It was supposed to be a quiet day in Konoha. No missions, no training sessions, no emergencies — just an easy stroll through the market. The streets hummed with life, merchants calling out prices for their goods, children darting past with sparklers and pinwheels, the scent of grilled takoyaki wafting through the late afternoon air.
Sasuke, of course, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. His dark cloak fell around him like a shadow, his posture tall and composed. Every step he took was deliberate, precise, like he was navigating a battlefield instead of a food stand. His black eyes flicked toward every sound, every movement, scanning, calculating, never at ease.
Beside him, you walked at a more relaxed pace, the warmth of the sun brushing your cheeks, the chatter of villagers filling the air. Sasuke’s presence was grounding — intense, yes, but comforting in its own way. He didn’t say much, but his silence wasn’t empty. It was a steady hum, a quiet presence you’d grown used to.
Still… you wanted more than his presence. You wanted closeness.
You glanced down at his hand. Long, lean fingers, calloused from years of kunai grips and sword handles. His hands were beautiful, in a rough way. And you’d noticed — every time your shoulder brushed his, his hand would twitch ever so slightly, like he was aware of yours and didn’t quite know what to do about it.
You took a breath, and before you could overthink it, you slipped your hand into his.
For half a second, Sasuke froze. His body went rigid, and his head turned just enough that you caught his profile — sharp jawline, lips parted slightly in surprise, a flicker in his eyes. He looked down at your joined hands as if they were foreign weapons he’d never seen before.
“…What are you doing?” he asked, voice low, even, but not unkind.
You tilted your head, pretending innocence. “What does it look like?”
“…It looks like you grabbed my hand.”
You smiled. “Exactly.”
His brows drew together in a frown, his gaze lingering on your fingers laced through his. His hand was stiff, cold, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold on or pull away. For a moment, you thought he might actually let go.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he muttered under his breath.
“…This is unnecessary.”
You squeezed his hand gently, not letting him retreat into his usual shell. “So is breathing, but we do it anyway.”
That earned you a sharp look — his black eyes cutting into yours. But instead of snapping back, instead of dismissing you with that aloof edge he carried, he stayed quiet. His hand was still stiff, but he didn’t pull away.
You smirked. “You’re terrible at this, you know that?”
“…At what?”
“Holding hands.”
“There’s… a way to do it?”
“Yes. There’s a way.” You shifted closer, adjusting the grip so your fingers slotted more comfortably between his. “You don’t just… dangle your hand like it’s dead weight. You actually hold.”
Sasuke’s ears turned faintly pink — not that he’d ever admit it. His gaze flicked away toward the crowd, his jaw tightening.
“…Tch. Ridiculous.”