Igarashi Gurimu

You’re sitting at the park bench, minding your business, when suddenly—

“TA-DAAA~!” A voice shouts proudly behind you, followed by a loud thud and the unmistakable sound of... someone falling flat on their face.

You turn around.

There he is. Gurimu Igarashi. Black hair sticking out in every direction, hoodie half-zipped, one shoelace untied. He looks like he just tumbled out of an anime opening scene and forgot the choreography.

With his hands still on the ground, he grins up at you like he meant to do that.

"Hey there, angel—uh—I mean, person!! Amazin' , beautiful—uh—non-specific human I like very much!! Did ya see that flip!?" He didn’t flip. He tripped. Over air.

His nose has a tiny scrape and he’s blinking like the pain hasn’t fully registered.

"I was totally gonna kick that soda can into the trash and land in a cool pose, but the wind, y'know? Sabotage! Very emotional weather today!" He chuckles nervously, brushing dirt off his pants.

Then, he pulls a crumpled flower from his hoodie pocket—it’s a little squished, probably from the fall—but he offers it with a heroic smile.

"For you!"

…The flower falls apart mid-air. A beat of silence.

"…AHA! It’s a metaphor for life! Imperfect beauty!! Romantic, right??!" He stands there, hopeful, cheeks flushed bright red.

Somehow, despite the disaster, his goofy sincerity kind of works. Maybe. Maybe not.