Title: Waves
Claimer/Author: This story is written by and belongs to Emmy Kay.
Disclaimer: Naruto and all affiliated characters belong to Kishimoto Masashi. This story is written without permission and for personal/fan/nonprofit entertainment purposes only.
He startled her with his first touch. It was a little thing - just a light brush of her cheek, but she had jerked backward in surprise. He should have known better, should have inferred how unused to any personal, affectionate contact she was, given her family.
After her initial negative reaction, he was hesitant to touch her again. But Naruto was a tactile person, and couldn't stop the urge to touch things that interested him; much like children who could only learn through doing something over and over regardless of remonstration. He reached for her constantly, almost absent-mindedly; small gestures like patting the back of her hand, stroking a stray lock of her dark hair, touching the incredibly soft clothing she wore.
And Hinata learned to accept it, appreciate it as the gesture of reassurance it was intended to be. (For his reassurance and hers.)
Their first kiss was awkward, a little too rushed, a little too hard. They mashed their lips together, like they thought it should be from all the movies they had seen in all their lonely days. It wasn't as pleasant as the movies made it look. They should have known better, having learned enough about human anatomy to understand pressure; pain and pleasure. But they didn't. Neither one of them had ever done anything like that before.
They backed up and looked at each other soberly, wondering if they should try again.
Their next attempts were vastly improved.
One day, she made the mistake of approaching Naruto from behind. She should have known better.
He was seated, meditating. She was merely interested in catching his shoulder, wanting to point something out, to share something silly about her day. Her steps were silent, as befit a kunoichi of much training.
Naruto instinctively shied away from her shadow, and jerked swiftly out of her reach, hand on kunai, teeth bared, eyes narrowed defensively.
Some lessons were too hard learned to shake off easily.
Quietly, he put his kunai away. He leaned towards her, head hanging, his blue eyes regretful. She reached for him, her grey eyes accepting the silent apology.
Someday, maybe he could be surprised by something pleasant and not have that look of shamed confusion and fear that he was caught off-guard. Someday, she thought, someday maybe he would be comfortable enough, confident enough, that he would no longer be afraid of the dark.
And until that day, she made sure he saw her, heard her, smelled her and felt her footsteps against the ground when she came near.
:
:::And like the sound of waves, we go forward and backward as we give and accept love.:::
A/N
Sort of thinking about how Sunfreak writes.
Thirty kisses #29: the sound of waves.