Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or Big Hero 6.

Ch.3

The package had been delivered, the tea had been consumed, and the two were sitting across from each other deep in conversation. His black hair casually fell into his eyes. A slow crease spread in the thin skin resting over his dark irises. He wasn't speaking and he didn't have to. Something about the boy always seemed so casual to Sarada. She opened her mouth to speak but closed upon introspection. What was it about him that left her without words? Her thoughts slipped through silently. Like sand shifting in ovular glass, time shifted without thought. His dark pupils silted across his vision to rest upon her. The rouge plastered itself across her porcelain skin under his gaze. Her blood whispered ambitions. His grin spread evenly. Leaning against the counter he looked upwards to the plastered ceiling of his office.

"It wasn't all bad. My aunt loved my brother and me." His hands found a repetitive motion in rolling a pen. "Until he died as well." The way words fell from his lips reminded the raven haired girl of another man she knew. Loss and grievance had a way of maturing someone positively. A slow ice spread across her, starting at the tips of her fingers. Nothing in this world would be equivalent exchange for such a trait. Perhaps it was the most grotesque treasure one could acquire.

She listened to the sound of rolling plastic fill the silence. Her eyes watched carefully, not understanding how to tread. Hiro began spinning the pen as he spoke after a loud audible cough.

"I know your mom doesn't keep sending you over here."

"She does." After he asks,

"Really?"

"Really." A slow hum escaped his throat and Sarada's blush deepened as his eyes calculated her veil. She wondered what he believed her intentions were.

"I guess you should believe in the saying-" His voice rose teasingly.

"Birds of a feather stick together…or opposites attract?" She playfully interrupted.

"No. Hah. I suppose we should believe in the fact that…we say the saying…that we want to believe is true." She hummed back at him, slanting her neck in a delicate fashion, her own stolen pen dangling between her fingers. After a few moments she tapped it on a nearby counter. Her eyes took in his as she asked,

"What do you believe?" He held her gaze before turning it to the wall opposite of her.

"That I shouldn't worry about a blessing." Suddenly she was glad for the disconnected eye contact, and with the silence that followed she predicted he felt similarly. A glass container bubbled. A few metallic tools shifted from an open window's draft. "But anyways- thanks for bringing me the package." She nodded in response, the brown box sitting solemnly among the scientific arsenal. He indicated he had work to do. Begrudgingly the messy haired man led her to the institute's door. They said short goodbyes and she left. Her heated cheeks the only indication that the interactions occurred. She walked home silently enjoying small flowers, once hidden to her, among the sidewalk cracks.

Every few days or so her mother suspiciously handed her a package, and asked her to travel safely. Sarada wondered what items the chief medical officer would be handing over to a renowned researcher, but she never let the thoughts get too far. After all, the package's journey was not her inspiration. It was her destination and the person that waited there. She was glad her mother didn't care about the delivery method, because she would have been wary of a change.

Every few days she would drop the package off. His office the same. Papers scattered about and the surrounding rooms empty.

Every few days they would talk. Their laughter and spilled heartache bringing them emotionally closer. Their missing family and dreams motivating each other. By the end of their third month they both internally wondered if the other only sought friendship.

Every few days they would learn more about each other.

And silently fall deeper in love each time.

Every few days, neither of them would admit their feelings.