Chapter Text
The first thing anyone ever noticed about Yuki Tsunoda was that he smiled with his whole face.
Bright eyes, soft laugh, and a warmth that filled any room he stepped into — the kind of person who made even rainy days feel like sunshine.
He was the kind of teacher kids ran toward at drop-off and clung to at pickup, the one who remembered every parent’s name and every favorite color, snack, and animal.
Yuki had been working as a preschool teacher for two years.
It wasn’t the most glamorous, but it was the one that made him happiest.
And among his twenty students this year, there was one who stood out.
Tessa Verstappen.
Four years old.
Blonde, big blue eyes, and the quiet kind of sweetness that made even the shyest kids want to sit beside her.
She loved storytime and animal stickers. She always shared her snacks. And when she laughed, she’d cover her mouth with both hands like a polite little lady.
But she was also one of the loneliest kids Yuki had ever taught.
Tessa’s grandmother was the one who always dropped her off and picked her up. Every day. Rain or shine.
Her father, according to what little Yuki knew, was “busy with work.”
Yuki had met dozens of parents — some tired, some stressed, some over-involved — but none as absent as Tessa’s father.
Still, Yuki never judged. He could tell Tessa was loved.
It happened on a Thursday — the kind of gray, sleepy morning where even the sky looked like it hadn’t had enough coffee.
Tessa was sitting by the window, knees tucked under her chin, watching raindrops race down the glass. Her grandmother had called that morning to say someone else would be picking her up that day.
“Someone else?” Yuki had asked.
Yes,” she replied. “Her father.”
It surprised him. In the five months since the school year started, he’d never even seen the man.
So when the door opened at exactly 01:00 p.m., Yuki looked up — and for a second, forgot to breathe.
The man who stepped inside looked like he’d walked straight out of a corporate magazine — tall, broad-shouldered, with neatly combed light brown hair and a dark slim fit shirt.
Yuki forgot how to move. For a full second, he just stood there, half-bent over a pile of finger paintings, mouth slightly open. Holy crap, he thought. Who even looks like that picking up their kids from preschool?
“Excuse me, sir,” the man said, his voice low and smooth, threaded with a faint Dutch accent.
Yuki blinked rapidly, realizing he’d been staring. “Uh— I—”
“I’m looking for Tessa,” the man continued, tone efficient, almost businesslike. “Tessa Verstappen. Is this her class?”
It took Yuki a moment to reboot his brain. He straightened up too quickly. “Yes! Yes, sorry— yes, she’s here! Uh, she was just—” He turned toward the reading corner and pointed a bit too enthusiastically. “Tessa! Sweetheart, your— um— your dad’s here!”
Tessa looked up from the picture book she’d been coloring in and gasped, the biggest smile blooming across her little face. “Papa!”
She ran, arms flailing, straight into his legs. The man crouched down to catch her, and something softened instantly in his face. His hands, big and sure, curled protectively around her small frame.
“I missed you, kleintje,” he murmured.
Yuki stood frozen again, heat blooming on his cheeks—not just because of the tenderness in Max’s voice, but because the contrast was almost unfair. A moment ago, he’d been all sharp edges and cool distance; now, with his daughter, he looked utterly human.
Then Max stood again, back to that careful composure. “Thank you,” he said simply. “I appreciate you watching her.”
“Of course,” Yuki said quickly, smiling too brightly, trying not to sound like his heart was still racing for no reason. “She’s an absolute angel.”
“Excuse us, sir?” Max said, his brow creasing slightly, polite but distant.
“Oh— you can just call me Mr. Yuki,” he replied with a quick wave of his hand, cheeks pink. “The kids call me that.”
He laughed softly afterward, the sound a little nervous, realizing too late how ridiculous it must have sounded.
Max’s expression didn’t change much; maybe his eyebrow twitched, or maybe Yuki just imagined it.
Max only gave a small nod, as if filing the information away without any intention of using it. “Right.”
He turned to leave, Tessa’s hand snug in his, when Yuki’s voice stopped him halfway to the door.
“Um— Mr. Verstappen?”
Max glanced back over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of surprise in his expression. “Yes?”
Yuki peeked at the activity board to make sure. “I know you’re probably busy, but… we have parent meetings next week. It’s almost the end of the semester, and we’ll be giving out progress reports.”
Max’s reply was automatic, practiced. “My mother usually handles those.”
“Yeah,” Yuki said softly, with a little nod. “I’ve met Tessa’s oma a few times. She’s lovely.”
He hesitated, then looked up at him — really looked. “But I was hoping to speak with you, as Tessa’s parent.”
That made Max pause. His hand tightened slightly around Tessa’s. “Is something wrong?”
Yuki shook his head quickly. “No, no— nothing bad. She’s doing great, actually. I just thought it might be good for us to talk. About her progress, and… some things I’ve noticed.”
Max studied him for a beat too long, blue eyes unreadable. “Alright,” he said finally, voice low. “Send the details to my mother. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” Yuki said.
Max gave another curt nod and turned to go. But before he stepped outside, Tessa looked back at Yuki and waved, her smile wide and sincere.
“Bye-bye, Mr. Yuki!”
Yuki waved back. “Bye, sunshine!”
The door clicked shut, and the classroom was quiet again—except for the faint thud of Yuki’s own heartbeat, still unreasonably fast.
He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “What is wrong with me…” he muttered to himself, before starting to clean up the crayons scattered across the floor.
-
The parent meeting was scheduled for a Friday morning, and by some miracle, Max Verstappen actually showed up.
Yuki almost didn’t recognize him at first.
He wasn’t wearing the sharp shirt this time — just a polo shirt, jeans, and a pair of sunglasses he took off as soon as he stepped inside the classroom. Even dressed casually, though, Max still carried that quiet gravity, the kind that made the small tables and bright posters around him feel a little out of place.
“Mr. Verstappen,” Yuki greeted, standing up quickly from behind his desk. “Hi! I’m really glad you could make it.”
Max nodded once. “You said it was important.”
Yuki smiled, a bit sheepishly. “Not— urgent important. Just… important to me.”
He gestured to one of the small chairs meant for parents. “Please, sit.”
Max hesitated for half a second, then did — the chair creaking softly under his taller frame. He folded his sunglasses and set them neatly on the desk.
Yuki took a breath and began, his tone professional but kind. “So, first of all, Tessa’s doing really well. She understands instructions quickly, she shares her toys, and she’s gentle with everyone. The other kids adore her.”
Max’s posture eased slightly. “Good.”
Yuki smiled at that, then hesitated. “But… she’s also a little quieter than most kids her age. Not shy, exactly, just… reserved. Observant.”
Max looked at him, frowning slightly. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all,” Yuki said quickly. “It’s just— most kids her age express everything right away. Happiness, frustration, even small things. Tessa… she tends to hold things in. She doesn’t say much when something’s wrong.”
Max’s hands clasped together on the table.
Yuki continues slowly, eyes soft. “She’s very thoughtful. Maybe too thoughtful sometimes. She understands a lot about the world already — more than most four-year-olds should have to.”
Max didn’t reply right away. His jaw tightened, a flicker of guilt shadowing his expression.
Yuki looked down at the notes in front of him, reading softly, “She told me once that her papa is the person she loves most in the world. But he’s always busy.” He glanced up, careful, gentle. “She said it like it was just… a fact. Like she’s learned to accept it.”
Max’s gaze dropped to the table.
“She also talks about her oma,” Yuki continued quietly. “She loves her very much. She said she doesn’t cry when you’re gone because you always come back — and because Papa always brings her things.” He smiled faintly.
Something in Max’s face shifted — the faintest wince, almost imperceptible. He looked down at his hands again, thumb brushing along the edge of his watch.
Yuki hesitated before adding softly, “And I think she understands that her mother isn’t around. Maybe more than you think. It doesn’t seem to upset her much — she’s content because she has you and her oma. But she notices.”
For a long moment, Max didn’t speak.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “Her mother left when Tessa was a baby.”
“I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong,” Yuki said gently. “You clearly love her very much. She feels that. But maybe… she needs to see it a little more, too.”
Max didn’t answer, but the silence said enough. There was something raw in his expression — guilt, maybe, or fear — and Yuki realized that the man in front of him wasn’t cold at all. He was just carrying too much.
Yuki hesitated before speaking again, his voice softer now. “I’m not the one to say things, because I don’t really know what your relationship with her is like,” he began carefully, fingers fiddling with the edge of a report sheet. “But as her teacher, I think… she needs a little more attention.”
Max’s eyes flicked up, guarded again. “Attention?”
“Not the scolding kind,” Yuki said quickly, shaking his head. “Just— small things. Ask how she feels. Or what she liked at school that day. She doesn’t always say what’s on her mind.”
He smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s a happy kid here — always smiling, always sharing. But I think when she goes home, it’s… quieter for her.”
Max’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. Yuki continued, gently, not accusatory — just honest.
“I’m not judging,” he said. “It’s not my place to. My responsibility ends at the classroom door. But I just thought you should know what I see.”
For a long moment, Max didn’t look at him. His gaze dropped to the reports, to the bright scribbles and smiley-face stickers scattered across Tessa’s progress sheets.
“Thank you, Mr. Yuki,” he said quietly.
Yuki smiled again, softer this time. “Anytime.”
When Max left the classroom, Yuki stayed seated for a while, staring at the small chair across from him — the one still slightly turned, as if the conversation hadn’t really ended.
He sighed, collecting the stack of reports into a neat pile. “You’re overthinking again,” he muttered to himself. “He’s just a parent.”
Still, he couldn’t shake the image of Max’s eyes — that flicker of something human beneath the control.