Hands
Yugao
Summary: Ino always noticed a person's hands.
Author's Note: Sasuke and Ino are back in this oneshot! Yays… I know it was supposed to be titled Like Yesterday, but I decided that every Sasuke x Ino I write will be based on my own feelings… (It helps kill writer's block) and thanks to a recent happenstance, Hands was born. I hope you appreciate this – in a way, I'm telling you so many secrets… hahaha.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
"Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open, and it stays. Clutch it, and it darts away." – Dorothy Parker
The glimmering red-orange sunset bathes the scenery with an almost iridescent glow. I laugh lightly – I've never been a poetic one, but somehow, seeing the sun slowly disappear into the horizon, and watching as its light washed over Konoha, I could imagine exactly what makes me feel this way. I sit alone on this hilltop overlooking the Village Hidden in the Leaves. The quickly strengthening breeze rustles the leaves and whips my hair playfully around my face. I smile in contentment.
I look down at myself, not exempted from the sunset's light. My deep violet clothes tinted with different shades of red, orange, and yellow for a curious but beautiful mix of color. My skin, too, is painted almost gold in the dusk. And my hands…
I lift my hands up, against the blue-violet sky. They seem to have been swathed with gold – as if it covers the skin perfectly, copying even the creases and lines on my palm. My hands aren't delicately, fragilely small; on the contrary, they are long and not altogether slender. The fourth finger of my right hand is callused slightly, not yet having recovered from too much writing back at the Academy. My hands are not perfect, and have never been so; but in this moment there is no other meaning of perfection.
I smile. Sakura's hands are smaller than mine, and they're porcelain and perfect in any light. Somehow, they reflect her kept, sheltered, and almost pampered life with her protective parents. They're soft and delicate, as of one unused to hard labor. They're a healer's hands, and would always remain so.
A mental image of Naruto enters my mind. I notice his hands, too, even though it seems I do not pay attention whenever I'm around him. He always seems so confident, but by the way he wrings his hands and clasps them together deny it. They, too, are small, but not in the same way as Sakura's. These are the hands of one adept at work, with little, almost unnoticeable scars.
I think about my own teammate, Shikamaru. I chuckle at the memory of having once pressed my palm against his. Anyone looking only at our hands would have thought they belonged to a father and his daughter. They're warm, protective, comforting – an older brother's hands.
And Chouji's? Besides being fat, slightly pudgy and at times sticky, his hands are bigger than mine. Those same hands I see every day, perhaps in a friendly wave or at training. When I'd felt irrepressibly weak, those same hands comforted me – they were a friend's hands.
Then there's Hinata; I always noticed the way she pressed her fingertips together, not only when she's around Naruto. Her hands are small, pale, and slender – she gained her reassurance from them, whether consciously or otherwise. It is from these hands that she draws her strength, one way or another. They're the hands of a timid girl, one with innate strength.
Barely ever do I see Shino's hands; if they're not covered with bugs in the heat of battle, they're stuffed in his jacket's pockets. They're hidden not only from people like me, but also from the rest of the world. I wonder sometimes, if he hides them away because he is unconsciously afraid of opening up to the world, of opening up even to the people around him.
I've watched, at times, whenever Kiba stroked Akamaru's fur in a playful but gentle gesture. Little scars and bruises here and there made him out to be a person used to fighting; and yet whenever I see him he's always with a smile on his face.
And Sasuke…
I blush at the thought of him. He was just so…frighteningly perfect. Or, at least, it seems that way.
But his hands hide a secret from the world. Yes, it is his hands that betray him. For even one who seemed so perfect in the eyes of many conceal a secret only the hands could tell. I've seen many battle scars on them, many tell of a victory or a defeat at the hands of the enemy. Even his hands are not spared from the calluses one gets from training, each time rising above every failure. At times I think his hands are stained with many hidden tears…
The sun has not yet set, but the darkness rouses me from my dreaming. I decide to head back to Konoha before the night set in – before, even, the sun completely fell into the orange-tinted horizon. I sigh as I push myself up off the grass, and brush the dust off my clothes. I turn around and head for home, and I soon find myself back on the same, familiar roads, locking eyes with the same, familiar faces. I look up at the sky, and see the sun at its last moments. I smile, a little spellbound at the sight.
I break from my reverie, and realize that standing there in front of me, with his hands raised to and bathed in the evanescent goldenrod light, was Sasuke. Where there was once human frailty, there is perfection once more.
He turns and catches my gaze; he's been caught off-guard, and his hands drop stiffly to his sides. He is embarrassed, I know, to have done something others would have viewed as childish. But I smile, because in my heart, I understand.
Author's Note: A huge thank you goes out to my beloved sister, who helped me with much of it. Also, bits of gratitude go out to a friend who made me realize just how often I notice people's hands. Please review, and tell me what you think of it.