A/N: This is my first fanfic ever. So, be nice. I'd really appreciate reviews to tell me what I can improve and assure me that people actually do want to read what I write.

Edit: It has been brought to my attention by the illustrious kimi no vanilla (I'm honored to be graced by the attentions of such an excellent writer) that my POV is rather vague. This is Sakura, some time after manga chapter 245. I figure that even she must reach emotionally maturity somewhere along the line. Sorry about any confusion. I wrote, edited, and posted this in about an hour.


A Kind of Love

I look at him slurping down his ramen and chide him for eating too fast – it can't be good for him. And he whines loudly about how I'm always complaining and can't I just mind my own business? Then he grins that irrepressible grin of his, and I can see that there's nowhere he would rather be than here eating ramen with me complaining beside him.

When he's finished with his last bowl (I lost count around five), he eyes my second, which I'm currently staring at absently, lost in thought. His pleading voice draws me out of memories that make me wonder even now if they're happy or not.

"If you're not gonna finish that, can I have it?"

His eyes are full of hope, almost absurdly so. His eyes have always been full of hope. At the point where everyone else admits defeat, he still hopes.

His hopes are not always realized. Sometimes he is disappointed. But where is the greatness in hoping if those hopes are always supported?

Sometimes, when he looks at me, I can see a certain brand of hope in his eyes.

He hopes for something that I don't think I can give him. Not yet. I lost it some time ago, and we'll see if I ever recover it.

But I can certainly give him something. In fact, I've already given it to him. I don't know exactly when it happened, and I'm not even sure it is the kind of thing one can pinpoint. But somewhere inbetween him saving my life and me acknowledging his, I gave him something, and received something in return.

Because that's just the way it works.

I stake my claim to the bowl by aggressively shoveling ramen into my mouth with my chopsticks. Perhaps a little unladylike, but that's not something I care about so much anymore.

"You want another bowl, you get your own!"

He scrunches up his nose, but his boundless exuberance cannot be contained, even to pout over ramen. He laughs perhaps a bit too loudly, not that I really mind. And I know that he is still where he most wants to be.

Perhaps I cannot give him what he wants, but I can certainly give him what he needs.

After all, it's what I need too.


A/N: Congratulations! You read it all the way through! Now I'd really appreciate if you would take the time to review my humble (and, in my opinion, pretty lousy) story. I don't even mind if it's a short and/or nasty review. My big brown puppydog eyes compel you.