This is my first fanfic published on the site, though I've written many. My best bud Amaya forcibly made me promise to put this one on here first, so here it is, newly re-written. I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Naruto characters. Masashi Kishimoto does. Unfortunately, that includes Sasuke, too. Man, I wish I owned him…
He had always loved the way she danced.
As a child, he could recall her standing staring, apparently awed, through the miniscule silver windows of the dance house. He would simply shake his head in bewilderment, wondering why she peered so intently with little result. Those wide, sea-green eyes seemed to follow him, though, as he continued along his way…
The years passed slowly, and he found that her dedication had rewarded her. She could be seen skipping into that small building daily. Strangely, without noticing it, he began to do exactly as she once did: gaze wide-eyed, straining to see inside the studio. He wished for a glimpse of her.
Occasionally, he caught sight of a very-pink head, and his heart would jump. Then, she would spin further into view-a bit more, he begged, a bit more-bending gracefully and waving ornate fans easily, practicing traditional and ancient movements.
He danced as well. His routines, however, were not comprised of old lore and tragic tales, but included kunai and jutsu. Their training ground, too, differed, as he battled alone, deep inside the forest. She danced with others, floating across a polished hard-wood floor.
He often slipped into this, her battlefield, scraped and smarting, only to hide in the shadows and observe. The world vanished entirely when she moved, moved, moved…
The time came all-too soon for him. His art branched out, and he sought to pursue it further. She would inevitably drift away from him, while he strode his own path, and she hers.
But then, something amazing happened! She surrendered her fans and ribbons, trading soft actions for harder ones. She became nearly as inflexible as he. He found also that, in time, she cut her bubblegum-colored hair so that it slid wispily on her thin, pale face.
She had adopted his art, and she was just as lovely and talented at the way of shinobi as she had been at dancing.
He was thrilled, though he'd never reveal anything but indifference. He cherished the days, when gleaming sunlight would reflect of her new-found curves as she kicked and punched. He enjoyed the nights, when her skin would glitter in the moonlight as she whirled, preparing to strike, dancing agelessly.
He would always love the way she danced.
R&R, plz!