𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 (𝓖𝓸𝓳𝓸 𝔁 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻)

.｡*♡ Y/n L/n .｡*♡

word count: 1,354

atelophobia (n.) the fear of imperfection. the fear of never being good enough

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November 14: 25 days until exhibit 

Y/n watched the sea of passersby from the studio's large window. It was about eight o'clock and the sky had become orange and purple from the setting sun.

Oasis was pretty much empty, aside from a customer being assisted by Jiro at the front desk.

From the time she'd spoken to Satoru, she had opted for painting, finding it hard to touch any form of clay. She set her brush down in thought. Had they truly spoken? Perhaps argued? Something of that sort. It was just another thing to make her life more complicated. Just like everything else, as Satoru had said.

When faced with problems, she always felt the tug to be independent, fearing that another would drag her down the same way LeRoy did. Trapping her in a shitty apartment in LA, working an office job, never pursuing her dreams. Of course, lacking in dependence did lead to unwise impulses, such as renting out a studio across the ocean, like trying to juggle her whole life without having an outlet to escape. She always felt inferior, never wanting to ask for help. Now here she was, about to have those very dreams ripped away from her due to low demand. Due to her silence.

If only she had told this to Satoru. Maybe he could have helped her instead of keeping him in the dark, blindly following her without so much as a question.

Always following her. Always holding on to every word she said. Oh Satoru...

She felt a festering guilt in her heart from that day.

When Satoru had turned to meet her gaze, hoping for something, she new nothing good would come out of their conversation. And she was right.

In the moment, she had let fear conquer her, shrinking away as Gojo's frustration overwhelmed everything.

She knew that the sorcerer was bad at expressing himself, but it was the mention of LeRoy that sent her over the edge into a strange spiral of fear and relapse. She had panicked.

As much as it hurt to say, she knew that in some ways Gojo was right. It was just jarring to hear from another soul, let alone one that cared for her so much. Granted, she had no clue why.

She felt... something towards Satoru. So why couldn't she just let go?

After being labeled as the leftovers, as one who will never be good enough, it was hard for the woman to comprehend another liking her for who she was. It was an irrational fear for here, developing into an anxiety of some sort. It stuck to her mind and her heart. It scared her.

She looked up from the paint in realization. That was why.

Love scared her.

She grabbed her cup of tea from the counter and slowly brought it to her lips, letting the lukewarm bitterness wash over her tongue.

Three weeks.

Three weeks had gone by since she saw him. She thought of calling Gojo, but hesitated. Was it a good time? She didn't know. So many conflicts were swimming in her head and she had no clue how to solve any of them.

Y/n looked up to see the customer exiting the studio, leaving just her and Jiro.

"We're going out, Jiro," she called to him. "My treat."