Sunday is blueberry-dye
The color of her hair.
Hinata studies the reflection in the mirror, staring back into her seemingly irisless, pallid eyes.
She's perfect yet diverges, the space between her eyebrows drawing in closer only to crinkle at her own visage. Barely audible scowls and whines whimper from her direction as she presses her fingertips under her eyes following down to her chin. Hinata sees imperfections and I see my future, but all the reassurance in the world couldn't convince her. When she finally closes her eyes, the glass replica mimics as it rakes a hand through its damp tendrils, starting from its roots and approximately twenty inches down. Uneven frays start to brush against her elbows as nails comb, the ends of her hair sprinkling tiny water particles against her already chilled skin. It's an indigo color almost—as if someone took a bucket of freshly pressed blueberries and dunked her locks into it.
Funny though, it had the vague fragrance of vanilla.
With an elbow dug into the bed sheets, I prop my chin in the palm of my right hand and lie flat on my stomach, kicking my legs alternatively back and forth. I fall a little more in love with Hinata when I catch her in small moments, when she's oblivious to my gaze and she's mine and mine alone. Times where she'll absently twirl a strand of hair between her fingers or even her fingers in her fingers. There's just something so utterly beautiful about a person who is lost in a thought, or adjusting their shirt, or is scratching a phantom itch on their arm, or even someone who is looking at someone else like I was looking at her.
Not that I wanted someone to look at her the way I looked at her.
I had nearly dozed off again when there was a knock at the front rail. Without raising my head, I respond with a short hum. A meek whisper answers me this time, softly hushing a warm, "Naruto, you're still awake, right?" The voice pauses briefly for an answer, but continues shortly anyway. "Why don't we head downstairs? I'll make those waffles you really like so, let's eat breakfast together, okay?"
Ah, sweet Lord.
Trying to hide my smile, I cross my arms and dig my face into them, muttering a stubborn, "Don't want to."
Though, Hinata takes me seriously and frowns with eyes drooped like a Basset Hound's, shaking my arm a little in hope of getting me out of bed. I dangle a bit, but, in the end, her notions were futile. It wasn't that I minded getting up and ready; in fact, I loved how the morning rise left orange over my already tanned skin and the sweet whistling of the wind as it passes through tree branches. Perhaps, it was just—just maybe— that I love teasing my Hinata. I love Hinata period. I really, really love Hinata. Yeah, that was probably it.
But, of course, my Hinata didn't know that.
Despite her failed attempts, her eyes shimmer as if some sort of bell rang and a diabolical inkling sparked like Fourth of July fireworks. "Does our little princess still need her beauty sleep?" she attempts to question in an aloof manner, albeit the giggles that tickle at her throat.
I twitch at the question, jolting up in front of Hinata to show my teeth. "Why you..." I begin, my words enunciated and dragged.
With my head hung low, my dandelion fringe overcasts my eyes and my nose points sharply at my prey. Hinata gulps at this in regret; not regretting enough to take back what she said, but still, nevertheless, regrets. With one quick swift, I latch onto Hinata's wrist and pull her down to my level and onto the drool-stained mattress—obviously not in the fault of Naruto Uzumaki—mustering something along the lines of "I've caught you now."
"Oh, no!" Hinata flails her arms out to the Heavens and cries out dramatically monotone, presenting her rather poor acting skills. "It's as if...it's as if...Princess Peach transformed into Bowser!"
Oh, my God. She didn't.
I died a little inside, holding my sweetheart's face softly in my palms. "H-Honey, you know I love you," My voice shakes, teeth clenched firmly on my bottom lip, "but promise me you'll never take up acting nor do stand-up comedy, alright?" I finally break into laughter, snorts squeezing their way into the process here and there. In contrast, Hinata groans, patting (or rather punching) my shoulder to let her go, but the grip was just too hard and my luck of breathing was even harder.
"You're mean!" Hinata whines, pouting into my chest, as if I could see it. No, I could only wish.
Sunday is burleywood
The scent of his chest.
I hated how much I loved him—not really; just during times like these. It just might have been the fact that I just loved Naruto too much. Things like having my arms being glued against Naruto's body and not budging a bit even though I had made my frustration quite clear and the fact that I'd been breathing more than usual just to take in his 7:00 AM Burleywood Scent were clear evidence of that. Shaking the thought, I attempt to sneak a peek at his face, but fail, seeing that he was already staring down at me.
"You're cute," Naruto suddenly fires, kissing my head—then eyes. My ears, nose, cheeks, chin, and finally, my lips.
That sly fox.
I boo, subconsciously kissing him back. "Stop it. I'm not supposed to like you right now."
Smiles strike at Naruto's lips like tomahawks. It must have been contagious because no matter how hard I tried to fight it off, that same, stupid smile started creeping up on me, too. Naruto pushes me at arm's distance and quickly pecks my lips again—probably too quickly. "So, you do like me?" He asks, pulling me back illogically close to him.
"W-When haven't I?" I stammer, saying something bolder than I usually would. Naruto covers his mouth before shouting a muffled gasp and poking my pale-complected right cheek. He questions my question and I tell him he wasn't mistaken, which was, more or less, probably something I shouldn't have done. Burying his face into my chest, he giggles like a love-struck child.
I sigh. Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to be mad at him anymore; "He's kind of cute," I can't help but think. Without realizing, my nails were already starting to comb through his crazy, mane-like hair. I glow at the texture; it was still soft due to the fact that it was too early in the morning for him to put any styling products in it yet. In time, my fingers trail down his face and under his chin, lifting it up so I could savor this moment all for myself.
"Something wrong?" Naruto asks, gazing at me with half-opened eyes from the comfort of my hands.
I shake my head. "I like wasting my time staring at your beautiful face," I tell him, happy that I was finally able to tell him something honestly. Naruto closes his eyes fully now, tilting his head against my palm so that I was now cupping his face. Seeing this made my heart tighten a little, as if it was squealing the squeal I couldn't at the moment. I wanted to hold him tightly in my arms, but couldn't bear to ruin this picturesque snapshot. Instead, I kissed him like a fool.
Like the fool that I was for him.
► Disclaimer
Masashi Kishimoto is the proud owner of NARUTO. Sadly, I am not.
► Affiliates
I should probably get to know people first.
► © Copyright
2012 by SimpleTea unless stated otherwise. Yes, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing form from the publisher, except a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection to a review for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast. Like that would happen.