𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 (𝓖𝓸𝓳𝓸 𝔁 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻)

.｡*♡ Visitors .｡*♡

word count: 2,396

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Y/n and Jiro hoisted the large shipment box from the ramp, careful to avoid damage to the contents.

"Promise was approved?" Jiro grunted while prying his fingers from beneath the heavy contents.

Y/n sighed as she brushed wood residue from her hands. "Yeah, it wasn't like they were going to reject it anyways. I mean, they're practically begging to have this thing in the exhibit. It's like those people don't want anything but this piece-"

Her voice trailed away at Jiro's off put expression.

"You seem happy about this," he joked.

Y/n let out a breath. As if to distract herself from a full, complicated explanation, she grabbed the crowbar and began to pry at the wood.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I was looking forward to showing something else. Y'know, something more current with my life."

Jiro crossed his arms. "What, your sculpture inspired by Mr. Ocean Eyes? By the way, how was that little sleepover yesterday?"

Y/n stopped pulling and looked at him.

"Don't glare at me. You talk to yourself when you work." He gave her a grin. "All I do is listen.

Jiro then wriggled his brows. "Recently it's been allllll about him."

Y/n glanced away and tried to hide the smile at the mention of Shades, though her grin soon faltered. Quickly, she went back to working on the box.

"Whatever man. And no, I wouldn't submit those unfinished swans. It's too... complicated and it's... it's stupid. I shouldn't complain about this."

Jiro leaned on the wooden surface. "If it pisses you off that much, you could always... ask."

Y/n scoffed. "And risk the opportunity of getting taken off the list again? Hell no. I've got stuff on the line, Jiro. Important stuff."

My home. My studio. My career.

"Ugh, whatever," Jiro said with a playful sigh. Sliding from the box, he walked back to the front. "I'm gonna grab lunch, want anything?"

"(Fav food)," y/n replied with a heave as she finally forced the box open.

"Right-o," said Jiro, closing the door behind him.

Y/n shook her head, though her temporary amusement was replaced with a sense of dread as she removed the nailed on lid.

In a cloud of packing peanuts, there sat Promise, looking up at her in mockery. From the delicately shaped face, she saw that familiar masculine hand caressing the jaw with a sense of unpredictability she knew oh too well.

For a split second, it seemed as if the hand had come to life, gripping onto the sculpted face till it began to disfigure and snap. She could have sworn she saw red.

Y/n blinked. It was gone.

Screw this. Screw it all. She was tempted to call the directors, to demand a chance to show something different, but it wasn't possible. No. She could not let her fantasies get in the way of what she needed to save herself from losing it all.

Y/n looked at the piece a final time, trying to find a glimmer of anything besides LeRoy, besides her trauma and fear. There was none.

She wished she could push the damn thing over and shatter it into a thousand pieces.