#kyotani

this is what spending a saturday with him looks like: you, functioning as the emotional support handler for a six-foot-tall lightning bolt of pure anxiety and athletic spite. he looks like he’s about to commit a felony, but in reality, he’s just holding your oversized plush frog under his arm with a grip so ferocious the toy’s stuffing is migrating to its legs. he hasn’t let you carry a single thing since you walked through the gates. if you even look at a souvenir bag, his hand snaps out like a predatory bird to snatch it away. he’s so desperately devoted to being your pack mule.

you’re currently trying to map out a route to the giant drop tower when a sudden, pathetic tug at the hem of your shirt stops you short.

down by your knee is a tiny human specimen. he’s about three feet tall, wearing a neon orange bucket hat that makes him look like a highly visible traffic cone, and his face is entirely smeared with what appears to be blue raspberry syrup. his eyes are wide, glassy, and pooling with imminent tears.

“oh, hey there, little guy,” you drop to a squat immediately, your voice softening into something gentle. “are you lost?”

the kid lets out a wet, hitching sob, nodding so hard the bucket hat wobbles. “i can’t find my mommy. she was by the churros.”

before you can even offer a tissue, a shadow falls over both of you. kyōtani has stepped up, towering like a gargoyle on a gothic cathedral. he looks down at the child. the child looks up at him.

for a horrific three seconds, you think the kid is going to scream. kyōtani’s face is set in its default setting—which looks exactly like a pirate about to make someone walk the plank—and his bleached hair is sticking up in every direction. he looks terrifying. he looks like a boss fight in a video game.

instead, kyōtani blinks, lets out a heavy, defeated sigh, and drops to one knee with the heavy thud of a collapsing building. he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a crumpled, pristine napkin he’s been hoarding from the food court, and shoves it toward the kid’s face with surprising clumsiness.

“wipe your nose,” kyōtani grunts, though he doesn’t look away from the kid’s sticky fingers. “don’t touch my shoes with that blue stuff.”

“ken, don’t scare him!” you swat his shoulder.

“i’m not!” he snaps, though his ears immediately turn a violent, burning shade of magenta. he looks at the kid again, his jaw working as he tries to find a socially acceptable volume. “we’ll find your mom. stop crying. it’s annoying.”

surprisingly, the sheer, unbothered bluntness of his voice acts like a reset button for the kid. the toddler sniffs, wipes his face with the napkin, and then reaches out to wrap his tiny, sticky hand entirely around kyōtani’s massive, calloused index finger.

kyōtani freezes. his entire spine goes rigid, like a cat that just had a piece of scotch tape stuck to its back. he stares at his own hand as if a highly venomous scorpion has just nested there, his eyes wide with a mixture of profound panic and utter bewilderment. he doesn’t shake the kid off. he just lets his finger be held captive by a toddler in an orange hat.

“okay,” you say, fighting the urge to dissolve into a puddle of giggles right there on the pavement. “the main information booth is near the entrance, but the churro stand is back by the western section. let’s check the booth first. if she’s smart, she went straight there.”

the walk across the park is a comedic masterpiece. you lead the way, while kyōtani walks three paces behind, hunched over like a bodyguard protecting a very small, sticky VIP. the kid refuses to let go of his finger, dragging the powerhouse wing spiker along like a reluctant golden retriever on a short leash.

when you reach the main plaza, the crowd is a solid wall of cotton candy and strollers.

“there’s too many people here,” kyōtani growls, his eyes scanning the sea of heads with acute irritation. “we’re not gonna find his mom quick if we just wander.”

“you’re right,” you agree, looking toward the massive guest services building. “look, the line for the PA system announcements is huge. why don’t you stay here with him under the shade of that giant donut sign? i’ll run inside, get them to make an announcement for ‘a boy in an orange bucket hat named...’ wait, what’s your name, bud?”

“daiki,” the kid chirps, now entirely comfortable because he has realized the scary blonde man is actually a giant softie.

“named daiki,” you finish, smiling. “i’ll be five minutes. don’t let him eat anything off the floor, kentarō.”

“i’m not an idiot,” he barks back, though his eyes are glued to you with a strange, frantic intensity. the moment you step away, you can feel his gaze boring into the back of your neck like a high-powered laser. he looks like a dog watching its owner walk into the grocery store through the glass window—entirely hollowed out by the temporary separation.

once you disappear through the glass doors of the information center, kyōtani slides his back down the brick pillar under the giant donut sign, landing heavily on the concrete. daiki drops down right next to him, his little legs kicking back and forth.

kyōtani is staring intently at the entrance of the building you just entered, his chest heaving with a weird, restless energy. his heart is knocking against his ribs with the force of a jackhammer, a stupid, heavy rhythm that has been plaguing him all day because you’re wearing that specific denim jacket and your hair smells like some kind of sweet apple shampoo that makes him want to lose his mind.

“is she your wife?”

kyōtani’s brain short-circuits. he turns his head slowly, his neck creaking like an ungreased hinge, to look down at the kid. “what?”

“the pretty girl,” daiki says, pointing a finger toward the information center. “is she your wife?”

“no,” kyōtani says instantly, his voice cracking slightly on the vowel. the tips of his ears are now a color that could rival a fire engine. “she’s... we’re friends.”

daiki squints at him with the terrifying, unvarnished wisdom only found in six-year-olds. “you look at her like my dog looks at the peanut butter jar. like you wanna eat her.”

kyōtani’s jaw drops. he looks around frantically, praying for a sudden meteor strike to take him out. “i don’t—shut up. you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“my dad says when a boy likes a girl, he carries all her stuff,” daiki continues, entirely unfazed by the terrifying scowl being directed at him. he points to the giant green plush frog wedged firmly under kyōtani’s arm. “you’re carrying her big frog. and you keep watching her. you didn’t even look at the roller coaster; you just looked at her face when it went fast.”

every single defense mechanism kyōtani possesses crumbles into ash. it’s an agonizing, undeniable truth. he’s completely, utterly, and embarrassingly leveled by you. he has been for months. his entire existence has narrowed down to a singular, desperate orbit around your gravity. he doesn’t know how to do anything halfway; he doesn’t know how to have a normal crush. when he looks at you, his chest feels like it’s being squeezed by a giant fist, a suffocating, intoxicating rush of adrenaline that makes him want to tear down a building just to show you he can. he’s so entirely down bad that it feels like a terminal diagnosis.

“she’s...” kyōtani starts, his voice dropping into a rough, quiet register that’s almost reverent. he rubs the back of his neck, his knuckles white. “she’s too good for that.”

“for what?”

“for me,” he mutters, his eyes dropping to the concrete. “she’s smart. and she doesn’t get mad when people are stupid. and she... she lets me walk with her.”

daiki blinks, tilting his head. “but she likes you. she gave you her slushie.”

before kyōtani can process the profound theological weight of a shared strawberry slushie, the glass doors of the information building slide open. you step out, a bright, relieved smile breaking across your face the second your eyes lock onto him.

kyōtani’s heart does a violent, athletic flip in his chest. you look like sunshine. you look like everything he’s ever wanted and everything he doesn’t deserve, and the sheer force of your grin makes his throat go dry.

“they didn’t have to make the announcement!” you call out, jogging over to them. “look—”

“daiki!”

a woman in a matching orange shirt comes sprinting around the corner, her face pale with terror until she spots the bucket hat. within three seconds, it’s a chaotic scene of crying, hugging, and frantic thank-yous. the mother is bowing so low her forehead almost touches her knees, thanking you both profusely while daiki waves a sticky hand at kyōtani.

“bye, scary mister! tell her you want to be her husband!” daiki yells as his mother drags him away.

you freeze. your hand stays mid-wave, your brain taking a full three seconds to process the high-pitched shout over the ambient noise of the park music.

slowly, you turn your head to look at kyōtani.

the boy is a disaster. he has turned around completely, facing the brick pillar as if he can physically phase through the solid masonry and disappear into the structural foundations of the amusement park. his shoulders are shaking, his neck is a deep, bruised crimson, and his fingers are dug into the plush fabric of the green frog with enough force to pop the seams.

“kentarō?” you step closer, a strange, fluttering warmth suddenly blooming in the pit of your stomach. “what did he mean by that?”

“nothing,” he chokes out, his voice a tight, strangled squeak that doesn’t sound human. “kid’s an idiot. stupid kid.”

“ken, look at me.”

he doesn’t move. he stays anchored to the brick, his entire posture screaming defensive maneuver.

you don’t use a repetitive, mechanical phrase to brush it off. instead, you reach out, your fingers gently wrapping around his large, trembling wrist, pulling his hand away from the brick. his skin is burning hot.

“kentarō, please,” you say softly, your voice dropping into a tone that’s entirely intimate, cutting through the noise of the screaming roller coasters and the pop music.

with a slow, agonizing effort, he turns around. his golden eyes are wide, glassy with a level of vulnerability that makes your breath catch in your throat. he looks terrified. he looks like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle is jumping in his cheek.

“i’m not... i’m not good at saying things,” he speaks through his teeth, his voice trembling with a raw, desperate sincerity that makes your heart hammer against your ribs. “i don’t know how to do this. but he wasn’t lying.”

you blink, your throat suddenly dry. “what?”

kyōtani steps forward, closing the distance between you so suddenly that you’re forced to look straight up into his face. the sheer intensity of his gaze is heavy, a concentrated wave of pure devotion that feels almost physical. he drops the plush frog, his large, rough hands coming up to hover just inches away from your face, trembling, as if he wants to touch you but is terrified he might break something so precious.

“i’m crazy about you,” he says, the words tearing out of him like a confession under interrogation, loud and desperate and completely unfiltered. “it’s stupid. i can’t think about anything else. i go to sleep thinking about your face and i wake up pissed off because you’re not there. i don’t want to be just the guy who walks you to the train. i want to... i want to be yours. entirely. if you let me, i’ll carry every single thing you ever have for the rest of your life. just tell me to.”

the sheer, unadulterated romance of it hits you like a freight train. it’s not smooth, it’s not poetic, but it is so deeply, genuinely him—a tidal wave of fierce, unyielding affection that leaves you completely breathless.

your hands reach up, covering his large, shaking ones, pulling them down until his palms are pressed flat against your cheeks. his skin is incredibly warm, and his eyes widen in pure, stunned shock at the contact.

“you’re a big dummy, kentarō,” you whisper, a massive, tearful smile breaking across your face as you lean into his touch. “you could have just told me three months ago. i’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”

the sound that comes out of his throat is a small, choked whine—a noise of pure, overwhelming relief. before you can say another word, his arms wrap around your waist like iron bands, lifting you completely off your feet right there in the middle of the crowded plaza. he buries his face directly into the crook of your neck, breathing you in with a frantic, desperate hunger, holding you so tight against his chest that you can feel the heavy, ecstatic thudding of his heart syncing up perfectly with your own.

n: i sometimes get anxious and think that ppl just put up w my writings cs they feel bad

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

for months, the dynamic was a slow dance of confusion. you would offer him a granola bar, he would take it like it was a sacred offering, and then immediately turn his back to eat it so you wouldn’t see him looking at you with that strange, wide-eyed vulnerability he only ever reserved for you.

but you were tired. you were so, so tired of the silence. you were tired of the way he would look at you like you were the moon and he was a telescope, only for him to turn away and growl at someone else the second you tried to hold a conversation about your day. you decided, with a heavy, aching heart, that he hated you. or, at the very least, he was tolerating you out of a weird, dog-like sense of obligation.

so, you started to pull back.

you stopped waiting for him after practice. you stopped saving him the seat next to you in class. you stopped sending him the random, brain-rot memes that you knew made his eye twitch in a way that was almost, almost a smile.

when you stopped showing up at the gym doors, the air in the room shifted. it became heavy, pressurized, like the ozone before a thunderstorm.

kyōtani was, to put it lightly, spiraling. he was a hurricane trapped in a skinny, muscle-bound body. he stomped through the halls, his brows furrowed so deeply they looked like they were trying to merge into a single, angry caterpillar. he was looking for you. he was looking for the person who usually hovered at the edges of his vision, grounding him.

but you weren’t there. you were busy. or, at least, you were trying to be.

that tuesday, you were standing by the lockers, laughing at something a guy from the literature club—a perfectly nice, non-grumpy, non-volleyball-obsessed guy named kaito—was saying. you were leaning against the lockers, your head thrown back, a genuine, easy smile plastered on your face. you felt lighter without the weight of your unrequited pining crushing your ribcage.

you didn’t see the shadow looming behind you.

kyōtani had been prowling the hallway like a caged panther that had forgotten to eat for a week. he’d been miserable. he’d been eating his lunch alone, staring at the empty space beside him as if he could manifest you out of thin air. and then he saw you. you were standing there, glowing, looking at someone else with the same expression he had spent his entire pathetic life trying to earn.

the sound that escaped his throat was a low, guttural noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying engine.

kaito, bless his heart, didn’t notice the impending doom. he was mid-sentence about a book series when he was suddenly, forcibly, yanked aside by the back of his collar.

kyōtani stood there, his chest heaving, his face a complex shade of crimson that bordered on purple. his eyes were blown wide, and he looked like he was about to vibrate out of his own skin.

“kyōtani?” you blinked, genuinely baffled. “what are you doing?”

he ignored you. he glared at kaito with the intensity of a thousand burning suns until the poor boy muttered an apology and sprinted in the opposite direction like he was being chased by a bear.

now, it was just the two of you. the hallway felt miles long, the silence amplified by the frantic, thumping rhythm of your heart. he looked manic. he looked like a feral cat that had finally decided to bite the hand that fed it, only to realize he actually just wanted a belly rub.

“why?” his voice was gravelly, cracking in the middle. he sounded like he’d been screaming internally for a century. “why are you doing that?”

you crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “doing what? talking to someone? people do that, kyōtani. it’s called being a functioning member of society.”

“no.” he took a step forward, invading your personal space until you were backed up against the lockers. he was tall, towering over you, smelling like sweat and citrus body wash. “no, you were—you were doing the thing. the smile thing. the soft thing. you don’t do that for me. why the hell are you doing that for him? why aren’t you with me? why in the hell are you ignoring me?”

his words were tumbling out of his mouth in a frantic, uncoordinated rush. he looked like he was suffering from a terminal case of repressed emotions.

“i thought you didn’t want me around,” you said, your voice softening despite your resolve. “you always look so annoyed when i’m near. you grunt at me. you turn away. i figured i was bothering you.”

kyōtani looked like you had just slapped him with a wet fish. he recoiled, his hands flying to his hair, tugging at the strands as if he could physically rip the thoughts out of his brain.

“bothering me?” he repeated, the sound incredulous. “bothering me? you—you are the only thing that keeps my brain from catching on fire. do you have any idea how hard it is to look at you? do you know what happens to me when you look at me? i turn into a brick. i turn into a stupid, useless piece of furniture. i want to talk to you, i want to touch you, but my entire body just locks up because i’m so terrified i’ll say something stupid and you’ll realize i’m a freak and leave.”

you stared at him, stunned.

he was pacing now, back and forth in front of you, kicking his own sneakers into the floorboards. he looked completely unhinged, in the most endearing way possible.

“i’m not annoyed!” he barked, gesturing wildly at the air. “i’m never annoyed by you, stupid! i’m annoyed by everything else! the world is annoying! my teammates are annoying! physics is annoying! but you? you’re not annoying. you’re the only thing that makes sense in this entire garbage fire of a life. i spend every waking second of every single day waiting for you to walk into the gym. i save the best seat for you even though i know it looks pathetic. i track where you are in the hallway like i’m some kind of predator, but it’s not because i want to hurt you, it’s because i want to make sure you’re okay, because if you aren’t okay, i think the entire planet might actually stop spinning.”

he stopped pacing and slammed his hands against the lockers on either side of your head. he wasn’t trying to intimidate you; he was trying to keep himself upright. he was trembling.

“goddamnit, i’m not good at words,” he whispered, his eyes searching yours with a desperate, raw honesty that made your knees turn to water. “i’m not good at being a person. i’m a disaster. i’m a walking, talking disaster zone. but when you’re around, things get better. for a little while, i’m just… quiet. i’m happy. i don’t know how to tell you that i think you’re the most beautiful, stupid, wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, so i just… i keep my mouth shut and hope you don’t notice that i’m completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you.”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. his face was flushed, his knuckles white against the metal, his breathing ragged. he looked like he was waiting for the executioner to drop the axe.

“you think you’re a disaster?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“i’m a catastrophe,” he confirmed, looking down at his shoes. “i’m a total mess. and when i saw you were talking to that guy, and i felt like my heart was being physically ripped out of my chest and tossed into a blender, and i didn’t know how to stop it, so i just… i came here.”

he looked up at you, his eyes wide, terrified, and so full of affection it was physically painful.

you reached out, carefully, and placed your hand on his chest. he was solid, warm, and his heart was hammering against your palm like a trapped bird. the tension in his shoulders seemed to evaporate the moment your skin made contact with his uniform. he let out a shuddering sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into your touch.

“you don’t have to be to try and be a normal person,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “you can just be you. the grumpy, aggressive, volleyball-obsessed you. i like that version just fine.”

kyōtani opened his eyes, staring at you with such intensity that you felt like you were being sunburned. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

“so you’re not going to talk to the literature guy anymore?” he asked, a tiny, petulant pout forming on his lips. it was so out of character, so remarkably soft, that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“kaito? he’s just a friend, kentarō.”

“don’t care,” he grumbled, his voice dropping an octave. he shifted, his hands leaving the lockers to rest tentatively on your waist. his grip was hesitant, like he was afraid he might break you, but it was firm enough to let you know he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. “don’t talk to him. talk to me. i’m better at listening than you think. i might even… i don’t know. i might even talk back.”

“is that a promise?”

he ducked his head, his forehead resting against yours. he smelled like adrenalinez cedarwood, and a bit of citrus. “no. i’m threatening you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming tenderness. “i’m going to make you talk to me so much you’ll get tired of hearing my voice asking for you to talk. i’m going to be everywhere you look. i’m going to be the only thing you think about.”

“that sounds a little bit like stalking, kentarō.”

he huffed, a short, sharp sound, but he didn’t pull away. instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours. “fine. call it whatever you want. but you’re mine now. i’m not letting you go back to ignoring me. i think my brain might actually explode if you do that again. you’re such a pain.”

you laughed, a bright, clear sound that seemed to surprise him. he looked at you with such unfiltered wonder that it made your chest ache. he looked like he had just discovered a new color, or perhaps he had just realized that the sun was going to rise for him after all.

he didn’t know how to do romance. he didn’t know how to be the soft, poetic boyfriend you read about in books. he was, and would always be, a jagged, blunt instrument of a boy. but as he stood there, completely unravelling in front of you, you realized that you didn’t want poetic. you didn’t want smooth lines or grand gestures.

you wanted this. you wanted the boy who would bulldoze through a hallway just to make sure you were his. you wanted the boy whose heart beat like a war drum the second you touched him.

“you’re a total idiot,” you said, reaching up to smooth back the unruly hair that fell over his forehead.

“i know,” he breathed, his eyes locked on yours. “but i’m your idiot, aren’t i?”

you nodded with a smile smile, the confession hung in the air between you, heavy and sweet. he wasn’t polished. he wasn’t graceful. he was just kyōtani, and he was yours, and for the first time, you realized that the chaos of his life was exactly the kind of peace you had been looking for.

he shifted, his hands sliding lower to pull you flush against him. his posture was stiff, his movements slightly awkward, but the way he held you felt like he was holding something fragile. he wasn’t going anywhere. he was tethered to you, anchored by the sheer gravity of his own feelings, and as he ducked his head to press a clumsy, hesitant kiss to your forehead, you knew that the days of confusion were over.

the hallways were busy, students were rushing to class, and there was a math test waiting for you in ten minutes, but in that quiet, shadowed corner of the building, nothing else existed. there was just the hum of his breathing, the warmth of his skin, and the realization that the maddest dog in the prefecture had finally found his home.

he pulled back just an inch, his brow furrowed in that familiar, grumpy way, though his eyes were soft, molten gold. “don’t do that again,” he repeated, his voice low and firm. “don’t pull away. i don’t know how to be without you nearby. it makes me feel like i’m getting suffocated.”

“i won’t,” you promised, lacing your fingers through his. his hand was calloused, rough, and large enough to completely swallow yours, but he held on with a grip that was shockingly gentle.

he let out a huff, a mixture of a sigh and a grunt, and began to drag you toward the classroom, though he made sure you were walking directly behind him, shielded by his frame from the rest of the hallway. he was protective, possessive in a way that was entirely him, and as he navigated the sea of students without ever letting go of your hand, you realized that you were never going to be lonely again.

you were tied to the orbit of a star that didn’t know how to shine, but burned bright enough to keep you warm for the rest of your life.

n: i feel like he’s too calm for this.. also i’m listening to laufey’s promise while sobbing

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.