Boiling Frog Syndrome
Summary: Sarada learns what it's like to love Papa.

In the first few months after his return, Papa, Sarada noticed, was an inherently private person. He was awkwardly reclusive and had a certain way with words—not in a good way. He was aggressively bashful, and, Sarada thought, without realizing, wore his heart on his sleeve.

Mama on the other hand, was a paragon of emotion; her eyes alone, could tell the world if she was on a path of hellbound fury, righteous anger, and, Sarada was starting to notice, the small gestures of a girl who had matured to be a beautiful woman—a small blush when Papa unwittingly complemented her, a secret smile shared with Ino-obaa-chan.

They were as different as heaven and earth. She wondered how they found the common ground for a step as big as marriage. She wondered how someone like her Mama—so full of life, brimming with emotion, lively and vibrant—managed to fall in love with Papa—brooding, a little emotionally stunted and so, so, awkward with affection that it broke Sarada's heart a little every time he struggled. Papa, with storms in his eyes and and silence in his voice.

She didn't have to wonder long. As time passed, she learned little by little that Uchiha Sasuke, Papa, was a little bit like magic, a little bit like dawn, a pinch of love, almost like a breath—you never even realize when it becomes a part of you and before you know it, you're at the point of no return. And slowly, but surely, she felt the helpless fury of all those years of abandonment seeping out of her. And little by little, he chipped the hardness in her heart, without her ever realizing it.

He was like Miso Soup, she realized one day. The kind Mama made for breakfast; light and airy and just perfect for that time of the day when your stomach was twisting on itself and you were leery about taking that first sip, but when you did, you felt the warmth radiating all the way down to your stomach.

"Sarada?" Mama waved a hand in front of her face. From the opposite side of the table, Papa looked at her quizzically. "What's wrong?"

She looked down at the bowl of Miso soup in front of her, looked at Papa, looked at Mama—felt her heart thrum with love. She picked up her bowl and took a long swig of her soup, felt the warmth spread inside and hid her smile.

"Nothing," she said, as she wiped her mouth, averted her eyes and stood up to leave for the academy.

Warm and happy. A little bit like sunshine. That's how it felt to love Papa.

fin