It was like watching a train wreck.
As much as you wanted to tear your eyes away—oh god, the horror—you couldn’t help but watch in morbid fascination—the carnage—
Naruto started enthusiastically on his fourth bowl of ramen.
Sakura sat to his left, swirling her chopsticks through her bowl and, over the faint din of cooking utensils, waging the same exhausted battle:
How can you eat like that? and It’s so unhealthy! and Don’t come crying to me when you blow out your kidneys! and… Naruto wasn’t listening.
Thwack!
Sasuke sat perched on the stool to Naruto's right, wondering again how he got stuck with these two—Oww, Sakura-chaaaan!—and how he’d been roped into coming tonight.
“Only you are idiotic enough to want to eat ramen for every meal, dobe.”
“Shut up, teme! A bastard like you just can’t appreciate the wonders of ramen!”
Moments before, Iruka had spotted the bright crop of blond hair, and had popped in to join the trio. Now, settled into the seat to Sasuke's right, he regarded the boy—who had turned away from his teammates with a scowl, genius mind struggling to fathom how the hell anyone could be that irritating—silently for a moment. And when Naruto had (boisterously) resumed conversation with Sakura—Oww! But he started it, Sakura-chan!—he proposed a casual question:
“Do you happen to know how much ramen costs, Sasuke? Or which market in Konoha sells it at the lowest price?”
He paused, as if giving his former pupil the opportunity to answer.
They both knew it was rhetorical.
The chuunin drained the last dregs of broth from his bowl and said, “Naruto does.”
And with that, Iruka stood, depositing the money for his two bowls (plus four more) on the counter and cheerfully uttering his goodbyes—
Because good teachers continue teaching long after class is over—
And Sasuke stared into his bowl, as if seeing more than steam and noodles, buds of realization blossoming within him (along with memories of buying his own groceries with unlimited budgets and meals alone and the desperate longing to fill the emptiness with anything, anything at all…).
Teuchi hummed a faint and patternless tune as he stirred more seasonings into simmering broth. He looked up, reaching for more ingredients, and Sasuke caught his eye; he followed the surreptitious gaze over to the chattering blond. The order passed in silence.
Sasuke slid the money for his serving (plus one more) onto the counter and took his leave as well, not bothering with anything as inconsequential as goodbyes (but baby steps can cover more distance than the greatest of leaps nonetheless).
The old man smiled, Coming right up, and began to prepare the best bowl he possibly could.