[There's. A beat of silence. Before the stone room rings with a brief, startled laugh. It's almost certainly too loud for Akira's poor head, but Mikuni can't help it. He's the least Konoha-like jinba there is anywhere, probably.]
Don't flatter me so.
[Leaning over, he plucks the pillow out of Akira's hands. The long black hair falling over his shoulders certainly does not belong to Konoha; it's more or less his trademark.]
And it's soup. Did she really make you porridge? That's sweet.
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Don't flatter me so.
[Leaning over, he plucks the pillow out of Akira's hands. The long black hair falling over his shoulders certainly does not belong to Konoha; it's more or less his trademark.]
And it's soup. Did she really make you porridge? That's sweet.