Konoha's Flower

Chapter One

I do not own Naruto

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"Finally." She mumbles to herself as she picks up the stuffed lion off the floor and tosses it towards a brown, wooden chest filled with plastic ninja tools and multi-colored building blocks. It hits the edge of the crate, slumping onto the floor with a small thud.

Close enough, she thought as she shrugs her shoulders before turning around to face the pile of blankets laid on the bed: all knotted and looped together into one awful twined sheet more than double the size of the room she's cleaning. But to be fair, it isn't that big of a room: five steps from the door to the twin-sized bed, which fit perfectly against three walls; a long chest adjacent to those said items, and a desk opposite from the bed, two or three-ish short steps away from each other.

In her opinion, the room is rather cute but ill-suited for the five-year-old-turning-six boy who occupies it, offering no space and, therefore, no chance of him having a clean room. His stuffed animals, pillows, twine blankets alone hoard most of the floor when his bed is undone, occupying most of the day or for consecutive days since his parents are often away on missions and his grandfather is too carefree and too kindhearted towards his only grandson. Hence the poorly used blankets, but that too is only her opinion.

The little boy, turning six, insisted on knotting the blankets together so he could roll himself into 'an overstuffed spring roll.' Yet, a regular, large blanket would have the same effect, so this idea of his, at least to her, is a bit too excessive, but let it be a start to attempting a good fort for it to have any meaningful value. But that's not what's important.

She's standing in the middle of his room, watching the same sheets rise and fall ever so slightly that if she had not known it was one past noon—the boy's naptime—there's an off chance she would have missed it: days like these were rare to come by; a five-year-old going on six is too loud and too energetic for a burned-out, sleep-deprived genin, who dozes off, retreating far into her head at any opportunity.

She had managed to sleep for six hours—three more than yesterday—but was, somehow, more tired today out of the whole week; a mild flaring sensation felt from her eyes as though she had been wandering through fumes was a clear indication of her tiredness aside from her creasing yawning. The inconsistency annoyed her, but she couldn't help but consider she was "feeling the effects, only delayed."

These thoughts made her yawn again, clasping her hands against her lips while feeling the bottom of her eyes tear up. She wipes the built-up water away and blinks hard, fixating her sight back onto the pile of blankets.

Why am I here again? She questions. Her mind, drawing blank till the blankets twitch to one side before settling back to the same steady motion of up and down. And up and down, and up and down. Over and over. She sighs, closing her eyes in the process: He's going to suffocate himself.

You're suffocating, too, remember?

She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip, furrowing her brows downward as she makes her way closer to the bed. She grips the layers of blankets, maybe four or five, and with a swift hand, she yanks the sheets onto the floor, revealing a small boy curled up in a ball with his head buried into the pillow he is hugging.

She could see him wince a bit, probably from the sudden cool air.

It must be nice to take a nap—she rubs her own eyes with her left hand, feeling another urge to yawn, but she refused while her eyelids slowly close and her head tilts down—Maybe I can take a nap, too? She jerks up. Immediately, shaking her head at her own idea: knowing it would further mess with her sleep schedule, just like the time she had stayed up till seven-thirty.