winner's room - body of regret [2/2]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
huzzah to another chapter of bad luca decisions! this probably wraps up the lucalex aspect. next one will pick up from valentino's pov chronologically. i think. :))
There is someone waiting for Luca when he finally drags himself out of the Winner’s Room.
Smoke, sweet-smelling like the blueberry cheesecakes Steffi used to buy on her way back from work, curls into the air, creeps over Luca, and he blinks, trailing the source to the man wearing a fluorescent yellow jacket and matching cap bright enough to glow in the dark. He’s sitting on the steps of the motorhome, watching the smear of bruise-purple across the sky. Shadows spill over the empty spaces where a few motorhomes used to be; the paddock decamping and deserting, until the next cycle comes again.
There’s a click as his older brother lowers his vape, blowing the last bit of smoke from his mouth. Luca can’t see his eyes, his face, but he can tell, somehow, from all the years of knowing him, that Vale is sad. He used to look like this sometimes, coming home after a Sunday he didn’t win: he would spend almost an hour in the bathroom then curl up under the covers in his room, hair still damp, soaking the pillow and mattress, and Steffi would tell Luca to just ignore Vale because he was sulking. Sometimes, rarely, he let Luca curl under the covers with him but Vale would never talk and tell Luca what was wrong or tell Luca any fun stories about the race so he would get bored and wiggle away to watch TV. Luca never thought much of the teeth marks ringing Vale’s collarbone, back then, which were at his eye-level when he was in primary school, head pillowed on Vale’s shoulder. Certainly he’d never brought it up to Vale or their mother. The memory had faded below the surface, bobbing up to the forefront only now, watching the scaly patch of dry skin patterning the side of his brother’s neck: Vale had grown old. Luca wonders when that had happened.
Were you here the whole time? He wonders how much his brother has heard.
I came over only after I saw Diggia storming out of here, says Vale.
Thanks for the rescue, Luca almost says, then thinks that’s not fair. And Luca never needed rescuing. He could’ve left anytime he wanted to, with Diggia, even with Alex; anytime. You can always leave when you don’t think it’s fun anymore, Vale had said, years ago, before they even got into the premier class and were still learning English in a makeshift classroom on the ranch.
Besides which, the Winner’s Room doesn’t lock either way.
Are you bleeding? Vale asks, calmly.
Luca closes the door to the Winner’s Room behind him, takes a few steps, sinking down next to his brother who scooches off to the side to make room. Vale doesn’t let their knees brush. Vale doesn’t really look at him either.
Vale lets an awkward little laugh slip, head twitchy. That’s good.
It’s the first time Luca’s ever broached the topic, to ask it so bluntly.
Sure, another click, and the sweet scent of Vale’s smoke permeates the space again, as he brings it to his mouth, dry lips pursed. When Luca looks at him, Vale’s profile blurs in the smoke, smeared blue. More times than I’d care to count. Those were – another poorly-fitted laugh – bloody years. Back in the old days, we were like bull-fighters. We saw red, we wanted to draw blood.
You don’t like pain, or blood.
Vale laughs, something realer this time, no, but it happens, eh, you can’t help but get hurt. It’s this life.
Vale means: the paddock, the bikes, the circuit. The thrill of winning, the taste of champagne on his lips, the terror of flying through the air, hitting the gravel. And, surely, the Winner’s Room, too. The most race wins that even Marc Marquez, currently benched, has yet to beat; the man who’s been in and out of the Winner’s Room more often than any other rider past or present.
The room soaked in Vale’s blood.
read the rest on ao3 here!
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