The morning greets him abruptly—painful and sudden—an omen for the rest of his day. Sitting up, he stretches to relieve at least the pressure in his spine. He hears the jarring click, pop and melts back into a slump. Forlornly, he thinks it'll be a while before the pressure on his shoulders even lessens. But that's okay! It's been that way practically all his life and, especially for him, there's no greater friend than familiarity.
He shoots a quick, offended glare at his blinds as they continue streaming sunlight, hoping he can rack up as much money as possible from these endless D-ranks to get a new set. He hopes even harder for him to finally be released from medical probation. Stupid Granny Tsuande and stupid mandatory check-ups. I never let anything get in the way of my missions so it's fine, believe it!
Fighting off the last of his sleep, he kicks his legs out to fully wake up. Only for him to fall straight to the floor face-first. Just great. Struggling out of his linen snare, he finally regains control of his right leg. He hums triumphantly and begins, more methodically this time, trying to untangle himself from his own knotted sheets. Somehow, he only ends up worse than he started. Puzzles really never were his forte.
After hours of useless struggling, he does what all Hokage-grade ninja would do caught in such a sinister trap: he panics. Flailing his limbs frantically, his only goal is to escape. And so, when his hands grip something solid, he tugs. It does the trick; he's sitting up now, almost completely free. Except, maybe now it would be better to just hide beneath the covers again.
In front of him is his mirror, smudged red and cracked in some places, scribbled over in others. And, in his hands, is the cloth he'd been covering it with. Sitting on the floor, he's too low for any of the mess to hide his reflection. So, he stares in fear at his own, unfamiliar reflection. Gets caught in his striking (unnatural) blue eyes. Traces his fingers along those jagged (monstrous) scars. Rakes his gaze down his gaunt (ugly) form. The tears form again as he's reminded of everything the villagers hate about him—everything he's come to hate about himself.
Looking at the mirror
always brings such great shame.
And because I've always been selfish,
I avoid my reflection to shy away from pain.
He shakes his head and decides today's not the day. Today, he's going to mend an old lady's garden. Today, he's going to get yelled at for pulling out flowers instead of weeds, even though he knows the difference. Today, he's going to get noticeably underpaid and walk home hungry. Today, he'll greet an empty house. No. Stupid thoughts, stupid village, stupid stupid stupid! Most of these things, he can't control so it's better if he just accepts them already. But! He has friends now. He has friends that he knows are free today—that he knows will visit with the promise of a game night and free ramen.
And so, hours later, covered in dirt and well-concealed bruises and cuts, he's sitting at his table, across his recently wiped mirror, surrounded by all of his friends. Almost. Almost all of his friends. Thinking about Sasuke is still the only thing that hurts enough for him to stop smiling. But he hides it quickly enough because that's what his friends know him for and what they like about him. And Naruto just likes when they like him.
Sakura yells at him for tracking in mud, Kiba shouts more than he laughs, Hinata passes out at least four times, and Shikamaru sighs through it all. Privately, Naruto tends to agree with his pained noises, but he's not really in a position to do so out loud. So, instead, he just laughs a little harder, pushes Shikamaru to have some fun for once, and resolutely ignores the saddened, knowing gaze of his best friend. Overall, though, it's a great time.
He thinks back to this morning accidentally when Kiba gets caught in his sheets. It's not just me then! That dumb blanket is cursed! He chances a hesitant, quick glance over to his mirror and hopes to kami no one catches the look. He had to keep it uncovered for when his guests come over because the last thing he needs is for them to worry—or, worse but far more likely, to question. He knows it's a bad idea, knows what he's going to see, but it's too late to stop the motion.
But sometimes I catch subtle glimpses of myself
when I let my guard down.
The cracks on my mirror soften their edges
As do the corners of my frown.
He startles at the person he sees looking back. His posture is relaxed and soft, contrary to the fighting poses he practices sometimes. His smile is barely there, but more real than any of the ones he practices each morning. He seems—not exactly happy, won't be until he gets Sasuke back—but content to exist in this moment.
I lean in closer to get a better impression,
And around the cracks, I see pieces of my expression:
He must be staring longer than he'd thought, because the room has quieted down before he noticed something was off. He felt the tightly wound tension, though—recognized it, even. It's the same feeling he gets when villagers flinch away from him or scream obscenities at him in the streets. He feels, once again, like the odd one out, called out for being dangerously different.
But he's not the same boy right now. He can't be the demon boy with that wistful smile, calm look, and fed body. This boy looks well-fed, well-kept, well-loved. And N̶a̶r̶u̶t̶o̶ the demon boy is none of those things.
All my features eased,
a result of temporary calm.
And a tiny hint of a smile,
soothing me inside like a balm.
He whips his head around the room suddenly in a frantic, desperate motion, as if he was looking for the small demon boy. Has the village gotten its wish? Secretly, he wonders if he got his. Is Uzumaki Naruto finally no more? It sure seems that way with the way everyone's gawking at him like he's some stranger. Is it possible? Quickly, Naruto stares back at the mirror. He cracks a smile that cracks a little more towards desperation. He doesn't care, though. It's more real than any of the ear-splitting grins he'd worn before.
And the sight is so welcome,
So rare and sought after
That I allow myself a second glance
And startle at my own laughter.
The stares say what he'd expected, more than he'd wished with the way he can't recognize the glimmering something in their eyes, or the frantic gesture of Sakura's hand as she swipes at her face. All of this was suddenly so new, and he was happy for it. His whole life, Naruto had wished for it all to be different and now, all of a sudden, it was. And all thanks to Kiba! Who would've known?!
My greed gets the better of me then,
And I want the moment to last.
So, I stretch it out however I can,
Trying to recall the past.
I drown myself in the scent of roses,
And melt under my shower,
Simply swaying and existing,
Content with myself for that unprecedented hour
The gentle pull of the hair comb
is alien to me.
As is the soft caresses of my skirt
for so long just a memory.
I dress myself up all pretty
And blow the mirror a kiss.
Anything to believe that I deserve this.