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― pairing : Valentino Rossi x Marc Marquez
― content warnings : angst, fluff, a little bit of flashbacks, a normal day at Ikea, fic title by Madonna because I'm going through it.
― word count : 1.2k
― notes : a big thank you to whoever is still following this blog 💌
― notes : “heart on my sleeve, not where it should be.” | a rosquez playlist
the Ikea shop was almost empty, maybe because it was a random tuesday morning in August, maybe because the shop had quite literally just open and deep down, Vale was like those old men that always visited shops early because he didn’t want to navigate shops during rush hours.
Vale had convinced Marc to run some errands with him, apparently he had to look for a brand new laibrary for his living room, he wasn’t sure, he didn’t pay too much attention after a while, tending put all his focus into trying not to lean in anytime Valentino came too close to him, trying to steal a kiss, a touch, something, anything.
«I think this would look pretty in your kitchen.» Marc spoke, pointing to a turtle-shaped paper towel holder, before leaning in to check the price, “you know, in that corner you have with… with the other counter next to the window.” he added, gesturing with his hands, a habit he had picked up from Valentino.
Vale looked back shortly just to snort, rolling his eyes «Sì, sì, maybe when we’ll share a flat or something.» he answered, but still he picked it up. «Maybe we can color it neon yellow... or what color is that you wear again? During the race?»
«Qué cabrón, Bale!» Marc laughed, loudly, he always did anytime Vale was around, or anytime he said something, really. He playfully pushed at his elbow, grabbing the turtle-shaped paper towel holder and placing it back in its original place, but at the same time, hiding it a little bit from view, as if he was trying to attempt to make it less noticeable for when he’d come back on his own to buy it for Vale.
The visit to Ikea eventually continued at an extremely low pace and it started to feel intimate, too intimate for two rivals of their prestige.
«I like minimalistic furniture, do you?» Marc spoke, pointing towards the showroom on their left, displaying a kitchen. The design was basic, a simple white inset cabinetry with modern quartz countertops and a large island with some nautical seating. It looked domestic, the kind of kitchen where you’d spend half of the time gossipping about the most random things. «I’ve always wanted a… eat-in kitchen, so it’s really nice when you have friends over, eh?» Marc had walked in the exposition, moving one chair back enough to comfortably sit on it, looking at Vale, imagining what it would be like for them to be in the same kitchen in another timeline, in another situation.
«Oddio allora, for a kitchen this big you’ll have to knock down a wall, but we can make it work, I have some friends I know that can do a good work.» Vale answered confidently as he walked towards the counter, that stupid visor hat he always wore making him look like some sort of cherub that made a wish to become human, and they must have been on the same wavelength of imagination because Marc swore that Vale was literally feeding this fantasy.
«Bale if I trust you with redecorating, the whole building will come down!» Marc laughed, and for a few seconds it was as if they were alone, in their own apartment, with Vale leaning against the counter watching Marc, and Marc sitting and looking up at Vale, and not in a random Ikea shop that would most definitely get crowded soon.
«Do you think we will ever be… out?» Marc spoke, his fingers drumming on a random book in the bedrooms showroom area, throwing the question to Vale as if he didn’t just place his heart on the line.
Vale didn’t answer immediately, he sighed, looking at some lava lamp on the night table of the same bedroom Marc was checking, and the latter felt his heart sink to his stomach.
«Eh, boh, sì,» Valentino shrugged, «Maybe. I would like it.» he added, quickly glancing around to see if someone was nearby, and only then he walked towards Marc.
Valentino didn’t say anything, and sometimes the two of them honestly did not even need to say anything in order to understand each other. Marc swore to himself that his heart was about to climb up his lungs and try to escape his body the moment he felt the other’s hand on his elbow, sliding down until Vale held his hand.
They held hands for a few seconds, but the both of them held onto each other like a lifeline, and Marc nodded, feeling a burst of hope flame up his heart.
«Dai, we still have a whole flat to plan.» Vale joked, pulling Marc away from the displayed shelf, and eventually, let go of his hand.
«So, what do you think? Should we get an eat-in kitchen?» Gemma wondered, making Marc snap back to the present fast, way too fast. Marc stared at her, dumbfounded, blinking once, twice, trying to figure out how and most importantly why he let himself drift into the past like that.
«Yeah, uh… si.» he nodded, not wanting to admit that he didn’t hear a single word she spoke in the last five, maybe ten minutes. Marc sighed, Gemma was a good choice: she was stunning, she was kind, she was safe. Most importantly, she didn’t stop talking to him after a misunderstanding.
Still, Marc felt nauseous.
«You know what? Choose the kitchen you like the most, I have to make a super quick call to Alex.» Marc kissed Gemma’s shoulder as he walked out of the maze that Ikea actually was with a single-minded purpose.
Everything felt too tight, the whole shop felt like closing in on him, his clothes felt too heavy, his skin felt too tight, his heart was racing so fast that he could feel it drumming into his ears.
He walked around the building just to be as out of sight as he could, leaning against a wall and breathing fresh air as if he had just came back to life. Years ago, this was probably the point where Vale would offer him a cigarette, telling him that he needed to take it easy, to do it like him.
Marc felt like crying, realising that for the whole afternoon he had unconsciously been choosing the furniture he fantasized about buying with Valentino years ago, but that house will never be theirs to share. The terrace with sofas and TV screen to spend summer evenings on will never exist – or better, it would exist but it would never be him and Vale, just like the spare bedroom where they could arrange all their trophies in alphabetical order.
Marc’s fingers found his phone without even realising what he was doing, and he instinctively opened whatsapp, scrolling to the bottom of his screen in order to find that one chat he swore he was going to delete tomorrow, only for tomorrow to never actually come.
His eyes were focused on the last text he had sent – he often did it, more than he’d like to admit, as if an answer would materialise out of nowhere.
As if something could ever change after all these years.
I see a lot of posts about us europeans complaining "too much" about the heatwave that we are experiencing and that "it's not even that hot, get AC" and I'm sorry but y'all are just proving how genuinely dumb and stupid you are, please take your mandatory primary school classes all over again.
