#komori

you were known for your face.

and not in the way komori thought you should be—like, “she’s so pretty i might perish dramatically in front of everyone with zero regrets.” no, you were known for your expression. the expression that never changed. the expression that could watch a building collapse and you’d still look like you were politely waiting for bus number 48 to arrive.

stoic. unreadable. the human version of “…” in a text.

you got it from your father—a man so stone-faced he once met sakusa’s aunt during new years and she genuinely thought he was a wax statue.

komori motoya fell in love with it instantly.

and violently.

the first time he ever saw you was in the hallway outside the gym, calmly eating a melon bread while itachiyama’s girls squealed past you about how “sakusa-kun looked like a god when he served today.”

meanwhile, komori walked by, half-dehydrated, holding sakusa’s extra wipes like a glorified purse. and you, with the facial expression of a tax auditor, glanced at him once.

just once.

and komori folded like a lawn chair in a tornado.

his brain short-circuited.

his soul left his body.

his knees physically buckled like he’d been struck by lightning and cupid at the same time.

you nodded at him. expression unchanged.

he had the audacity to blush like you’d whispered something sinful in his ear.

and then—

then the teasing started.

he didn’t understand how it was possible for someone with a face carved from marble to be the most effective flirter in the building. each time you spoke, each time you tilted your head the slightest degree, each time you pushed a stray hair behind your ear with the gentlest fingers known to mankind—komori basically combusted.

𓏵

today was no different.

practice had ended and sakusa was stretching in the corner while komori wiped sweat off his forehead, already glancing toward the door because he knew.

you always showed up at this time.

walking in with your slow, calm footsteps, expression completely neutral, like you weren’t the most emotionally destructive force in his life.

the door slid open.

there you were.

and komori, poor komori, dropped the towel like a 40-year-old Victorian man seeing exposed ankles.

“hey,” you said softly, the same calm tone that made him want to lie face-down on the floor and scream into the earth.

“h-hi—” his voice cracked like a 13-year-old boy discovering puberty.

you blinked at him. no smile, no smirk. just pure serene stillness.

the kind of face monks probably trained centuries to achieve.

but your eyes… they lingered.

that was the problem. your eyes always lingered.

you stepped closer, brushing a loose thread off his jersey sleeve.

“you’re sweating,” you murmured.

komori nearly ascended.

“y-yeah, practice, haha, you know, running— jumping— existing— i mean—"

you hummed, a soft, tiny sound that hit him harder than any spike.

and then—

you leaned in slightly. not flirtatiously. not dramatically. just gently, calmly, like you always did.

“you did well today,” you whispered.

if sakusa didn’t catch komori by the collar he might’ve fallen straight to the floor.

sakusa sighed. “get a grip.”

komori is gripping absolutely nothing.

your face remained unchanged. but your tone? your tone was the equivalent of warm sunlight on a winter morning. soft. kind. something that made komori want to protect you despite the fact he was 99% sure you'd beat him in a staring contest until he burst into tears.

he loved it.

he loved you.

and unfortunately, he was convinced you liked sakusa.

because everyone liked sakusa.

girls slipped love letters into sakusa’s locker daily. someone knitted him a scarf. someone else wrote a confession poem titled “hands so pure they must be sanitized.” sakusa ignored most of it, but komori noticed how you always went quiet when sakusa walked by.

never reacting. never blushing. never anything.

which, in komori’s dramatic mind, meant: you obviously liked him.

what he didn’t know was that you went quiet around sakusa because komori was next to him—and talking to komori made you feel uncharacteristically warm, and you didn’t know how to handle warmth.

𓏵

today, komori couldn’t take it anymore.

after practice, he found you outside under the sakura tree, scrolling on your phone with the exact same expression one might wear while filing taxes.

“can i— uh— talk to you?” he stammered.

you looked up at him slowly. “you are talking to me.”

he wheezed. he physically wheezed.

whole lungs malfunctioning.

“i just— i wanted to ask…” he swallowed, ears turning red, then scarlet, then full nuclear-core temperature. “d-do you… maybe… like sakusa?”

a pause.

a blink.

you tucked your phone away, staring up at him with that same unreadable face that made komori’s entire stomach fold into origami.

“…no,” you said simply.

“oh.”

another blink.

“i like you,” you added.

komori died.

komori actually died.

his knees hit the dirt. he threw his hands over his face. he made a sound so high-pitched an entire flock of birds took off from the tree in panic.

“m-me?” he squeaked from behind his fingers.

“yes.”

he peeked at you, eyes wide, pupils blown like he had seen god and god winked at him.

you, expression still the emotional equivalent of a closed refrigerator door, tilted your head. “should i repeat it?”

“NO— i mean— yes— i mean— wait— WAIT HOLD ON—”

you leaned closer, voice soft as velvet. “motoya.”

he melted.

actually melted.

his soul dripped out like lava.

“i like you,” you whispered again.

and this time, his nose started bleeding.

not like a cute anime trickle.

no.

full-on geyser.

sudden, catastrophic, medically concerning.

you stared at the blood. “should i get tissues?”

“NO— I MEAN— YES— I MEAN— YOU CAN’T JUST— SAY IT LIKE THAT— I’M FRAGILE—” he sputtered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he panicked.

you reached out and gently wiped a bit of blood from under his eye.

soft hands. gentle touch. stoic face.

komori nearly fainted again.

once he finally stopped hemorrhaging emotions (and blood), you both sat on the grass. you stayed close. closer than normal. your shoulder touched his, and he felt like he might spontaneously combust into artisanal charcoal.

“so…” he said shyly. “you like me.”

“yes.”

“and… you want to… maybe… go out sometime?”

you nodded once. simple. calm. definitive. “yes.”

he let out a noise that could only be described as a dying kettle.

you turned to him, finally—finally—breaking your stoic look with the tiniest smile. not big. not dramatic. but soft. real. gentle enough to crash his entire nervous system.

“does that make you happy?” you asked.

“happy? HAPPY?” his voice cracked again. “i feel like someone injected fireworks into my bloodstream— i feel like i could bench-press a train— i feel like—”

you rested your head lightly on his shoulder.

he stopped breathing.

completely.

you spoke quietly, eyes half-lidded, tone melting with warmth:

“i like you, motoya. i want to be with you.”

he inhaled sharply, clutching his chest like love physically punched him.

“i… i wanna be with you too,” he whispered back.

you reached for his hand. he let you take it instantly. your fingers intertwined with a slowness that felt sacred—like it was something meant to happen all along.

komori squeezed your hand gently.

you squeezed back.

“motoya?” you murmured.

“y-yeah?”

“can i kiss you?”

he short-circuited so violently sakusa probably felt it from across campus.

and then you leaned in, expression still calm, eyes soft, lips brushing his with the faintest, sweetest pressure—

and komori felt the world tilt.

flowers blooming somewhere far too dramatically.

romance movie violins playing even though no one hired musicians.

the sakura tree above you practically shedding petals like confetti.

when you pulled back, face unchanged, you whispered:

“you’re very cute when you blush.”

and then he died again. happily. dramatically. beautifully.

komori wasn’t sure if you froze him or melted him.

all he knew was—

you touched his hand again,

and he became warmth itself.

n: just like what i told @forgottensniper and i quote “komori is the most down bad marshmallow to ever breathe”

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© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

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