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SPOT-ON | Asahi x gn!Reader [1/2]

Precis: You and Asahi are both overworked, your last semester of university coming to a close. And you still haven’t managed to convey your feelings to him.

WARNINGS: none? it’s really pretty soft.

♡ fashion college!au. a bit of angst, but mainly fluff. pining, friends to lovers ♡

WC: 3.2k

AN: This was originally meant to be a oneshot, but I fell in love with the universe. I felt at home writing it. I think this might be one of my favourite things I’ve ever written. It’s a weird length - can’t be split evenly into three, but long fics without chapters can suck my ass/j so it’s a two-parter

There are a few random info dumps, a few moments where it’s obvious I’m projecting onto “Y/N,” and the plot could use some work. Do I care? No. It’s perfect. (NO IT’S NOT PERFECT PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK)

NAVIGATION // FIC MASTERLIST + EXTENDED AN // PART 2

He seemed tired.

You had known him through years of college, and you had never seen him like this.

It was the final semester of the last year of college. His passion for apparel hadn't faded, not really, but he was very obviously burnt out. His smiles were shallower — his eyes more downcast. He had the nicest smile in the world; it was such a shame.

You worried about him.

And now, you knew you would have to put off your feelings more. You hadn't expressed them in the first year — it had been too early. And then, in the next year, he was dating someone. And he was healing from heartbreak, and so of course you had had to be there for him, not confess your feelings.

And now he was tired. He was definitely too overloaded to worry about relationships.

He never told anyone how he was feeling, not even you. He held it all back, and you watched it tear him apart from the inside. He had dealt with lots in his life already — constant assumptions because of his appearance, crippling defeat in a volleyball game that made him almost quit, saying goodbye to his best friend, who went traveling the world.

This was the same, again. He brushed it off. He didn't value himself enough to take proper care, despite your assurances. Why couldn't he love himself as much as you loved him? It was so frustrating.

He was tired, sitting in front of you in this coffee shop, failing to hide that his eyes wanted to close. He was listening to you, chin supported by hands, coffee drained. You had been going on about your fashion history project focused on the 1900s, watching him carefully.

It was as if he thought you wouldn't notice he ordered the drink with the most caffeine. It was as if he thought you didn't care enough to notice.

Should you point out that you knew how he’d been staying up every night, working himself until he could barely think anymore? It wasn't exactly a secret — he just didn't seem to want to talk about it. He worked so hard, and he brushed it off.

“Asahi,” you said. His eyes had begun to glaze over.

“Hm?” he responded, and pushed a stray strand of hair out of his face.

“Why are you pushing yourself so much?”

He focused on you, thinking, and then shrugged. “It's not that bad. I just want to get out of here, y’know? Everyone is working hard right now.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean you aren't allowed to be tired.”

“Just a little longer, Y/N. I'm already almost at the end. Of course I'm tired, but I can handle it. And you're working so hard too, with your crazy history project.”

“I'm… it's not… I'm not working half as hard as you.”

“Or you're just better at hiding it.”

You went quiet.

“Don't worry about me, Y/N. I can deal with my own feelings.”

Still, it didn't seem like the time or place to tell him the reason you couldn't stop worrying was because you literally couldn't think about anything but him on some days.

As you walked out of the coffee shop, you made him promise to stop hiding his feelings from you from now on. It wasn't the first time the two of you had had a similar conversation — you both sucked at communication, that much was obvious. He told you it had to be two ways, and you agreed.

Of course, you couldn't be clear about all your feelings.

The project itself, focusing on mainly women’s fashion in the 1800s, seemed pretty irrelevant to the job you were studying for. You wanted to be a fashion designer, not a costumer. However, corsets and dresses, and where they came from, was much more fascinating than you had expected. Not only the Jane Austen-esque attire, but also that worn by maids and lower classes. It all seemed so impractical and very uncomfortable — intriguing.

You found yourself forcing Asahi to watch many movies set in the 19th century with you, and it was clear whose budgets and research was adept, and whose wasn't. Yes, you had maybe exhausted yourself with research and notes, but there was always something new to learn and it never got old.

Asahi very obviously had a crush on Eleanor in Sense and Sensibility and you teased him endlessly.

He would always be always sewing, cutting, writing, and sketching during the movies. It was the agreement — he'd watch them with you as long as he was allowed to work simultaneously. You agreed, only because you were also taking notes.

He was a fantastic designer. You had seen some of his patterns and drawings in a few of his sketchbooks. They were unique, but somehow nostalgic. Comfortable but dashing. A mix of vintage and boho, but a little cozier. His designs fit him. You loved watching him express himself in his designs. He liked scarves and button-up shirts with collars and boots. He drew little patterns on his notes when his mind wandered, and they were beautiful.

Movie nights were happening less now. You were approaching your due date, which meant binging films didn't really count for “research purposes” anymore. Asahi spent a lot of time alone now, studying and working and drawing.

You had an appointment with a high-end antique shop. It was later than you would have preferred, since you would have to get it all together in very few days, but it was an opportunity you didn't want to bargain.

Asahi knew how excited you were about this, and you were pleased when you received a text wishing you luck from him. These days, even managing to get a text from him was a blessing.

When you arrived at the little shop, rustic wooden walls and creaky floors and bare lightbulbs on the ceiling, you thought you were hallucinating.

Of course his ex was here.

Of course she was.

She was talking to someone else — another customer — and pointing at a chair. A chair.

Kesa Joon was not a pointing-and-whispering kind of girl. She was adorable, with bright eyes and soft-looking lips and an undeniably cute turned-up nose. She had a way of coming off as shy at first, but once you got to know her you realized she was really passionate and charismatic. She wouldn't speak behind anyone's back — she was a people-pleaser, it was true, but she wasn't a bad person.

The image of Kesa pointing and talking quietly but animatedly about a chair was amusing to you. It suited her well. It was an antique chair, probably, just like everything else in the shop, but still, a smile spread across your lips

The image of a brokenhearted Asahi appeared in your mind and the smile drowned in confused indifference. You still loved Kesa as a friend, though you hadn't spoken to her in over a year. You couldn’t hate her, but you felt uncomfortable being around her now.

She nodded at the customer and her eyes fell on you.

“Hi! Are you here to see the dress? Oh… Y/N.”

“Hi, Kesa. It's been awhile.

Kesa gazed at you from beneath her lashes. “How are you?”

“I'm okay. Busy and stuff, but… how about you? I didn't expect you'd end up here after you left Uni.”

“I'm alright,” Kesa said, beckoning for you to follow her. “I didn't think I'd end up here either, but… it was really interesting. And they loved me because I like describing all the different lives that items have been through. Unfortunately, this is my first time seeing the infamous green dress, and I’m afraid my boss hasn’t given me its history yet.”

Kesa was a year older than Asahi and you. She took a lot of the same classes you were now taking. It was strange that she ended up working at an antique shop, but somehow it was fitting.

“So are you doing a project on the 19th century?” Kesa asked.

“Yep, I— how did you know?”

“Oh, the manager told me about you. He said he’s sorry he can't show it to you himself.”

“It’s okay.” You were waiting for her to ask about Asahi, but she didn't.

“Here it is,” she said.

She had led you down a hall, and opened a door to a room with a spread of headless mannequins and low-hanging lights. It would have been sort of ominous if it hadn't been for the bright lighting. The mannequin closest to the door wore a vibrant green dress.

“Don’t touch. Arsenic,” Kesa said. “I'll be back in ten or fifteen. I'd suggest taking a picture or at least sketching what it looks like.”

You thanked her and approached it, taking your notebook from your bag. The dress had puffy sleeves that slimmed at the shoulders, a neckline that made the shoulders look even more narrow, an impossibly tiny waist, and a puffy skirt. It was rather ugly, at least from a modern perspective, and also because it was over a hundred years old and was obviously not in as good condition as it had been one day. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander as you admired it, picturing the dances it had perhaps been worn to, parties, the woman herself that had worn it. Had she been kind? Spoiled? Flirty or shy?

You had already done some research about the arsenic used as clothing dye in that time period. The dress definitely had a specific color to you, like a mixture between clover green and venom. Everything about it said danger. You knew how different colours had been used as symbols, but that this color specifically was loved simply because of its exuberance.

You found it both comedic and horrific how people continued to use the dye even as there was plenty of evidence that it was entering people’s blood stream and making their skin break out in blisters and their hair fall out. It had taken over 50 years for any changes to be made to the requirements — back then, jobs weren’t very regulated, but at least by 1895 it finally became illegal to use arsenic as a dye.

You did your best to record the details of the dress on the paper, making sure you described the color just right. Kesa came back almost too soon.

“Are you satisfied? Do you want longer to look?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you! Let Mr. Takemura know I appreciate him letting me see this.”

“He loves kids like you,” Kesa said sweetly. “A thirst for knowledge, just like him.”

I’m not really a kid, you thought. And I’m doing this for a project.

It was true that you found it all fascinating. But you wouldn’t be doing any of it if you weren’t in a class that demanded it. Right?

Kesa’s next question took you right out of your head.

“Hey, how’s Asahi, by the way?” Her voice shook slightly and she cleared her throat.

Your mind blanked. How were you supposed to answer? ‘He cried for two months over you and I don’t know if he ever got over it.’ ‘He’s much better now that you’re gone.’ ‘He’s actually very stressed out because of our last year of university and all and he doesn’t know how to be honest about it.’

“He’s good,” you said. “Considering.”

“I see,” she said, and sniffed. “I miss him.”

‘Yeah, so why’d you break his heart?’ you thought.

“I think he misses you too,” you said.

The two of you stared at each other for a second.

“Yeah. Well… I hope he finds someone. Anyways, um.” She laughed uncomfortably. “Sorry. Thank you for coming. And hey, can I see your project when you’re done?”

“Oh! Sure, um…”

You exchanged numbers so that you could text her when it was ready. You hoped this wouldn’t be too big of a deal. Kesa was kind and smart. She could offer advice on your project before you handed it in. It wouldn’t be a big deal, as long as you didn’t tell Asahi.

Unfortunately, four days later when you were done and ready to hand it in that evening, you texted Kesa and realized she was a lot busier than you expected. The due date was drawing closer, so you ended up handing in the physical report. It would be too late for any feedback to help you further in the class, but you would still learn from anything she had to say about it.

You only did the report for the class. You didn’t care about it. You just wanted proof of an education on paper and to get out of here; you felt the same as Asahi. You had no “thirst for learning” or anything special. Of course you were interested in your classes and wanted to do your best, but only for your future.

You kept telling yourself this. You didn’t know why, but you didn’t want to admit to yourself that you found this class the most interesting of all. You wanted to be a fashion designer, not a fashion archivist. That would be useless. What would you gain from being a historian for the clothes industry?

You were feeling a little confused after you handed it in, because it felt like you had poured everything into the project and it wasn’t even worth too much. Yes, 10% of your mark, but…. still, you had spent three weeks collecting information and doing layout and tumbling down information rabbit holes.

And it was all about fashion from the 1800s.

Why? You hadn’t done this for any other assignment. Was it because you had gotten to watch all those movies? It didn’t seem like it.

Why were you so invested in this project? Suddenly, finding out your mark felt like an evaluation of your value of a person. You were afraid of a low mark after all you had done to put it together, but a high mark seemed like even more of a warning sign.

It was just a project.

You didn’t want to bother Asahi, but you were really feeling lost. You also didn’t want to open the same question to him, because you knew he had been working just as hard if not twice as hard as you on his project.

You called him, and he answered almost immediately. “Hey, Y/N. What’s going on?”

“I just… I need company right now. I’m feeling… weird.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Asahi.”

You had intended to spend the night completely shut down after getting coffee with him, maybe just lost in thought or something. But Asahi asked you what was making you feel off, and you answered, and suddenly the two of you were asking deep questions well into the young hours of the morning. You had made as far as the common area in the dorms after coffee and stopped there, luckily finding it abandoned for the night.

“I know exactly what you mean… I’ve been stuck in my dorm doing schoolwork for so long, and… I never thought I’d say this, but I miss people. I miss you. It’s really lonely.”

“So you admit it? You’re tired.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose below his eyebrows. “I am exhausted.”

“And for what?” you said.

The two of you debated the point of this — you were especially passionate, since you knew Asahi had more than one useless professors that barely taught anything. If Asahi could just be lucky enough to accidentally drop his designs on the doorstep of a recruiting designer’s place with his contact information on the paper, then he’d be picked up immediately. But no, he had to spend years at this useless school, confined to specific studies and styles.

Asahi explained something you already knew. He said that if he had the time, he’d start his own attire design company.

Instead, he was here. Working his ass off, and he’d probably end up at some retail shop after. Because the world wasn’t all open doors as it had always been described in high school. You both already knew it would be work, scraping by with just enough money until the next paycheck.

“I wonder if it would be easier if we were married,” you said. It was three AM. Neither of you were mentally present enough to take it more seriously than what it was meant to be; a speculation.

“I mean, we’d share bills and stuff. Wouldn’t have to pay so much if we shared an apartment. Or maybe it’d be around the same. I’d never thought about it…”

“How much does it cost to get married?” You pulled out your phone, googling it. “Hey, under a hundred! We just have to hire a commissioner and stuff.”

“When are you free?” he said. Asahi still couldn’t say cheesy things like that without his ears reddening a bit. You laughed, kicking his leg.

“As soon as the semester is over. As soon as we get outta here.”

“But we probably won’t be going to the same place after all this.”

He sounded sad. “Don’t say stuff like that. I’ll be sure to end up close to you. You’re… the only person I’ve managed to hold on to for the last three years.”

Your mind flashed to Kesa. You had been friends with him before he started dating her. You watched how happy he was becoming with her, and how her leaving had hurt him.

As if you had conjured it, a text made your phone vibrate in your hand.

Kesa Joon

→→→ 3:39AM: Hi!! Sorry, I was out. I just saw that you texted me. It’s too late now, isn’t it? I’m actually visiting a friend at the Uni, but I can still come in the morning (at actually reasonable hours haha) if you want :P

You began to text her back. Asahi leaned to look over at your phone. “Who is—”

“No one. It isn’t — it’s no one.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ohh? Is it a guy?”

“No!” you said. A heat crept up your face at the possibility of Asahi being jealous. “It’s not, I swear. It’s just a girlfriend.”

“‘I can come in the morning’? Why’re you hiding it from me? You’re acting suspicious.”

“I’m not!”

“Do you want me to leave so that you can see him?”

Oops. Somehow you had unintentionally convinced Asahi you had a crush on someone he didn’t know was his ex-girlfriend.

“Yes. No, I don’t mean— I mean that — well, you probably wouldn’t like him, so…” You didn’t want them to see each other. Of course that might lead to Asahi getting sad again, but more because you were afraid they would get back together again.

That wouldn’t happen just from them seeing each other again, right?

←←← 3:41AM: I’m actually still awake so you can come if you want. Asahi and I are in the common area so I’ll just walk him to his dorm first, okay? Thanks for texting me back lol

“You’re going back to your room,” you said. He didn’t argue, standing.

Unfortunately, before either of you got far, you got another text.

Kesa Joon

→→→ 3:31AM: Cool! I’m coming from the stairwell :)

You froze, looking between Asahi and the stairway door eight metres away.

What were you supposed to do now?

AN: oOOOoh suspense ;)

TAGLIST: @h-grangerstudies @snoozless @daddyjackfrost [CLOSED]

NAVIGATION // FIC MASTERLIST + EXTENDED AN // PART 2