marco bezzecchi · motorcycle racing · kind · sweet · funny · ironic · good boy · soft spot · sports · romance
A thick, suffocating tension had lingered in the Aprilia hospitality area all morning. She had stayed buried in her laptop, eyes fixed on the screen to avoid meeting his, while Bezzecchi pushed through practice, though his focus wavered every time he caught sight of her. Now, the session was over. He sat in the dim light of the garage, sweat beading at his temples and clinging to his racing suit. He watched her for a long moment, noting the way she fidgeted with her tablet. "You know..." he began, his voice low and stripped of its usual energy. She looked up, finding his gaze tired and unusually soft. "We didn't even hug today," he admitted, a small, fragile smile playing on his lips that couldn't quite hide the sadness in his eyes. The distance between them vanished as her heart softened…