“when the gods give evil, you cannot escape their gift.”
『𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍』
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unironically I think this might be my favourite dragon design in anything ever like this thing looks like it's a part of nature not someone's prize horse/nuclear weapon
I was just talking with a friend who hates cooking which is so wild to me bc I love cooking so much it is hard for me to understand people that don't like it, but i know many exist. my parents don't like cooking either, but my grandmothers both do, so i feel like it jumped a generation for us. and then i also wonder how much of it is learned and how much not. so! poll time
do you like cooking and were you taught to cook by your family?
♡ Summary: There isn’t a training manual for raising a kid. Or falling in love. Or surviving the jujutsu world. They’re figuring it out as they go.
Word Count: ~8k
♡ author’s note: this is basically my love letter to kusakabe 😭 i think he deserves so much more love than he gets, and i wanted to write the kind of life i could see him building outside of jujutsu. i hope you enjoy ♡
banner by @pixopix
Atsuya shifts the grocery bag against his hip and knocks on his sister’s door.
“Akari?”
He waits a few seconds before knocking again, harder this time. Still nothing.
“Come on, Akari.”
He pulls the spare key from his pocket. She hasn’t answered any of his calls in three days, but lately that doesn’t always mean something’s wrong. Sometimes she sleeps most of the day and calls him back hours later. Other times she sends a text in the middle of the night saying she was tired and forgot. He always comes over to check on her anyway.
The television is on when he steps inside, but no one is in the living room watching it. Every curtain is closed, even though it’s almost three in the afternoon.
“Akari?”
He closes the door behind him and almost trips over one of Haru’s shoes.
The apartment is worse than it was the last time he was here. Dishes are piled in the sink. Clothes cover the floor beside an overflowing laundry basket. A mug of old coffee sits on the table. Most of the groceries he dropped off last week are still unopened on the kitchen counter.
“Atsuya?”
He turns toward the hallway and sees his nephew, Haru. Haru is standing there in dinosaur pajamas, rubbing one eye. His hair is flat on one side, and there’s a smear of something at the corner of his mouth.
The second the little boy sees him, he smiles. “Uncle Atsuya!”
Haru runs over and throws both arms around his leg. Atsuya sets the grocery bag down before it slips out of his hand and rests his palm on the back of Haru’s head, returning the hug awkwardly.
“Hey, buddy.”
“I knew you’d come.”
Atsuya looks down at him. “Did Mom tell you I was coming?”
Haru shakes his head but doesn’t let go of his leg.
Atsuya glances toward the hallway again. Akari’s bedroom door is almost closed.
“Where is she?”
“In bed.”
“Is she sleeping?”
“I don’t know.”
Atsuya crouches in front of Haru and wipes the spot from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “What did you eat today?”
“Cereal.”
“Anything else?”
Haru thinks about it. “I had two bowls.”
“Two bowls of cereal?”
Haru nods.
“Anything else?”
Haru shakes his head.
“When did you eat it?”
Haru shrugs. “When I watched Pokémon.”
The television is still on in the living room, playing something Atsuya thinks might be Pokémon, though he isn’t sure. That doesn’t answer his question.
He opens the grocery bag and pulls out a pack of crackers. “Here. Eat these while I check on Mom.”
Haru takes them with both hands. “Can I have juice?”
“Yeah. In a minute.”
“Apple juice?”
“Whatever’s in the fridge.”
“The orange kind is gross.”
“Then you can complain while you drink it.”
Haru sighs but climbs onto the couch with the crackers anyway. Atsuya waits until he starts eating before moving down the hallway.
Akari’s bedroom smells stale, like no one has opened a window in days. The curtains are closed, and there’s a plate on the bedside table that looks like it’s been there for a while. She’s lying on her side beneath the blankets with her back to the door.
“Akari.”
She doesn’t move. He steps closer and realizes her eyes are open.
“You planning on answering your phone anytime soon?”
It takes a few seconds for her eyes to shift toward him.
“…Atsuya.”
There’s a full glass of water beside the bed. Her medication bottles are piled beside the lamp. One hasn’t been opened at all, and the others are still completely full.
He picks one up and looks at the label. “Did you take these today?”
Akari turns her face toward the wall, ignoring his question.
“What about yesterday?” he asks.
She still doesn’t answer.
Atsuya sits on the edge of the bed. “Akari, Haru’s been roaming around the apartment by himself.”
Her fingers pick at a loose thread in the blanket, but she stays quiet.
“He said all he’s eaten is cereal.”
“He likes cereal.”
“That doesn’t mean he can live on it.”
She’s quiet for a minute before she whispers, “I heard him.”
Atsuya looks at her. “Haru?”
Her fingers stop picking at the blanket. She shakes her head.
“…Takeru.”
Atsuya opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
Akari keeps staring at the wall. “He was laughing.”
Atsuya glances toward the framed picture on the dresser. It’s turned toward the bed. Akari is sitting in the grass with both of her boys beside her, one on either side, smiling at the camera.
“Haru’s been watching cartoons,” he says. “Maybe you heard him laughing.”
She shakes her head. “No. It was Takeru.”
There isn’t anything he can say that won’t make this situation worse. He reaches for the glass of water next to the bed instead, holding it out to her.
“Sit up and drink some of this.”
“…I’m tired.”
“I know, but you need to drink some water,” he says.
She still doesn’t move.
From the living room, Haru calls, “Uncle Atsuya? I ate all the crackers.”
“Okay, buddy. I’ll get you juice in a minute.”
Akari turns her head slightly toward the doorway. Something flickers across her face, but Atsuya can’t tell whether it’s guilt or grief.
“He keeps asking me…” she says.
“Asking you what?”
She pulls the blanket closer around herself instead of answering.
“Akari.”
“…I keep telling him tomorrow.”
Atsuya looks at the old plate, then at the untouched medication bottles. “What is he asking you?”
She doesn’t answer. She only sinks farther into the mattress and turns back toward the wall.
Atsuya sets the glass on the bedside table, still full.
“Akari…” His voice is quieter now. “I don’t know how to help you anymore.”
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even move. She keeps staring at the wall like she’s looking straight through it.
“Haru needs you,” he says.
The only sign that she heard him is the way her eyes slowly close.
Atsuya sighs and places a hand on her shoulder. “Okay… okay.”
He looks at the medication bottles, the old plate, and the untouched glass of water. Then he glances toward the hallway, where he can hear Haru talking to the television.
He closes his eyes for a second.
Then he gently squeezes her shoulder.
“We’re going to the hospital.”
Atsuya steps into the hallway and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He scrolls through his contacts for a second before pressing call.
It rings a few times.
“…Hello?”
“Utahime.”
There’s a pause.
“…Atsuya?”
“I need a favor.” His voice sounds rough and tired.
“A favor? You never ask for favors.” She pauses, again. “What’s wrong?”
He looks toward the bedroom door. “It’s my sister… I think she needs to go to the hospital.”
“Is Haru with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he okay?”
“He is.”
“And your sister? Is she okay?”
Atsuya looks back toward the bedroom again. “…Not really.”
There’s another brief moment of silence.
“Do you need me to come stay with Haru?”
“If you can’t—”
“You called to ask.” She lets out a quiet sigh. “Of course I’m coming. Text me the address.”
The call ends before he can respond.
Utahime gets there about twenty minutes later. Atsuya opens the door before she has the chance to knock twice.
She takes one look at his face. “…Bad?”
He nods. “Worse than last week.”
She steps inside, setting her bag on the floor. Haru is curled up on the couch, still watching Pokémon.
He looks over. “Who’s that?”
“Utahime.” Atsuya says.
She gives him a small wave. “Hello.”
He waves back before turning his attention back to the television again.
Utahime lowers her voice. “How’s your sister?”
“Still in bed.”
“Talking?”
“Not much.”
“Okay, I stopped at the convenience store.” She opens her bag and pulls out a couple coloring books and a box of crayons. “Figured I’d need something.”
Atsuya huffs out the closest thing he’s managed to a laugh all day. “Thanks.”
She shrugs. “I’ve got him.”
He hesitates. “You sure?”
She gives him a look. “Atsuya. Go do what you need to do.”
“…Right.” He grabs his keys, then turns back to look at her. “If he—“
“I know.”
The drive to the hospital is quiet. Akari spends most of the time staring out the passenger window, with her head leaned against the door. When they get to the emergency department, Atsuya helps her get out of the car and into a wheelchair.
The receptionist looks up. “Are you looking to be evaluated?”
Atsuya looks at Akari. She doesn't answer.
He scratches the back of his neck. “…I don’t really know what’s wrong with her.”
"Does she need to see a doctor?" the receptionist asks.
“Yeah... She does.” He answers.
"Does she have her ID?" the receptionist asks.
Atsuya pulls out a small bag he'd put on Akari's lap. He rummages through it and finds her wallet. "Yeah, here." he says.
She takes the small card from him and types some information into the computer in front of her before handing it back to him. "And what's bringing her to the emergency room tonight?" the receptionist asks.
“My nephew…” He exhales. “He died a couple months ago.”
She looks at him, waiting for him to continue.
“My sister hasn’t really been herself since then...” He looks at Akari again. “She stopped answering the phone. She isn’t taking her medication. She’s barely eating.” He pauses. “She told me today she could hear my nephew laughing.”
“The one who passed away?”
“…Yeah.”
"Okay. Have a seat. We'll call you back for triage." She says before typing something else into her computer.
He says nothing before wheeling her back to sit in the waiting room. He looks around at the mostly empty room. His leg starts bouncing.
Once they're in triage, the triage nurse speaks to Akari first. She places a blood pressure cuff and pulse ox on her while asking basic questions. Akari doesn't respond. The nurse glances at Atsuya.
"What's your relationship to the patient?"
"Her brother."
"What brought her in?"
"My nephew died a few months ago. She's been struggling since then—stopped taking her medication, barely eating or sleeping." He watches the nurse type. "Today she said she heard him laughing."
The nurse nods, typing notes into her computer. "Okay. We're going to get her to a room."
Another nurse comes through the door a few minutes later and takes over pushing the wheelchair.
"Right this way."
He follows behind them through a set of double doors.
The emergency department is louder than the waiting room. Phones are ringing, monitors are beeping, people are talking loudly. There's a police officer standing next to the nurse's station with a paramedic and a very happy looking old man who clearly has had way too much to drink.
They stop outside a room a few feet away from the nurse's station. The nurse wheels Akari in first, then waits for Atsuya to step in before sliding the door shut behind her.
"Can you help her onto the bed or would you like me to?"
"No, I can do it."
Akari barely looks at him while he scoops her up effortlessly and places her gently on the bed. She just curls up into herself as soon as her body settles into the mattress. The nurse raises the handrails on either side of the bed, then wraps a blood pressure cuff on one of her arms and places a pulse ox on one of her fingers. Then she covers Akari with a blanket and hands a small remote to Kusakabe that is connected to the wall.
"This is her call bell. If you need anything please press the red button and someone will be in to help you."
She gestures for him to have a seat in a chair beside the bed.
"I'm Sato. I'll be your sister's nurse tonight."
Akari stares at the wall.
Sato walks around to the side of the bed Akari is facing before crouching beside her.
"Your name?"
"…Akari."
"Date of birth?"
She answers after a few seconds. The nurse types something into the computer mounted beside the bed.
"Why are you here tonight?"
Akari doesn't answer. She just keeps staring at the wall and pulls the blanket higher up to cover most of her face. Sato's eyes shift toward Kusakabe.
"Can you tell me what's been going on?"
"My oldest nephew passed away a few months ago."
She nods and continues typing. "She was seeing a doctor after that?"
"Yes. They put her on medication." He shrugs. "I thought things were getting better."
"Is she taking it?"
"I don't think she is anymore."
"When did you notice a change?"
"A couple weeks ago."
"Has she been eating?"
"Not much."
"Sleeping?"
"Mostly."
"Any alcohol or drugs?"
He shakes his head immediately. "No."
"Thoughts of harming herself?"
"No."
"Harming others?"
"No. She barely says anything anymore."
The nurse types something into the computer, then looks back at him.
"The physician will examine her shortly."
She turns and walks out of the room, sliding the door shut behind her.
The room stays quiet for a while, Atsuya sits in the chair next to the bed. Akari doesn’t move at all, she just keeps staring at the wall. He continues watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
About twenty minutes later, the door slides open again. A man in blue scrubs walks in, followed by a woman pushing a computer on wheels.
“Hi, Ms. Kusakabe. I’m Dr. Patel.”
He pulls a stool over and sits across from her.
“I’m one of the emergency physicians.”
Akari doesn’t respond, but the doctor doesn't seem deterred by it. He asks her a few questions anyway. She softly mumbles answers to the easier ones, like her name. Others she completely ignores. After a few unanswered questions in a row, he turns and looks at Atsuya.
“You’re her brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you tell me what brought her in today?”
Atsuya repeats the story. The unanswered phone calls, the medication she hasn't been taking, finding Haru alone with her still in bed, Akari hearing Takeru laughing. The doctor nods while he listens to his explanation.
“When was the last time she saw the doctor managing her depression?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any medical problems besides that?”
“No.”
“Any previous psychiatric admissions?”
“No.”
The doctor looks back toward Akari.
“I’m going to order some blood work and a few other tests.”
Atsuya frowns. “For what?”
“We want to make sure there isn’t anything medical contributing to what’s going on.”
The doctor stands, and moves towards the door. “After that, I’ll have our psychiatry team come evaluate her.”
“…Okay.”
“I know this has probably been a long day.”
Atsuya lets out a tired breath. “…Yeah.”
"We'll have psychiatry see her as soon as we've completed the medical evaluation." He says, then walks out of the room. The nurse follows behind him, stopping briefly to say, "Let us know if you need anything." Before following behind the doctor and sliding the door shut.
The next couple of hours blur together. A phlebotomist comes in to draw blood. Another nurse asks Akari for a urine sample. Then more silence and waiting.
Atsuya buys a coffee from the vending machine down the hall. It tastes terrible and has coffee grounds floating in it. He drinks it anyways.
The psychiatrist comes into the room shortly after that. She introduces herself before pulling a chair over beside the bed.
“Mr. Kusakabe, I’d like to speak with your sister alone for a little while, if that’s okay.”
“…Yeah.”
He steps back into the hallway and slides the door shut behind him. He finds a chair near the nurses’ station and sits down. He watches people come and go, stretchers being rolled past, and phones ring. Shift change starts. Someone asks if he needs anything, he tells them no.
Then he checks his phone. He has one text from Utahime.
He’s okay. Ate some crackers and is coloring. Don’t worry about us.
Atsuya stares at the screen for a second before locking it again. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Another forty minutes or so go by, when the door to Akari's room finally opens.
The psychiatrist steps out. Atsuya stands up immediately and walks over to her.
“So… what’s going to happen?” he asks.
“We’re going to admit your sister.”
He nods. “…Okay.”
“I think she’d benefit from inpatient treatment.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She folds her hands together.
“We’ll restart the medication she stopped taking and restart therapy while she’s here. Once she’s had some time to stabilize, we’ll have a better idea of what comes next.”
Atsuya rubs a hand over his face. “…She was doing better.”
“So it seemed.”
“And then…” He can’t finish the sentence, he doesn't know how to.
The psychiatrist listens.
“…Her son died.”
“I know.”
“He was eight.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Theres a brief silence before she says, “Losing a child changes people. Sometimes someone looks like they’re starting to move forward, and then the grief catches up with them. If she stopped taking her medication around the same time, that would’ve made things even harder.”
Atsuya nods once. “…She has another son.”
“Haru?”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s taking care of him tonight?”
“I am.”
“Is there anyone helping you?”
“Our parents are gone.”
“Their father?”
“He isn’t around.”
She nods.
“Okay. So will you be assuming care for him while she's being treated?"
“…Yeah. I guess so." He looks back toward the closed door. “…Can I see her?”
“You can.”
She steps aside to let him through, "She isn't very responsive right now, but that doesn't mean she can't hear you." She says.
Atsuya looks at her and nods again before thanking her and stepping into the room.
Akari is still laying on her side with the blanket pulled up to cover most of her face. Atsuya can see the faintest wetness on her cheeks from tears she must have let slip past during her discussion with the psychiatrist.
Atsuya pulls the chair closer and sits in front of her. “…They’re going to keep you here for a while.”
She doesn't respond.
“They think they can help.”
She doesn’t even look at him.
He rubs his hands together for a second.
“…Haru’s with Utahime.”
She still doesn't react.
“He’s okay... I’ll bring him to see you if they say it’s alright.”
Her fingers barely tighten around the edge of the blanket.
“I’ll get him ready for kindergarten.”
“I’ll make sure he gets to school.”
“I’ll take care of the bills.”
He lets out a slow breath.
“…You don’t have to worry about any of that.”
She's quiet, and unmoving.
“You just…” His voice cracks faintly, “…Just get better.”
For the first time since he’d found her that morning, Akari looks at him. A single tear slides down her face. Her eyes are clearer than they’ve been all day.
“I’m sorry.” The words are barely a whisper.
He reaches over and squeezes her hand. “You don’t have to apologize.”
She blinks at him, but doesn't say anything else.
“You’re sick.” His voice is quiet. “Let them help you.”
She's quiet but she closes her eyes.
“I’ve got Haru.” He says.
Another tear slips down her cheek. “...I know.”
He gives her hand one last squeeze before standing. "I'll see you soon."
"...Take care of Haru."
"I will."
Then he walks out of the room.
By the time he walks out of the hospital, it’s dark. The parking lot is quieter than it had been that afternoon. Most of the visitors are gone. A few ambulances sit near the entrance.
He unlocks the car and slides into the driver’s seat. The door shuts with a dull thud.
For a while, he just sits there. He doesn't start the car, he just sits with his hands resting on the steering wheel, looking through the windshield with a tired expression.
Tomorrow he'd have to explain everything to Haru. He closes his eyes, just for a minute...
“You know,” Akari said one night while flipping vegetables in a pan, “you’re getting old.”
“I’m thirty four.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t think that’s old.”
“It is if you’re still single.”
He looked over from where he was helping Takeru build a dinosaur out of blocks. “I teach teenagers.”
“So?”
“I get enough children at work.”
Akari laughed. “They’re not your children.”
“They certainly act like it.”
“Telling Miwa to stop apologizing every five minutes doesn’t make you a father.”
“It feels close enough.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’d make a really good dad.”
“I’m not having this conversation.”
“You always say that.”
Takeru looked up from the floor. “Uncle Atsuya?”
“What buddy?"
“You put the dinosaur’s head on backwards.”
“…No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Akari laughed so hard she had to lean against the counter.
A horn sounds somewhere across the parking lot. Atsuya blinks and the memory disappears. He starts the car. He has to get back. Haru is waiting for him.
Utahime is sitting on the couch when he gets back. The TV is off now. Haru is asleep on the couch, his head on the armrest. He still has a coloring book next to him with a crayon clutched in his hand.
She looks up when the front door opens. “How’d it go?”
Atsuya closes the door behind him and sets his keys on the counter. “They’re keeping her.”
“For how long?”
“They didn’t say.”
He runs a hand over his face. “They want to restart her medication and therapy.”
“And?”
He shrugs. “They’ll see how she does.”
Utahime is quiet for while. “... I’m sorry.”
“…Yeah.” His eyes drift back to Haru. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
“With Haru?”
He nods. “I’ve got classes.” He gestures vaguely toward the window. “If the higher ups decide I need to go somewhere for a week…” He lets out a tired laugh. “What am I supposed to do? Bring a five year old with me?"
Utahime shakes her head. “No.” She stands from the couch and walks towards Atsuya. “…I might know somebody.”
He looks over. “Somebody?”
“A sorcerer.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Not somebody from the school?”
“No. I’ve worked with her a few times.” She says gathering her things. “So has Mei Mei.”
That gets his attention. “Mei Mei?”
Utahime nods. “She worked with her when she was going for Grade One.”
“And?”
“And Mei Mei signed off on her.”
He leans back against the counter. “So she’s good.”
“She’s really good... She works independently now." She pulls her phone out of her bag. "Mostly takes missions wherever they send her.”
“So why would she want this?”
Utahime smiles a little. “Because she’d finally get to unpack.”
He gives her a confused look. “She moves around constantly... Hotels. Temporary housing. Clan estate. She complains about it every time we talk.”
“Clan estate?” he repeats.
“Small traditional clan. They’re… traditional in all the ways you’d expect.”
He understands what she's implying. “They’re trying to marry her off?”
“They’ve been trying.”
“And?”
Utahime laughs. “…Let’s just say she’s not making it easy on them.”
The corner of Atsuya’s mouth twitches upwards into an almost smile. “So you think she’d actually say yes?”
“I think she’d rather live with a tired instructor and his nephew, than endure another month at her clan estate.”
She walks towards the front door putting her bag over her shoulder. “I can call her tomorrow.”
Atsuya looks at Haru again. “…Yeah.”
Atsuya walks over to the couch and carefully slides one arm underneath Haru’s knees and the other behind his back. Haru doesn't stir even a little bit. The coloring book slips onto the floor as Atsuya lifts him up.
“…C’mon.”
Haru lets out a sleepy little sigh and buries his face into Atsuya’s shoulder. He carries him down the hallway, careful not to bump his head on the doorframe. He steps into Haru's room and almost trips over a toy. A dinosaur nightlight glows faintly in the corner. Atsuya sets Haru down on the bed. Haru moves onto his side without opening his eyes. Atsuya kneels to take Haru's socks off. He sets them neatly on the dresser before pulling the blankets back.
“Haru.”
Haru only lets out a sleepy humming noise.
“Let’s get your pajamas on.”
The five year old lifts his arms without saying anything or opening his eyes. It takes a minute to wrestle him out of his T-shirt without waking him up completely. By the time Atsuya pulls the dinosaur pajama shirt over his head, Haru is already nodding off again.
“…Mom?" he mumbles.
Atsuya feels his stomach tighten. “She’s at the hospital, kid."
Haru’s eyes stay closed. “…Okay.”
“They’re helping her.”
Haru just lets out another tired noise. Atsuya tucks the blankets around him.
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Haru doesn’t answer. Within a few seconds, his breathing evens out again. Atsuya stays where he is for another minute, listening to it. Then he quietly turns on the dinosaur nightlight and pulls the bedroom door almost all the way shut.
The apartment is a mess. Not dirty. Just untouched. A bowl of cereal is still sitting on the coffee table. He rinses the bowl and sets it in the dishwasher with the rest of the dishes stacked in the sink. There are clothes in the washing machine that smell like they’ve been sitting there for days. He starts the machine again. The garbage by the kitchen sink is full. He ties the bag shut and carries it outside.
When he comes back in, the apartment is quiet. He walks through the living room picking up crayons one by one. He drops them back into the box and sets it next to Haru’s coloring book. A small backpack hangs from a hook near the front door.
Tomorrow. He’ll figure out tomorrow when it gets here. For now, he finds an extra blanket in the hall closet and lays it across the couch. His back already hurts just looking at it. He doesn’t bother changing out of his clothes. He sinks onto the cushions and leans his head back.
The washing machine continues its cycle somewhere down the hall.
He closes his eyes. Sleep doesn’t come right away. The couch isn’t comfortable. Atsuya figures that out about an hour after he lays down. One of the springs digs into his back every time he moves. He pulls the blanket up anyway. He finally falls into a light sleep, but every little sound has him opening his eyes. The washing machine finishing its cycle. A car passing outside. Haru coughing down the hall.
At some point he gets up to move the clothes into the dryer. When he walks back through the kitchen, his eyes catch on the refrigerator. Crayon drawings. A calendar with appointments written in Akari’s handwriting. One drawing is held up by a magnet.
It's three stick figures holding hands. One is smaller than the other two. Takeru is written above it in uneven blue letters. Atsuya looks at it for a second. Then he opens the refrigerator. There’s enough milk for another day or two. Eggs. Butter. Some leftover takeout that should probably be thrown away. He closes the door.
Near the front entrance, a pair of little sneakers sits next to a much smaller pair.
Haru’s.
Takeru’s.
He kneels down without really thinking about it and lines them up against the wall before standing again.
By the time he lies back down, the apartment is quiet. This time, sleep comes a little easier.
Something bumps into the couch. Atsuya opens one eye. Haru is standing there in dinosaur pajamas, rubbing at his face with both fists. His hair is sticking up in every direction.
“…Morning.”
The little boy blinks at him. “Morning.”
Atsuya checks his phone.
Seven thirty eight.
He sits up, stretching until his back pops. “You hungry?”
Haru nods.
They wander into the kitchen together.
Atsuya opens the pantry. “…Okay.”
He stares inside.
Cereal.
Pancake mix.
A nearly empty box of oatmeal.
He glances down at Haru. “What do you usually eat?”
Haru shrugs. “... Cereal.”
“Cereal it is.”
He grabs two bowls before stopping. “…Do you… drink coffee?”
Haru looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “I’m five.”
“…Right.”
He laughs quietly to himself and puts the coffee mug back in the cupboard.
A few minutes later they’re sitting across from each other at the table. The apartment is still quiet. Haru swings his legs under the chair while he eats. Atsuya picks at his own cereal more than he actually eats it.
Haru looks up. “When’s Mommy coming home?”
The spoon pauses halfway to Atsuya’s mouth. “I don’t know yet.”
“Hospital?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re helping her.”
“…Okay.” He goes back to eating. Like that’s enough of an answer for now.
Atsuya watches him for a second before taking another bite.
Around noon, Utahime pulls into a small coffee shop a few blocks from the school. She parks, shuts the engine off, and stares at her phone for a second. Then she opens her messages.
Utahime:
Do you have time to meet today?
A few seconds pass, then three dots appear.
You:
Depends.
Utahime smiles.
Utahime:
I have something I want to ask you.
She sets the phone on the passenger seat. A minute later it buzzes.
You:
That sounds suspicious.
Utahime:
It probably is.
The clan estate is louder than usual. Voices drift through the open hallway. Someone is setting the dining room table. Someone else is arranging flowers near the entrance.
You step inside, slipping your shoes off at the door. Before you make it halfway down the hall, someone calls your name.
“There you are.”
You stop. Your aunt walks toward you with a neatly folded kimono draped over one arm.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“I was training.”
“I noticed.”
She looks at your workout clothes before holding the kimono out toward you.
“You’ll need to change.”
You don’t reach for it. “For what?”
She gives you a look. “Dinner.”
“…Dinner.”
“The Fujimoto family is joining us.”
You sigh. “I’ve already met the Fujimotos.”
“Not this branch.”
You close your eyes for a second. “Aunt…”
“They have a son.”
“Of course they do.”
“He recently became a Grade One.”
“I’m happy for him.”
She ignores the sarcasm. “He’s from a respectable family.”
“So am I.”
“Exactly.”
You let out a slow breath. “I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t even met him.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You can’t keep dismissing every introduction.”
“I’m doing a pretty good job so far.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’ll be twenty nine next year.”
“Yeah, I know."
“There are expectations.”
“There always are.”
Another voice joins the conversation before either of you can say anything else. Your older cousin leans against the doorway with his arms folded.
“I told you she wasn’t going to wear it.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” your aunt says.
“I know.”
He looks at you. “You know they’re just going to keep trying.”
“I know.”
“You could at least eat dinner before you scare the poor guy away.”
“That would only waste everyone’s time.”
He laughs, but your aunt doesn't. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out.
“I have to take this.”
Your aunt starts to object.
“It’s work.”
You step out onto the veranda before she can ask another question. The afternoon air is warm.
You:
I can meet.
Utahime:
Coffee? One hour?
You glance back through the open doors. Your aunt is already talking to someone else. Your cousin catches your eye from across the room. He smirks and you hold up your phone. He gives you a subtle thumbs up. You can’t help smiling.
You:
I’ll be there.
You knock lightly against the open office door. “You wanted to see me?”
Utahime looks up from the stack of papers on her desk. “I did.”
She motions toward the chair across from her. “Come in.”
You step inside, closing the door behind you before sitting down.
“So,” you say, leaning back. “What’s so important?"
Utahime is quiet for a second. “I have a favor to ask.”
“A favor?”
“It’s… a little unusual.”
That gets your attention. “You know that’s not reassuring.”
“I know.”
She lets out a small breath before continuing. “Do you know Atsuya Kusakabe?”
You think for a moment. “…Kusakabe?”
“The Tokyo instructor.”
“The one without an innate technique?”
“Yeah.”
You nod once. “I know of him.”
“What have you heard?”
You shrug. “Grade One. New Shadow Style. Really good swordsman. Mei Mei speaks highly of him."
Utahime smiles faintly. “Yeah."
“I’ve never actually met him.”
“He teaches in Tokyo.”
“So I’ve heard.”
You tilt your head. “…Why?”
Utahime folds her hands on the desk. “He needs help.”
You frown. “With what?”
Before she can answer, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out of your pocket and look at it.
Mother
You sigh. “…Sorry.”
Utahime waves her hand at you. “Go ahead.”
You answer.
“I’m with someone.”
“We’re having guests this evening.”
“…Okay.”
“I expect you home before six.”
You close your eyes for a second. “…Mom.”
“The Zen’in family accepted the invitation.”
You already know where this is going. “So?”
“Naobito-sama will be joining us.”
“…And?”
“His son will be accompanying him.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m busy.”
“You're always busy.”
“I have work.”
“You always have work.”
“Mom.”
“This opportunity won’t present itself forever.”
You let out a quiet sigh. “…I have to go.”
You end the call before she can keep going, and she definietly would have. You set your phone face down on the desk.
Utahime waits a second before speaking. “…Still trying?”
You laugh bitterly. “When are they not?”
“I figured.”
You shake your head. “I swear, if I spend one more dinner listening to someone tell me what an honor it would be…”
You trail off, rubbing your temple.
Utahime smiles.
“So.” You lean forward again. “You were saying.”
She nods. “Kusakabe. He needs help.”
You wait for her to get to the point.
“He has temporary custody of his five year old nephew.”
You furrow your brows. “…Temporary?”
“His sister was admitted to the hospital yesterday.”
The smile disappears from your face. “…Oh.”
“She isn’t doing well.”
You look down for a second before looking in her eyes again. “…How’s the little boy?”
“Scared.”
You nod slowly. “…Yeah.”
“Kusakabe teaches. If the higher ups send him on a mission, he has no one to stay with Haru.”
She's quiet as she looks up at you from her desk. “…And you thought of me.”
“I did.”
You sit quietly for a second, thinking. Utahime doesn’t rush you. She already knows you’re thinking it through. “…How long?” you ask.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “The doctors couldn’t give him a timeline.”
“A week?”
“I don’t know.”
“A month?”
“I don’t know.”
She gives you an apologetic look. “They really couldn’t say.”
You tilt your head slightly. “So this isn’t a babysitting job.”
“No.”
“It’s… however long it takes.”
“Pretty much.”
You look down at your hands. “And Kusakabe?”
“What about him?”
“Is he expecting someone to move in with him?"
“He knows I was going to ask around.”
You let out a quiet hum. “Does Haru know?”
“No.”
“What would I actually be doing?”
Utahime leans back in her chair. “Helping with the things Kusakabe can’t always be there for. Getting Haru ready in the mornings. Picking him up after school. Being with him if Kusakabe gets called away on a mission.” She smiles slightly. “And reminding Kusakabe to eat once in a while probably wouldn’t hurt.”
That gets a small laugh out of you. “I’ve heard he isn’t exactly organized.”
“That’s putting it nicely.”
You think about the little boy.
Five years old.
His mother in the hospital.
“…I’d like to meet them.”
Utahime looks up. “Both of them?"
“I don’t think it’s fair to agree before I know if Haru is comfortable around me... And…” You hesitate. “I’d rather Kusakabe decide for himself if he wants me to be the one to do it."
Utahime nods. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll talk to him first.” She reaches for her phone. “If he’s alright with meeting, I’ll give you his number.”
You smile. “So I don’t have to pop into Tokyo to see him?"
She laughs. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “I’ll wait for your text.”
Utahime unlocks her phone. “I’ll let you know what he says.”
You stand up and grab your phone. “…Thanks... For thinking of me.”
Utahime looks up from her phone. “I thought of you because I trust you.”
The smile on your face gets softer, “…I’ll keep my phone on.”
You walk out of her office, before you’ve made it halfway to the stairs, your phone buzzes. You glance down instinctively.
Mother.
You sigh. “…Figures.”
You slip the phone back into your pocket without answering and keep walking.
The dining room is already full by the time get there.
Tatami lines the floor, a long lacquered table set with porcelain cups and small dishes. Your mother greets you with a polite smile that never quite reaches her eyes before directing you toward the empty cushion next to her.
Across the table sat Naobito Zen’in. To his right, Naoya.
He looks exactly like you pictured. Well dressed, composed, and handsome enough to know it. As you sat in your seat, servants began pouring tea. Conversation started almost immediately.
Clan business.
Recent missions.
Politics.
The sort of conversation you learned years ago how to nod to without actually listening to any of it. Your phone vibrated under the table. You slip it from your sleeve just enough to glance at the screen.
Utahime
I spoke with Kusakabe.
I gave him your number, if that’s alright.
A smile forms on your lips.
You type back under the table.
I was wondering how long you’d make him wait.
The reply came almost instantly.
About three minutes.
You huffed a quiet laugh. A second vibration followed before you could lock your phone.
Unknown Number
Utahime gave me your number.
You look down at the screen, then smile. Three dots appear. Disappear. Then appear again.
Utihime
She said you wanted to meet.
Figured introducing myself was less awkward than having a stranger show up at my apartment.
You covered your smile behind your teacup.
You:
That’s debatable.
A few seconds passed.
Kusakabe:
I guess it depends on the person.
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop a laugh from coming out.
You:
I’m Y/N
Nice to officially meet you.
The response was almost immediate.
Kusakabe:
Kusakabe
You stare at the message. Then type before you could overthink it.
You:
That’s all I get?
The three dots blinked.
Kusakabe:
What else were you expecting?
You:
At least one fun fact.
Long enough passed that you wonder if he was done with this conversation. But finally-
Kusakabe:
I have a five year old asleep in the next room.
I don’t have any fun facts today.
You smile into your tea again. It wasn’t meant to be funny, but that somehow made it funnier.
You:
Then tomorrow.
I’ll collect one in person. Lol.
Kusakabe:
That sounds like homework.
Your grin widens.
You:
You teach. Lol.
Aren’t you supposed to like homework?
The reply took longer this time.
Long enough that you imagined him staring at the screen not knowing what to say back. Then-
Kusakabe:
I'm not a good teacher.
A laugh escapes before you can stop it.
“…Something amusing?”
Your head snaps up. Naoya is looking at you. He doesn't look irritated, just curious. Everyone else has gone quiet.
“Oh.” You slip your phone back under the table. “Sorry. I was answering a message.”
Your mother’s fingers settle lightly against your knee under the table. Not enough to hurt you, just enough pressure to remind you where you are. A warning.
You glance sideways towards her. She doesn't look at you. She just continues speaking with Naobito as though nothing happened. You understood what she meant anyway.
You bow your head slightly. “My apologies.”
The phone disappears back into your sleeve. When you look up again, Naoya is still watching you. A small smile on the corner of his mouth.
“So,” he said, turning his attention back to you instead of the discussion around the table. “You work with Utahime-san?”
Your mother relaxes, satisfied you’d finally put your phone away.
You offer Naoya a polite smile. “Occasionally.”
“I’ve heard you’re quite talented.”
“People exaggerate.”
“I’ve found they usually don’t.”
For the first time that evening, he had your full attention. Not because you were impressed. Just because it would’ve been rude not to answer.
Dinner stretches well past sunset. Conversation shifts from politics to family histories, then circles back again. Naoya proves exactly what his reputation suggests. Confident. Well-spoken. He has an opinion on nearly everything, and, whether intentionally or not, manages to steer the conversation toward you again.
“So,” he says, setting his cup down. “Utahime-san mentioned you’ve been taking on independent contracts.”
You nod. “A few.”
“Mostly alone?”
“When I can.”
“Hm.”
His eyes linger on you for a second. “I imagine that’s difficult.”
“It has its moments.”
“I’ve heard your technique is impressive.”
You smile politely. “I’ve heard yours is fast.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “So you’ve heard of me.”
“It’s a small world.”
He seems pleased by that answer. Before he can continue, Naobito redirects the conversation toward recent activity along the western prefectures, and Naoya lets it go.
The moment the servants come to collect plates and prepare for dessert, your mother turns to speak to one of your aunts. No one is paying attention to you anymore. Perfect.
You excuse yourself quietly. “I’ll be right back.”
The hallway is cool after the warmth of the dining room. You barely make it around the corner before pulling your phone from out of your sleeve.
Two unread messages.
Kusakabe:
Sorry.
Haru woke up.
A minute later—
False alarm.
Without thinking, you smile.
You:
That’s okay.
Is he alright?
The reply comes fast.
Kusakabe:
Bad dream.
Went back to sleep.
You lean against one of the wooden pillars.
You:
How are you doing?
This time there’s a longer pause.
Long enough that you almost wonder if he won’t answer.
Kusakabe:
Still awake.
You laugh softly.
You:
I noticed. Lol.
Kusakabe:
You laugh a lot over text.
You smile again.
You:
Is that a complaint?
Kusakabe:
Just an observation.
Hard to tell if I’m actually funny.
You bite your lip.
You:
I don’t think you’re trying to be.
Kusakabe:
Is that a good thing?
A quiet laugh escapes you.
You:
I think so.
Several seconds pass.
Kusakabe:
We should meet.
Lunch works if you're free tomorrow.
You pause.
You:
Where?
Kusakabe:
There's a park across from Haru's kindergarten.
It's easier if I stay nearby.
You stare at the message for a second.
You:
That works.
Three dots appear.
Kusakabe:
I'll try to figure out that homework for you.
You laugh outright this time.
You:
Thought you hated homework?
You glance up.
Your cousin is standing a few feet away, one shoulder resting against the frame of the hallway entrance. He looks between you and your phone.
“…You’re smiling.”
“Am I?”
“You are.” He folds his arms. “So.”
You slip your phone against your chest. “So?”
“Who is he?”
You pretend to be confused. “Who?”
“The man making you smile at your phone.”
“I never said it was a man.”
“You didn’t have to.” He smirks. “If it were one of your friends, you’d have told me already.”
You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “You’re annoying."
“So I’m right.”
“You make a lot of assumptions.”
“I usually end up being right.”
Before you can answer, footsteps echo farther down the hall. Naoya rounds the corner, hands tucked loosely into the sleeves of his haori. “There you are.”
Your cousin glances between the two of you. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He walks off wearing an annoying shit eating grin. Naoya watches him disappear before looking back at you. “I was starting to think I’d offended you.”
You put your phone back in your sleeve. “Hm?”
“You’ve spent most of the evening trying not to look at me.” His tone is light, almost amused.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“No?”
“You had my attention.”
“For about five minutes.”
You can’t help but smile. “I was answering a message.”
“A rather entertaining one, apparently.”
“It was.”
He looks at you for a second. “So. Who is he?"
You tilt your head. “Assuming it’s a man?”
“If it wasn’t,” he says smoothly, “you wouldn't have run out here to finish texting."
You laugh. “I don’t remember saying you were wrong.”
“No.” His smile widens just enough to notice. “You didn’t.”
He waits. Clearly expecting an answer.
“He’s someone I’m meeting tomorrow.”
“A sorcerer?”
“Mhm.”
“I know him?”
“I don’t know.”
You offer him one last polite smile before stepping around him. “Goodnight, Naoya-san.”
He turns to watch you walk away. "Goodnight."
He realized, as he watched you disappear around the corner, that he'd never learned the other man's name.
screaming!!!!!!!!!!!! i love the slow and methodical pace of this first chapter and the way it introduces all of the characters in ways seemingly common place but so very memorable. i have never considered the potential for the dynamic dry-and-duty-bound duo that is utahime and kusakabe, but i loved the interactions they had: assured of each other's competency and discretion, caring but under a thick layer of decorum, almost made offhand. i love kusakabe's characterization already, and that flashback with akari and takeru was perfectly placed. even naoya was interesting and half-respectable here, which is high praise for a man i despise and i am so interested to see where the story goes from here <3
rip magnus archives crew but I'm built different. if my boss was literally all-knowing and couldn't fire me, I'd be in his office all day asking him questions about everything. I wouldn't use google anymore. I'd be like "what's the rarest kind of tree frog" and he'd be like "shut up please shut up" but he'd tell me the answer every time.
and then I'd go home and immediately call him and be like "hey elias I forgot what time I put the burekas in the oven, how much longer should I leave them in"
and he'd be like "I hate you so much. you put them in 12:42. they should come out at 1:12"
THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 “you know, if this were a drama, this would be the part where the love interest gives the hero some kind of incentive before his big moment.”
♫ starring: zhou guanyu x childhood crush!reader.
♫ word count: 3.2k.
♫ includes: romance, friendship, fluff. mention of food. ferrari reserve driver!zhou, childhood friends, one-act and open-ended. anon requested yesterday by jay park.
♫ commentary box: jumped with joy when i saw a zhou request and of course i had to do something hometown-hero adjacent in time for shanghai. ‹𝟹 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Zhou isn’t hiding.
Or at least that’s what he tells himself as he stands in the dimly lit snack aisle of a convenience store just outside the circuit, hands tucked into the pockets of his Ferrari team jacket. The store is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the paddock, where team personnel scramble to adjust strategies and media personnel wait like vultures for a comment.
He should be in the garage. Should be going over last-minute preparations, listening to his engineers, doing something productive. But instead, he’s here, staring blankly at a shelf stocked with shrimp chips and hawthorn candies, the same ones he used to buy as a kid.
He’s never subbed in for a race before. Not like this. Not at home.
It should be a dream come true. And yet, all he can feel is the crushing weight of expectation pressing down on him.
China’s first F1 driver, back in Shanghai, stepping in for Charles Leclerc. The headlines write themselves. He knows what people are saying— that it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance, that he needs to prove himself, that this could be the opportunity that changes everything.
He believes that. Really, he does. Right now, though, he just needs a second to breathe.
The jingle of the convenience store door barely registers in his mind, drowned out by his own thoughts. It’s only when someone steps into the aisle with him that he glances up, and—
Oh.
You.
It takes a second for the recognition to settle in, for the years to melt away and for him to see you as you were back then. Before he left, before England, before everything. You, standing there with a basket in hand, looking just as startled to see him.
“Zhou?” Your voice is hesitant, like you can’t quite believe it’s him.
A stunned beat passes.
Then, suddenly, he’s a kid again, racing down familiar streets on a bicycle too big for him, laughing breathlessly as you try to keep up. He remembers summer afternoons spent swapping snacks, the endless debates over whose mom made better dumplings, the way he had promised— so earnestly, so naively— he’d come back soon.
He never did.
He swallows, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. It’s been a while,” he greets in English, because that’s what he instinctively clings to nowadays.
You huff out something between a laugh and a scoff. “That’s one way to put it,” you say, though not unkindly. You ignore his English, jumping right into the familiar, sharp lilt of Shanghainese.
Just like that, the tension in Zhou’s chest loosens a little. Because if there was ever a moment to be reminded of who he was before all the pressure, the expectations, it’s now. Standing in a convenience store with an old friend, surrounded by childhood comforts. Speaking a language that he knows like the back of his hand.
Maybe, just maybe, he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.
Your eyes flicker toward the screen above the register, where the news ticker rolls on a muted sports channel. It takes a second to register, but then you must see it. Zhou Guanyu to drive for Ferrari this weekend; Leclerc ruled out with food poisoning.
You glance back at him, arms folded as he pretends to be very interested in a bag of shrimp chips. “So,” you start, watching for the moment his shoulders tense, “Ferrari, huh?”
An easy, practiced smile slips onto his face like a mask he’s worn a thousand times before. “Yeah,” he says, giving a light chuckle as he finally slips into the mother tongue you share. “Crazy, right? Big opportunity.”
He’s always been good at looking composed, but you still know him too well. You catch the way his fingers tighten around the bag, the way his breath isn’t quite as steady as he wants it to be.
“Guanyu,” you say, and his name still feels natural in your mouth despite the years. He blinks at you, smile faltering just a fraction, and that’s all the confirmation you need. “You’re nervous.”
“I’m excited,” he corrects immediately.
“You’re lying,” you counter just as quickly.
Zhou shakes his head, looking down at the snack aisle like it holds some sort of escape route. “I forgot you were always annoying like this.”
“You forgot a lot of things,” you tease, plucking the shrimp chips from his grip. “Like how you’ve never been able to lie to me.”
That earns a quiet laugh from him. “Maybe,” he admits. Then, after a moment. Softer, quieter, “It’s just… a lot.”
You nod, understanding without him needing to explain. The weight of it all— especially here, in front of a home crowd. He doesn’t have to say it. You can see it in the way he’s hiding out in a convenience store, looking for something familiar to ground him.
“Well,” you say, turning toward the counter, “at least you don’t have to face it on an empty stomach.”
You ignore his questioning look as you hand the cashier a bill, motioning toward the shrimp chips and grabbing a couple more snacks while you’re at it. Zhou’s eyes widen as he realizes what you’re doing.
“Wait— no, I should be treating you,” he stammers, reaching for his wallet. “I’m the driver here, remember?”
You scoff. “Please. It’s the least I can do for a hometown hero.”
He huffs a surprised laugh, but doesn’t argue any further. His parents would probably admonish him for having such terrible bill game, and against a family friend, no less. He lets you win, though, because he can already barely keep his head on straight. When you hand him the bag, he takes it with a quiet, sincere “Thanks.”
One look at his face gives you the impression that he still doesn’t want to head back out. He’s recognized at every corner, revered for being the one who made it. It’s not something he wants to face. Not yet. Not at this moment.
You exchange a couple of words with the cashier, who— despite undoubtedly recognizing Zhou— has been benevolently normal this entire time. The driver think it might be some skewed sense of pity, the one aunties and uncles shower him with when they coo about how young he is. How fast his cars are, and how his mother probably worries about him all the damn time.
You beckon at Zhou. He hesitates for just a moment before following you toward the back of the store, casting a glance toward the circuit entrance like it might drag him back by force. But he doesn’t resist when you push open a door near the stock shelves, leading him into a dimly lit backroom filled with extra inventory and an old, humming fridge.
“I used to hide back here all the time,” you say, settling onto an upturned crate. “The store owner’s my uncle. He never minds as long as I don’t mess with his stock.”
Zhou watches as you dig through the plastic bag of snacks you had insisted on paying for. He knows he should be heading back soon— Fred will probably be calling in the next fifteen minutes— but for now, he allows himself this reprieve.
“Didn’t peg you as a troublemaker,” he murmurs, accepting a bottle of water when you pass it to him.
“You’d be surprised.” You flash a grin before tearing open a bag of dried plums. “So? Are you going to pretend for much longer, or are you going to admit you’re terrified out of your mind?”
Zhou fingers pausing where they’re picking at the label of his water bottle. “I—”
You tilt your head, giving him a knowing look. “Come on, Zhou. You still can’t lie to me.”
He sighs, shoulders sagging slightly as the tension in his frame unravels. “I should be excited,” he admits. “This is what I’ve worked for, right? A shot in a Ferrari, in front of my home crowd. But I just— I didn’t expect it to happen like this.”
“You wanted it to be on your own terms,” you offer.
Zhou nods, rubbing his temple. “And it’s Charles’ seat. I’m just keeping it warm.”
“But you’re still driving it,” you counter, nudging his knee with yours. “That has to count for something.”
He looks at you, then, searching for doubt in your expression, but he only finds certainty. The same certainty you always had when you were kids, when you’d tell him he’d be a champion one day. Back then, he had believed you so easily.
“Guess I just need to keep the car out of the wall,” Zhou grumbles, mostly to himself.
“You’re capable of a lot more than that,” you say, popping a dried plum into your mouth. Then, after a beat, you smirk. “Though, I should be honest— I’m mostly being nice because of the embarrassing crush you had on me back then.”
There it is.
Zhou chokes on his water. “What?”
You laugh, watching his ears go red. “Oh, come on. You thought I didn’t know?”
“I—” Zhou gapes at you before groaning and pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “That was so long ago.”
And it has been so long ago. Some 17 years, in fact, since he was helplessly, hopelessly enamored with everything you did. It’d been the classic ‘first love’ trope, the one that had both your parents consulting fortune tellers and shamans for a read on how well this might pan out.
Zhou never bothered to ask what they found when they went looking, but he’d always secretly hoped that it was something good. An invisible cord of red, tying the two of you two together.
“It was still pretty cute.” You grin, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. “I mean, you followed me everywhere. You’d blush so hard whenever I held your hand—”
“Okay, okay,” he grumbles, but there’s no real frustration in his voice. Just a quiet sort of fondness.
“You should’ve just told me,” you tease, popping another dried plum into your mouth. “Maybe I would’ve liked you back.”
Zhou chuckles as he leans back against a stack of crates. “Too late for that now, isn’t it?”
You hum, glancing at him. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Oh. That’s— oh.
He swallows around the lump forming in his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of how warm it is in the backroom. Or maybe it’s just his pulse hammering in his ears. He hadn’t expected you to tease him about this, and he definitely hadn’t expected the look in your eyes when you did.
Amused, yes. Something else, too. Something much mote honest.
He licks his lips, stalling. “You’re only saying all this now ‘cause I’m in F1, aren’t you?” he teases, though it doesn’t come out quite as lighthearted as he hopes.
He’s trying not to sound desperate, but he is. Just a little. Because if you tell him yes, that the past doesn’t really matter and it’s all about the here and now— well. He’s not sure he’ll like that answer.
You scoff, rolling your eyes before breaking off a piece of the candy bar you’d been working on. “Don’t be an idiot,” you snap.
You hold the chocolate up to his lips, and before he can think twice about it, he lets you feed him.
That, too, is something that reminds him of his childhood. The easy consideration the two of you would trade. Always picking each other first on the playground. Your favorite Kai-Lan band-aids in the pocket of his backpack; his class schedule, scribbled on the back of all your notebooks.
You watch him for a moment before adding on to your answer. “You think I just woke up one day and decided, ‘Oh, that Zhou Guanyu is pretty cute now that he’s a Ferrari driver’?” Your lips curve in a way that’s almost rueful. “Come on. Give me some credit.”
Zhou watches you, trying not to let his face betray just how much he’s hanging onto every word.
“I thought you were cute when you were just the boy next door,” you admit, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “Before all of this.”
You gesture vaguely, as if to encompass his career, the world of Formula 1, the pressure he now carries on his back. “You were already Zhou Guanyu before you were the Zhou Guanyu.”
A mix of affection and relief settles warm in Zhou’s chest. It’s stupid how much he needed to hear that. How much he needed someone, you, to remind him that he’s still just him, that the world can blur around him all it wants, but the parts that matter— the parts that make him— don’t have to change.
“You could’ve told me that back then,” he says, watching you with something like wonder.
You shrug before offering him another bite of chocolate. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He takes it from your fingers, holding your gaze. He chews slowly, considering his words before finally speaking.
“You never reached out,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice light. “All these years, and not a single message?”
You blink at him, a little caught off guard. Then you raise your shoulders raise in a shrug. “Didn’t think I’d matter much to you anymore,” you say in that clinical, cutting tone that reminds him of his elementary teachers.
Zhou frowns. “Why would you think that?”
“I mean, look at you. F1 driver, racing in front of millions, rubbing elbows with celebrities. I wasn’t sure if I—” You pause, toying with the wrapper of your snack. “I didn’t know if I belonged in that world. Your world.”
Zhou’s throat feels tight, because it’s ridiculous. The idea that you, of all people, could think that.
He shifts slightly, tilting his head at you. “That’s dumb.” There’s no real bite to his tone. “You didn’t even try.”
You shoot him a half-hearted glare. “What, and risk finding out that you’ve completely forgotten about me? My ego isn’t strong enough for that.”
“I wouldn’t have forgotten you.”
“Please. I’m sure you had plenty of other crushes after me.”
At that, Zhou falls quiet. Not because you’re right, but because… well.
He sorts through his memories, combing through years of traveling, of new places and new faces, of fleeting affections that never quite lingered long enough to mean anything. And yet, somehow, some of his fondest memories— the ones that have stayed, steady and stubborn— involve you.
The curb outside your house where you sat with fruit-flavored popsicles under the rancid, summer heat. Plates of peking duck and bowls of egg drop soup shared for every birthday, every end-of-school celebration. The one and only time he was brave— the chaste kiss he pressed to your cheek the day that he was set to leave, and how the warmth of your skin had lingered on his lips throughout the 16-hour flight.
He’d been young then. A kid with a crush.
He’s older now, which he supposes makes him an adult with a crush. Infinitely worse, he privately decides.
Zhou clears his throat and forces a smirk on to his lips. “Yeah, of course,” he lies, casual and smooth. “I’ve had loads of crushes since you.”
You don’t call him out on it, but he sees it in the way your eyes linger on him, in the way your grin widens just a little. You know. Of course you do. But you let it slide. Instead, you just laugh under your breath as you pick up another snack. “Figured as much,” you tease.
The next couple of moments pass with the cursory small talk. You trade stories about your parents; you tell him about your job. When you mention having tickets for Sunday, he tries not to think too deeply about it.
Everyone will have their eyes on him this weekend. Now, though, you’ve cursed him to only look out for yours.
Zhou stretches his arms over his head, eyeing the empty snack wrappers scattered between you. The small escape you carved out for him has come to an end, and you both know it. He needs to head back. The team is probably already wondering where he disappeared to.
Still, Zhou can’t resist one last jab.
“You know,” he starts, voice as casual as he can manage, “if this were a drama, this would be the part where the love interest gives the hero some kind of incentive before his big moment.”
You raise a brow. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” Zhou leans in slightly, feigning deep thought. “Something like, ‘Win the race and I’ll go on a date with you,’ or ‘If you finish in the points, I’ll give you a kiss.’” He grins. “That kind of thing.”
You roll your eyes, but the upward tilt of your lips betrays you. “Is that what you want? Some cheesy incentive to get you through the weekend?”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t say no to it.”
After a beat of consideration, you fix him with a look— one that’s exasperated undeniably sincere. “Alright, fine,” you concede. “If you finish the race unscathed, maybe I’ll give you a proper confession.”
Zhou blinks. “A confession?”
“You know. The whole ‘I like you’ speech, but a little more eloquent.”
He narrows his eyes playfully. “You’re telling me you’ve been holding out on me?”
“Maybe.” You break out into a grin that makes his ribs ache. “Or maybe I just want to make sure you make it to the end in one piece before I say anything too heartfelt.”
“If you finish in the points, though,” you continue, tapping a finger to your chin in mock contemplation, “maybe I’ll throw in a little something more.”
He straightens, eyes sparking with interest. “Something more?”
You don’t elaborate. You just smile at him, slow and knowing, before standing up and dusting off your hands.
Zhou follows suit, walking with you back toward the front of the store. His mind is already racing, trying to guess what exactly something more entails. He doesn’t get a chance to ask, though, because as you reach the door, you pause— turning back to look at him one last time.
“Oh,” you say, like it’s an afterthought. “Just so you know, I don’t usually kiss on the first date.”
This wasn’t a date, wasn’t it? Zhou’s confused by the sudden statement, and it’s evident in the way he drags out a befuddled “Okay…?”
You grin, your voice dropping just slightly. “But I suppose childhood crushes have some exceptions.”
Zhou barely has time to process what you’ve just said before you step outside, leaving him standing there— completely gobsmacked, mouth slightly open, brain short-circuiting. By the time he recovers, you’re already halfway down the street, a bounce in your step.
It’s a threat as much as it is a promise.
It’s a reminder that what the two of you have is not the red string of fate that he once so fervently hoped for.
The two of you are a taut rubber band, stretched across continents and decades— something that was always meant to snap back into place.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for when he ducked into this convenience store, but now, as he steps back into the light of the Shanghai afternoon, he knows one thing for certain.
Zhou is done hiding. ⛐
ScuderiaFerrari Putting the "hero" in "hometown hero" 🇨🇳 ZhouGuanyu24 finishes P7!
having feelings that contradict your morals is soooo fucking annnoooooyyyiiingggggg. can the emotions and logic department get on the same page im tired of having to like strangle myself into being a tolerable person
