Inspired by cutecrazyice's 200 Days of Summer. Written with experimental tense forms and a dorky, awkward Sasuke just because his people skills aren't that great. We can pretend that this is a totally not-late birthday present, right?
Disclaimer: Do not own Naruto.
Rain beat down on the forest. Under the cover of the trees, two bodies huddle together on the mossy floor.
"I'm really sorry about this, Sasuke-kun," Sakura says. They had been doing a training exercise in a new training ground, and she had slipped on a branch, falling through the treetops. Sasuke, who had been closest to her, had seen what had happened and tried to catch her, but only ended up getting pulled down with her.
With a grunt, the raven-haired boy rolls his shoulder dismissively. "Kakashi and the dobe are probably looking for us right now. They'll find us." And so comes his silent demand of "don't worry." Sasuke's never been good at saying things outright; Sakura's learning this now.
Quietly, she nods and shifts her weight, drawing a sharp breath as she jars her ankle. She tries to hide it as she lifts her weight towards the tree trunk they're sitting near, but Sasuke has already seen it and is on it like a vulture that hasn't seen carrion for days.
"Don't move it. Let me see." His commands are as clipped as a military step. In the back of her mind, Sakura thinks Sasuke would make a natural Anbu captain.
Shyly, she offers her leg to him, watching as he rests it over his knees and takes off her sandal. If he had done this a few months ago at the beginning of their team assignment, she would've screamed in glee, but this is after that mission in Wave. All she can think of now is the beat of the rain and how intimate this moment seems. They're alone in the woods, a boy and a girl. Somewhere in her brain, she realizes the slight danger of the situation. Suddenly, her cheeks burn with slight heat.
Thigh cradling her heel, he runs his fingers over her arch, the skin of her ankle. His touch is probing.
"Ah-ahh." Her breath is a sharp hiss staccato-ed with pain. It's clear he means well, but he's rough and applies more pressure than he needs to. It's as if he's never touched another person, never understood how fragile skin and bone are, but Sakura remembers herself and just how alone Sasuke is compared to her. He probably has only treated himself, had the luxury of being a bit rougher with himself and his injuries. If she remembers correctly, he failed the medic exercise they had in class, bruising his partner while bandaging her arm.
Ashamed, he snatches his hands back abruptly and she watches as his face colors with blood, eyes refusing to meet hers.
"Sorry," he says slowly, swallowing around the phrase. It's clear how foreign the word is on his tongue. Sasuke never says sorry, probably hasn't had to say it in a very long time, and it's apparent how awkward he feels. She almost feels sorry for him.
"It's alright," she reassures, watching as he warily returns to her leg like a chastised child. "Just be more gentle," she says. With a quick glance at her face, he nods—more to himself than her—and probes her skin more gently, watching her face for pain before pulling a roll of bandages from his pouch.
As he winds the cotton around her leg, Sakura watches the rhythmic coiling around her ankle. Though more sure of himself now, she can still see the hesitation dulling his fingers. In the back of her head, a voice that isn't "Inner Sakura"—isn't because it sounds older, wiser, more mature—tells her he's a far cry from the prince she used to dream about. That he's too hesitant, too dark, too broken to be any prince from a fairytale.
In her head, Sakura agrees. He's no prince. He's too caustic to be one. She's learned that too.
But as he finishes the bow on her wrap, pulling it tight before running his hand over it appraisingly, she's learning that more often than not, he means well; that he is only human, and a tragically, painstakingly beautiful one at that.
"Done," he says as Sakura turns it this way and that. It's not up to the standards of a medic ninja, but it's passable and tingles with the lingering touch of the boy she likes and may be learning to love.
He sits back in his seat on the floor, not near her, but not too far away either. If anything, it's a bit closer than she remembers, but Sasuke's face betrays none of the concern she imagines he might feel for her. Whoever he falls in love with will have an uphill climb, she decides.
Still, that future is too far away when one is just trying to get out of genin-status. Nonetheless…
"Thank you, Sasuke," she says, and she means it sincerely.
The Uchiha heir merely grunts in his standoffish, mildly annoyed way. "Hn. Just don't fall down next time."
"No promises," she lets slip.
And if she didn't know any better, she would've thought Uchiha Sasuke laughed at her joke.