Chapter Text
You wake up with a jolt.
You take a moment to catch your breath, before glancing over at your alarm.
4:47 AM this time.
You sigh, as you rub your face with shaky hands. You can't tell the sweat on your face from tears, but the sting behind your eyes is a good indicator that you've been crying. Besides the throbbing in your head, of course.
It's definitely too late to go back to sleep now. You have to go to work in a few hours anyway. You're thirsty. In great need of a shower, too. Going back to sleep wouldn't have been easy anyway, even if you had the time. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, in the aftermath of your nightmare.
You can never quite recall them after you wake up. Only the feeling of terror remains in your body, coursing through your veins and shortening your breath, with little to no memories attached.
Not that you're curious by any means.
You have little doubt of what your subconscious is playing on repeat for you every night.
4:49 AM now.
With another sigh, you shake off your blanket. Your bare feet make contact with your cold, wooden floor. You slowly drag your body into the bathroom, first to drink some water, and then to turn on your shower.
You don't really have the energy to shower. Then again you don't really have the energy for anything - but the customers won't like a smelly cashier. No one likes a smelly cashier, and they don't seem to like you much in the first place.
You should smile more.
That's what they're always telling you. Your boss is telling you the same thing.
What am I even paying you for?
That's what he often adds by the end of this particular reprimand, and it always confuses you, because he's paying you to stock shelves and sell groceries, you're pretty sure. Your contract doesn't say anything about smiling.
Smiling isn't going to fix the permanent bags under your eyes.
Besides, the pay is shit. If you had the guts, you'd tell him to raise your pay if he wants to see you smile so badly. Maybe you'd even quit and find a different job. Maybe even spit in his face and tell him to buzz off-
No.
That's not who you are. You're a nobody, and really, you ought to be grateful. No one else in this entire village would hire someone like you. Without this job, you'd still have no roof over your head. You don't want to give him another reason to fire you.
Or do you? If you lost your job you'd have nothing else left to lose. No purpose. No reason left to stay.
You could finally just…
You turn your faucet until cold water falls over your body, forcing your train of thought into a halt.
—
There's no reason to dwell on something so useless. You've come this far. You've survived this long. Shouldn't it count for something? Anything at all?
You look to the Hokage monument in the far distance on your way to work, almost as if you expect the carved, lifeless faces to somehow give you the answer.
They don't. Of course not. It'd be really fucking weird if they did.
You don't say anything as you enter your workplace. You let the door chime announce your arrival, as much as the sounds of your light footsteps, when you enter the break room.
Your boss barely acknowledges your presence, only with a light nod, not lifting his gaze from the paper he's reading.
Not that you want him to. You don't like being perceived in any way shape or form. Not by him, nor by anyone else. Actually, your favorite customers may just be the ones that barely even recognize your existence. You prefer it like that, because it's safe.
And yet.
Yet sometimes it makes you feel like you don't exist at all, and those are the times where you begin to think that maybe it'd be better if you really didn't - and then you have to ask yourself: how safe is it really?
You don't know the answer to that question either.
Work, sleep, nightmare, repeat. Eating, when you remember to do so. That's how it's been since you left that place behind. You're not sure how many years it's been since then. You only know that you were a child back then, and now you're not.
You should be happier now that you’re safe. But even though you no longer live in that wretched place, the misery still remains. It relentlessly follows you wherever you go.
It's there with every step, and breath you take. It's there in your nightmares, tying your stomach into knots with nausea, long after you wake up. It's in the mirror looking back at you; the dullness in your eyes and the bags beneath them.
But you don't see them. You pretend that you don't, and you avoid mirrors as best as you can. You push it to the back of your mind. You become Nobody. It's not sustainable, but you don't think about it. You don't have the energy to think about it.
Every day is the same. The same customers, the same reprimands and sullen looks, until you finally get to go home for the day.
To do it all over again tomorrow.
You should wash your sheets.
That's what you're always telling yourself once the front door shuts behind you, but you don't have the energy for that either, especially not on working days, and you're going to wake up bathed in sweat again tonight, so what's really the point?
You wake up at 2:03 AM this time. Then again at 3:42, before you give up. Your stomach growls in the shower.
When was the last time you ate?
—
It's raining cats and dogs on your way to work, making the shower you took feel like a waste in hindsight. Perhaps you should invest in an umbrella. At least it's a rather short walk from your apartment to your workplace.
You linger for a moment by the entrance, to glance at the Hokage monument. You can barely even make out their faces in this weather.
It's a slow day. It's always extra slow on Tuesdays, for some reason, and the heavy rain isn't helping. You likely won't be seeing any customers until it lets up. You don't like the slow days. It makes the hours drag on forever, and eight hours is already too long for your exhausted brain on most days.
You're almost dozing off behind the cash register, when the bell rings out by the entrance. You turn your head towards it on instinct, blinking your eyes awake as they land on a strange looking guy.
This guy is a shinobi. There's no doubt about it. Aside from the flak jacket that he's wearing, his eccentric style is a dead giveaway. Ninja always dress rather strange, but this guy is on a whole other level, with his green spandex suit, and orange leg warmers. Maybe he'd look a little less crazy if he wasn't also drenched from head to toe…
Actually no, you doubt that it would make much of a difference.
You've always found it kind of weird that they dress so loud. You're pretty sure that shinobi are supposed to be discreet, but most of them certainly don't look the part. Not that you would know the first thing about it.
You wish that you did. Shinobi would've been a good career path for you. It would've given you purpose. A higher purpose you could die for, and fast. It's what becomes of most orphans anyway. It makes you wish that you had stayed one.
"Hello!" The ninja greets you immediately, lingering by the entrance as if he's intruding. His voice comes out loud, and very jarring in contrast to the otherwise silent store, aside from the humming fridges lining most of the walls.
You offer a quiet 'hello' in return, feeling a little wary of the man and his unusual behavior. The last thing you expect him to do as he's walking towards you, is to stop right in front of you and then lower his head into a deep bow. The act makes a number of droplets fall onto the counter in front of you.
"Forgive me! I really only came in here to take shelter from the rain! In return for your hospitality, I shall make a purchase!" he announces, which obviously means that he is fully aware that this is a grocery store and not your home, so you're very confused on why he's treating it as such.
"You don't… have to," you mumble. Not that your boss is here to hear it. He's probably snoozing in his office, as he usually does on a dull day like this.
You personally don't care if this guy buys something or not. It's not going to make your lousy paycheck look any different. In fact, you'll rather he leaves as soon as possible. He's weirding you out.
You've dealt with your fair share of strange customers, but it's different like this, when you're all alone with him. Not that he appears very threatening at all, but it's the way that you can't quite predict him, that makes you nervous - plus the fact that he's a ninja. He could likely easily kill you.
Actually, if that's the worst-case scenario, then you suppose it isn't so bad.
As the drenched, young man stands straight, he looks at you, blinking his - upon closer inspection - rather large eyes.
"Such youthful generosity! But still, I will. Gai-sensei says that it is good to support the local economy- oh, goodness, I am dripping everywhere! So sorry!" His eyes dart around frantically, before landing on a bucket - one of the many scattered around the shop, to catch stray droplets leaking from the old roof. He rushes towards it, before attempting to wring out some of the water from his suit into it. You don't think it's going to help much.
"Gai-sensei also says that I should be more careful of my health! Which is the reason why I am seeking shelter at all - normally I would not let something so trivial as rainfall keep me from my training!" he says, as if it isn't literally storming outside. It's strange how he talks to you like you know each other; like you're supposed to automatically know who the fuck 'Gai-sensei' is.
It should be annoying, but it's not. Instead it feels oddly comforting, and that's what frightens you the most - how nice it feels to be conversed with in this manner. Like you’re someone familiar to him.
But you can't afford familiarity. It's not safe.
Fortunately he's just an overly friendly stranger.
You don't think you've ever seen him around these parts before. Not in this shop, at least. Surely you would've remembered if you had. Someone like him is bound to be memorable.
He must live in the center of the village. Most Leaf-nin do, it seems. You usually only get customers like him when they're returning from, or leaving for missions; the store being located fairly close to the main gate. Really, you had assumed that to be the case for this guy as well, but apparently he's all the way out here in the pouring rain to train.
This man continues to be impossible to predict, but what else is new?
And just when you finish that thought, he seems to finally give up on trying to make conversation with you, in favor of browsing the shelves and pantries for something to buy, like a normal customer. That within itself is unpredictable at this point, but you still find yourself sighing in relief at the silence that engulfs the tiny establishment once more.
It doesn't last very long.
"Uhm… I am at a loss for what to buy." He turns to you after a while. "Do you perhaps have any recommendations?"
A new haircut, a pair of tweezers-
"We sell umbrellas," you shrug, directing your gaze onto the bucket of umbrellas in various colors, standing next to the counter.
The young man kneels down to look through them in detail. You actually find yourself slightly amused for a change, with the way that his thick eyebrows pinch together in a concentrated frown, as if his life's mission suddenly changed into finding just the right umbrella.
"Do you have any in green?"
"No, that's our entire stock," you respond. Odd. The bucket seems to contain just about every color under the sun, except for green. That's a shame.
The man hums pensively before standing up. You feel small beneath his gaze, as he suddenly turns his attention on you.
"What is your favorite color?" he asks suddenly, and you stare up at him unblinking and confused. The question whacks you right out of your service-persona.
Why… would he ask you that? Why would he want to know? It's not an intimate question, but a weirdly personal one, and you can't understand why-
You must look as freaked out as you feel, or maybe it's your lack of response, but your distress seems to suddenly dawn on him, as his eyes go wide.
"Ah- sorry! That was a rather strange inquiry - I am unsure of what color to choose since I cannot get green, so I just thought that I could choose one with your favorite color instead!" He brings his hands up in a placating manner.
You swiftly turn your gaze from his face down into your lap, blood slowly rushing to your cheeks. You have no business judging this guy, or anyone for being weird. Your overreaction is embarrassing enough on its own, but you’re somehow even more embarrassed that he's being so nice about it.
"I don't really have a favorite color," you utter quietly, barely above a whisper. You're unsure of why you don't just pick a random color. It's not like it's a question where truth matters.
"Oh…" is all he says in return. You wince internally at the awkward silence that follows, your face burning with shame.
You have awkward encounters with customers on the daily, and it usually doesn't faze you like this. Perhaps it's the lively strangers' misplaced kindness that makes you ashamed, to make him sound so disappointed.
"Oh!" he suddenly says again, but in a much brighter tone, and you carefully lift your gaze to see him reaching for the box of protein bars next to the cash register.
"This is perfect! I will have the entire box, please and thank you!" His smile lights up the whole store, and you feel a little lighter too; grateful for the change in subject, as you take the box and begin to count its contents.
You're not even surprised at this point. Of course he'd buy a whole box of protein bars, of all things. In a weird roundabout way, his unpredictable behavior is starting to become… well, predictable.
He's so odd.
It's kind of endearing.
Wait, what?
You shake your head at the thought, getting yourself so distracted that you accidentally lose count. You halt, squinting your eyes as you try to recall the number, but it's no use. You sigh, as you prepare to start over-
"27!" the stranger shouts, and you look up to discover his face alarmingly close, as he's leaning over the register to apparently count along with you.
He takes a step back when he meets your widening gaze, his cheeks darkening ever so slightly.
"Uh, sorry- I mean, you made it to 27!"
You quickly redirect your eyes back onto the pile of protein bars. "Right… thanks," you answer quietly, face heating up again.
"...44." You count the last one. "That'll be 2.950 ryō," you wince internally, as you say it out loud. That's quite a bit to spend on a whim. The young man doesn't hesitate to locate his wallet though. He digs through it for quite a while, his tongue poking out slightly and his eyebrows pinched together in concentration, much like before.
You barely even register it yourself, the way the corners of your mouth tug up into a smile upon seeing his silly expression - not until he does, anyway.
After he places the exact amount of ryō down in front of you, his eyes land on your face. "Pleasure doing business wit-" he trails off mid-sentence, his smile slowly fading into a look of what you can only describe as astonishment. That's when you suddenly become aware of the stretch in your cheeks, and your smile disappears as quickly as it had arrived.
You shrink into your chair, as you ponder his reaction. Perhaps your real smile is as ugly as your fake one. You don't remember what it looks like, to be frank.
He just… Continues to stare for a long amount of time, way beyond what is comfortable. Finally he blinks his large eyes, as if coming out of a trance.
"S-Sorry! I- you, uh, sorry for staring, it is just that you…" He stumbles over his words. Then he gulps, before opening his mouth to speak again.
"Have we met before?"