SasuSaku Month 2020, Day 9: Around the table

A drabble set the garden!verse but works on its own too :) Please check out my aforementioned longer fic, The Garden, to read more SasuSaku from me.

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Scorched Rice

The genin of Team Seven had formed an unshakeable night time routine.

After a long day of travel, Kakashi would pause and appraise their surroundings: a nice bend in the river, a clearing in the middle of a deep forest, or the base of a grassy hill. If the correct thoughtful look entered his eye, the genin already knew to drop their bags and set up camp.

Kakashi started the fire. Sasuke took grave charge of cooking their dinner. He ignored all Naruto's pleas to assist in favor of Sakura's steady and helpful hands. With no table, they ate off their knees, leaned against mossy tree trunks or smooth boulders. Eventually Kakashi would yawn, fluff up his bedding, and open his novel.

The three genin always sat for a while before cleaning up. Naruto babbled about their day, eliciting cheerful smiles and responses from Sakura or Kakashi's wry humor. Every now and then Sasuke offered a noncommittal grunt. Then Sakura would reach for the old pot of rice to pry away bits of the scorched rice from the bottom. Only when she completed this ritual did Naruto and Sasuke begin to tidy up their campsite.

Every night, without fail: Kakashi's expression. Dinner. Sakura reaching for the pot of rice.

Rice cooked over the fire was temperamental. Sometimes, Sakura found what she was looking for with a gleam in her eye and the sound of a triumphant crunch. Other times, she pushed the pot away, dissatisfied. Whenever this happened, Sasuke felt defensive, like he did when Kakashi critiqued his form and technique after a sparring session. The rice he made had not passed her inspection.

Sasuke had an idea on how avoid the annoying look on her face all together.

One night, he placed the pot over the fire and waited until he heard the oil sizzling.

"What are you doing?" Naruto asked as Sasuke arranged a thin layer of par-broiled rice at the bottom of the pot.

"Go away," Sasuke advised. Naruto conceded. His cooking expertise ranged from heating instant ramen to arranging extra toppings on top of an Ichiraku's order. He bounded away to help Sakura unfurl their bed-rolls.

Sasuke waited a minute or two to let the bottom crisp up, then added the rest of the rice. This part was hard. He had no way of knowing when the bottom had crisped enough. It might be soggy or completely burned when the time came to flip it out of the pot. Sasuke paced. After he felt enough time had passed, he removed the pot from the fire and let it steam until the rice cooked through. Sakura came by to help with the rest of their meal.

The team gathered together to eat, pouring stew over their rice.

Sakura eyed the pot and smiled. "It looks like a good okoge tonight," she noticed.

"Hold out your bowl," Sasuke said to Sakura.

"What?" she asked.

Sasuke glared. "Your bowl," he insisted.

"Oh," she said. Sasuke grasped the rice pot by its handles and flipped it upside-down.

The okoge dropped in one whole, beautiful, scorched piece. The portion covered Sakura's entire bowl, a golden lid over the rest of her dinner.

Pride washed over Sasuke. He had landed an unexpected hit on an enemy. He had passed a difficult test at the Academy. It was perfect.

Sakura caught the satisfied gleam in his eyes. "Did you…?" she started to wonder, stopping short at Sasuke's scowl.

"Now you don't have to complain anymore," Sasuke muttered. What did she look so happy about?

"You're right," Sakura said. She rearranged her features. Sasuke had performed an act of kindness. For his sake, she would pretend he had not. "I'll never complain again. But how am I supposed to eat all this?" Playing her role, Sakura let irritation seep into her voice.

Sasuke scoffed. How would I know?

They were both pleased.

The Team Seven routine changed: Kakashi's look and their bags dropping. Dinner. A layer of crispy rice split between the four of them.

A lifetime later, Sasuke was cooking in Sakura's kitchen. He had only recently returned to the village. They nursed a tentative friendship.

Sasuke made the rice and flipped it upside-down onto a platter.

In the close quarters of her kitchen, Sakura had grasped a much better understanding of Sasuke's procedure than she had as a genin on the move. He par-broiled and drained the rice. Heated the oil, pressed a thin layer of rice at the bottom, waited. Poured the remaining grains on top, poked holes through to release steam. Waited again. Mumbled out for luck, then flipped.

It was as perfect as Sakura remembered.

As they ate at her small kitchen table, Sakura commented, sly between bites, "I didn't realize the rice was so complicated."

"It's not," Sasuke denied, intrigued by a nick in Sakura's table.

Sakura smiled.

He admitted, "It's muscle memory."