TADASHI X READER things [COMPLETE]

Story 55--Tugging at my heartstrings (1)

Guide:

(Y/N): Your Name

(A.N. Tell me if you want this turned into an actual book--I might! I was thinking about this through, but...that would mean one of my other Tadashi X Reader stories might be off the charts for a bit. Maybe "Conflicted"? Maybe "Real or Not Real"? I can't have too many in-progress stories here anymore...so I might do a Word doc before uploading the story up here. Maybe. But just let me know.)

THUD!

The momentary lift in the air suddenly ended as your right arm made contact with the cement below you. Wincing in pain, you lifted your head to see your uncle retreat briefly back into the condo you have only called your home for a few years, grabbing your guitar and throwing that out of the door after you, the instrument spinning in the air briefly before you lifted an arm and caught it in, pulling it in close to your body. Then your bag, then your clothes...item after item you caught and blocked with your body before you came face-to-face with your despicable Uncle Claude.

"I have HAD it with you, (Y/N)!" Uncle Claude screamed, his eyes literally on fire. "You should have been grateful for all those years I kept you under your roof! Now you fight back at me? You dare talk back, argue with me? You dare resist me?!"

You struggled to get up, holding your guitar close--the last relic of your mom and dad before they died in an accident. "Look, I don't give a goddamn crap about you," you seethed, your teeth set in a grit. "Yes, you kept a roof over my head. But your walls have trapped me. Why can't I just go out and explore the world, go to school and hang out with friends like normal teenagers do? Why can't I just make my own choices? Why do I have to follow yours? Do I really have to live up to your expectations?"

"You and your stupid questions!" your uncle roared, throwing down your stack of composed music--ones that you have written for yourself and for your entry to the San Fransokyo Music School. "You want to do music? It's not going to get you anywhere! Now don't come pouting and whining at me when you realized just how low you would sink without me!"

"Oh really?" you challenged. "What is it about music that makes you so--"

"ENOUGH!" he screamed. "I have had enough of your stupid musical dream! It's never going to happen!" He stomped back to the house now, not bothering to look back once, before slamming the door behind him. 

You stared down at your belongings, the pain in your arm intensifying with every passing second, the anger in you multiplying over and over within you as you pulled your guitar closer to you. It was your last reminder of your parents, who taught you how to play it and bring so much life to any family and friendly gathering...and then here went your uncle, who was trying to stop you from pursuing your music career ever since you stepped foot in his house. Yes, you were fortunate he was offering you food. But not so fortunate that your relationship with him had to end like this.

"Oh just you wait and see," you growled, picking up your clothes and bag and guitar and walking to the closest alley before yawning and falling asleep. And for the first time, you dreamed of happier times with your parents, while they were still alive and well.

"We love you, (Y/N)," they kept whispering to you. "Don't give up."

**************

For the next few days, you tried to make your living by playing the guitar on the streets. Come on, it was the only way for you to survive, no thanks to your uncle who threw you out. The more you tried, the less successful the outcome. Few people were only so grateful to give you pennies and maybe a few dollar bills, but in the end, you barely made any money. Not enough to even buy yourself a loaf of bread.