POV. STREETRACER!TOJI asks to borrow your last name.
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“What do you mean you don’t want your last name printed on your uniform?”
Toji, your trust fund racer and favourite bet, shrugs. “Already said, I won’t race with the name Zen’in.”
You sit down at your desk. It’s after school, and you and the spoiled soon-to-be college reject are sitting in the classroom.
You throw your hands up. “But why? What’s bad about Zen’in?”
“Everything,” he deadpans.
Staring at the guy for a flat five seconds, you realise he won’t change his mind, or explain himself, which you should have expected from a guy going broke despite his millionaire family.
Toji props himself up on the desk beside yours, leaning on his knees as though thinking. A few seconds pass.
He offers, “why don’t I use yours?”
“My what?”
“Your last name,” he suggests, breezing through the prospect at horrifying speed. “It works. You’re sponsoring me anyways.”
You blink twice. Delayed reaction.
“What?!” you squeak out.
Toji smirks, leaning on his palm watching you. “What?” he repeats, playing innocent. He sports a smug look in his green eyes and even bothers to scan your notebook splayed out on your desk, reading your last name out loud to himself. “Nice.”
No. Not nice. They’ll assume you're- you're- your cheeks heat up.
He looks at you, bearing a smile that's all teeth. 'We could be cousins.'
The guy even dares to pat you on the shoulder at that. You shake him off. No one at the race would believe you two are related.
"No."
'No?' he echoes, cocking his head, tempting you to speak. 'What could we be then?'
"We can be... can be..." you think to yourself, before noticing his hands landing on your shoulder, massaging them like a habit. He's sauntered over from his chair.
Comforting, but still...
Bad habit.
Your heart stutters.
Baaad habit.
"Hm?" He chuckles when he sees you realise. "What would we be?"
You swallow, the small proximity between the two of you taking your mind on a field trip; him standing behind your seat and you, fidgeting your hands under the desk like crazy.
"Nothing."
He raises an eyebrow.
"I don't think taking your last name means nothing," he presses, serious.
How is he saying this with such a straight face? You're looking anywhere in the classroom but Toji, hoping he might just drop the subject. What's wrong with his last name anyways? What is he even insinuating? Does he really-
"I don't think I'll get tired of that face in ten years' time," he states.
Toji Zen'in is a blunt guy. When he said he hates his last name, he meant it. When he says he wants yours, well, no one's calling this guy a liar, are they?
It's been a while since you started sponsoring his races, and he's grown accustomed to your face in the stands. Always too far away, though. You always have on that dispassionate expression as a gambler, as though he's one of the rest.
For once, he cannot be just one of the rest.
“I'm... not sure what you mean." Your eyes move to the sunset outside, ignoring the way you bite your lip.
He studies your face for a minute before smirking again. "You're dabbling in illegal motorsports and can't look me in the eye."
You wince.
You murmur, "well then maybe you should say directly what you mean then."
You're so cute like this, pretending you don't like him too.
He walks around the table to face you properly. All of a sudden you can imagine your name on his back as he gets into the vehicle to race, as the stands to hear the cheers of the crowd. He'd wear it well. He coughs to get your attention.
“I’m saying.” He places his hands on his hips, shrugging as he goes. “Maybe let's be married. Just one day.”
Only, he doesn't intend for it to be one day. He wants you to remember your last name on him, keep the moment in your head; he'll wear it better than anyone else.
…
It is at that moment when the times come out and the trophies are awarded that he drapes his arm around your waist. The wink he throws your way, accomplice. Spectators ask what's his name.
And this is the moment you become more than his financier or the bets you place on him to win.
He speaks it into the microphone, proud for the stadium, the world. to hear.
And this is the moment you glance up at him with more than just a shallow smile, saying 'congrats'.
The word reverberates over the race track in a powerful wave.
He spoke into the microphone and the name is yours.
pt. 1
