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Fabio steps out of the Yamaha trailer, looking up to the endless night full of stars streaching above his head, as he takes the steps fast, his sneakers klinging loud against the metal steps in the quiet dark.
As usually after a late night team meeting, he crosses the path in-between the trailer labyrinth, already turning left when he hears a sob breaking through the veil of darkness.
Hesitatingly, Fabio stops in his tracks, listening again just to be sure. Walks a few steps more, cranes his neck around the corner of the Ducati trailer—and freezes.
He sighs, looking to the left and right once more and eventually his back slides down the trailer outside wall, sitting down next to the man he once fought with for the championship.
Their blue and red teamwear, normally a striking contrast, are now mere shade differences in the night. For a second he considers laying his arm around him, not knowing if he should offer him his shoulder to cry on or if that is too personal. In the end, he decides against it, instead squirming a bit to the side, just enough to let their shoulders collide.
Seconds go by, seconds Fabio spends with awkwardly staring out into the night to keep his glare away from the other, begging that he doesn’t appear as a creep.
„You know Davide is considering asking Tom about your contract situation?“ Pecco finally says, still staring up to the sky. „He what?“, Fabio repeats only a bit too loud, immediately checking their environment again. However, Pecco doesn't even look at him. Just stares up into the sky.
If he would look closer, Fabio could see the shimmery lines on his cheeks, the wet spots on his Ducati polo. He doesn't.
„He hasn't yet. But if I keep performing like I did in Misano, he will. Not asking about next year, I think. But possibly the year after. If Yamaha doesn't improve with the new engine or the new regulations, he thinks it's maybe worth the risk.“ He turns his head, staring at him. „I mean you possibly couldn't do worse than P15 on a Ducati, right?“
Fabio avoids his gaze, directs it at the loose thread on his jeans. „They know I'm loyal. Everybody knows.“
A dry huff. „Everybody knows your loyalty will be your end.“, he corrects him. The French doesn't lift his gaze, keeps picking on the small hole.
„But what if I go away and fail even more? What if I don't pull a Marquez-like switch to Ducati but a Valentino Rossi type of switch to Ducati?“
Pecco laughs. „We are not even close to Marc Marquez.“ He spits out the name in the same way his Ex-teammate did when there was no other option than to talk about him, Fabio notices. „He is a monster that came back wrong, put himself through so many injuries and operations, endangered so many other drivers, just to push stronger and get that next championship. We can never be like him. We are just mere mortals that can dream about comparing ourselves with him.”
„But did we not only win our championships because he was not participating?“ „Don't tell me you seriously believe in that.“ A shrug. „Maybe. But how does it matter? Now that he is back.“
A hush reigns over the scene before Pecco opens his mouth again to speak out what he carried inside for way too long.
„You know sometimes I wish he never came back. Sometimes I wish he crashed and stayed down. Sometimes- “
„You can't seriously wish that to another rider. “, Fabio interrupts him appalled. Pecco let his head sink down, his forehead bumping against his knees.
„I don’t “, he mutters. „I would never seriously wish that onto somebody. And then I feel like a monster whenever this goes through my head. “
He pauses, taking a deep breath before he lets out the secret that's so obviously screwed to his chest. „Just sometimes I hear what he said- says- about him and then I can't help but to think- What if they talk behind my back about me like that? What if I can't prove that I am worth his legacy? “
Fabio giggles bitterly. „It's hard when you are compared to him right? “
Pecco throws him another glare. „To which one? “ „To both. “
A sigh breaks through the dead air. „Yes.“ Pecco drops his face into his hands, rubbing his temples before he looks up at the sky again. „It's not easy at all.“
Fabio waits, waits for the hissing valve slowly opening and eventually letting out all the steam and build up pressure.
„I hate it. I somehow hate him and respect him at the same time. And then I feel terrible again when I look at all his achievements and still want to despise him. He has been through so much, has lived through way harder downs, has indulged all this hate and pressure, has been crippled and still fought his way back. I look at him through the screens, him standing on the podium and laughing and then I look at him in the garage resting his arm on bad days and I can't even hate him.“
He lets his hands fall onto his thighs, ignoring the echoing slapping sound, his feet twitch as if he would jump up every second and march up and down the small hallway between trailers.
“And then Valentino, everybody looks at him and sees this god-like man and then their look falls onto me and I just know that they expect that I will be great just because he picked me. And it’s not like I just can go out and disappoint him. I have to try, I have to give my best, but at the moment my best isn’t enough and nobody believes me that it is just this fucking bike.” A sob breaks him off.
“It’s just not fair, how can they be compared with us.”, he complains with a suddenly tiny voice, just like a mouses, his defence crumbling.
“Well, in the end we’re all World champions.”, Fabio eventually says. “I would say that must at least mean something, but then I look at Joan crashing every second race and I wonder what it’s all worth for. I mean look at us, three of four World champions on the grid and all we do is fail and crash.”
“Very encouraging, thank you.”, Pecco replies drily.
“What I mean with this is, that we maybe have to adjust. We can’t sit on our titles anymore, we have to get working again, maybe at least attempt to change our riding style like Marc did.” The words burn on his tongue, so he gets them out as fast as possible. “What if we have to change too? Leave our comfort zone and experiment to find ourselves again and return to victory?” Pecco at his side freezes. “You surely don’t mean-“ “I do.”
He laughs. “Who would have thought that out of all people, you are the one telling me this?” Fabio tries to laugh along but doesn't really join in convincingly.
“Even the golden retriever leaves the sinking ship at some point, huh.” Pecco eventually mutters.
“Do you think he would be mad at me?” Finally, Fabio gets out what he had in the back of his head the whole time, hell the last months. Caught by surprise, the Italian stares at him. “Why would he?”
“Wow.”
“No, not in that way.”, Pecco instantly fends off. “I mean he has done it himself so” He tilts his head. “Why do you care about what he thinks?” “I know it sounds stupid and he probably doesn’t even cares about it anymore, but well you see.” He gestures. “When he left, he kind of implied that he is leaving the team to my care and when I really give them all what I got, then I will receive back. And I gave everything and I received back and now I feel selfish for wanting more-“ “But you should have gotten more.” “Yeah.”
Pecco leans back, still looking at him with this half concealed expression. “I think”, he starts slowly, “that all riders feel like this from time to time. It’s either we give all that we have got and we are not good enough on the track or the bike couldn’t deliver on track. But we still put ourselves at blame no matter what happens.”
He bites down on his lip. “Even if we shouldn’t.”
“Yeah”, Fabio mutters, his gaze slowly traveling down, the tip of his tongue sticking out.
“Sounds about right.”
“So what”, Pecco laughs out, interrupting the moment. “We just leave and never look back?” Fabio nudges him from the side. “Trust me in one thing. If Yamaha makes you an offer. Do not take it. Do not look at the money. Trust me and run in the other direction. They won’t be at the top for a few years, not even with the new regulations.”
The other one grins at him, tilting his head in his characteristic way. “I will, I promise.”
“Thank you for looking out for me”, he adds a second later, like an afterthought.
All Fabio can think about is, how cute his small overbite looks when he doesn’t put on that performative media smile. Inevitably he leans it as he breathes out, their faces closing in. For a second, he slightly towers above him, just waiting.
“We shouldn’t do this.”, he whispers barely audible. “We shouldn’t.”, comes back and he tries to push away that knot in his stomach, already distancing himself again before a hand on his back stops him.
“Not here”, Pecco replies, nodding towards the door behind them.
“Is this a good idea?” “Probably not, but we really need to get in before I kiss you, just to get that stupid worried look away.”
The Italian leans out to see the soft pink blush spreading about his cheeks and help him up, suddenly eager to get away from this place, barely checking their surroundings.
Fabio, matching his urgency, fumbles awkwardly with the doorknob, so long that Pecco has to suppress a giggle. “Yeah, that one is sometimes a bit hard to open.”
He reaches through the small space between Fabio’s elbow and waist, a part of his brain gloating at the way his hand shutters as he grabs it and push it down to open the door, searching for the small spot in which the doorhandle clicks in before he push against the door, finally opening it.
“You first”, he breathes into his ear from behind his shoulder and gets a good look onto his ass when the blonde follows his command.
Quickly, Pecco follows into the dark room, kicking the door shut behind them.