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Ballerina

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"You see your baby loves to dance"

 

 

There you were dancing again. Dancing to the swaying of the leaves, the feeling of life and a kunai spinning through your fingers. I remember asking you to stop playing with that sharp thing in your hands, saying I didn't want to be sliced, smiling ironically, but you paid me no mind.

Most of the time, you went on monologues about your teammates and types of weaponry and I listened to it. You danced carelessly and I drew foolish things. Even though none of them were you, whenever I happened to draw bears in brown ink you got angry, yelling that I was making fun of your buns.

We sat side by side on the tree branches and sometimes you would lean against me, nose marking invisible shapes on my shoulder. Then you’d press your lips to mine and it’d be over as soon as it started.

"You and Neji are a bit alike, you know? He paints bloody pictures in battle and you paint things on your notebooks," you’d tell me. You're so spontaneous, Tenten, and you have a tendency to compare things so much, I sometimes wish you didn’t.

Apart from the comparisons and the sharp blades, you also liked camellias, cinnamon and dancing. You loved to dance surrounded by camellias.

On days where there we no missions, we’d go out at your insistence and end up somewhere getting wasted until the middle of the night. On the way back, barefoot and holding your sandals in your hands, you’d laugh and say you wanted to dance more. It was then, in your drunken stupor, finding everything and nothing too hilarious, that you’d hold one of my hands and raise it in the air, swirling around me and inviting me to dance with you until morning. I’d just shake my head and let out a little laugh; after all, I still had some dignity to keep for myself.