cruel. But this kindness when she would respond to a messy wasn’t as kind as he once thought.
And as he loves some woman who’s name he can’t remember, he feels truly alone in this universe. As these constellations corrupt each other, he gets sent a photo from Jorge.
It’s Rose.
And Marc Marquez, kissing.
Like two lovesick teenagers who have just talked about their undying love for each other under a cherry blossom tree. He laughs, his house’s empty hallways seem to echo as he sits by himself, as he loves by himself.
Valentino Rossi may be a jealous man, but you do not talk the lover from the loving and just act like it’s nothing.
He’d pay, for taking Valentino’s lover away.
And as each race becomes another excuse just to see the blonde’s face again, even as Rossi tries to love somebody else, the media, Marc will never truly know what happened that night.
The night where Valentino truly admitted his love for a woman he thtink’s he’s known forever. A late June night, as they both admitted to maybe even being in love. To maybe even thinking that this would be something serious.
Rose knew she lied that night.
And in some sad way,
Rossi knew too.
they would only ever be the ones who knew.