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It was Fabio’s rookie season in MotoGP and to say it was overwhelming would be an understatement. Between all the new people and scents, it was a lot to take in. Add to that the fact he was hiding his own designation as an omega and it just caused a greater headache.
Racing had it’s own hierarchy- alpha riders dominated the scene and with it came all the sponsorship money they could need to go through the ranks of Moto3 and Moto2. Being a beta was like the middle ground, no one really cared about their designation. And then there were omega riders, fighting for every inch they got. They had to be ten times better to get the same amount of sponsorship as alphas did. Always the underdog, always underestimated.
Fabio’s father had made the executive decision while he was still young that no matter what, he’d be presented to the world as a beta. He must have had a feeling Fabio’s presentation would not be that of an alpha. Even in his younger years, Entienne would always stick to his side- ready to protect.
Fabio had been using scent blocking patches for as long as he could remember which wasn’t an uncommon practice within racing. To be honest, he couldn’t recall his presentation. All he remembered was the aftermath where his father told him he always needed to wear his scent blocking patches and once every three months to administer his hormone balancing shot. Tape his chest, conceal the mark on his wrist. Never skip any part of the routine. Never give them any reason to believe you aren’t a beta.
He adjusted the cool patch underneath his racing suit, the familiar feeling of the adhesive being oddly comforting. To the world, he was Fabio Quartararo- the bright promising beta on the satellite Yamaha. But to himself, he was a young man fighting to belong in a world that never quite accepted him.
He knew the place his father was coming from but his words had been weighing down on him, “You can’t be anything but a beta. They will never accept you. Do you understand, Fabio?” Sharp and commanding his father was. He had made it clear: being an omega in an alpha’s sport was not a luxury Fabio could afford.
But no matter what he did, the truth always lurked in the back of his mind casting a shadow on all of his actions. Would a beta do this? Are you acting like an omega?
The sound of the engines brought him back to reality. On track was the one place he didn’t question his decisions, it’s where he had to prove himself after all.
As the race weekend went on, Fabio couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Not just by the media and fans but by the alphas in the paddock. It was as if they were assessing him and his worth. Any time their eyes lingered, his heart skipped a beat. Would they catch his scent? Would they see through his who façade?
His isolation was two-fold between the lack of deep connection with others and how uncomfortable he felt in his own skin. No one could see his true self. The heavy feeling in his chest never seemed to go away.
Fabio stood in front of the mirror after having finished taping up his chest and putting on the scent blocker. Today, the patch felt like poison. A reminder of the secret that took so much of his energy.
A knock at the door startled Fabio, quickly tugging on a team jacket to hide the tape.
“Fabio? Are you ready for the meeting?” Franky’s voice came through the door.
“I’ll just be a few more minutes! Go down without me,” he shouted behind the door as he hurriedly threw everything into his backpack.
He took one final glance In the mirror as he pulled on an actual shirt. Just for a moment he wondered what it would feel like to let someone into his bubble before his father’s voice creeped back into his mind. He shook his head, he doesn’t have time for those thoughts.
As he stepped into the hallway, he quickly adjusted his jacket, making sure the scent-blocking patch was securely in place, concealing the telltale signs of his omega identity. He passed several team members, but no one spared him more than a passing glance. He had perfected the art of blending in- of being just another face in the sea. And yet, every day felt like a performance.
Later that afternoon, as he geared up for practice, the sounds of the paddock grew louder, the energy palpable. He adjusted his helmet and took a steadying breath before walking toward his bike. The moment he straddled it, all the doubts and worries started to fade.
On the track, he could breathe. On the track, he didn’t have to pretend. The bike beneath him, the roar of the engine, the sharp turns and thrilling acceleration- all of it felt like freedom. It was the one place where his true self didn’t matter.
But as the practice session wound down, Fabio felt the familiar heat creep up his neck. Marc Márquez. The alpha. Fabio didn’t need to look at him to know Marc was there, his presence like a magnetic pull in the air. He could smell it- Marc’s scent, sharper and more dominant than the rest. It was impossible to ignore, and Fabio hated how it made him feel.
With a final glance, Marc walked away, leaving Fabio standing there, heart pounding, unsure on what just happened.
As the days passed, Fabio’s discomfort grew. It wasn’t just the pressure to perform; it wasn’t just the struggle to keep his omega identity hidden. It was the constant fear, the exhaustion of living in a perpetual state of pretending. He was fighting not just against other riders, but against himself- against his secret.
The track had always been a place where he felt free, where nothing else mattered, but even there, he felt the weight of the facade he had to uphold. The smell of the other riders, the subtle glances from the alphas and betas alike became suffocating.
He was constantly on edge, always afraid of being watched. Racing was becoming more and more suffocating just like his life off the bike- a stage for him to perform his charade. An all-consuming anxiety wrapped around him.
Fabio’s gaze unconsciously flickered toward Marc Márquez as he passed by, a casual nod in Marc’s direction, but even that felt charged with something unspoken.
That evening, after another exhausting day on the track, Fabio found himself alone in his hotel room. The stillness was suffocating. He sat at the edge of his bed, staring at his reflection in the dark window. He hadn’t realized how much energy he’d been putting into keeping his omega identity hidden until now.
He knew his father had made him protect his omega identity as a way of making his life easier but now it felt like more effort than it was worth.
Fabio’s fingers brushed over his wrist, where he knew the mark of his omega status was hidden beneath his layers of clothing and scent blockers. The thought of revealing it, letting the world see who he truly was, felt terrifying. His father's voice echoed in his head once more, “You can’t be anything but a beta. They will never accept you.”
But then he thought about the race—the only place where he could feel like himself. The track. The bike. The freedom. The air in his lungs when he finally let go of all the external noise. Why couldn’t he have that freedom in his own life?
Something inside him shifted. Without thinking, he reached for his phone and drafted up a message. The season had just ended, he wouldn’t have to deal with the media if he just posted it. The image was the mark on his wrist that identified him specifically as omega. He couldn’t fake that.
He took a deep breath and posted it.
God, he hoped his father didn’t hate him after this.
He adamantly refused to look at the post, banishing his phone to the other side of the room as he stared absentmindedly at the ceiling. He really should be sleeping but he simply couldn’t.
He quickly decided to look before he finally fell asleep.
There was an overwhelming flood of messages- support, praise, and a few critical voices in the mix, but Fabio couldn’t bring himself to care. He read the comments of support from fellow riders, fans, and even journalists who had followed his career from the beginning.
Fabio couldn’t help but smile to himself. He wasn’t alone. And in that moment, he knew he had made the right decision.
For the first time, he felt like he could race- not just as a rider, but as himself.