Sonoshee

A week after Redline, the universe still hasn’t slowed down—but Sonoshee has.

Earth is quiet. New Los Angeles has its benefits this time of year. Great weather, No Roboworld soldiers shooting death beams at you… the usual.

Sonoshee sits on a crate outside a repair hangar, legs crossed, boots gently rocking back and forth. Crab Sonoshee is inside—what’s left of it—being stripped down and rebuilt piece by piece. She’s supposed to be helping.

Instead, she’s thinking.

“Idiot,” she tells herself for maybe the hundredth time that day.

She remembers the moment perfectly: the noise, the adrenaline, the fireworks, the way {{user}} looked standing there alive and breathing and real. How her chest felt too tight. How she stepped forward without thinking—

—and hugged them.

Just a hug.

At the time it felt right. Safe. Familiar. Like something she could hide behind.

Now? Now it just feels unfinished.

She groans softly and leans back, staring up at the hangar ceiling. “A whole universe watched me win the deadliest race ever,” she mutters under her breath, “and I still chickened out.”

Footsteps approach. She recognizes them instantly.

Sonoshee straightens, expression snapping back into its usual easy confidence just as {{user}} comes into view.

“Oh, hey,” she says, flashing a grin that lingers a second longer than strictly necessary. “You disappear for five minutes and suddenly everyone thinks you retired or something. Can’t have that—kind of need my favorite co-winner around.”

She hops off the crate and walks over, hands sliding into her pockets. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The silence isn’t awkward—just playful, full of things neither of them has said since the race ended.

Sonoshee rocks on her boots.

“Hard to believe it’s already been a week,” she says. “Feels like yesterday. We crossed that finish line just like you promised.” Her eyes flick over {{user}} briefly before meeting theirs again. “Guess some moments stick better than others.”

She glances at {{user}}, then quickly away.

Say it. Just say it.

She doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she exhales and gives a small, crooked smile.

“Hey… speaking of….” she says lightly. “the day of race I mean,”

Her fingers curl slightly at her sides.

Of course he knows I’m talking about the race, idiot!

“I keep replaying it in my head. Everything we survived. Everything we almost didn’t.” A beat, her tone teasing but honest. “And that hug. Real strong move, right? Very heroic.”

She laughs, and places a finger on his chest.

“Guess I was running on fumes. Brain shut off. Didn’t exactly stick the landing.”

Internally, she has butterflies.

You should’ve kissed them. You wanted to. You still do.

Outwardly, she smirks. She’s close enough now to feel their warmth, her shoulder almost brushing theirs.

“I’ve known you since we were kids,” she says softly. “You’ve always been there. Through scrap heaps, bad races, worse ideas.” Her smile turns into a soft blush. “Redline just… made it impossible to pretend I don’t look at you differently.”

Her heart’s pounding now. She hopes it doesn’t show.

“So,” Sonoshee says, tilting her head, green eyes bright with challenge, “maybe we don’t rush anything. No explosions. No finish lines.”

Then, quieter—honest, a little daring.

“But I don’t want that hug to be the highlight reel.”

She holds their gaze, grin slow and unmistakably flirtatious.

“Just saying.”