30 Day •OTP• Challenge!•{{SasuSaku}}•completed

26-his

Five year old Uchiha Sarada perches impatiently upon the final step of the wooden staircase. Her soft dark hair has been perfectly smoothed down by her mama’s skilled hands, and there isn’t a single crease on her cardigan or skirt. She looks prim, smart and tidy, perfectly reflecting the wealth of the prestigious clan into which she has been born. Her small glasses sit firmly upon the bridge of her tiny nose, and her school bag rests by her feet. There is a book in her lap, but she cannot seem to focus much on it. Her eyes are far too preoccupied, at that moment, by the ticking clock on the wall.

That foolish classmate of hers Boruto is running late, and she is half out of her mind with worry that his tardiness will result in a blemish on her impeccable academic record. She is always the first one into class every morning. She dreads to imagine what Aburame-sensei will say if she strolls in once lessons have already started. The apprehensive thought is enough to make her feel sick.

She isn’t happy at all that stupid Boruto has to be the one to pick her up. It was a punishment given to him for his relentless teasing; to make up for bothering Sarada so much every day at school, he has been strictly instructed by their tutors – and his parents - to walk with her to the Academy every morning, in an attempt to encourage the ever-bickering two to get along.

Well, Sarada thinks to herself; it is more accurately the case that he pesters her. She is usually far above his verbal taunts and imperturbably ignores him most of the time. Rather than get caught up in his mischief, she prefers, instead, to keep a disapproving eye on his clownish antics from a stealthy, safe distance.

The Seventh Hokage’s son is commonly known as ‘Bolt’. Bolt? Sarada thinks to herself in disdain, her intelligent mind focusing on one particular meaning of the word. She thinks snail is a much more fitting name for a prank-loving loser who can never seem to make it anywhere on time.

This sanction is due to last for the entire week, and he is already five minutes late on his first day. Sarada shouts out to her mother in agitation, ready to throw one of her famed strops – which are strictly reserved for home, of course.

“Mama!” she whines. “Stupid Bolt’s late! Aburame-sensei will be mad!”

“You’ve still got time,” her mama’s sweet, melodic voice calls back from the kitchen, where she is fixing herself lunch for her late-start shift at the hospital. “Give him a few more minutes, sweetie!”

“But what if he does this all week?” Sarada frets. “He’s always trying to get me into trouble!”

“He’ll be here soon, Sara-chan!” Her mother reassures her.

Sarada pouts, closes her book, props her elbow upon it and then rests her chin petulantly on her right hand. This is so unfair! She doesn’t even understand why her mama will not let her walk to school on her own. Sarada believes she is certainly sensible and old enough to make it to the Academy gates safely. She spends a few more minutes sulking unhappily, her narrowed, charcoal eyes glaring at the clock once more.  

Then her ears perk up at the sound of movement beyond the screen doors opposite the staircase. Finally, the idiot has decided to show up! She immediately straightens, and is about to grab her school bag – when the doors slide open, revealing a tall, imposing figure, wrapped in a long black cloak.

Sarada’s eyes widen, and her jaw slackens in disbelief, her defences all at once lowered.

Her papa smirks down at her – a smirk she absolutely adores and does her very best to imitate whenever she is alone with the bathroom mirror – then he raises an index finger to his lips, signalling that his arrival is strictly their little secret for now and her mama must not know.