Twisted

Falling

Boruto should've expected that Sarada wouldn't have thought of him like a prince. But when he actually heard her say the words, his pride was admittedly crushed. He thought, from all the blushing and stuttering and shying away that she at least found him to be attractive, and yet it seemed like that wasn't even the case.

He tried not to be too harsh on her; she'd probably never seen another man before him. Maybe she just didn't have anyone to compare him to. It just stung to know that he was falling, rather hard, for perhaps the only girl in the world that didn't reciprocate his affection. And Boruto only now understood what was meant by falling.

That feeling of your heart trying to escape out of your mouth because gravity was tugging you downwards at a pace more rapid than your brain could comprehend? That was falling in real life. That same sensation plaguing your senses just from looking at someone, or having someone look at you, or hearing their laugh and seeing their smile? That was falling in love.

He'd admittedly cringed whenever his parents showed that they cared for each other, that sappy look in his mother's eyes, the way his father's stern gaze softened into a smile that was more disgusting than tea turned to syrup by sugar.

He cursed his father for acting arrogant all day while his mom slaved away for him and his little sister, and suspected their marriage was nothing more than a political union that turned their previously small island village into a kingdom. After all, his mom was a princess long before his father was ever a king.

His mother loved his father dearly, but that was natural. Girls seemed to fawn over him and his dad everywhere they went. Even without the naturally good looks he was born with, kindness and riches played a key role in earning any girl's favor. And he was certain was better off in the personality and looks department then his cruddy old man.

If father actually loved his mother, he wouldn't spend all of his time in his stupid office and he'd do more than just look at her and say thank you for her home cooked lunches that he didn't even bother to get up off his lazy butt to go get. She delivered them. And sometimes, she even had to deliver his dinner because he was too busy to sit at the table with everyone else and eat.

As someone in line for the throne, Boruto thought of marriage as nothing more than politics. In the end, it wouldn't matter anyways. Shikamaru would make sure he had little to no time to spend with his wife. And so, as long as he ended up with someone sweet that would treat his kids well, he didn't care who he picked. That was, until he realized what was involved in making a kid, and then he decided if he could pick, he might as well pick out someone that was considered to be ideal by public standards.

There was only two people who's relationship never ceased to stump him, and that was the relationship of his master and his wife. He called them Uncle and Aunt, but that was only because they'd been close to his parents since the time he was born.

Sasuke was the type of person who you didn't want to cross paths with; the type you'd go out of your way to avoid if you saw him walking your direction down the street. His dark eyes were seemingly unforgiving, his tone flat and cold. He spared smiles for no one unless they were haughty, teasing smirks that made sure you were well aware of your inherent incompetence. Girls whispered about him being handsome, but no one dared to bring that up in front of his wife, Sakura.

Sakura was kind to everyone, always polite and smiling, unless she was hard at work trying to heal them. Renowned as a genius of medicinal practices, there was no sickness she couldn't cure. But when a man's wounds were too severe, when they were hanging on to life by nothing more than sheer willpower, she somehow found a way to convince Boruto to stare into their eyes until her work was sufficient enough to return their soul to their body.