ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ
ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ ɪɴꜰʟᴜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏɴ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ
ᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ʙᴇᴀᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘🍥༓🍥∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
"Have some fun and loosen up, Uzumaki! What fun is it to live if all you live in is fear?"
Y/n Hakura...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
"ANOTHER ONE! Why did it have to be another one, dattebayo!" The front door slammed behind him, his mind tired with the day's remaining scraps of the rushing cycle. "It could've been a million things, an S-rank mission, a delivery, help with village work. Anything!"
Naruto stomped into the kitchen. He jerked, snatching a random ramen cup out of his cupboard's ultimate stash, also indirectly seizing what little bit left of calm he could snag. Spotted Styrofoam read Ichiraku Ramen on its front in faded pigments—the purest and most scrumptious answer to sour moods.
The oven snapped and clicked as curt fingers whirled on stovetop's button, a single back burner's cherry glow obscured under a water-swishing kettle.
"I won't do it. No! Not anymore!" Naruto pulled out a kitchen chair and huffed into it, his fist releasing a crumpled paper shaping inside his grip. He flattened it on the table. "I mean, it's utterly ridiculous that I have to take a test for Tsunade baa-chan all because she wants to see where we're at." His bottom lip jutted. "I promised myself it would never come to this again. I passed the Academy and got my headband from Iruka-sensei. Wasn't that enough?"
Challenging days in younger years haunted in deterring ways, whirling through the air and through the center of his strained forehead to his brain.
When Yamato said for Team 7 to meet at the training grounds for an early morning meeting, getting handed a dull-cream piece of paper lined with the worst principal's office smell you'd ever thought possible, it wasn't what he had in mind. Reading those horrible words. Those ten sickly letters penned in cumbersome, chunky fonts; bold letters too awfully padded for the looking eye to miss.
"𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒."
Yep. School's ghosts were coming back to haunt him—no pit stops, and no mercy.
