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Crow lives with two career doctors, who are both very good, and very successful, at their jobs, so he knows that sleep deprivation can lead to poor regulation of blood pressure, cholesterol and blood sugar, increased stress that affects skin quality, and feelings of irritability and fatigue. All in all, no matter what his productivity streak past midnight says, two out of two important doctors in his life heavily recommend at least 8 hours.
Mozu always makes breakfast at 6am, so really, it’s heavily advised his day starts at 7:30 (the food is only relatively cold) and ends it by 11pm at the latest. Crow has taken that as a cue to fix his sleep schedule, which he’s done to moderate success. He’s not the worst of the bunch anymore! (He and Shu used to compete for most eclectic sleeping habits, but now the title is definitely Shu’s, who still, by virtue of his job, spends sometimes days without sleep tracking down a mark before padding home at 3am and knocking out for 14 hours straight.) Anyways, he says “moderate” because it’s not like he doesn’t still have days where he’s so invested in a project he forgets to sleep, or eat, or drink, until it’s done (Worth it), or, contrary to unfortunately popular belief, he does sometimes take on clients with interesting cases, and skirts too close to the deadline to get a full 8 hours.
But it’s usually fine! He likes sharing morning time with his friends, whom all leave for their jobs fairly early into the day, so he tries his best to take Mozu’s advice, which is coincidentally an A5 sleep hygiene print out he took from Helvetica’s clinic and stuck to their fridge. Recently, however, it is Not Fine. Distinctly Not Fine. He is suffering.
Teuta’s gone to Russia for two weeks at the behest of Adam and his family. She and Luka visit him every few months (expenses paid) anyways, but Thanksgiving is coming up, and the 4.5k miles between New Sieg and Moscow was never going to be an excuse to not spend it together. Apparently Teuta’s parents were also considering getting their own tickets. Crow was happy to pay for them if necessary, but in the end Teuta talked them down (Too many people would be overwhelming and well… Adam wasn’t doing great).
The time difference has made communication and time spent together a tricky compromise between Teuta, Shu and Crow, but they’ve made it work. The fact his girlfriend has gone to cheer up her cancer-ridden best friend and they have to talk slightly less is Not the reason he’s not okay right now. In fact, before her trip, both he and Shu made sure to get it through to her that she does Not Need to care about them right now, and they should just focus on Adam as much as possible.
The reason he’s not fine is because Shu’s invited him to go to his family Thanksgiving dinner. Shu. Has Invited Him. To. He can’t say it again; he’ll explode. Even thinking about it makes him want to scream. There are some things a man is not prepared to be asked.
Crow considers a Shu a friend, but he’s not sure if that’s 100% reciprocated. They trust each other of course, but there’s sometimes an edge to the way Shu makes fun of him that makes him question himself. Also, he doesn’t like thinking about it, but the gun he pointed at him last Christmas is also kind of a mood dampener. Shu is Teuta’s boyfriend, and he’s Teuta’s boyfriend (Awesome!!), and it doesn’t need to be more complicated than that. It doesn’t worry, or upset him, that Shu might think he’s lame. Crow stopped having a crush on him. That last statement isn’t even a complete lie; he’s like, accepted it. It was cool. Everything was cool.
“Was” being the key verb here. Because it certainly isn’t cool now. Last year they spent Thanksgiving together − extremely fond memory − but because Teuta’s not going to be there, and Limbo’s been whisked away to Fitzgerald hell, the rest of them decided to make it casual. Helvetica’s invited anyone god willing to join him and Sauli for what will inevitably become a pointed and tense dinner since Crow’s pretty sure they haven’t been on talking terms for a while now. Crow was going to go, as either emotional support or comedic relief. Whichever one was going to be needed more. But then. But then!
Picture this: It’s a dark and stormy night. Crow’s eating cereal at 12am (“Moderate” success means he still has some cheat days) on the kitchen island and scrolling Full Circle because he’s bored and he just finished sending over programming for his dad’s new hobby robot and waiting to see if it’s going to work or not. Crow’s steadfastly funding his retirement because his dad deserves it after all the… Well, after everything.
He’s gone back to hobby crafting mechatronics and the occasional terrifying robot. This one, specifically, is for more immersive bird watching? Which is a step up from the last one, which was a giant spider he wanted to be fully autonomous for a local haunted house. It laid eggs. (He’s since sold it to a horror themed escape room who was happy to take it off his hands).
His dad keeps him updated about all his projects, which is nice, because neither of them are very good at communicating else wise. Case in point why they’re not spending Thanksgiving together. Their relationship is a… work in progress. Letting Crow help out with his more fun projects is their current, easiest way of reconnecting, when normal words seem too hard. He even went to his dad’s new house to help with the spider robot! Kyle Miller’s love language is nothing if not letting people help him with things he’s overqualified for.
He’s gone off topic. Anyways, so Crow’s eating dry Coco Puffs past his bedtime waiting for his dad to text him back when he hears the door open. Shu’s probably home.
Dating Teuta’s been good for Shu, Crow thinks. He takes less risky jobs now, mostly normal bounty hunting instead of going for other killers. Crow sees him home a lot more, dusting his dirty boots in the front hallway and throwing away lollipop sticks, consulting himself or others about marks instead of wandering New Sieg alleys gathering information himself. Crow knows the short rotation of jobs makes Teuta less antsy. That it’s normal now from him to be home after 3 days instead of 2 weeks. It’s like Teuta’s anchored him to the city.
Crow’s always admired the way Shu seemed simultaneously so grounded and so light. He was just so experienced. He had a good head on his shoulders, and his feet on the ground, but he was also so far above it all, like if he left New Sieg you would never catch him, and on a whim, he could. Limbo found a good balance with Shu, being good company but never a chain. He never pushed too hard. Teuta pushed Shu, but in a good way. Fought with him, was scared for him, made him reconsider what was worth it for him. Crow had never met a Shu that didn’t float above him, but after the incident with the Closer, there was a solidity to Shu that had never been there before. A determination to stay.
“Welcome home,” Crow whisper-yells as he hears Shu enter the room.
He hears Shu jolt and swear under his breath. “What are you still doing up? In the complete dark?”
Scarecrow opens his phone flashlight and points it in Shu’s general direction, watching him flinch as it points directly into his eyes. Before he answers, he throws a dry towel in his direction so Shu can dry off his dripping wet hair.
“Helping my dad out with something,” Crow says, taking another bite of cereal, “Everyone else is asleep since it’s Sunday night.” The perks of freelance employment.
Shu nods in acknowledgement. He digs out his own phone so Crow can go back to scrolling in peace and goes to rummage in the fridge for something edible himself. It’s nice when it’s quiet just the two of them, like this. It’s embarrassing, but he keeps sneaking looks behind him to see Shu clicking his tongue at the lack of prepared food they had on stock. He does not find it attractive or endearing, seeing Shu relaxed and trying to keep quiet for his friends’ sakes. He wonders if he could get away with taking a photo for Teuta.
Dad: all clear
Crow: need any more help for the night?
Dad: fine. Will do field test tmrw
Crow: Awesome! Goodnight.
Dad: You too 😊
“How do you seriously text your dad like that?”
Crow squawks and nearly falls out his chair. “Duuuuddee, don’t scare me like that! Also yes, it’s faster.”
In the first place, Crow's current code is a deviation from the cypher he and his dad made to communicate when he was younger. They fell back into old rhythms once his dad had gotten everything settled.
Shu snorts, and then puts one finger to his lips. “You’re the one who told me to be quiet.”
He did not tell Shu to be quiet. Shu’s being unfair. He just gave him all the context clues needed to know that he should be quiet. He’s about to tell him as much when he sees–
“Are you eating a popsicle right now?”
It’s November. Shu just shrugs, “Only thing ready made.”
“I am sure we have snacks.”
There is a whole pantry that never goes long without being stocked again. Potato chips and cheetos aren’t healthy but it’s definitely better than lemonade flavoured ice after coming home in a storm. Crow tosses them over and goes back to silently eating his own cereal.
Shu sighs one of those sighs Crow has come to understand as ‘I would really like a cigarette right now’. Crow knows Mozu keeps lollipops in the kitchen for this exact reason and is about to go searching again when Shu starts to speak, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Nothing much? I’m thinking of going to Sauli’s with Helvetica.”
“You should come to mine instead.”
“H-huh?”
What? Did Crow hear him wrong?
“It’s nothing much, but Yang and I are doing a small Thanksgiving thing. You should come.”
Is Limbo behind him or something?
“Oi, I’m talking to you.” Shu sighs, “Is it really that unbelievable I’d host something like this?”
Scarecrow isn’t hearing him correctly. “S-sorry. Can you repeat that one more time?”
“If you keep asking I’ll rescind my invitation.”
“No! No! I’ll go! I’m going! I’m totally totally going!”
“Jeez, now who’s being too loud?”
Crow’s heart does Not skip a beat as he sees Shu’s annoyed frown turn into the smallest of affectionate smiles. No, it does not.
.
“If it makes you feel better, Shu probably doesn’t think of it as a family Thanksgiving? Oh but, uhm… he and Yang are sometimes awkward about these things? So he might?”
Crow makes a groaning noise of agony from where his face is planted into his desk. He’s been overthinking this for nights now. This is not good for his beauty sleep. His beautiful, gorgeous, thoughtful, adorable girlfriend is gifted at many things, but evidently, assuaging his concerns about this dinner is not one of them.
“I’m not helping much am I?” Teuta sighs, “But I really do think that… Well… Uhm… This is probably more for Shu than anything…? So as long as you go, he’ll be happy.”
“That’s… not much better.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
He looks up at where she’s propped up on his desk. Do people usually bring gifts to Thanksgiving? Dear Internet, what’s a socially appropriate item to give to your girlfriend’s boyfriend at Thanksgiving that suggests “Thank you for inviting me to this, I know it means a lot”? Maybe also a “I’m really grateful for the space you’ve made yourself in my life, even if you don’t care.” Both would be nice. Both would be nice! And yet! Nothing is coming to mind.
Besides his actually abysmal cooking stat, Shu’s booked them a diner so it’s not like bringing food is actually on the table. Should he just bring a bottle of wine…? It’d be better than nothing, right?
He hears a jumble of conversation from Teuta’s side and looks up, feeling his soul heal at the sight of her.
“Ah, Crow! I have to go now. Luka and I are going shopping. Good luck. Love you!”
She still blushes like she’s self conscious when she says that. So cute.
“I love you too,” he whispers into the phone as she hangs up. And then sighs in agony, again. It’s late here now, and he’s still up worrying. He’s not surviving actual dinner.
.
Crow gets there first. Crow is the only one there. He’s really going to die.
He slides down against the wall and squats, head in his hands as he reflects on how he got here. He didn’t mean to get there first. Ideally, Shu would’ve taken him! Or, in absence of that, Shu and him would’ve arrived at the exact same time and Yang would’ve been thirty minutes late to give him ample mental prep! What are they going to talk abouuuttt?
Shu apparently had something to do before dinner so he told Crow to get there himself. So Crow took the subway! And then, well, Shu had gotten stuck in traffic. “You can just go in by yourself. What are you, a child?”
What if he is? He should’ve just gone to Helvetica’s dinner!! At least he knows Sauli. It’s way too much pressure to both meet Yang and emotionally support Shu through this dinner. At least with Helvetica, it’s just one.
He lets out another pained groan. He’s been making a lot of those recently. Thank you, Shu. Teuta’s consolation echoes in his mind: “Shu probably doesn’t think of this as a family Thanksgiving.”
“Are you Shu’s guest?”
Crow looks up to dark, disinterested eyes looking back at him. Yang! Awesome! Yang’s here!! With him!! Alone. He gulps. “How long have you been here?”
Yang looks amused. “Since before you started muttering to yourself.”
This is the worst day of Crow’s life. Saying his thoughts out loud is absolutely the worst of all his bad habits, purely for its social consequence. Even though he should stand up, he just keeps looking up at Yang with probably intense horror on his countenance. He wishes he were a turtle, or a worm, or maybe even a jellyfish. Something without a central nervous system would be nice, so he wouldn’t have to like, think. Or remember this. Or be obligated to move right now.
He’d like his brain to mouth filter to work a little less well, right now, actually though. Its failure would be useful right now, because anything be better than this dead, dead silence, but before its useless, stupid programming gets to be bypassed, Yang has already reached out a hand that Crow is staring blankly at too. He reaches out his own hand unthinkingly and is pulled up—
Woah! Strong. Should’ve expected that. Shu’s assassin brother. Anyways. He mutters a “Thanks”, feeling all of 5 years old. Yang, at the very least, looks amused and not disgusted. He gets a little closer. Crow’s heart rate spikes; there’s a distinct feeling he’s being analysed with every stray movement. Oddly, it reminds him of the first time he met Mozu, being interviewed with a succinct series of questions, being met with nods at every answer. It’s probably the flat expression. Meeting Mozu felt less intimidating than this, though.
“So which one are you, the commander or the underworld boss?”
Oh! Crow knows how to do this part. He raises his hand smiling, “The underworld boss!” and then he lowers his voice, resting his chin between his thumb and pointer finger, “Scarecrow, at your service.”
Yang lets out a little laugh. Smiles, just a little, as he shakes Crow’s hand properly. “Shu’s taste sure has changed. Shall we go in?”
Before Crow has time to think about what that means, Yang’s already entering the restaurant, so he dashes to catch up. It’s a nice place, and he awkwardly fiddles with the zipper of his jacket as Yang asks after their reservation.
Their booth is nice. Even from the information online, Crow didn’t think this was the type of place Shu usually frequented. It did look like the type of place Teuta liked to go though. Trust her taste. Yang sweeps an approving glance as he sits down, picking up a menu.
Crow sits opposite him.
“Can you start us off with the garlic and herb flatbread please?”
“We’re ordering without Shu?”
“If he wanted a choice in what we were eating, he’d have come on time. Do you want anything else?”
That didn’t seem particularly fair, considering Shu couldn’t have predicted the halt in traffic but Crow shrugged and nodded anyways. Face the immediate threat first! Shu would approve. “I’m fine with anything.”
Maybe Yang sees something in Crow’s eyes, because he nods in response too, and then adds on, “Can we also get a serving of fries?”
“Oh, thanks.” Crow says, surprised.
Yang doesn’t reply. Was it rude to get out your phone in situations like this? Crow’s unused to typical holiday festivities. When it was just him and Dad, they would either take it easy and get take out and watch television, or his dad would make a nice dinner (by their accounts, though neither were great at cooking) and they’d make their own decorations from scratch, flashy and overmodded to all hell. When it was him and the rest of group, it was always pretty rowdy; Crow never had to think of etiquette. He bit his lip and resisted getting his phone out to text Shu about his ETA, or pull up road camera feed and stalk his path.
He kept flickering his gaze between the table and Yang, not wanting to make eye contact too long without conversation, but also not wanting to seem rude by not making eye contact. The silence was making him antsy.
“What’s in the bag?”
The question did not fluster Crow, who had been wracking his brain over possible conversation topics for the last couple seconds to minutes. He unsheathes his last minute gift onto the table. Tada!
“I brought wine! The restaurant website said you could bring your own so I brought something nice from my cellar.”
Crow wasn’t a particularly big wine person, but the house came with a basement, so what was he supposed to do but modify it into a cellar? It looked cool. And even though Helvetica was a dirty, mean thief, he enjoyed Crow’s selection. Sometimes he made requests, like he knew Crow’s only two purchase metrics were the price tag and how cool the online description was.
Yang tilts his head as if charmed, reading the tag. “What a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting something this nice, tonight.”
Crow fidgets. “I-I’m glad you like this stuff, too.”
Yang nods, again. Please do not ask Crow anything else about the wine. He doesn’t know. He should’ve researched it, or asked Helvetica, but hindsight, he guesses, really is, twenty-twenty. Yang looks intensely into his eyes, and Crow starts sweating. Please don’t call his bluff. He wants to preserve whatever dignity he has left.
Something in his expression causes Yang to relax. He smiles a little and leans in, almost conspiratorially, “The first time Shu drank, we snuck into our teacher’s stash after watching a western with her. It had a saloon scene where the main character drank shots of whiskey with his partner. I think we were around 10 or 11? Anyways, as kids do we wanted to–”
Crow, jaw gaping, “–No way–”
“We wanted to recreate it, because it looked cool. So we snuck into our teacher’s cellar, but the thing about her, is that even though she loved westerns, she didn’t particularly like whiskey. She was a wine person. And we didn’t know much of a difference back then, so we stole shot glasses from the motel we were staying in and one of her bottles.”
Their appetisers arrive and Yang laughs at the memory whilst picking at a piece of bread, “We didn’t understand what was so good about it, so we kept having more to understand. There was some quote in the film about sipping it even though it was disgusting so we shrugged it off and figured we were on the right track. Teach caught us maybe when we were three quarters through the bottle? Made us polish guns and clean inventory for a couple days after, as punishment. Also taught us the appropriate ways to drink wine; I listened, he did not. I don’t think he likes it, even now.”
The Baby/Loser/Coward goes unsaid but Crow hears it. It’s in the same tone Valerie mutters things under her breath about Limbo, occasionally. Crow stares, mesmerised. “Shu did things like that too?” Do things to mimic characters he thought were cool.
“What’d I do?” Shu appears.
Crow doesn’t jump back in his seat, startled, and shout, “N-n-nothing!”
Regardless, Shu narrows his eyes. “I don’t like that stutter,” he accuses, and shoots a crabbed look at Yang, “What did you tell him?”
Yang’s expression shutters close. Voice flat, he returns, “What makes you think I would’ve told him anything?”
Shu snorts even as Crow’s heartrate spikes a little at the change in tone. He points his thumb back at where Crow is sitting. “You might be good at bluffing, but your co-conspirator’s shit at it. Give it up.”
Yang shoots out another smile, swirling his glass. “Just discussing how much you love drinking wine.”
Shu sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Oh, that story.”
“If I had known you didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have brought wine!”
Crow’s a little put out. It’s not that he wants to know everything about Shu’s life, or what he likes, but also, he’s gone out drinking with Shu a fair amount. Enough that he should’ve probably known what alcohol to bring to an event, and what not to. He internally shakes his head. No! It’s okay. This is no time to mope.
Yang snorts, “He can speak for himself but I’m certainly glad you brought this.”
Shu sighs again. He puts his open palm entirely in Crow’s face causing him to caw before ruffling it with such force it knocks Crow over. “Whatever, move over.” and takes the opportunity to squeeze Crow into the booth whilst he’s recovering from the attack.
He picks up a chip, “What else have you ordered?”
“Nothing, he was waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” Shu picks a menu and starts reading, “I’ll have the meatballs.”
Yang scowls. “Don’t get the cheapest thing on the menu for yourself just because you’re paying.”
“Were you always this overbearing?” Shu glowers back, “Fine I’ll get the linguine with meatballs. What are you getting Crow?”
“Uh, I was going to get the meatballs.”
“Seriously?”
“Meatballs taste good!”
“See Yang? Meatballs taste good.”
Yang clearly doesn’t deem meatball praise worthy of a response. He goes back to scanning his own menu. “I’ll get the rigatoni all'amatriciana.”
“Fine, fine. Also, just so you know Crow, I’m fine with wine okay? This guy’s exaggerating. I just prefer beer.”
Yang raises his eyebrow. “It wasn’t like that last time we spoke.”
Shu pours himself a glass (which privately, Crow thinks, is just out of spite). “Even I have to grow up some time.”
Yang takes a sip, and whispers, quieter than typical, “And yet you’re still pulling on little girls’ pigtails.”
“What was that?” Shu’s voice hardens just a bit and Crow sees his grasp on the glass strengthen infinitesimally. Crow gulps.
Yang smiles, “Oh nothing.”
.
The rest of the night, fortunately, passes without big incident. Any extreme tenseness Crow was expecting was, to a relative extent, kept to a minimum. Sometimes they would stutter onto a topic that was clearly still too fresh to be brought up, that would lead to steely silence as they ate their food with the aggression of warfare.
Otherwise, the night was nice. Nicer than Crow was expecting, who was not expecting to be anything more than a casual outsider brought in to keep the peace if anything went especially awry. Shu and Yang bantered intensely, but without any physical violence, which was something he was, personally, wary of, considering what he had seen between Limbo and Valerie, and exchanged stories about their teacher. There was something about how much they talked about her that made Crow feel like this was a long time coming. He knew what grief felt like, and how it built up in the chest. He had wanted to talk about his dad back then too, and even through the shame and sadness and regret, was excited whenever a situation elicited his memory, and he could share the only little pieces of him he had left.
Crow has his dad back though, and Shu and Yang have each other now, talking about how annoying it was when she smoked indoors, or the little idiosyncrasy they’d have to cover for when she was angry at a client. The dinner made him glad and satisfied in a way he wasn’t quite expecting, and he was grateful for, perhaps in spite of the expected Thanksgiving spirit. Holidays with family were intimidating now that Dad was back in his life, something of a balancing weight between too much unsaid and not enough said. Seeing Shu and Yang try here made him want to try too. He was, perhaps, intensely grateful, how he was not made to feel like an outsider today, allowed to pitch his own stories about previous Thanksgivings, volunteer information he had long since pushed down and avoided.
Outside in the cold, with a small amount of snow sprinkling over the landscape, and a little buzz from the wine, Crow recognises he’s more sentimental than usual. Shivering and unused to the cold now that he’s spent so long in the air conditioned restaurant, he hops from one foot to another, blowing air between his hands to try warm himself up.
When Shu and Yang come out from paying the bill, Shu has a lollipop between his mouth again and Crow gives a small wave which he reciprocates.
Yang is matching with a cigarette, which he lights as they leave.
Shu takes out the lollipop, “When am I seeing you next?”
Yang shrugs, “When do you want to see me next?”
“Soon?” Shu says, surprisingly conciliatory, “I’d like to see you before New Year’s.”
Yang’s eyes widen. Crow assumes this is as uncommon for him too. He smiles once again, taking a puff out of his cigarette, “Maybe you have grown up, a little bit.”
“Then what does that make you?” Shu snorts.
Yang waves him off, “The smaller man. Don’t forget you’re the one who called us family.”
Taking another inhale of his cigarette, he begins walking away. “Tell your little girlfriend I say thank you. I’ll see you around.”
Crow thinks he’s going to be seeing a lot more of Yang, in the coming year. Maybe Shu will even invite him over. He waves and shouts goodbye too, before moving along with Shu into his car.
Being tipsy makes Crow ramble, but it also makes him sleepy, in the absence of conversation. The rumble of the car engine settles him into his seat, and he leans on the window. It was a good dinner, it was a good night. He drifts off a little, as he watches the passing landscape. It’s a comfortable silence, the type he has with Shu when it’s late and they’re the only ones up. Tonight has made him so, so content.
Crow doesn’t know how long they’ve been driving when Shu begins talking. He takes a deep breath, as if preparing himself.
“Thank you for coming with me, today. It meant a lot for you to be there.”
“I’m glad you invited me,” Crow returns, and he is, and because he’s in a sappy mood, he adds on, “Thank you for including me in your family.”
Shu hums, as if in agreement. Crow thinks they’re going to go back to driving in silence, but then he sees Shu’s expression shift a little. Crow can’t identify the particular emotion.
He watches him, because Shu looks like he’s getting ready to say something. He takes another deep breath in, “I want to apologise for last Christmas.”
Crow freezes.
He waits for Shu to continue, but he doesn’t know quite what to say. There’s a part of him that wants to wave it off, and tell Shu that it wasn’t a big deal, water under the bridge, but he can’t quite bring himself to say it. It would be untrue. Christmas last year had hurt him in big, overwhelming ways that, even now, he wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile. He wrapped it up with all of Constantine, like a bad nightmare that had finally settled after years and years, and a part of that was brushing the previous hurt aside. Shu’s actions then were understandable as they were hurtful. Crow couldn’t bring himself to justify it.
“I was…” Shu sighs, voice darkening as it frustrated, “I don’t want to make this about me, and I’m not trying to excuse it, but, last year when we had that incident with the Closer, it really freaked me out.”
Crow waits for him to continue. His mouth feels dry.
“At the time, I thought I knew you pretty well. And then, you were suddenly behaving out of character. It was so different from what I knew about you. I didn’t know what could have made you react like that.”
“It reminded me of Yang,” Shu admits, “It made me paranoid in a way that made me act out. I tried to make it seem rational back then, but it wasn’t. I was worried you were going to do something big; betray the group, or act out by yourself, and I was too suspicious. It made things worse. I’m sorry.”
“I helped make the group,” Crow says, helplessly. It felt unfair. That Shu thought he could harm them. They mean so much to him.
“I know,” Shu replies. There isn’t much else to say.
Crow lets the confession sit in his mouth. It felt wrong. It feels wrong, to be apologised to. He had to forgive Shu now, and not really mean it, or keep the grudge, accept he still felt wronged, and have to deal with the fallout, maybe Shu drifting because of the awkwardness. His hands felt numb.
But Shu continues, “I trust you. I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you, because of what happened then. I think we were all panicked, and I’m not going to say I wasn’t worried about Teuta, but I should’ve been worried about you too. In hindsight, you were acting odd because you were distressed, and we were too disturbed by what was happening to help you through it.”
Crow swallows. He imagines he should be vindicated by the admission. That, even in those circumstances, they weren’t treating him particularly kindly. Upon reflection, he had at times felt a wave of upset, wishing that the whole sequence of events had more catharsis, more comfort, in a way that was lacking in his memories. This wasn’t any easier of a topic. But Shu had apologised, which was something Crow had never imagined he would receive, and the fact Shu was trying so hard, had invited him to Thanksgiving with Yang, something he knew was intensely important to him, and had apologised, talked through his own feelings and admitted fault in ways that must have been uncomfortable to accept. Despite the situation, he felt a rush of affection at how much Shu had changed, that he was willing to have a conversation like this, with him.
“I was compromised,” Crow admits in turn, “Really compromised.”
“When Dad… When I knew Dad was alive again, I took it really hard.” His mouth feels so, so dry. “I–”
He laughs, humorlessly. “Well, you know the implications of what happened if my dad was alive all that time.”
Shu hums, and Crow could feel the deliberate neutrality of his reaction, like he was waiting to see how Crow would react. “I just felt so guilty, and so scared. It was like everything I had buried was coming back up, and I deserved it– I know I do, but back then, it was so unrelenting. Dad was alive, and then I hurt Teuta, and then Con− they contacted me, and I don’t think I could think properly until like, a week after everything settled.”
It hurt to think back on. It had made him feel so intensely alone in a way he loathed to remember, made him one-track and isolationist. He remembered how strongly everything felt, the desperation, the way “Rescue Dad Rescue Dad Rescue Dad” was the only mission he had in his mind, and how he didn’t know how to reconcile that with the life he had built past the overwhelming tragedy. He didn’t know how to explain it, and as he pushed past the wave of flush memories to try anyway, Shu cut him off.
“You don’t need to tell me anything else, if you don’t want to,” so firm that Crow could cry in relief. “You don’t… I trust you, and I don’t want you to tell me anything about yourself unless you want to, Crow.”
Crow opens his mouth before closing it again. How long had his hands been shaking? At one point, they had gotten home, and Shu had parked. He was looking out at the road, as if he hadn’t, and Crow was struck by another pang of gratitude, that he was letting him think without pressure.
“I don’t… Last Christmas sucked,” Crow starts with, “And I don’t think.”
Crow swallows. “It wasn’t okay. I don’t know how I feel about it. I don’t… know.”
And then he braces himself for Shu’s reaction. Of disappointment, or anger, or anything else. An accusation, or a stipulation, or a demand that his sincerity be returned with a proper answer. Instead, when Shu turns around, so slowly that Crow has time to hear his thundering pulse, he nods with earnest acceptance.
“That’s okay,” Shu says, “You don’t need to know now. Thank you for listening to me.”
A rush of adrenaline fills Crow, and it. The gratitude, and the affection, and the palpating heartbeat cause him to blurt out, “I really like you!” before his brain can catch up.
Blood is rushing in his ears. He’s so sure his entire face is red right now. Why did he do that? Oh god, why did he just do that? Shu’s eyes widen a fraction, which is the only reason Crow knows he’s surprised about this. Before he can take it back, he continues, “Romantically. I meant! Romantically. I like you, romantically. I really, really, like you.”
It’s true. Even though he had said it on an impulse, Crow knows it’s true with a certainty that feels mortifying given the current circumstances. He doesn’t know if he can forgive Shu, for previous hurts, but he does like Shu, now, currently as he is, with a force that feels like bursting. Even prior to dating Teuta, every one of Shu’s small mannerisms had made Crow fawn in a way he tried his best to suppress. The little smiles, the witty banter, the careful, methodical process he went on jobs with. Now, grounded and stable in a way he wasn’t before, Crow can’t help but fall even harder.
And that’s as much as he can handle thinking about. He feels the way his cheeks are burning as he covers his face up with both his hands so he doesn’t have to see Shu’s reaction. Why did he just do that? Oh god!! He can’t handle it. He hears a small chuckle.
.
.
.
He looks up, slowly, peeling his fingers away from his eyes so he can peak at Shu’s expression. It’s… not what he was expecting.
Shu’s laughing, quietly, to himself, but not in the usual Shu way, reserved and quick, a lightning flash before returning to passive, resting, observing. He’s laughing one hand over his mouth with a look of genuine delight, the type Crow only sees like, once a year. His heart skips a couple beats at the sight − it’s beautiful − but before Crow can make more of a fool of himself, he demands instead, for Shu to “S-Say something!”
Shu doesn’t, in fact, say anything else, but surprises Crow even more by leaning over closer to him and instead reaching into the backseat.
“After our conversation,” Shu says, voice deep and happy in another way that Does Things to Crow, “I wasn’t going to give you these until later, but–”
Flowers. Shu passes him over a large bouquet he had hidden in backseat. A field of roses.
“Teuta said you’d like these.”
Crow’s jaw isn’t connected to his face anymore.
“You– Me?”
“You. I like you a lot, too, Crow.”
At this point, Crow remembers.
So as long as you go, he’ll be happy.
Shu’s taste sure has changed.
You’re still pulling on little girls’ pigtails.
“Teuta knew!” Crow exclaims, indignant, “Yang knew!”
“Yang wasn’t supposed to know,” Shu grumbles.
“Teuta knew!” Crow repeats, at the sheer indignity of it all. His girlfriend knew! That’s why all her advice sucked! She knew! Shu was going to… Shu was going to!
“I asked Teuta for help,” Shu admits, “Because I didn’t know how to ask you.”
Crow literally doesn’t know what to say. He says as much: “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s okay,” Shu reaffirms, in the same way, that makes Crow want to scream. “But I’ll ask it anyways, since I think I know your answer.”
“Would you like to be my boyfriend?”
Crow’s so so glad that they’re doing this in dark. He’s pretty sure he’s flushed red all the way to his nape. Everything from the tip of his ears to his back of his neck is burning. His fingers dig back into his face− hot, hot, hot! And he wants to squeeze his eyes close and hide underneath the car seat to settle his beating heart, but that would be unfair to Shu, so instead he forces himself to make eye contact with him. He can’t get himself to lift his head too high, so he mechanically tilts it up by degrees until he can look up at him.
Shu looks horribly amused (He can let himself call it endeared now, right? Fond, even?) and it makes the blood rush even worse to his head.
“Y-yeah,” he hears himself stutter out.
Shu leans close.
“That’s good,” he whispers into Crow’s ear and Crow squeaks. He clamps his hands over his face harder as his heart uselessly ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dumps. He can hear the smile in Shu’s voice, the amused chuckle.
One of Shu’s hands grazes over his own, and gently pushes his fingers out of the way so he can cup one of Crow’s cheeks in his hand.
“Then can I?”
Ohhh man. Ohhhh man. He looks way too calm about this. Crow wants revenge. He’ll get revenge for this horrible, terrible offence. But for now, when he can barely get out a word, he just nods, and leans forward.
Shu’s lips brush against his, not like Teuta’s, chapped and a little flaky, but still gentle and careful. They linger there for a minute, and then Shu’s hand goes around his waist to bring him closer, as far as the seatbelt allows him to comfortably. He presses the kiss a little deeper and lets go.
Shu’s face does really look impossibly fond, as he smiles in a way Crow’s never seen before. “Happy Thanksgiving.”