#tw yuak's shitty parents

[anyaaforger]

All the things you do in vain

Part 1: The Art

Summary: There are so many things you do in vain, so many things you regret and so many things you can't let go off.

Warnings: Character study, angst, second person pov, transphobia (subtle)

A/N: this took way too long, way too fucking long. i can't believe I had to suffer all this miserary for 800 something words, part 2 is probably gonna be about yuka + their gender also I hope 2nd pov doesn't throw anyone off, anyways enjoy besties <333

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It was sunny that day, too sunny if anything. It was harsh, the sunlight that is like it wanted to melt your entire being. And the birds were chirping, too loud, like they wanted to burst your eardrums. You were in pain that day when you were walking home, it was probably because of the harsh sunlight and the loud chirping of the birds.

No, that wasn’t it, those were just excuses. You were just guilty, extremely guilty.

When you reached home the house was silent, your parents were off at work and your grandma was probably taking a nap. Good, no one would know that you came back earlier than you were supposed to.

Japanese art, that’s what you had dedicated your entire life to. You had deceived yourself in middle school to believe that this is what you wanted and this is what you loved. So you spent your entire life working hard to make your art look worthwhile. You spent all that time and energy so that your parents wouldn’t look down on you and wouldn’t whisper about having a failure of a son while you were standing behind the door listening to them, trying not to sob out loud.

That night you had dinner with your family after a long time. It was you, your parents and your grandmother sitting at a table, two lights above the table illuminating the food, the rest of the room was dark. You had mumbled “good.” when your mother asked you how your exam went and your grandmother smiled at you, reaching under the table to squeeze your hand and in return you smiled at her. Because what else were you supposed to do.

That same night you couldn’t fall asleep, so you sneaked out of the house. You went to the convenience store three blocks down and got yourself an ice cream. It was strawberry flavoured, coloured bright pink and tasted sweet on your tongue.

A boy had walked up to you when you were halfway through your ice cream, nibbling at the edge of the cone. He was taller than you, but probably not by much. His dark hair sat on his head in a messy mop and he had a toothy grin that you’d imagine many girls would find attractive, he didn’t have a lot of muscle but he was plenty lean, another trait you’d imagine would be popular with other girls. He asked you what a pretty girl like you was doing out so late at night. You stared at him for a few seconds maybe a minute or two.

“I’m a boy,” you told him.

He laughed, it was a hearty laugh with his head tilted back. He looked back at you “You’re funny,” he said and you smiled too “Thanks.” You chatted for a bit, he was a nice guy. He told you he’s just got into university, a literature student who loved the horror genre, you told him you were an arts student, specifically Japanese art and he replied with an excited “That’s so awesome,” and the conversation moved on, maybe he didn’t realize that you spoke in past tense that you weren’t an arts student anymore. You talked for a bit more before he said he had to leave, asking you to exchange numbers with him, so you indulged him and exchanged numbers. You blocked his number when you sneaked back into your house, it was pointless anyway.

Your parents found out about the exam, about the “X” you drew when you walked out. You stared at your empty room, nothing, there was nothing there, you were stripped naked.

There was nothing there.

You felt the sting on your cheek when your father slapped you and heard your heart shatter when he told you to go back to normal. You suffocated yourself in the blankets, the only part of your room that wasn’t scentless, “I should just run away,” you mumbled. You should’ve run away a long time ago, the day when your father had burned the new dress you got or when your mother almost cut your hair in your sleep.

There was a knock on the door, “Mother!” someone called out. You stood up to open the door, your grandmother was standing there, a huge bag in her hands, it covered her entire body.

“Yuka-chan, this is important right?”

It was, but you didn’t want it to be. You wanted to burn it, but you wanted to treasure it. You were crying, you were desperate, you wish your grandmother hadn’t bought them back then maybe you would have an excuse to run away, but now you can’t.

Yaguchi Yaotora was a strange person, you didn’t understand him and he didn’t understand you, but you didn’t want to die and you were grateful that he made you realize that. When you were butt-naked drawing yourself, a single shade dividing you and the person who could never understand you.