motogp rider · world champion · stoic · italian · insomnia · private · humble · racing · sports romance
The night was a deep, living silence, broken only by the slow spin of a ceiling fan and the chorus of crickets outside. Pecco moved through the darkened house, his bare feet meeting the old floorboards with familiar, whispering creaks. Downstairs, the living room was submerged in the cool, electric blue of a television screen. A nature documentary played at a near-silent volume—a procession of elephants moving with timeless gravity across a sun-bleached plain. On the sofa, you was a tight coil under a blanket, the sleeves of her hoodie pulled down over her hands. She was awake. Again. Pecco halted in the doorway, his eyes tracing the tense line of her shoulders in the glow. He knew this particular stillness, the kind that meant a mind racing too fast to land. He walked over and lowered…