Holding Hands

By: Unfathomable Thinking

He first held my hand when we were eight while running away from the old lady who lived near the park. He accidentally broke one of her precious glass window and her ancestral vase while showing off how good he could pitch.

We looked at each other and burst into laughter before sticking our tongue out at the poor old woman who couldn't keep up with our pace.

The second time his hand enclosed mine was when we were twelve as we ran for our lives from his ravaging horde of fangirls chasing after us. He had grown quite popular just as he had grown quite cold. It seemed that the pressure placed upon his shoulders caused him to lose his laughter. His boyish smiles and laughs were now frequently shown. They were replaced by an arrogant smirk and a somewhat eerie emotion-void face.

Yet, his fans seemed to like those. While I, I preferred the situation this way, the two of us running while our hands entangled with each other, because when we were like this I could see his smile once again.

We were sixteen when his callous fingers enveloped my small yet strong fist, stopping it from landing onto his face. It was also that time when his hand encircled my wrist and his lips claimed my first kiss, answering the love which I originally thought unrequited.

It was in the midst of his twenty-first birthday party that his father made an unexpected announcement. He was betrothed to an heiress of his equal worth. His face bore no expression and he seemed to be unfazed. Seeing him like that I thought I'd like to be in tears. However, as I was about to walk away, a firm grip pulled my hand and the hurt instinctively vanished. The meaningful look that he threw at me told me what was running within his mind and so I smiled and ran away.

We were both smiling as our legs kept on running away from the guards after us. My heart, despite of the situation, was filled with mirth for he was again holding my hand and smiling truthfully.

That time we smiled our way out and almost stuck our tongue at the guards.

It was four years after, when we were inside the delivery room and I was desperately squeezing his hand for support while his first child was coming out into this world.

He was a perfectly healthy baby boy who held a huge resemblance with his father save for his eyes that were similar to mine. And maybe it was also due to this fact that his usually adamant grandfather couldn't help but to finally accept us as a part of Uchiha Clan.

I remembered that once again while holding my hands, Sasuke was smiling while watching his father cradling our son in his arms.

Years had passed and we lived not an easy life. There were lots of troubles on the road yet they weren't enough to shaken us. For as long as we held each others hands, we could make it through. That was why we made it up to this time.

Now, we sat side by side in our pair of rocking chair staring at the retiring ball of fire at the end of the horizon.

"Ne, Sasuke-kun…" I slightly cringed at my old raspy voice. It reminded me how long it had been.

"Hn." He grunted as a sign of response. He then looked at me and my heart jumped with glee. The look that he gave to me still held the same emotion despite of all the ages that had gone by.

"Sixty-five years, yet nothing has changed," I looked at hour hands still locked in each other.

"You're still holding my hands."

When I looked back at his face, he was gazing at me with his full-blown smile.

A/N: Thank you for reading...