Chapter Text
Under a sky so vividly blue it almost hurt to look at,
the man Yuki had once—no, not once, not past tense—loved, was smiling in pure happiness.
He couldn’t even pretend “once” meant he had let go.
Clad in a white tuxedo, looking at his bride with a gaze that seemed to pour out all his love, Pierre stood there—
and even now, Yuki was in love with him.
The delicate white dress wasn’t his to wear.
The matching ring wasn’t his to receive from Pierre’s hand.
The vow-sealing kiss wouldn’t be his, nor the promise of a lifetime together.
He wouldn’t share Pierre’s surname.
He wouldn’t become a part of Pierre’s life.
At most, he had been just two years of it—
two fleeting seasons as teammates,
a small, passing chapter in Pierre’s career as an F1 driver.
Kika would spend so many more years by his side. Two years was nothing in comparison.
But to Yuki, those two years were irreplaceable.
His debut season, swirling with fear and hope.
Every race brought joy, shouts, and tears.
There were moments he felt all the experience he’d built was crumbling away.
Through all of it, Pierre was his anchor.
A rival to surpass, yes—but also the one who taught him how to live in a sport that demanded everything, body and soul.
The one who supported him.
The one who stayed up all night trading complaints about that awful car.
The one he sang with over drinks, whose warm skin he once found impossible, hopeless comfort in.
There had been moments—yes, definitely moments—when they’d been on the verge of stepping beyond “friends.”
But Yuki had never crossed that line, never escaped the box of “good friend,” “adorable little brother.”
Someone should praise him for not walking out in the middle of the solemn church ceremony.
Light poured through the stained glass in a dazzling cascade of colors,
falling over Kika and Pierre, making them look almost otherworldly.
When Pierre placed his hand on her slender waist and smooth cheek and pressed his lips to hers,
that image seared itself into Yuki’s mind, never to fade.
What would Pierre’s lips feel like?
The faint sting of his neatly trimmed beard against Yuki’s skin—
surely it would etch itself in sweet pain.
Yuki’s eyes dropped to the metal glinting on Pierre’s finger.
Beneath his own jacket sleeve, he brushed his fingertips over a bracelet identical to the one Pierre had once worn.
The ceremony ended without a single ripple.
Pierre didn’t suddenly walk down to Yuki’s seat, take his hand, and pull him out of the church.
No dime novel sprang to life.
By now, Pierre and Kika were probably out at the reception,
surrounded by family and friends, basking in joy.
Yuki had been there too—until minutes ago.
He simply couldn’t bear it any longer.
“Thanks for coming.”
He said it with a smile, one arm wrapped around the bride’s waist as her hair ornament swayed gently.
Under the sun, the two of them looked even more beautiful than they had inside the church. Bathed in warm light, he seemed like the happiest man alive. The truest joy I know is seeing the one I love happy. He had repeated that to himself over and over, but Yuki’s heart was already in pieces, a sharp contrast to the couple before him.
From the night the wedding invitation arrived until today, he had prepared himself so that he wouldn’t ruin the ceremony in any way. Over and over, he practiced how to act—as a former teammate, as the beloved little brother figure.
“Thank you for inviting me. It was a beautiful ceremony.”
He wondered if he was smiling properly. That was all that mattered.
“I was actually worried you might start crying, Yukino,” Pierre said with a laugh, his hand touching Yuki’s shoulder. “You were so sad when I left AlfaTauri.”
“Shut up. I can manage just fine without you around now,” Yuki replied with a dry laugh, brushing away the hand that wore that wedding ring.
“You’ve grown up. Well, if you ever get lonely, you can come visit anytime. She’d be happy to see you too.”
Pierre glanced at Kika standing beside him.
“Yes, Yuki. I’d love to eat your cooking again! And—” She broke off, and the moment her hand rested on her stomach, a cold sweat prickled down his back. No. Stop.
“Our child will love you too, I’m sure.”
It felt as if the world went dark. Something pounded inside his head, over and over. The sky was absurdly bright, yet somehow it felt like a fierce wind was blowing. A roar echoed in his ears, drowning out the voices of the two people in front of him. He thought he might cough up blood.
“You’ll make a wonderful uncle.”
“No one else knows yet.”
Fragments of their voices reached him. Pierre placed his hand over Kika’s and kissed her forehead tenderly. “Thank you. You’re my goddess.”
Snap.
The last, fragile thread connecting Yuki and Pierre as something more than friends broke.
How many times had Pierre touched Kika with the same hands that had once brushed Yuki’s shoulders, hair, back? How often had he treated her like something precious, speaking in a voice sweeter than Yuki had ever heard? Whispering I love you, you’re the only one into her ear? She had been given pleasures so intense they must have shaken her to her core—pleasures Yuki would never know.
Watching the couple rejoice over the coming birth of their beautiful child, Yuki’s mind was consumed by abhorrent thoughts. What if Kika didn’t exist? What if this child was never born? The ugliness of his own mind made him sick. Disgusting, disgusting. He hated himself for being unable to accept reality.
He couldn’t remember what he’d said in return.
Perhaps he’d smiled—forced his lips to curve, his voice to sound warm enough to pass for congratulations.
But he was breaking.
Cracks ran through him, fine at first, widening with every second.He needed to get out. This room was drowning in happiness, and he would not—could not—taint their wedding with the weight of his grief.
He wanted to run.
Run.
Run.
The urge screamed through him, so loud he could almost hear it in his ears.
By the time he realised, he had already turned away, already fled. If he’d offered some excuse, he couldn’t remember it.
The heavy wooden door gave way to the stillness of the church. In the shadow just out of sight, he collapsed. That was it—he had reached the end of what he could hold back.His fingers clawed through the hair he’d so carefully styled that morning. His face pressed into his knees. Dark circles bloomed on the fabric of his trousers where the tears sank in.
He had wanted to cry for hours. To scream, to run from the joy that cut him open. But he had swallowed it down, again and again, for the sake of the man he loved more than anyone. He had smiled, he had spoken of happiness, he had pretended it was enough.
He had wanted to be Pierre’s most beloved.
To sit beside him, laugh with him, to feel skin meeting skin, to share the same air. He had dreamed not of fireworks, but of the quiet dailiness of love—cooking together, trading stupid jokes, watching bad TV, falling asleep tangled in the same bed. He had wanted to try building an ordinary happiness.
But that was not his to have.
Not a wish the world would allow him.
Yuki was not Kika—no smooth, glowing skin, no delicate frame made to be held. He could not make Pierre the happiest man alive, nor bear his children.
The tears came harder.
“I’m sorry.”
The words were barely a breath, yet they cut him as they left.
Sorry I can’t love the way I’m supposed to.
Sorry I was truly happy when you tossed me the smallest kindness.
Sorry I can’t celebrate you and Kika without breaking.
Sorry I’m still in love with you.
The sobs dragged the air from his lungs, soaking his face until it burned. Coloured light spilled through the church’s stained glass, but it stopped short of the dark corner where Yuki sat. It reached only for the couple outside, bathing them in warmth, as though the whole world agreed: he did not belong here.
And then, in that shadow untouched by light, someone came.He knew the presence instantly—from the faint trace of cologne, from the shoes glimpsed through the gap between his fingers.
The man knelt without a word and wrapped Yuki in his arms.
“…Go back in there,” Yuki muttered.
“No.”
“Yuta, please.”
But Yuta only held him tighter. The warmth of that hold, the quiet strength in it—Yuki broke all over again.
“You don’t have to hold it in when you’re with me.”
At those words, the dam burst. His tear-wet hands struck at Yuta’s chest, the sobs no longer soft but violent.
He loved the boyish curve of Pierre’s smile.
He loved those eyes, clear as the surface of a sunlit lake.
He loved the scent that was only his—perfume and laundry and something warmer.
He loved how Pierre cherished his family, how deeply he cared for his friends.
He loved those large hands that could swallow his own whole.
All the words he could never say bled into tears.
He had to let go.
He had to throw away this unworthy ache.
He had to be a good friend to Pierre. Today was the day.
Murmuring it like an incantation, Yuki let each feeling fade, one by one, in Yuta’s arms.