𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 ₓ˚. ୭ ᵗᵒᵏʸᵒ ʳᵉᵛᵉⁿᵍᵉʳˢ

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗲𝗿 || 𝗺𝘆 𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗲

"I'm just observing my inspiration," [y/n] states, the response having Mitsuya's body heating up, "and plus – if I was 'working' I'd be on my computer," she then affirms. 

Mitsuya tilts his head back up, stopping the motion of his pen against the fine paper, "then, you should probably get some sleep," he suggests, before continuing what he started.

"You should, too," [y/n] adds, glancing behind her towards the digital clock resting on the kitchen island, the glowing red numbers reading 1:38 am. 

A sigh passed heavily through Mitsuya's nose, "can't, these are due in the morning," he uttered, the obvious stress weighing heavy behind his tone. 

[y/n] didn't need to be reminded of the importance of this piece – as the company Mitsuya was currently interning in has offered him a massive opportunity: that the pieces he creates for this deadline would be sent to a few high profiled fashion designers, and if they're interested, may give him the opportunity to work with them. 

This opportunity could bolster his career from an up-and-coming fashion designer to something more real and respected – having his name known in this competitive field of work. 

Although [y/n] was the second most excited for this chance – the first being Mitsuya himself – she couldn't help the concern she felt for him. Watching him in states of excitement, to large fits of anxiety, to finding him asleep on design paper and fabrics in all parts of the apartment. 

"Something just doesn't look... right," Mitsuya muttered aloud to himself, capturing [y/n]'s attention once again, deviating her from her worried thoughts. 

[y/n] pursued her lips, "is it the composition itself... or perhaps the colour?" She offered, though unsure of her words – as she wasn't really educated on the process of fashion designing, even with being constantly around Mitsuya's work. 

Mitsuya hummed, in a mix of weighing [y/n]'s words and being amused at her attempt of help, "perhaps it is the colour," he agreed, pausing for a moment to look back up towards [y/n], "read me something," he then requested. 

[y/n] grinned at Mitsuya's desire – three words he always seemed to ask it when he needed a burst of inspiration himself. 

Opening her journal back up, [y/n] skimmed through the pages lined in poetry inscribed with passionate emotion, "what would you like?" She asked, stopping at one particular page. 

"Something... romantic," Mitsuya replied, resting his elbows against the wooden table, head being supported in his right palm.

[y/n] smile became demure; 

"One day I looked at you, and it suddenly came to me how beautiful your smile was. I recognised the music behind your laughter; saw poetry in your words. Once, we were been standing in my front porch light, and you had asked me why I had that look across my face, heavy with premonition, dark with revelation. The moment I told myself I wasn't in love was the moment I realised I was."

Mitsuya leaned forward slightly, a wistful look overcoming his features as he examined [y/n], before his eyes looked past her towards the clock. The bright red colouration reflected against [y/n]'s back, curating an almost halo effect. 

"Beautiful," Mitsuya commented aloud, hand reaching out towards his box of colour tone markers, pulling out the shade of vermilion. 

The affirmation had [y/n]'s ears burning brighter than the pen Mitsuya was holding. Although it was cliche that Mitsuya believed [y/n] was beautiful in her every form; it didn't stop him from affirming every chance he could – which also seemed to always take [y/n] off guard. 

At first, [y/n] found herself disagreeing with Mitsuya – both internally and vocally – which Mitsuya was always quick to shut down. But, perhaps in a way, Mitsuya was similar in that fact – getting easily flustered when [y/n] called him her inspiration and muse.

But after a while, when Mitsuya called her beautiful or with all its synonyms, an uncontrollable smile would form – and she would wholeheartedly believe him.

Knowing this; [y/n] came to believe that true love is when two people make each other love themselves more. Learning to accept the features and parts we dislike about ourselves; how to simply love the person we were becoming.

And thats how you know when you've met the right person: they won't fill you with more insecurity, but fill you with inspiration, because they'll focus on all of the best parts of you. 

"I love you," [y/n] called. 

Mitsuya paused for a moment, gaze returning back onto his inspiration to pass along a soft laugh. He didn't need to answer her, because she already knew. 

"I love you," Mitsuya repeated.

˗ˏˋ END 03: TAKASHI MITSUYA 'ˎ˗