𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐎: Naruto next generations | 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

✎『Inojin x Reader』✎

INOJIN STARED AT THE MESS INFRONT OF HIM. His once-organised studio had turned into an outlet of his frustration. Cups of water and brushes toppled off their shelves as bottles from his painting rack scattered to the floor. It was an array of colours, colours that Inojin was growing sick of. Yellow paint leaked from one of the containers, escaping from the bottle and seeping into his bedrooms wooden flooring. But the boy didn't do anything, he simply slumped to the ground, defeated. All that was left untouched in his room was the canvas stand, holding the image of a landscape, the root to his frustration.

It was remarkable for someone of his age, the fine details and precise textures resembling that of a professional and yet, Inojin saw nothing. He didn't see the precise strokes of paint, the fine details and perfectly matched colour coding he put into the drawing, all he saw was another bland piece of paper he dared to call "art". The young boy hugged his knees to his chest, a sense of embarrassment overwhelming him. When was the last time he threw a tantrum? When he was five? The artist felt even more pathetic when looking back at the picture.

It now had a large, dark ink splatter smeared across its surface, ruining the detailed tulips underneath them. Now...now he certainly had something to complain about. A sigh pressed his pale lips, deciding that it was time to grow up and get back to his feet. Inojin began picking up his supplies from the floor, and placing them back to their rightful stations. A solemn look never seemed to wipe from him for Inojin felt robbed of the very thing that made him, art. No matter what he drew, or what he did, everything turned out bland. Perhaps he was lacking inspiration? Perhaps he's just going through another art block...

He shook his head, disagreeing with himself. Even when going through those things, why is it now that everything looks so dull?

"Inojin, is everything alright up there?" Suddenly, a feminine voice called from downstairs. It was his mother, Ino. Inojin cursed to himself lightly, she must've heard all the commotion from downstairs, so he quickly peered from is doorframe and replied "Yeah, I'm alright! I just..." His eyes wandered across his small room, looking for an excuse. That was when he saw the yellow paint stain on his floor "...knocked over some stuff, that's all." A small pause was heard shortly after, Ino seemed to buy it as she let him be, not before chirping in with a little "okay, but you better have not have spilt anything!" And just like that, Inojin had another thing to worry about.

—•—

This wasn't the first time Inojin had stained something, and he doubt it would be the last. He was an artist, how could he not make a little mess? Well, apparently that wasn't a good enough excuse for his mum was getting tired of it. So tired that she had the need to threaten him with a beating if any more furniture got ruined. That threat alone was enough to send him bolting down the street, in search for the nearest art store for some bleach. He at first, thought of getting the supplies from the kitchen sink, but then realised that his mum would catch him in a heartbeat.

'It was hard enough to sneak out of the window undetected' Inojin thought as he kicked a pebble infront of him with frustration. All of the pocket money he saved for the newest ninja cards now had to go to waste for some stupid bleach! All because of a little mess! His crappy situation wasn't helped as his money jingled in his fishnet pockets, a constant reminder.

This. Sucks.

Before Inojin knew it, he had finally found what he was looking for, the art store. It was a modest shop, the pristine white walls looking just a little too bright in the suns reflection. Rows of watercolour paints and acrylics lined up the display shelves as a clear sign of what the store specialised in. Perfect, from what he could see through the glass windows, there were barely any people inside meaning that he can make a quick pit-stop and a clean escape.