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It’s been ten years since I graduated from Tracen Academy. Wild to think about, really. Time flies when you’re not constantly getting chased down for pulling pranks or crashing morning drills. I’ve mellowed out a bit since then… well, sort of.
But the craziest part? I married Mejiro McQueen.
Yeah. Her. The one I used to tease nonstop back in our racing days. Always so composed, so proper, walking around like she had a crown balanced on her head. I couldn’t help it, every time I saw her, I had to mess with her. Tug her clothes gently, sneak up behind her, say something dumb just to see her flinch. She’d glare, sigh, call me hopeless. And I’d grin like an idiot.
I thought she was way out of my league. Honestly, I didn’t even think I had a shot. I figured she was dating Teio or something. They were always together, always looked like they had their lives figured out. I was just the loud one with too much energy and no filter.
But turns out… they were just close friends. And McQueen? She’d been watching me too. Not just the chaotic parts that I have, but the parts I didn’t show much, when I trained hard, when I got serious, when I tried to be better.
I remember the day I finally told her how I felt. It wasn’t some big dramatic thing. I’d just finished a race, totally wiped out, and she came over with a towel and that quiet look she always had when she was worried but didn’t want to say it out loud. I sat there, heart pounding, and just blurted it out. Told her I liked her. That I’d liked her for a long time. That I didn’t know how to say it without being a clown.
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t scold. She just smiled softly, kind of surprised, and said, “I know.”
I still think about that moment sometimes. How simple it was. How everything changed.
Now we’re here. Married. I still tease her, still make her roll her eyes, still get that “Gold Ship, please” tone from her at least once a day. But now it’s different. Now I get to hold her hand after, kiss her cheek, and remind her she’s stuck with me.
I smiled to myself, just lying there, watching her sleep. The room’s quiet, morning light barely creeping through the curtains, and McQueen’s curled up beside me like she always does, peaceful, soft, still breathing slow. I don’t know why, but moments like this always get me thinking.
We’ve come a long way, huh? From those wild Tracen days to all the dates we snuck in after I retired. I still remember that last race—how she cried, trying to hide it, telling me she loved watching me run. Said it was like watching something she couldn’t quite hold, but always rooted for. I didn’t know what to say back then. I just hugged her and tried not to cry too.
But that’s all behind us now. We’ve built something quiet, something steady. And here I am, staring at her sleeping face like a lovesick fool. I reach out, gently brush her cheek with my thumb. Still soft. Still hers. I lean in and kiss her lips, just a little, just enough to feel her warmth.
She stirs, eyes still closed, and pulls me into a hug like it’s second nature. I chuckle and whisper, “Good morning, Big Mac.”
She bops my nose without even opening her eyes and mumbles, “Good morning, baby.”
And yeah… I still melt every time she calls me that.
She pulled me in for another kiss, slow and sleepy, and finally opened her eyes. I swear, even after all these years, those pinkish-purple eyes still knock the wind out of me. I blushed like a rookie, caught staring, and couldn’t help myself. I started peppering her face with kisses, grumbling between each one.
“Why are you so damn cute?” I teased, nudging her nose with mine. “Take these kisses as punishment!”
She chuckled, pinched my cheeks, and gave me that smug little smile. “Are you sure it’s a punishment or a reward?” she said, voice still raspy from sleep.
I groaned and buried my face in her neck, breathing her in. That soft morning scent, warm, familiar, a little floral, a little McQueen, is something I’ll never get tired of. She huffed, ran her fingers through my hair, and looked down at me with that gentle gaze that always makes me feel like I’m floating.
God, she’s beautiful. And somehow, she’s mine.
I reached for her hand, kissed it slow, and traced the ring on her finger with my thumb. That ring… I worked three jobs for it. Poured everything I had from my racing days into it. McQueen told me not to go overboard, said simple was better, said she didn’t need anything flashy. But I couldn’t help it. She deserved something that felt like her—elegant, timeless, a little stubborn to shine.
I know her family could’ve bought a hundred of these without blinking. But I wanted it to be from me. Something I earned. Something that said, I love you, and I’ll keep showing up for you, no matter what.
She smiled, let me keep kissing her hand, and then—whack—threw my shirt at my face.
I blinked, caught it, and smirked. “Did you enjoy what we did last night?~” I teased, voice low, just to see her squirm.
Her cheeks flared pink, and she scolded me with a flustered “Gold Ship!!!” before swatting at me with both hands.
I just laughed, dodging her half-hearted attacks, and leaned in to steal another kiss.
She stopped my lips with a grunt, clearly fed up with my teasing. Her brows furrowed, cheeks puffed, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Hehe, I love you, McQueen~” I said, dragging the words out just to get under her skin.
She clicked her tongue, rolled her eyes, and whispered back—soft, barely audible, but enough to make my heart skip. “I love you more, Gold Ship…”
And just like that, she turned into a tomato. Years of being together, doing all sorts of things, and I still manage to fluster her like it’s our first week dating. A very cute tomato, mind you.
I grabbed my shirt and boxers, finally getting dressed, though not without trying to sneak a glance at her. She caught me, of course, and immediately buried her face in a pillow. “Shut up!” she mumbled, before chucking my shorts straight at my face.
I caught them, grinning. “Are you hiding my shorts, you little naughty McQueen?~”
She gasped, clearly flustered, and kicked me in the stomach—not hard, just enough to make a point. I groaned dramatically, then grabbed her by the leg and leaned in for a kiss. She tried to fight me off, hands flailing, but eventually gave in and melted into a warm smooch.
I pulled away, flashing her the same grin I used to tease her with back in our academy days. She groaned and covered her face again, cheeks burning.
God, she’s so cute.
We both got dressed just as the bedroom door swung open with a bang, and a tiny voice shouted at full volume, “PAPA!!! MAMA!!! PLAY WITH ME!!!”
Celeste came charging in like a mini version of me, same wild energy, same dramatic flair. Honestly, it felt like watching my old Tracen entrances in toddler form. She’s four now, and somehow even louder than I was. McQueen’s been trying to be the strict one, but let’s be real, she’s got a 70/30 ratio of spoiling her versus actually enforcing rules. I just laugh every time she tries to scold her and ends up cuddling her five seconds later.
I scooped up our little chaos gremlin and kissed her forehead. “Why don’t we have breakfast first, baby?” I asked.
Celeste scrunched her nose, glanced at McQueen, and grumbled something under her breath. I giggled, and she pouted hard. “Can I have eggs and carrots, Papa?” she mumbled, still sulking.
God, she looks just like McQueen when she does that. Same pout, same little furrow between her brows. I chuckled and nodded, carrying her in one arm while grabbing McQueen’s hand with the other.
We headed to the kitchen, still in the Mejiro mansion. McQueen’s got her CEO duties and all, so we’ve been living here while she handles the clan’s affairs. I set Celeste down at the table and tied my apron around my neck, already reaching for the fridge.
I glanced over and saw McQueen playing with Celeste, gently fixing her hair while she babbled about carrots and pudding monsters. “Babe, what do you want for breakfast?” I asked, grabbing eggs and a few veggies.
She gave it a little thought, then smiled. “Banana burger and a pudding.”
I smiled back, already pulling out the ingredients. She used to be so strict about her diet back in our racing days, always counting calories, skipping sweets, pushing herself too hard. I hated seeing her hold back from things she actually liked. But now? She still runs with me, still trains, but she lets herself enjoy things. Lets herself breathe.
And I get to cook for her. For both of them.
I stirred the fried rice, letting the steam rise and fill the kitchen with that warm, garlicky scent Celeste always gets excited about. Her sunny side up was already sizzling on the pan, yolk just the way she liked it, bright, soft, and a little runny. As I flipped it, my mind drifted back to that day. The day she came into the world.
God, McQueen’s labor was intense.
It started slow, just some back pain and her being unusually snappy with me. I joked about her being cranky and she nearly threw a chair at my face. Then the contractions hit. We rushed to the hospital, and I swear I’ve never driven so fast in my life. She was gripping the seat, breathing like she was trying not to murder me, and I kept whispering, “You got this, babe,” even though I was shaking like a leaf.
Hours passed. Real hours. Not anime montage hours. She was sweating, crying, cursing me out between contractions. At one point she grabbed my arm and dug her nails in so deep I thought I’d lose circulation. I didn’t flinch, though. Not once. I had to be her rock. Even if I was dying inside watching her in pain.
Then came the pushing. The nurses were calm, the doctor was focused, and McQueen? She was a warrior. She screamed, cursed, sobbed, and still kept going. I held her hand the whole time, whispering whatever came to mind ,encouragement, dumb jokes, even a few lines from our old racing chants. She didn’t laugh, but she didn’t let go either.
Final push. I swear time stopped. Then Celeste cried. Loud, strong, like she was already announcing herself to the world. The doctor smiled and said we had a healthy baby girl. A bubbly little Uma, just like her parents.
I looked at McQueen, tired, soaked in sweat, eyes barely open, and she smiled through tears. I placed Celeste near her, and she reached out with trembling fingers, brushing our daughter’s cheek like she couldn’t believe she was real.
Then she looked at me, voice hoarse, and said, “God… hours of labor and you look like your dumbass father.”
I laughed. I cried. I sobbed so hard I couldn’t speak for a minute. My whole body was shaking, and I just kept whispering, “G-God, she’s so beautiful, McQueen… I’m so proud of you. You did it. You really did it.”
I was a mess. Ugly crying, snot and all. But McQueen told me later it was her favorite expression I’ve ever made. Said it was the most honest I’ve ever looked.
I blushed at the memory, flipping the last of the rice onto the plates. Celeste was humming at the table, swinging her legs, and McQueen was scrolling through her tablet while sneaking glances at her. I set the food down and kissed McQueen’s cheek.
We ate breakfast together, just the three of us, sunlight spilling through the windows and Celeste humming between bites as she made a glorious mess of her plate. I looked at McQueen and our daughter, and something in my chest just… settled. Like, really settled.
Can you believe it? Me—Gold Ship—actually settled down. A wife like Mejiro McQueen, who’s somehow both elegant and terrifying when she’s mad, and a daughter who’s a perfect mix of her grace and my chaos. Life’s a blessing. A loud, sticky, giggly blessing.
I reached over and held McQueen’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you like your breakfast, babe?” I asked, still grinning like a fool.
She blushed a little, tried to act cool, but nodded. “Been eating your cooking for years,” she said, brushing her thumb over my knuckles. “And the taste is always new every morning. Thank you for taking care of me and Celeste.”
She leaned in and kissed my cheek, soft and warm, and I swear I could’ve melted right there. We both watched as Celeste tried to stack her carrot slices like building blocks, only to knock them over and pout dramatically. McQueen sighed, but she was smiling. That kind of smile she only gives when she’s pretending to be strict but already gave up inside.
I held her hand a little tighter, thumb brushing over her ring. “I hope everything stays like this,” I whispered. “Just us. Just like this.”
McQueen smiled softly, her eyes reflecting the morning light as she reached for my hand. Her fingers laced with mine, warm and steady, and she leaned in just enough for her voice to be heard above Celeste’s quiet humming.
“As long as you’re here with me,” she said, her tone gentle, almost shy, “we’ll be fine, Gold Ship. No matter what comes next.”
I felt my chest tighten, the kind of ache that only comes from loving someone so deeply it spills into every corner of your life. I squeezed her hand, brushing my thumb over her knuckles, and smiled back. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered. “You and Celeste… you’re my whole world.”
End.