dumbfounded
gyutaro x fem!reader
summary: growing into something neither of them expected.
w.c: 1,095
gyutaro never meant for it to start like this.
he didn’t mean to notice her first in the way that mattered. he noticed her the way he noticed everything else, through irritation, kind of sharp, defensive awareness. she was too clean, upright, and easy in her own skin. the kind of person whose presence felt like a question that he didn’t want to answer.
(name) worked two stalls down from him at the market. she sold pressed flowers and hand-bound notebooks, things that didn’t scream necessity but still managed to sell. people lingered at her stall and they smiled more there. gyutaro hated that.
he hated that they smiled at her the way they never smiled at him.
his own stall was metal and bone and blades—salvaged parts, sharpened tools, things people approached only when they needed them. his hands were always nicked, always stained. he kept his hood low, his posture defensive, like the world might try to take something from him if he stood too tall.
she noticed him anyway.
not in the way others did, not with discomfort nor pity. just noticing as if he was part of the environment, like he belonged.
it pissed him off.
“you always look like you’re about to stab someone,” she said one afternoon, voice light, like she was commenting on the weather.
he stiffened. “mind your business.”
she smiled, not offended. “i am. i’m making it my business.”
that should have been the end of it. it wasn’t.
she kept talking to him. not constantly though just enough to be present. she brought him tea once when the rain came down hard and his stall started leaking. she complained about the market manager under her breath and laughed too loud at her own jokes.
gyutaro told himself he didn’t care.
but sometimes, when he caught his reflection in the dull surface of a blade, he’d notice the way his shoulders were less hunched when she was nearby or the way his jaw unclenched when she spoke.
he hated that even more.
the first time they went out, he didn’t call it a date but she did.
“it’s a date,” she said, tying her hair back with practiced fingers. “don’t overthink it.”
he scoffed. “i don’t do dates.”
“you’re doing one now.”
he almost backed out. almost convinced himself she was joking, or bored, or pitying him. he waited for the moment she’d realize she’d made a mistake.
it didn’t come.
they walked instead. streetlights buzzing overhead, the city loud and indifferent. she talked about nothing and everything at the same time—her stall, her favorite books, the way she liked late nights because the world felt quieter.
gyutaro mostly listened because when he spoke, it comes out rough. he waited for her to flinch.
she didn’t.
when they parted, she smiled at him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “see you tomorrow.”
he nodded, too stunned to respond.
he didn’t tell anyone.
he didn’t tell anyone because saying it out loud felt dangerous. like if he acknowledged it, it would fall apart. like words themselves would object—no, not him. not someone like him.
the second date happened anyway.
that one had food. cheap noodles, eaten standing up, shoulders brushing. she stole from his bowl without asking. he snapped at her and then froze, waiting for her to get offended.
she just laughed.
something inside him shifted, subtle and terrifying.
he told himself it was a coincidence. anything but what it was.
after the third date, he stopped pretending.
he didn’t tell his friends right away. he waited until it was undeniable—until there were patterns. until she started showing up at his stall before he arrived, sitting on the crate behind it like she belonged there. until she learned the cadence of his moods, when to talk and when to let silence sit.
until he learned hers.
then the evidence piled up.
lines connecting them. invisible strings he hadn’t noticed weaving tighter and tighter. her hand brushing his wrist when she laughed. the way she leaned into him without thinking. the way she said his name like it wasn’t something ugly.
that was what got him.
the way she said his name.
gyutaro was jealous in a way that surprised even him.
not loud jealousy nor possessive shouting but just a constant, simmering awareness of anyone else who made her laugh. anyone who stood too close, anyone who looked at her with that soft expression she never quite returned.
he told himself it was instinct but sometimes, watching her talk to someone else, he’d feel that awful awe bloom in his chest.
she chose me.
the thought rendered him stupid like if he tried to articulate it, it would collapse under scrutiny.
because why him?
he knew what he looked like. knew how people reacted before they learned better—or didn’t. scars, posture, voice sharpened by years of being unwanted. he knew how the world sorted people, how quickly.
and yet she stayed.
one evening, after the market closed, they sat on the curb with their backs against the shutters. the air smelled like rain and rust.
she leaned her head against his shoulder without asking.
he froze.
“you okay?” she asked softly.
he swallowed. “why me?”
she tilted her head. “what?”
“you could have anyone,” he said, words scraping out of him. “someone easier, cleaner. or someone who doesn’t look like they’re angry at the world.”
she didn’t pull away.
instead, she looked at him—really looked.
“you’re not angry all the time,” she said. “you’ve just been hurt too long.”
he laughed, bitter. “same thing.”
“no,” she said. “it’s not.”
he didn’t know how to respond to that. silence filled the space, thick but not uncomfortable.
“i didn’t tell anyone about our first date,” she added suddenly.
his heart skipped. “why not?”
“because i wanted to make sure it was real,” she said. “i didn’t want to say it and then have it disappear.”
he stared at the ground. “me too.”
she smiled, small and genuine. “see? lines connecting us.”
he didn’t understand how she said things like that so easily.
sometimes, late at night, lying beside her, gyutaro would watch her sleep and feel that same dumbfounded awe crash over him. the jealousy, the doubt—they never really went away. they just quieted, dulled by the steady presence of her warmth, her breathing.
he never stopped being aware of how unlikely it was.
but instead of protesting, the words began to settle.
not why me.
but us.
and somehow, impossibly, that was enough.
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🍒 sft-chrries 2025
