Spikes & Strings (Asahi Azumane x Reader)

2

The next morning, you woke earlier than usual, the faint light of dawn creeping through the gap in your curtains. Your room was steeped in a soft, gray stillness, the kind that made you want to pull the covers over your head and drift back to sleep. But as you stared at the ceiling, the memory of the previous day came rushing back.

The art room. The soft, steady hum of work. The coffee, still warm in your hand. Asahi’s quiet, careful presence by your side.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair before sitting up. Today would be another long session—another hour of stitching banners and pretending your thoughts weren’t entirely elsewhere.

You weren’t sure why the idea made your chest feel so oddly heavy and light all at once.

As you got ready, your mind flitted back to him. What would he be like today? Would he be as soft-spoken as before, his voice barely above a murmur? Would he surprise you with another thoughtful gesture?

You shook your head firmly, dragging yourself back to the present. It wasn’t like you were looking forward to it. Not really. He was just your partner for this project, nothing more.

But as you grabbed your bag and stepped outside into the cool morning air, you couldn’t deny the faint flutter of anticipation that had settled stubbornly in your chest.

The streets were unusually quiet this morning, the only sounds the distant chirping of birds and the soft crunch of your shoes against the pavement. The air was brisk, tinged with the bite of approaching winter, and you pulled your scarf tighter around your neck.

Normally, this walk felt tedious, an uninspiring prelude to a long day of classes. But today, it passed by in a blur, your thoughts swirling with snippets of the previous afternoon.

His steady hands as he worked on the banner. The faint, almost apologetic smile that tugged at his lips. The quiet way he’d said goodbye, like he wasn’t used to being thanked.

You frowned, shaking your head as you approached the school gates. Why did your mind keep circling back to him? It wasn’t like you knew him well.

Still, as you climbed the stairs and made your way to the art room, you couldn’t help but hope he’d show up again.

The art room was just as you’d left it—quiet and still, with sunlight streaming through the tall windows in golden beams. You set your bag down and surveyed the materials you’d left behind.

The banner was slowly taking shape, though there was still a long way to go. The edges were stitched, but the lettering remained unfinished, and the whole thing needed a final touch to tie it all together.

You settled into your seat, pulling the fabric toward you. Needle in hand, you began stitching, the steady motion of your hands almost meditative.

But the silence felt heavier today, the empty room amplifying every sound. The faint creak of a chair. The whisper of fabric as you adjusted the banner.

You kept glancing at the door, your heart stuttering at every distant footstep. But no one came.

The minutes stretched on, and you found yourself working slower, your movements distracted.

Maybe he’s not coming, you thought, a pang of disappointment tugging at your chest. He doesn’t have to, after all. Yesterday was probably just him being polite.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You’d been working on this project alone for weeks, and you could handle another solo session. But as the minutes ticked by, the quiet began to feel stifling, your thoughts louder than they had any right to be.