pre sepang rosquez is like every two weeks i buy a new bike. hes my hero. tell me if we give you trouble, i have a lot of influence around here. he greeted me by name !! qatar hugs. first press conference together. his lack of experience & enthusiasm is his weak point. first podium. champagne pop ! does he remind you of you? he's better than me ! for sure he will make life difficult. ive always felt valentino likes me. marc is a great friend of vale's, said luca. racing w vale is different from the other riders. helmet touches. restaurant date. but when u are on the track, the words dont matter. hand holding. bowing down. defending his racing. it makes it fun, no? first clash. i feel i should've won. i think i will give to marc less kiss. "vale and marc are not friends anymore". ranch visit. i was so excited i couldn't sleep. (proposal) gift. everything changed between us that day. karting hug ! oh, something u cant win, huh?... start of 2015. dont worry, im a fan of rossi too.
every two weeks i used to buy a new bike. he was my hero
OMGG?!?! THE LATEST CHAPTER MAKES ME WANT TO SCREAM??!?!
I had to take a deep breath but OMGOMG OSCAR YOU LOVELY CHILD WHY !! 😭😭😭 you can have both!! Trustt!!! Jk, anyways here is my way of coping, i love me some yearner boys(and angst) and you were NAWT kidding when you said both of them are shit at feelings hahah. Thank you for the amazing chapter as always, hope your days are always the happiest 🫶🏼
MY SWEET YEARNING FRACTURED BOYS😭
I LOVE THIS THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I hope you’re having an amazing day too❤️
Valentino stiffens, then immediately relaxes, trying at nonchalance. After all these years, Uccio doesn't know why Vale still pretends not to care in front of him.
"So? Where has he gone off to?" Vale asks.
"No," Uccio responds, steadying his voice, "Vale, Márquez is dead. They found his dragon this morning. He had an accident while flying, from what I heard."
Valentino Rossi ruins people's lives every day. Marc Marquez just got his life ruined.
heads up, this is e because of detailed drug use (no sex sorry). don't do that shit, it's terrible. stay away!! FAR!!
thanks to @plutoalive (also known as enea bastianini) for surviving the thought process of this fic. go check out her same age au, monachopsis. i sacrifice goats in the hope that we are blessed with more of it.
i do not like the ending to this. it is too rushed. take me out back of the farmhouse and put me out my misery please
love ej
It's far busier than normal.
Not the fun kind of busy, with strangers letting loose over their paid holidays, drinking more than they should for the sake of it.
This is the bad kind of busy.
The mass of people crowded in the centre of the room sway and twist in unison, like one writhing, breathing organism laid bare under blinding disco lights. It's escapism at it's most common, and it's most necessary.
It's also pretty illegal. A particular problem for Valentino, who was once tearily told by an ex-girlfriend that he "is the goddamn law!" (hence why she broke it off, supposedly. Valentino just thinks she's a bit of a commitment-phobe. But he's just projecting really.), which isn't strictly true, he's a human. Flesh, bones, blood and all. Nonetheless, she echoed the same thing he was told by his father the day he got his internship approved.
By seemingly everyone's definition, he was somehow in charge of the whole country just because he worked in civil affairs. He didn't even do the important shit.
Like shooting people. They'd shoot everyone in here if they knew.
His stool is waiting for him at the bar, just under the black sign with a caricature of a pig with a huge red cross over it. Ha. Ironic.
"'Sup Valentino?" Andre is smiling, a little hollow, hands automatically reaching for the gin and vermouth.
"Yeah, not much. Busy?"
He scoffs, adding a dash of Punt e Mes to the mixing glass. "Worked here, what, six years? I've never seen this many miserable drunk people."
Valentino laughs half-heartedly and listens to the sound of liquid shaking around. It's become a kind of melancholic theme tune to his evenings over the last... half a decade or so.
Andre doesn't ask his normal "Good day?".
He passes the glass with a lemon twist floating atop it, and Valentino stares down into the liquid.
Someone yells. A glass shatters.
Vale spins in his chair. A good fight, that's what he needs this evening. A good distraction.
A good distraction will help him to ignore the fact him being in this room is contrary to his very livelihood, his family legacy, his public appearance as a bureaucrat. The fact he lives two existances, parallel to one another, like two gardens he tends to, one with blood and one with gin.
Neither of which would be healthy gardens, photosynthesis isn't awfully effective when you take away the water aspect of it. Which is another fabulous example of Valentino's own life.
He chews on his thoughts while the short blonde guy punches the tall guy, and the crowd 'ooo's and claps like enthusiastic children. The distraction isn't really working.
Instead he swings his chair back around to signal to Andre he wants another martini. But as he does, someone knocks his arm.
"Ay," He tuts, expecting the dark-haired stranger to throw him a sneer and keep walking away with the same lopsided gait.
"Piss off," He grunts, and turns to face him shakily.
And oh god, he's young. Though his face is twisted like he's just bitten a lemon, there's a softness around his eyes and plushness in his pulled lips. He's not a kid, not with his sharp jaw and furrowed brow, and certainly not with the way he's white-knuckle clutching a glass containing just the dregs of pinkish-red liquid. Couldn't be older than twenty five. Maybe not even twenty three.
Whatever it is, Vale doesn't get a chance to ask before the kid slinks around the corner to the other end of the bar, stumbling as if he were a freshly born foal on stilts.
Fuck. Nothing says nationwide crisis like teenagers taking to drinking.
"Pietro's been serving him; says his tab's up to €78." Andre tuts and swipes up Vale's empty glass.
"Yeah..." he murmurs, watching the corner he disappeared around.
"Don't, Valentino."
"Don't what?" He scowls, watching Andre screw the cap back onto a bottle.
"It would be pointless."
"Yeah, I know."
"Alex? Alex?" Marc sunk to the floor outside the closet, ear pressed to the door to hear him. "'Lex, they're gone. They're gone, you can come out."
"Do you promise?"
"I promise, please, come out."
Something rattled the handles and Marc jumped up. The door opened and a lanky Alex emerged, wiping his red rimmed puffy eyes against the back of his hand. He sniffed.
"There's blood on your shirt."
Marc pulled him into a hug, hands combing through the hair on the back of his neck.
"I know, I'm sorry,"
Alex buried his face in Marc's shoulder, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
"Where's Papa?"
"He- went with them."
"I'm not stupid, Marc. Just tell me." Alex pulled back and fixed him with a pleading stare.
Marc felt his gut twist up and squeeze, a biting, wrenching kind of pain.
"Yeah- yeah, they- that- shot was for him."
His face fell.
"Listen, listen, Alex," He grabbed his chin in both hands and propped his head up. "Go to Aleix and Pol's. Tell them I sent you over because- I-I don't know, I couldn't be home tonight. Pack a bag and stay over there for the night. Don't- tell them anything, just- please."
"Okay," Alex mumbled glumly, and began to shuffle away.
"Wait-" He stopped him and wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders again. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
It just made Marc squeeze him even tighter.
"I'm sorry. I love you."
"Love you too. Whatever you're doing... don't be stupid?"
"Yeah," he swallowed and nodded. "I won't."
Marc splashed icy water on his face, flushed hot from drinking. People always said that in places where drinking is legal, kids are slowly introduced to alcohol and there's an age limit for drinking in public. Most aren't advised to go on a bender the first night they discover what a bar is.
It was thanks to his dad that he knew about this place. Knew little else about it really, apart from it's illegality.
His head felt like it was planning to destroy itself, almost like his brain was bouncing around in his skull. His stomach churned and bubbled, protesting the fruity red liquid he'd been pouring down his throat all night.
"Hey?" Someone asked, ripping him away from staring down the drain. It was the guy he'd bumped into earlier; face fixed into something unreadable.
"What the fuck's your problem?" He tried to bite, but it came out kind of quiet and slurred.
"Hey, hey," Valentino raised his palms in defense. "Just wanted to check in on you. You looked kinda young and-"
"I'm not a kid- I'm fine."
Vale scoffs and holds in a laugh for the guy's benefit. "Okay, I just wanted to ask why you were working up a hundred euro tab solely on vodka cranberries."
"Just fuck off man, this isn't your problem." His voice wobbled a little. "I'm just trying to forget."
Valentino's brow raised. Forgetting things? He could do that. Forgetting was the Valentino Rossi fucking special.
"Well you're not going to forget shit off vodka. You need something stronger."
Marc let his eyes flick to the stranger, watching him in the mirror. He was taller than him by far, tall like Alex. All legs and arms, with a mop of half-formed blonde-ish curls sat on his head. He was handsome, unfortunately, with indecipherable blue eyes and a kind of kingly disposition.
"Like?"
He draws a little metal tin, like a snuffbox but plainer, out of his pocket. It rattles. Faintly, the beat drops on the music outside.
Marc swivels around to face him, suddenly terribly feeling his age, overcome with a want to know what it is.
The man's hands pause on the opening to the tin. "What's your name?"
"Why do you want to know?" Marc sneers.
His hand drops from the opening. "Just wanted to know so I can check the obituary tomorrow morning." He snorts.
"What's yours?"
He pauses. "Vale."
Marc screws up his face. "Vah-ley?"
"Yeah." Vale shrugs.
"I'm Marc."
"Okay, Marc." Vale flicks open the tin and picks up something small and round. "You know what this is?"
He automatically leans in a little to get a closer look. Vale snaps the tin shut and tucks it back in his pocket.
"No." He mutters, still staring.
"This is is ketamine. You don't really get it in pill form too often. Usually you snort it. I just can't stand doing lines, it takes too long to set up, y'know?"
"Isn't it banned for a reason?"
He shrugs. "You said you wanted to forget." He presses the tiny white pill into Marc's magically open palm. His hands are cold.
It's ridiculously irresponsible, almost certainly dangerous and completely out of character for either of them to do.
Vale leans back and watches him, waiting for him to do something. He almost leers, arms folded, icy blues scanning him. Marc feels tiny.
"Do I need water with it?"
Vale just stifles a laugh.
No, then.
He watches it for a second, waiting for the little circle to transform, to do something. Nothing comes. Marc brings his hand up to his mouth and grimaces for a second, them swallows thickly.
"Tastes like shit." He says after a second. Vale barks out a laugh and turns to leave.
"Hey- hey, you're just gonna go?"
"Yeah? I don't live in the toilet, so.." He keeps walking. Marc trails behind.
"But- what do I do now? How long does it take to work?" He was a little overcome with the realisation that he'd just done drugs.
"Eh, maybe ten minutes? I'd get comfy somewhere."
He grabs his shoulder and stops dead. "Ten minutes?" Marc's eyes bulge as his grasp is shaken loose. "And how long does it last?"
"This? Maybe a few hours. It's pretty light. You'll get a good high from it though."
It only really dawned on Vale then that just maybe it wasn't the greatest idea to give a jittery drunk twentysomething his first taste of hard drugs.
"Hours?"
"You should've asked this shit before you took it!"
Andre flashed him a skeptical look as they got to the bar. "You both alright?"
"I'll have what I always have and-" He threw his hand up, looming just ahead of Marc's face, and he stop dead in his interruption. "He'll have a glass of water."
"Sure."
"Marc, you're going to call a taxi, to get picked up from the 24/7 convenience store around the corner. Then you're gonna sit on your couch and get through this with a huge bottle of water." He takes the glass Andre has slid him. "First you're gonna drink this. Then, call that taxi. How far do you live from here?"
Marc clinks his fingernails against the glass. "Half an hour."
"Fuck!"
"What?"
"Why so far? This can't be the closest place for you, why- why here?"
He takes a sip and darts his eyes to his feet. "It's the only bar I know about."
"Shit!" He rubs his temple.
Vale should send the guy away, he's got no obligation to this fucking circus. He's the one who drank too much, he's the one who took the pill, he's the one who picked a club in another fucking province. At the same time, the concept of sending a kid (give or take a few years) out onto the streets, in a random cab with a driver that could- what, report him, kidnap him, kill him? More or less defenseless, anesthetized, alone.
For once in his life, he has a chance to fix one of the many things he's fucked up. Do something right for a goddamn change. It would be a green tick in a whole red book, but still, the spark of a fire he'd been struggling to start for years.
And Marc, the kid. Sounds foreign. Said he wanted to forget something. Something pretty bad given how desperate he is to escape, apparently. Now that he can see him properly, he can get a read on him. Fleshy cheeks, tinged pink, with just a little pinch of cheekbone through the skin. He has huge brown eyes, a little like a cow's, seemingly perpetually downturned and ready to spring with water. Really quite short, unusually tan, syrupy brown hair with the slightest curl at the ends.
He can't send him home. Not when home is that far. Not when he's-
"Andre, can you clear a booth?"
He snorts. "Oh you're serious?"
"Yes." He grits, then softens. "Please."
"Oh my god." Andre murmurs. "Valentino just said the word please. The world is ending."
"Seriously. I'll double your tip."
"On it!" He grins. "Table fourteen have been bugging me all night."
Vale sighs and stands straight again. "Marc, we're going to sit at table fourteen until you come down, then you're going home."
"I don't need to be looked after by a stranger." He contests.
"Listen to me. I made a mistake giving you that, and you're not paying for it. Follow me."
"I don't even know you. I'll be fine."
"You know what? In about six minutes, you're going to get really tired. You're going to go a little numb. Your head's going to go all fuzzy. You won't be able to feel pain. If someone broke your arm, you wouldn't feel a thing. If you were stabbed in the back walking home, you wouldn't know until you saw the blood on your clothes when you took your jacket off back inside. You wouldn't feel the sting as you touched the wound, you wouldn't know how much blood you'd lost. You'd bleed out on your kitchen floor."
And it would be my fault.
He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, and stares into the ashy brown of Marc's eyes.
He's scared.
"Okay." Marc whispers. "Okay."
"Your table is ready guys!" Andre chirps. "I'll bring your martini over in a minute."
"And another glass of water, please." Vale ushers him over to the black velvet seats.
"Cold."
"Cold?" Vale echoes. "Never had anyone tell me ket made them feel cold before."
"Well I'm special." Marc huffs and smiles at him. Then he yawns.
"Feel sleepy?"
"A little." He purses his lips. "That normal?"
"Yeah. We gotta keep you awake."
"Why?"
Vale taps the half empty glass of water. He's on his fourth.
"Okay, then how?"
"Talk to me." He says simply.
"About?"
"Where did you grow up? What's your family like? What's your favourite memory? Any of the above." He drags his fingers along the stem of his empty martini glass.
"Uhm, pff, okay." Marc leans back and his shoulder presses to Vale's.
"Alex, Marc, hurry up!"
"Mama, we're having fun!"
"Fun slows my grocery shopping! Unless you boys want to stop growing, I think you should catch up." Their mama puts her hands on her hips and glares at her two boys. Alex sulks over, but Marc matches her glare with a huff.
"Most people used to think Alex was older than me. He's only fifteen now, and he's five foot ten." He giggles. "But he still has a bit of a baby face. Like a deer."
She strolls over and scoops Marc up like he weighs nothing, to a little snicker from Alex.
"Hey!"
"Come on! You have loads of those model cars at home already."
"But-!"
"Marc."
"Fine." He sighs and feigns defeat.
She releases him and he immediately darts back to the aisle with the toy cars.
"So where was that then? You're not from Italy, that's for sure."
Marc shakes his head. "Cervera, in Spain. It's a very little town."
Vale slowly learns a little more with every anecdote.
Alex, the tall deer-faced boy, is his kid brother. His parents divorced when his Dad decided to move to Italy, and he won custody because she was a stay at home Mom and didn't have a steady income. He talks to her every now and again, but it's difficult with the communication restrictions. The family live on the outskirts of Cesena, with two scraggy little daschunds. Marc loves old-timey romantic films, Alex always calls him sappy. Alex is in highschool and has a passion for writing. Marc went to college to study psychology, but he had to leave and get a well-paying job when his dad lost his.
"What does your dad do now then?"
"He's dead."
It's almost like the energy in the room stops threading through the conversation, it falls dead, like a flatline on a heartrate monitor.
"Oh." Something zeroes Vale's focus on his face. "I'm sorry, Marc. Is- is that why you're here?"
"You don't need to be sorry. It's not your fault. It's the fuckers who murdered him." Marc shrugs. "And yeah. It- it happened today. He was part of the targeted killings."
Vale's stomach plummets to the ninth circle of hell.
"So he was, uhm, on the wanted list?"
"Yeah. In one of those underground resistance groups."
"I'm so sorry Marc. What was his name?"
"Julia."
Julia. Julia. Julia. Did he sign off on a Julia? Spanish man? Julia. Julia.
Oh god. What if he did.
Marc tilts his head onto Vale's shoulder. "I'm starting to see things. That's normal right?"
"Yeah," Vale breathes. "Yeah, that and the anti-depressant is- is kinda the point of taking this stuff. Non-medically at least."
"Huh. Yeah, I guess I don't feel too sad. I mean like- I feel the sadness, but it's not manifesting. I like your hair, by the way."
"Marc... I-I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this, I shouldn't've-"
"Don't," Marc waves a hand, and it knocks into Vale's chest. "Not your fault. You're the nicest stranger in this fucking country. Everyone's inconsiderate. No one cares. Everyone would sell you out to save their own skin. Vale," He sighs. "Thank you."
Fuck.
Marc is 20. Marc loves Spanish music because him Mama used to sing when she cooked. Marc would die for Alex. Marc can't stand lemon-flavoured anything. Marc works in the reception for a therapist's office because it's the closest he can get to the degree he wishes he could do. Marc is saving the spare cash from his wages to help Alex go for his degree in classical literature.
Marc is not somebody who deserved to lose his father.
Marc is somebody who is dead asleep on Vale's lap.
"He doesn't seem like your usual taste." Andre comments.
"He's not a date." Vale rolls his eyes and counts out a few bills.
"He also needs to settle his bill. Remind him when he wakes up."
"What was it, €78? Here." Vale throws two fiftys on the table and Andre shrugs. "Thanks. Night, Valentino."
"Goodnight."
Admittedly, it does look incredibly suspicious to see a grown man practically dragging another, unconcious grown man into a taxi.
"Where?"
"46, The Hollows."
"Y'know, there's an extra charge for dead passengers."
"He's not dead," Vale grits. "He hit his head and passed out."
"Whatever you say man."
He drops the keys twice at the door.
Vale lays him on the couch and tries not to creepily watch him. Tries not to creepily watch the guy whose life he might've just ruined. Fuck.
Julia. He would have to check the files. In his desk.
Tomorrow, his body tells him. Sleep. He can't go into the office now anyway.
The smell of Espresso is what wakes him up. Has Alex finally discovered what good coffee is?
Marc groans into the pillow, and stretches out his hand to the bedside table to grasp his phone. Except it isn't there. Neither is his lamp. Or his alarm clock. Or his bedside table.
"Ow! Fuck!"
Nor is the rest of his bed.
"Marc?" A voice calls.
"Shit. My head hurts." He complains into the carpet.
"It's called a hangover." The voice laughs.
"I don't like it." Marc prises his eyes open to catch a look at the voice. "Vale!" He takes his hand, scrambling up off the floor and grinning.
"Hey Marc." He smiles, blue eyes crinkling at the edges.
"Thank you for bringing me somewhere safe. This is your place?" He yawns and glances around.
"Yeah. Coffee?"
"It's huge! Please."
He clicks something on the espresso machine and tawny liquid flows out.
"Hey, don't think this is weird, but can I give you my number? I don't have many friends around here."
"Sure."
"Great!" Marc is practically beaming despite the pounding in his head. He's met a good guy. A half decent person. Someone with a bit of soul, empathy, heart, in this awful fucking place. He's going to cling on damn tight.
"There's paper on the counter, and a pen with it."
Just because he happens to be gorgeous, even when he's clearly not trying, doesn't matter. A side perk. You can think your friends are pretty and not follow up on that. Sure.
Vale hands him a coffee as he's done writing.
"What's your last name by the way? I didn't catch it last night."
"Marquez. Yours?" He takes a sip and offhandedly scans his watch. "Shit. I have to go. It's nearly eight. Look- thank you so much, can you call me? Text-? If- you want, I mean I'd love to sort something out-"
"Of course I will." He smiles gently. "Have a good day, Marc."
"I'm sure I will."
"Oh, and take some ibuprofen. Stops the headache. And drink water!"
Marc waves as he leaves, shutting the door behind him and dialing the taxi rank as he skids down the path.
Vale's going to call him.
M for Marquez.
The brown file sits on his desk. It's thin. Stamped with a red "HANDLED" sign. The same stamp Vale uses every day, to choose subjects to investigate or destroy. The man on the cover has the same eyes as his son.
The number sits unused in Vale's phone. He shouldn't text. It would do Marc more harm than good. Even if Vale wants to do good.
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