Hand holding
Original Prompt: Hand holding
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She'd brushed up upon proper dining etiquette; an over complication of an art that had been drummed into her since young. Her mother had always feared the judgement of those the village consider elite. The men and woman who walk the very same pavements they do; but with blood superior to theirs pumping through their veins.
“You need to be wary of, certain children,” her mother had told her the day she first stood upon the steps of the academy. Her first day, and she had been sent to school with a warning from her mother.
And rightly so – Konoha was not like those other villages; Konoha is strong because it does not mince intentions – it knows who amongst the bunch would end up strong.
Perhaps that is why their graduating class had been so surprising. For whilst there were stand outs from noble families, there were also a great number of those that excelled from backgrounds of no merit. Clans of distinction: Hyūga, Ōtsutsuki, and other great names, produced failures whilst shinobi born of civilians proved their worth ten times over – she being one of them.
Yes – their graduating class was an exception.
It was the exception (and maybe now, it is becoming the norm).
Her promotion to Jōninrank – and the reactions to such news – reinforced that reputation of their non-traditional graduating class. Naruto had regressed to a petulant child; whining about his lack of advancement whilst simultaneously crying out in shock at her promotion. Ino had screamed, hardly believing the fact.
And Sasuke – Sasuke: with his arrogance, and calm façade, and unruffled composure had merely smirked, and remarked, “I'm not surprised”.
So very clearly had she remembered that smirk – Oh, how she'd wanted to smack that smirk off his face. He'd been so confident in a way she still struggles with. So sure of himself, so smug. And after all, isn't it that same confidence that has brought her here, in this position, reminding herself what proper dining etiquette comprises off.
An art her mother had taught her when young. An art she'd never thought would need to be put into practice.
An art she remembers simply to make sure she does not make a fool of herself in front of Sasuke's parents.
For a dinner that practically takes the gold prize in awkwardness comes the constant reminder that blood triumphs over skill – at least, that is the interpretation of half the dinner party.
She'd been quiet, and respectful throughout the conversations of tonight. Sakura had ignored Mikoto's subtle digs towards her background, and Fukagu preferred to continue on with his meal without even acknowledging that they had a guest.
Her solace, throughout it all, had been those brief moments in between when Sasuke had taken her hand under the table, interlocked their fingers, and reassured her with a soft squeeze.
It was always the simple things. The gestures exchanged in secret; their moments hidden from the world that reminded her that this is worth it – it will always be worth it.
And this dinner was not brought about on some spur of the minute decision – it was his confidence, his composure, his smugness that allowed Sasuke to do what Sakura had insisted on postponing for at least – forever.
Her eyes widen as she catches the smirk that starts to creep upon his expression.
He is going to tell them; her heart catches in her throat.
“Mother, father,” Sasuke begins; interlocking his fingers with those of the kunochi that sits beside him, “Sakura and I are engaged”.