i haven't eaten yet. [sasuke/fugaku]
@foglands' sasuke
the yard smells of dust and iron. the ghosts of shuriken still hum in the air. the sun's unforgiving gleams crawl across the sharp metal edges half-buried in the soil. fallen stars dotted across the uchiha training grounds. a premonition.
sasuke’s arms ache. he adjusts his stance, jaw tight, eyes fixed forward. fugaku watches him with quiet deliberation. the same stillness he's brought to council meetings, to clan disputes, to decisions that do not forgive hesitation, hardens his gaze.
they spar. again.
sasuke’s footing slips — just a fraction, barely noticeable, but enough. fugaku’s strike lands. not hard. instructive.
“focus,” fugaku says.
sasuke swallows. he hesitates, then speaks, the words smaller than his frame.
“…i haven’t eaten yet.”
for a moment, fugaku says nothing.
the silence is worse than rebuke perhaps. it stretches taught across the courtyard, pregnant with expectation. fugaku hears the words and — everything else crowds in around them, fast and claustrophobic: the morning’s meetings, the quiet looks behind closed doors, the weight of the clan’s heavy gaze, those blood-hot eyes, watching for weakness, waiting, waiting, waiting … for softness, for proof that he deserves to stand where he stands.
he looks at sasuke and doesn't see hunger, but danger— of a world that won't pause just because a boy is tired or with an empty stomach.
“the battlefield won’t wait for your meals,” fugaku says at last. his voice even. controlled. “you’re letting discomfort dull your form.”
he does not say i’ll have food brought. he does not say i should have asked. he does not say try again after lunch.
he signals for him to get in position.
he thinks, briefly … dangerously … sasuke is too small for the weight that will one day ( sooner than he likes to admit ) be placed on his shoulders by clan and village alike. there are things a father should soften, he knows, and things a clan head must never allow to bend.
so he chooses the latter.
“again,” fugaku orders.
love can taste a lot like rejection when filtered through duty.
