Yaguchi x y/n

Blank Canvas

Y/N POV
I am standing in the kitchen, my father is yelling at me.
"why can't you just get a job! A nice sturdy, well-paying job!"
I just want to crawl into a ball. His voice frightens me, makes my head feel like it's splitting.

Suddenly I feel cold liquid splashing on my head. My father is standing over me with the water pitcher. I realize now that what was happening in the kitchen was only a dream, but it feels so real. My parents have hated me ever since I have even suggested that I wanted to pursue a career in art. The only one who has supported me was my uncle. In fact he was the one who taught me how to draw in the first place.

-FLASHBACK

"It's ok, y/n. It doesn't have to be perfect. Art is about how it feels, not just how it looks. What you need to do is find a way to put your feelings on the canvas and give that feeling to someone else."
Says my uncle, as he guides my hand across the canvas.
"I don't feel anything though." I say. I give up and walk away, my uncle's feelings obviously hurt.

He would try again from time to time for me to pick up the skill, but I never really got into it until I was 10. When I found out what I was missing, my uncle had passed away. But he had left all his art supplies for me, in hopes that I would someday recognize my passion.

-END OF FLASHBACK-