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...
that way, I get to see you sooner than if I stayed up] ˎˊ˗
︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶
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A day done and a mission complete―an accomplishment as satisfying every time.
You walked in, leaving the busting, cramming outside behind, the jingling of keys in your pocket a trophy of hard work as you shut the apartment door.
Typical guarding mission today. Not too hard, not too strenuous. Tiring all the same. Your employer had exaggerated about a "threatening" letter she received the other day, an old woman in velvet with years of longing to be classy wrinkling her face.
Come to find out, the letter she received wasn't a threat. More like a plea to please pay what she owed in overdue loans piling on her doorstep. The woman had kept the letter as proof to show her heinous trauma, of course, her smudged ruddy lipstick reading its penned words with a pre-conceived poison disposition like that of a shifty lawyer in a kangaroo court. That overbearing flower smell. Every piece of antique jewelry in her vanity decorating her neck and calloused fingers. Like someone had ripped her from a God of Shinobi era theater script.
However overdramatic the circumstances though, you'd completed the job all the same, getting the woman where she needed to be safely. It was your job. Easy and self-explanatory. People took advantage of that, though. Who and why they deemed it necessary to do so, you'd never get. There were more important things for shinobi to attend to than indulge in the pompous, fantastical dramatics of a fifty-four-year-old woman yearning for the life of a damsel in a TV drama wearing clogs.
You didn't know if you were being harsh. You didn't think so, at least. She was just an old woman; the problem being that's what she wanted you to think.
You rid the thought, not wanting to think of it anymore. The mission was done. You'd done your job, and that's all that mattered.
You turned from the door and stepped inside your home.
