𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 (𝓖𝓸𝓳𝓸 𝔁 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻)

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As his head was turned, he noticed a familiar shaped silhouette draped with a large white cloth. There were no supplies surrounding the sculpture as it had been when she typically worked.

Y/n caught wind of his eyes, though her gaze quickly returned to the window. She cleared her throat.
Gojo tilted his head, joining her side.

"Y/n."

She looked at him for a beat at the sound of her name, glimpses of disappointment in her eyes. Not knowing how or what to ask, Gojo paused, his mouth moving aimlessly, searching for words. Fortunately, it seemed y/n knew exactly what he wanted to find out and beat him to it.

With her face now back on the street, she said;

"They don't know if they can keep me in the exhibition anymore."

Oh...

Gojo turned his head so he too was facing the window. Cars and passersby crossed his vision.

"I... I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Ah," y/n sighed, though her voice wavered. "It's how the industry is. Nothing I can do."

The look in her eyes contradicted her casual language. There was a sense of pain and regret, like she desperately wished that there was something she could do.

Gojo gently brought out a hand. She consented, letting him pull her close into a one armed hug, her head leaning on his shoulder as they watched the busy streets of Tokyo.

"So what now?" he asked.

"Hm?" Y/n's face held a blank expression, yet she radiated an aura saturated with dread. "Oh. I guess I'll get back to the cafe since I took a leave for the exhibit."

Gojo nodded, but then thought of those letters in her apartment, those alarming red printed letters that clashed against the white paper.

"If there's anything I can do to help-"

She gave him a look of assurance, pulling away from his embrace as if to show she could hold her own.

"I'll be okay, Shades."

Would she?

Gojo glanced at the covered silhouette with a pang of something he couldn't describe.

"Are you still going to work on it?"

Y/n fidgeted, like she had left something out.

"...no," she said, coming clean. "They said-" She glanced down, almost ashamedly. Apologetically.

"They said they would consider me again if I resubmit Promise."

Satoru's gaze followed her's to the floor.

What was this feeling? Gojo pulled at the ends of his jacket. Why did she have to stop on something they had collaborated on together? That sculpture did not represent her anymore. Why did Promise get a debut but not theirs? Screw that exhibition.

He knew he was being selfish, especially in the fact that he had only helped when spent that lovely day with her at the pond where she conveniently took the picture he had pointed out. Perhaps it was the fact that Promise, inspired by her past lover, was getting a second chance. Did a man he never met before really irk him that much? Yes. Yes he did. He despised him for hurting y/n, for tearing her down... for making their relationship so confusing.

He cared for her and that pathetic excuse for a man did not. Yet here he was, an echo of a sculpture, getting another chance.

The air had gone dry. Y/n could almost read every thought of his, even from the stoic expression on his face.If one had told her merely two months ago (even that day when she made breakfast with Satoru) she could be readmitted into a gallery by submitting Promise she would have happily obliged. But now... now things were different.

She couldn't name what she felt, hell, she was afraid to label it in any way. All she knew was things had changed. Promise was a shadow of her past. The more she thought about it, the more sick she became. It was her angst turned into a figure, one that she could look at to remind her of those things that man had done to her. It confused, nauseated and traumatized her. How was this the same sculpture she had prided herself on many moons ago at the exhibit where she had met Satoru?

She desired to complete what they had started, together, yet that in itself confused her. If she were to reveal what she had, one could see jagged edges where smooth ones should have been, rounded spaces that needed more volume.

The more she worked on the swans, the more it puzzled her. The more they puzzled her. How did the sculpture make her feel, she did not know. Maybe she had to dig deeper. How did the inspiration make her feel?

Satoru. That was the inspiration; the culprit behind this bizarre thought. Her relationship with him was... she couldn't even describe it! They were a jumble of sin and loss and youth and mistakes. Freaks with unknown histories, yet they were oh so good at hiding it. It was hard at times and so odd. But by god, how she loved it.

She loved when Satoru would visit her. She loved when they would go on walks, pointing out the ordinary. She loved cooking and burning breakfast with him by her side. She loved... she loved...

There came that festering thought.

But couldn't love be a just be delusion of the mind? Love could melt into fear, she knew this all too well.

She feared ruining things. She feared not being enough. She feared delving into a something she would regret, that she would wreck like the little slut she was. Wasn't that what LeRoy told her?

She had truly learned nothing.

"I'm going to submit it tomorrow."

Satoru dipped his head silently. For a second, y/n could see those sad blue eyes encompassed by a frame of thick white lashes. How desperately she wanted to peer into them, yet she knew he wouldn't let her. Not right now.

They sat in a painful silence. Bofh of them wanted to say everything and nothing at all.

Then, after what seemed like a whole minute, Satoru took a small step back.

"Good luck," he said with a tight smile. His tone was softer than he would have liked. "I should probably be going then."

He placed the brown bag in her hand before giving that polite bow y/n found so strange and sweet.

She watched him leave before glancing down at the brown bag containing the bento he had kindly purchased just for her. She let out a small gasp. A small note was scrawled in Satoru's handwriting.

Inspired by you're future award winning piece!

Made by your's truly ;)

ps: see?? I CAN cook

Inside were two onigiri on a bed of unevenly cut vegetables. Between them was a pickled plum in the shape of a... heart. Both onigiri were feebly shaped into familiar figures. Rounded bodies, orange legs. Bent necks shaped into the same shape as the plum.

Swans.

Y/n looked at the covered sculpture, then back down at the bento.

Oh, Satoru...

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<a/n: aw gojo

yes ik this chap is mad dramatic but these pieces are symbolic for the upcoming chapters so this is an important hill in their relationship!

also i just like to write dramatic internal monologues shhsjaia >