Chapter Text
Anish could say he wasn’t proud of the two of them, but that would be a blatant lie; they’d come so far from two children racing their bikes through dirt roads. Now they were two world-renowned bikers, participating in maybe the biggest race in the world: the Tour de France.
Even as he got onto his bike, all of the ceremonies and traditions of the grand start behind him, it all felt surreal; it was hard to believe that he was good enough to be there, along with some of the biggest names in cycling history. Buzzing with nerves, he tried to calm himself by checking that everything with his bike was all right.
Lucian grinned over at him from his left, eyes alight in a way that Anish had so dearly missed. After that horrendous fall, which had left the man with a big scar all the way across his back, they’d been unsure if he could continue cycling at the level he had before. Thankfully, the recovery went much better than anyone could have hoped for. And now, that sparkle was back, too.
Maybe they could actually do this. Win the tour. God, maybe they really could.
Anish smiled back at him and pumped his fist in the air discreetly so no one else could see it.
The start of the Tour this year was in Lille Métropole. It was relaxing, cycling through the city leisurely as people cheered all around them. His heart was racing and his palms were sweaty and every way this could go wrong was cycling through his head on a loop. But they’d been training for this for so long—there was no way they couldn’t do it.
Anish knew his role. He was good at mostly everything, though he excelled in climbing—he was the best in their team. Since the whole plan revolved around Lucian winning the general classification, that would be his first priority, as there were no big climbs on this first stage.
The rush of standing on that stage two days ago, his team by his side as people all around them clapped, had nothing on the rush he experienced when the flag was finally up and the tour officially began.
Since it was only the first stage, they had been advised to take it at a rather relaxed pace. Not slip too far behind, but there was no need yet to win the maillot jaune. So, as the race towards the front began, Anish, together with Lucian and Billy, did their best to stay around the middle of the peloton: shielded from wind but close enough to the front that they could join any breakaways, were they tried.
And for the first twenty or so kilometres, there was not much action. They all pedalled at about the same speed, keeping up with the leader. But then, at thirty-seven kilometres, as they approached the first climb of the race—an easier one, category four—two cyclists clad in pink made the first successful attempt at a breakaway.
Anish, who had been waiting for this, was hot on their heels with Lucian and Billy right behind him. And so they joined the two, keeping up with them as the others fell slightly behind.
As it turned out, the two who had made their getaway were Gianluca Bruzzone and Alonzo Allegri. Bruzzone kept at the front, Allegri on his tail.
To keep at the front but still have some protection from the wind resistance, Anish put himself between the two of them, by Bruzzone's side but slightly behind him, making Allegri retire to be behind him.
Bruzzone didn’t look at Anish, not even a glance, but when he grinned, it was obvious who it was aimed at. The two had never talked, per se, but on the day the teams had been presented, Lucian and Anish had run into him. Anish could still remember the feel of Bruzzone's hand against his, the way the man had eyed him up and down. He had no idea if he’d wanted to be discreet, but if he had, he’d failed miserably. Thankfully, Lucian didn’t seem to have noticed; though Anish doubted the man would have noticed it had someone thrown a watermelon at his head, that’s how keyed up he’d been.
Anish allowed himself to smile back at the man, keeping up with him to allow Lucian and Billy more shielding from the wind.
When the climb came, Anish took it slow and steady, making sure Lucian and Billy kept up. It was easy, and though they only had about a twenty-something-second lead on the peloton, it was enough.
When they were almost at the top, Anish made sure he was first, which wasn’t that hard. Bruzzone was a good climber, too, but he seemed to be all right with Anish taking the lead, giving chase only once the summit was in view.
Anish won the point. It wasn’t much, but it gave him the boost he needed. The five of them stayed in the lead for most of the first half. About halfway through the stage, at 87 kilometres, there was a sprint. By that point, the peloton had caught up with them, but Allegri, shielded until then by Bruzzone, gave chase to Billy and won himself the sprint.
The rest was much more relaxed, most of them riding alongside one another in the peloton until only 10 kilometres were left.
It ended, as expected, in a bunch sprint. It was between a Red-Bull cyclist (whose name Anish had forgotten) and Lucian, who, though close to everyone else, were clearly in the lead. Anish stayed as close as he could. He could sprint when needed and he was good at it, but this was for Lucian to win.
And win he did, arms up as he celebrated, that giddy smile on his face as Anish caught up with him.
Though the press was waiting, Lucian and Anish went to the rollers to cool down. It was a surprise when Claudine came to greet him, microphone in hand.
Anish couldn’t help but laugh. “Have you taken a break from acting, then?”
“Only to interview my favourite cyclist, honey,” she said with a flourish, smirking at him.
“Well, then, don’t let me keep you,” Anish replied. He took another big gulp of water. Except that Claudine didn’t move. “Oh. Oh. You mean me?”
“Who else?”
“Well, then, ask away." Anish smiled and motioned for her to go on.
It was a nice break from talking strategies with most other interviewers. Claudine asked questions actually aimed at him, laughing with him and making him laugh in turn.
“I hope I’ll see you tomorrow,” Anish told her at the end. “I’d hug you but…” He gestured down at his sweaty body.
Claudine laughed. “Maybe some other time.” And with that, she was off to see her next victim.
—
Gian had come in tenth place, which was about what had been the plan. What had not been the plan, though, was to get distracted every other moment by the gorgeous man riding shoulder to shoulder with him. But that was between him and God.
And apparently, this interviewer.
“So, we saw that Anish Sengupta and co. interrupted your little breakaway with Alonzo Allegri: how was that?” she asked. Gian was pretty sure her name was Claudine; she was some sort of big actress from America.
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind him interrupting us a little more often,” Gian answered with a grin. It was more than he should say. He’d been told, though in not so many words, that it might be better not to come out. Yet, they had said, but everyone with half a brain knew what that meant. So, Gian had made it this year’s challenge for himself to hint at it so plainly that he would never need to say the words.
Thankfully, before he said any more and started gushing about the man’s beauty, he was called away.
“My apologies, it seems I’m needed elsewhere,” he said before taking his leave.
—
Later, after having finally showered and gotten changed into some more comfortable clothes, Anish was about as hungry as he could be. Which, as it seemed, was perfect as the team was gathering to eat.
The food was plain, though Anish had gotten used to it after living in England for so long. And anyway, he was beyond hungry, so as long as something even remotely edible was getting into his mouth, he'd be satisfied.
After a small team meeting during their dinner, they retired to their rooms to relax and do as they pleased until the next day. The starting point for the next day wasn’t too far away, only about an hour by car, so they wouldn’t need to wake up very early, which Anish loved. Don’t get him wrong, he was usually very much a morning person. He was an evening person, too. But during the Tour, he savoured every sliver of sleep he could get and waking up early got in the way of that.
In his room, he tried to read. He had brought a few too many books with him, as had many others around him, but he was actually going to try to read most of them. Some he’d brought just because he may want to read them, while some he’d brought simply out of sentimental value. There was one book he’d brought all the way from home; it was the one book his father had allowed him to take when he’d been shipped off and he always carried it with him.
But no more than a quarter of an hour later, he was interrupted by a knock on his door.
“Come in!” he called. It wasn’t hard to guess who was there: there was only ever one possibility.
Lucian stepped through the doorway, sketchbook and pencil in hand. He’d always liked art, but because of his father, he’d never even dared to think about it as a serious career path. Anish thought that was beyond daft; if Lucian ever thought about selling his art, it would be bought for millions, now with the name of a world-famous cyclist attached to it, perhaps even more—but even without that, Anish believed he would be stupidly successful.
Though maybe he was a little biased. He always was when it came to Lucian.
Without much preamble, the man came and sat at the foot of Anish’s bed. He kicked Anish’s feet away a little to make space for himself and then started sketching.
It was nice, domestic even. Just the two of them sitting there, doing their things. What Anish wouldn’t give to have more days like this. But he knew he was the last choice. Lucian had been dealing with some family drama—who should he marry? The person he loved or the woman his father wanted him to marry? It was all rather old-fashioned in Anish’s mind, but to each their own—and he needed someone to lean on. And that person just happened to be Anish.
Don’t get him wrong, he would take the small moments where he could, lap up every droplet of water that deigned to fall anywhere near him. But he was past the days when he would delusionally think it could ever become something more. That maybe, if Lucian just got his head out of his ass, he would figure out he was in love with Anish just as much as Anish was in love with him. He’d understood long ago that it wasn’t meant to be. Lucian was into women just like Anish was into men; that was that. There was no changing it or praying for it to change.
Maybe this had been his destiny all along; to fall for a man, do everything in his power to make him the best version of himself, give himself over to make sure he had everything and end up on the other side, still as alone as he had been when he’d first set foot out of his home country. Or maybe he was being dramatic. It was probably that. He was delirious from the first stage because it had gone over so much better than he’d dared to hope for. It had to be that.
He let his thoughts wander off as he read, not looking up once to stare at Lucian as the man drew, though the urge was strong.