title: the way to your heart
summary: contrary to popular belief, uchiha sasuke was not good at everything. or was he?
prompt: day #8 - the student becomes the teacher
rating: k+
a/n: aah, i like how this turned out c:
One morning, with a sheepish look on his face, Sasuke pulled Sakura aside and asked her to teach him how to cook, and after tilting her head to the side and several 'is that really you?'s, she grinned and agreed. They began to meet up each day for a lesson, and although it was fun at first, three lessons later, Sakura quickly realized that Sasuke was—to put it simply—utterly hopeless in the kitchen and years of jutsu-training and chakra control couldn't help him there.
His breakfast food usually turned out far too bland, pastries flat and omelets broken. Snacks somehow managed to go haywire, to the point of spiraling out of control, and even the simplest of sandwiches were a bit of a challenge. His baked desserts always came out of the oven half-burnt and half-smoking, and on their second lesson, he set off the fire alarm, almost successfully burning Sakura's apartment down.
Steamed rice seemed an easy enough bet, she reasoned on the next day, but the dark-haired boy could never seem to get the ratio of water to rice just right, and for reasons they could not comprehend, the pot came alive once he plugged it in, managing to whir and squeak and let out steam like there was no tomorrow.
Sighing heavily, they ended the third lesson with damp hair, rosy faces, (and wet eyes, in Sasuke's case, but Sakura pretended not to notice), and she found hope deep, deep inside of herself to tell him she was sure he'd get the hang of it all on their next lesson.
But she wasn't so sure.
When he returned the following morning, looking only slightly deflated, Sakura gave him a smile that she hoped didn't seem too nervous and led him to the kitchen. On the marble center island were two large, silver pots, waiting for them, and colorful vegetables were already laid out on the table, next to a pair of knives and a few chopping boards. Sasuke glanced to Sakura, eyebrows raised, and she nodded. "Let's give beef stew a try, hm?"
Moments later, she watched Sasuke thickly slice carrots and halve potatoes, returning her attention to her own vegetables every few minutes to cut them up as well. Once they had finished with the preparations, Sakura instructed him which herbs and spices to toss into the boiling pot, followed by the vegetables and meat, and handing him a wooden spoon, she then showed him how and when to stir the broth.
(A smile lit her face as she watched him stir the stew with the most rapt face she had ever seen him put on.)
They left the pots boiling on the stove for a good twenty minutes, returning to the kitchen once time had passed. Nervously, they lifted the pots to the kitchen table and opened the lids in suit. So far, so good, Sakura thought, as she peered into her student's pot. It didn't look as if anything had gone wrong yet.Yet.
As Sasuke left to retrieve two bowls from the cupboards, Sakura stirred his stew while his back was turned, lowering her nose to its silver brim. She sniffed the steam curling from the soup and almost gasped. It smelled wonderful.
Once he returned with two blue-rimmed china bowls, he set one of them into her hands, and they took turns in ladling a spoonful from his pot. They exchanged shaky smiles and sat down side by side at the kitchen table. "After you," Sasuke said, nodding at the bowl.
Sakura let out a short laugh. "Alright," she agreed, and lifted her spoon to her lips. A second passed, then two, and three. Sharply turning in Sasuke's direction, her eden eyes widened in shock. "It's fantastic," she breathed, before leaning over for a spoonful of her own stew. She nearly choked. "It's better than mine."
Almost knocking over his own bowl in surprise, Sasuke's brows knit together in disbelief. His spoon came up to his mouth, and he tasted Sakura's stew soon afterwards. A laugh quickly vibrated his voice. "It is."
He glanced at Sakura, whose features were still set with surprise. "So," he began, twirling the spoon between his fingers with a new arrogance that made her roll her eyes, "what you have to do is . . . "
