ᗰOᑎᔕTEᖇ [🧡 ᑎᗩᖇᑌᕼIᑎᗩ 💜] [Ɱҽէąʍօɾքհօʂìʂ] Bσσƙ Oɳҽ

Just a Cold

"Going back to sleep?" he asked.

She nodded again with a sluggish blink.

"You know I'm not a good cook," he said with deprecating smile, "but how about I make you something to eat and you can have it when you wake up. Maybe it'll make you feel better."

Food always made him feel better, though his ailments were injuries sustained from hard training and skirmishes out in the field. He wasn't sure if the healing powers of a full belly translated to a sickness of body, but it was the first thing that had popped into his head.

She nodded again, eyes alight with appreciation and mirth.

"I like your food," she murmured drowsily, "you always try your best, and I can taste it in every bite."

He grinned.

He didn't believe a word of it. Their anniversary dinner had been the only edible meal he had ever cooked and that was due to the fact that he had chosen simple, foolproof, recipes and then forced himself to follow every instruction to a T. While his hard work had turned out a palatable meal, it certainly hadn't been anything to write home about. Outside of that one day, he was a terror in the kitchen, his creations often blowing up in his face. She was a trooper though. Forever determined to remain in his corner, she resolved herself to eating whatever his pathetic machinations produced, complimenting his hard work and deepening his love for her in the process, but even he knew it cost her dearly. Some of the lengths she went to in order to make him feel less of a failure chef left them both in a fit of giggles.

His grin deepened as he replayed one disastrous dinner after another.

Memories depicting her ongoing battle with his atrocious cooking.

Of Hinata smiling while she chewed on half cooked rice so crunchy he could hear it across the dinner table. Hiding grimaces behind soft coughs while she slurped spoonfuls of soup laced with a bucket of salt. Of her taking delicate nibbles at barbecued meat grilled to the consistency and color of charcoal. He had vowed to them both to stay out of the kitchen whenever possible, unwilling to torment his lover with his horrible culinary skills, regardless of the reactions they both found humorous.

"You say that but we both know I can't make toast without blowing up the kitchen," he chortle, "but I don't wanna spend all afternoon cleaning so how about a sandwich when you wake up?"

Meat, bread and cheese. Safe, simple and right up his alley.

Sandwiches he could do.

"A sandwich sounds wonderful," she slurred, "thank you, Naruto-kun."

Her drowsy gaze could barely maintain his, but the gratitude they reflected filled his heart with tenderness. He reached out, sliding the back of his finger along the smoothness of her cherry colored cheek just as her eyes drooped closed.

"Get some rest," he encouraged gently, "I'll take care of you."

She was out moments later.

Inhaling and exhaling in a threadbare whisper, her slumbering face pebbled with sweat. She'd never seemed so vulnerable and delicate. So drained and in need of his care. He knew this was one of the normal functions of a family, caring for each other when the other couldn't, but he'd never thought such a responsibility would fall to him, nor had he thought he'd welcome the domestic obligation as he did now. Despite his skepticism about the level of care he could offer her at his inexperienced hands, the fact that he was needed in this regard suffused him with a distinct and deep sense of purpose.

Of necessity and finally belonging to a family unit.

It was as sweet and fulfilling a sensation as he had ever dreamed of. Enveloping his lonely heart in a soothing balm of togetherness and closing the yawning emptiness his growing years had left behind.