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[pianocoat]

Tongue-Tied: Part 7

Summary: It's no secret that, sometimes, Hyuuga Hinata gets a little tongue-tied. Despite her best efforts, it's a bad habit that she simply must live with. As it turns out, Uchiha Sasuke sometimes finds himself at a lost for words himself -- but only around a certain someone.

Tags: Post-War | Naruverse | Fluff | Romance | Awkward Romance | Hinata's POV | Canon Divergent | Misunderstandings | Hurt/Comfort | Mutual Pining

Hinata wakes with a kind of whimsy that comes with those special kinds of dreams. She spends her morning idly, taking an extra five minutes in the shower and combing the tangles out of her damp hair with smooth, slow strokes, smiling to herself. Sitting on the engawa, the fresh sunlight cuts through the misty cold and warms her skin. Most of her clansmen pass by in wonder and concern; it is, after all, close to freezing, and yet their heiress is combing her hair in such temperature. Anyone would stare.

Neji and Hanabi see, as well. They, however, are not confused or startled at all. They see that dreamy look on Hinata’s face, and they know exactly what has caused it. Neji’s gaze narrows in slight disgust, and Hanabi grins and skips over to sit next to her sister.

“Last night must have been nice.”

Hinata isn’t really thinking about last night. She’s thinking about that dream where she takes Sasuke to an alleyway behind some nameless bar and kisses him – and he kisses her back. Over and over again, for what felt like hours. In reality, Hinata would have been stupefied at the prospect of clinging to Uchiha Sasuke like she had in her dream; but that is an image in the safe confines of her mind.

“Nothing happened last night, Hanabi,” she muses with a light sigh.

Hanabi nudges her sister. “Could’a fooled me with how you looked last night after your date.”

At this, Neji approaches in a more severe mood than he was in just minutes ago. He looms over his cousins and scowls at them both. “Watch your tongue. For all we know, it was a strategical meeting between colleagues.”

His words hardly hold any weight. Hanabi all but blows him off with a snort. “Strategical meetings don’t include make-out sessions.”

Hinata flinches as a cold bellow of wind scrapes across her skin. That hardly makes sense at all. Everything that happened at the bar was a dream, so how does her sister . . . ?

Oh no.

“Oh my god.” A merciless wave of shame hits Hinata hard, turning her face into a forest of fire and red. She covers her eyes with her hands and squeezes them hard, as if to wake up again, as if all of this is a dream as well. But Hanabi and Neji stay, and the cold stays, and Hinata now must come to terms with the fact that – “I really did kiss him.”

Hanabi squeaks with glee. “I knew it!”

Neji groans and pinches the space between his furrowed brows. “I was content with pretending nothing of the sort transpired last night, but now it seems we both must face the facts, Hinata.”

…

The morning is full of flashes of last night playing across Hinata’s brain, in which she would squeak and blush and pray that she could just forget everything that had happened. It was a mistake. It had to have been! The mistake of two drunk people who didn’t really know what they were doing. If they had been sober, that sort of thing never would have happened. Sasuke would have walked her home, and Hinata might have invited him in for tea, and that would be it. No dragging into shadowy alleyways. No sudden kisses or creeping hands under shirts – lord, definitely not any of that!

And no confessions about finding someone so beautiful that they can hardly stand to say it out loud. Which . . . would make Hinata a little sad, if she’s being honest. If Sasuke only found her beautiful when he was drunk – if he only had the desire to kiss her when he was drunk – if he only struggled with the ache to stay with her for the rest of the night when he was drunk – that would make her more than sad.

Some say that the words and actions of a drunk person are the real desires of a sober mind. Well, that’s definitely true on Hinata’s end after she all but ravaged him. But for Sasuke?

How could anyone know?

Well, there’s a few ways. Ways that would require Hinata to gather her courage and talk to him.

And this is what she contemplates on her way to the bar. In those flashes of memory, she recalls how they had left their coats behind and how they had never paid the tab, and even in her embarrassed state that makes her want to hide in bed, Hinata is determined to right her wrongs. The village passes by with not a clue of what had happened last night. Store owners still sweep their floors as merchants and businessmen head in for another day’s work. Life seems to carry on as usual, and Hinata is a little jealous at how simple it seems for everyone else.

When she reaches the bar, she works on pulling of her gloves as her left shoe pushes open the door. She stuffs them in her pockets and dusts a few sprinkles of snow out of hair, and only when she’s a few steps inside does she look up and see Sasuke at the bar with the bartender. Her coat is in the notch of her elbow, and a few bills are on the bar top.

Ah. It seems that they had the same idea. Hinata would be thrilled if she weren’t so totally stunned. Within a second’s time, her face burns pink, and her heart sounds so loud that half of Konoha must be able to hear it.

Oh my gosh.

He’s here.

Shit! What do I say?

What can anyone say in this situation?

A strange mixture of humiliation and absolute glee churns through her body. Is she being obvious with what she’s feeling? Neji says her face is like a mirror to her emotions: reflective and easy to read. The total opposite of Sasuke, who looks like it’s just another day in Konoha – as if they hadn’t done all those things to each other just the night before. A face of complete voidness. Unreadable.

Hinata bites back the instinct to run. Instead, she steps further inside until, eventually, she reaches the bar.

“Good . . . morning,” she whispers. It’s the only thing her frantic mind can think to say.

The bartender, counting money, grumbles a returning ‘good morning’. Sasuke lifts his arm just enough to offer her coat, which Hinata takes and quick fits over the one she’s wearing.

“Thank you.” She can hardly look at his face. Will he think it strange if she studies the floor or the back wall for too long? “I-I, um, was going to pay for it. I guess . . . you, um, beat me to it.”

His dark eyes settle on her in a way that can be physically felt. Somehow, she can feel how his gaze sweeps across her. It lights her up and makes something fuzzy and noisy get stuck between her ears.

“You can pay me back,” he says, so low and self-assured that it sounds deeper that just the words. Suggestive.

And when Hinata finally looks back, she sees it in those usually blank eyes of his. There is double-meaning to his words, and he knows it, and he means it. It’s so obvious that even the bartender pauses for a moment to shift and frown at the suddenly tense atmosphere.

You can pay me back. And with how Sasuke’s looking at her, he doesn’t mean with money – that, Hinata is absolutely sure about.

And based on the many things that transpired last night, Hinata has a good idea of what, exactly, he’s suggesting.

Her knees lock up. Her mind turns light and foggy. Part of her screams ‘yes, absolutely!’ while the other part is on the brink of fainting. Sasuke must see this, too, for with a blink, all that weight and heat behind his eyes disappears.

“Your choice,” he drones.

He takes the coins of change the bartender slips to him, and without another word, he slips outside. A bit of the cold rushes in and gathers around Hinata’s legs. It hardly stirs her from her state of absolute bewilderment. Her mind is trying to catch up while her heart sings for her to follow Sasuke.

This has to mean he didn’t mind last night, right? That, maybe, he’d like for it to continue?

Or he’s still drunk. That can happen, right?

He doesn’t seem drunk, but just because Sasuke doesn’t act a certain way doesn’t mean anything. He’s a professional at acting aloof and nonchalant when, well, he could be thinking and feeling the exact same things that she’s currently thinking and feeling.

“About time,” the bartender sighs, ducking under the bar to grab at something. “I thought he’d never leave. Don’t he know that most bars don’t open til noon? And yet here he was at ten in the fuckin’ morning, waiting around all these hours. And for what? To pay a tab and grab a few coats!”

Hinata doesn’t need a watch to know that ten was at least three hours ago.

Pulse fluttering, she hurries outside. She’s half a second away from activating her byakugan so she can track him with ease, but even that’s not necessary. Suddenly, Sasuke leaps down from the roof of a nearby building, grabs her arm, and leads her off into an awfully familiar alleyway.

“Nevermind,” he says. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

He settles her on a stack of boxes that push into the backs of her thighs in a way that brings a load of memories from just the night before into her mind. He leverages his hand next to her hip, leans in, and brushes his mouth just across hers. It’s nothing like their first kiss, which balanced on heated desperation and desire. Despite his words, he’s giving her a chance to back out if she so chooses.

Which, obviously, isn’t happening.

Hinata doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around his neck to bring him closer.

…

A small sliver of reality hiccups across her foggy, pink-colored mind when that big, warm hand caresses the skin of her waist. Feathers tickle up her spine and make her arch into him, and just like that, Hinata breaks away from his needy mouth and clasps onto his shoulders.

“Wait, Sasuke.” She gulps in the cold air as he stares at her, not bothering to give her much room to breathe. He seems determined to continue their . . . activities after she says whatever is on her mind. In fact, he’s already leaning in to capture her mouth again before she even knows what she’s trying to say. “I – um, do you know – I mean, o-obviously you know what’s, um, happening. But I’m – I’m –” She squints and pinches her lips together, “Hinata.”

. . . Well, that’s obvious.

She’s grateful he has the decency to not laugh at her. Instead, his head tilts the slightest bit.

“You’re Hinata,” he says, and she shivers at his slightly breathless way of saying her name.

“I mean, um . . . .” In her head, everything makes sense, but she just can’t seem to get the words out in a way that makes sense. “How do I say this?” When Sasuke’s fingers trace up to her ribs, Hinata all but loses her train of thought. She enjoys the feel of them on her skin for a moment, then grabs at his arm to gently nudge his touch downwards. “I-I’m trying to think, Sasuke.”

He hums, then leans to the side to kiss the corner of her jaw. That also feels very, very nice. It’s getting harder and harder for her to think.

“You’re distracting me,” she breathes.

When he reaches her neck, he adds a bit of teeth to his kisses. “Then think faster.”

“I just . . . I just –” Huffing, she takes his face in her hands and brings him back to eye-level. “I’m Hinata. You’re . . . you’re kissing Hinata.”

Because it seems so strange that, in a way, she’s questioning reality. Before a few weeks ago, Uchiha Sasuke has never shown any interest in her; and even still, walking someone home or spotting beetles in the forest doesn’t exactly showcase romantic interest. Up until last night, Hinata was absolutely sure he was only interested in some kind of friendship with her. So why, all of the sudden, is this happening? Why is he kissing her like he’s waited decades to do exactly this?

Sasuke blinks at her. “Obviously.”

“Which means, u-um, that you want to kiss me.”

“Obviously.”

It’s hard to swallow the glob of sheer joy just that one word gives her, but Hinata manages. “S-So . . . why?”

Sasuke stares at her for a rather long time, as if the question has stunned him. Maybe he hadn’t considered this before. Maybe he was just doing it because, for some reason, something inside him told him to.

“I don’t know,” he grounds out, removing his face from her hands as he leans back. Then, before she can even consider what the hell those words could possibly mean, he shakes his head. “That’s not it. I know why. Of course I know why.”

And instead of telling her and clearing up so many of her question (or adding more to them), Sasuke leans in and nips at her bottom lip – and Hinata, for once, throws everything into the wind and settles into the taste of him once more.

…

Hinata decides that, probably, Sasuke wants her to figure it out herself. Maybe he’s timid, or maybe he likes to torture her with her questions, but either way, it’s up to her to figure out why.

The easiest way to do so is to ask his team, but Naruto is a no-go and Hinata’s not sure what stage Sakura is at with her own feelings for Sasuke – and, well, Kakashi is the current Hokage and basically her boss, and it would be embarrassing to ask him such questions about his own student. But there are many teachers who are close to Lord Hokage that he may his spilled secrets to over beer and conversation.

Kurenai, of course, being the most obvious choice.

So Hinata buys a few packages of her instructor’s favorite tea, and she sits and plays in the living room with Mirai as tea is being prepared. Kurenai comes with a tray of cookies, which Mirai is the most excited about, and they drink tea and chat for a while until Hinata finds the right opening.

“There’s . . . something I want to ask.”

Kurenai smiles in that way that Hinata knows well. Her teacher knows her students very well. She can tell when something is bothering them, and she knows when to push and when to wait patiently. She sends Mirai to the kitchen to clean the cups and start a new batch of tea, and once they’re alone, she gives her entire attention to Hinata.

“Go on.”

“Well . . .” How does one go about this? Should she just confess to what has transpired in the last twenty-four hours, or should she start from the very beginning? Somehow, Sasuke’s name will not form on her tongue, and Hinata’s face turns a striking scarlet. “Say, um, that someone kisses you–“

Kurenai’s hand reaches across the low table and grabs Hinata’s. “Kiss? Who!”

Hinata’s gaze flickers to the pile of Mirai’s crayon drawings set neatly to the side. “Um. Let’s say . . . a mysterious person?”

Her teacher’s wide eyes blink as her mouth hangs slightly open. After a while, she nods and settles. “Alright, sure. A mysterious person.”

“Last night, a mysterious person kissed me.”

“Mhmm.”

‘And I, um, kissed him back.”

Kurenai’s eyes darken and flicker in that contemplative way. Hinata has no doubt that she’s going through a list of every bachelor in Konoha that could possibly be her ‘mysterious person’. And if it weren’t for the absolute mystery surrounding Sasuke, her teacher would probably figure it out rather quickly.

“When someone kisses you,” Hinata starts, hesitates, starts again, “why do they do it?”

Kurenai’s head tilts, and her red lips stretch into a knowing smile. “Why do you think?”

“Because they like you.” Hinata’s heart putters and croaks. “But – but he doesn’t. He can’t.”

“Hmmm.” Kurenai’s grin turns wide and confident, as if she’s figured everything out. Which is impossible, isn’t it? There’s no way she could have guessed – “Are you sure he doesn’t, Hinata?”

Well, not 100%, but Hinata’s at least 90% sure that there is no way that Uchiha Sasuke can hold any romantic feelings towards her. As someone who has held a decade love crush, she would know what love would look like. She’d be able to sniff it out in an instance!

Sasuke has never shown a hint of it. Ever.

“You . . . you think he does?”

“Hinata,” Kurenai says, kindly and on the edge of a laugh, “I think this mysterious person has had a thing for you since you both were in the Academy.”

. . . But then again, because of her decade long crush on the ever-unaware Uzumaki Naruto, Hinata is also painfully aware that, sometimes, people are simply oblivious to the most obvious of things.

[pianocoat]

Tongue Tied: Part 6

Summary: It's no secret that, sometimes, Hyuuga Hinata gets a little tongue-tied. Despite her best efforts, it's a bad habit that she simply must live with. As it turns out, Uchiha Sasuke sometimes finds himself at a lost for words himself -- but only around a certain someone.

Tags: Post-War | Naruverse | Fluff | Romance | Awkward Romance | Hinata's POV | Canon Divergent | Misunderstandings | Hurt/Comfort | Mutual Pining

It takes a few tries, but Hinata eventually finds the right sort of bar for what she’s looking for – not that she exactly knows what she’s looking for in the first place. The first one she peeked into was kind of moody, deeply mahogany with a sultry saxophone playing over the rustic speakerphones. It reminded her of those old, black-and-white films where women dressed in kimonos and dark lipstick, moving from one table to another, catching the eye of every man in the bar. Too intimate. Way too intimate.

The second bar was a bit better. It seemed inviting, if not a little rowdy. A hot spot for twenty-somethings who were looking for fun and spicy drinks. Hinata supposes, given their ages, she and Sasuke would fit in . . . but something about the atmosphere felt too electric, too busy. It would set her off, and Hinata already feels too tightly wound.

So they tip into a bar that’s been around for decades where a lot of elders go for a quiet drink and some subtle company. It’s a soft, clean place with a few spots open at the bar. Out of all the options, Hinata feels the best about this one.

She gauges Sasuke’s reaction; rather, she tries to. The amber lights turn his eyes a dark brown, and she stares for a while before fumbling out a skiddish, “Is this alright?”

Sasuke’s shallow nod is followed by a deeper step inside. Hinata unfastens the buttons at the front of her coat as they cross over to the bar. The stools are tall, with a small, metal back for them to hang their winter gear. The lavender top of her uniform has no sleeves at all, but Hinata doesn’t mind. Heat blasts from the vents overhead, and an inner storm of nerves and giddiness keeps her nice and warm.

The bartender slides over, asks what they’d like.

Hinata searches the bar top for a drink menu, finds none, and nearly panics. The first bar she went to with her friends had a menu, and anything else she drank, Kiba or Ino ordered for her. Suddenly, every drink she vaguely knows filters out of her mind. Should she ask what’s on tap? Is that a normal question? Perhaps she should ask for a wine of some kind, but she doubts she’ll recognize anything the bartender lists as her options.

‘I don’t know,’ she imagines herself confessing. ‘This is kind of my first time drinking.’

Because it is. Her first time drinking normally at a bar, rather than for a celebration or at a friend’s place for movie night. This is her first time taking someone to a bar. She said those words – want to grab a drink with me? – which she never thought she’s ever, actually say. They feel too real. Too adult.

Turning to Sasuke, she hides her hands between her knees. “I’ll get, um, whatever you’re having.”

He doesn’t look bothered at all, and Hinata longs to have an ounce of his coolness, of his nonchalance. He orders a sake that sounds pretty on his mouth. Suddenly, that’s all Hinata can think about. She looks at it, blushes, and examines the strange flicks of gold and amber and crystal in the bar top. Get it together, she tells herself. Repeats it. Repeats it more. It would do her no good to sit here and think about Uchiha Sasuke’s mouth when he’s sitting right next to her.

“I, um . . .” What is she trying to say. Her mouth just moved without her realizing, and now she’s got herself in a pickle. “I’m sorry. I kind of . . . forgot every drink.”

“I know,” he says, without judgment. Which makes her feel a little better.

Hinata examines the bar for a moment. The patrons, as expected, are in their later years. Most with graying hair and smile lines around their mouths. They sit in huddles around tables, talking and laughing. It reminds her of Sasuke’s catching laugh two days ago. If she knew what she was doing, maybe she’d be able to make him laugh like that again. Maybe she could lead the conversation into something comfortable and entertaining, and he might relax, and so might she.

But she’s never been good at stuff like that. Talking. Conversing. Her father says she has a lagging mind, that she takes in information slower than everyone else. It’s not a good thing, especially for a shinobi. Hinata thinks she can take in information just fine when it’s for a mission; things like markings and flares, secret messages and the burn of chakra. Hand signs. Chakra control.

But talking –

Talking is complex.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring him here, she thinks, miserable. She’d mess something up, say something weird. She wanted to be with him more – just a bit more – but what good would that do if she scared him off?

Two masu cups with glasses are presented to them. The cups are made of cedar and look like wooden boxes. Hinata remembers her father drinking from the box, holding it carefully so that one corner would tip the sake into his mouth. She’s never had the opportunity to drink from one before, so she can’t help but clasp her hands together as the bartender pours sake into the glass until it overflows into the masu cup.

“Oh!” She smiles. “This is exciting.”

The bartender leaves the bottle for them before working on a new drink for on old couple at the corner. Hinata pulls back her hair behind her shoulders so it does not get in the way as she leans forward and sips the sake from the top of the glass. It’s a light taste that’s hard to describe. A little sweet, like melon, but nothing overwhelming.

Refreshing and smooth.

She’s a little surprised. She thought Sasuke would drink something dry or spicy. Something bitter. Something overwhelming.

Hinata wonders, for a moment, if he ordered this with her in mind.

He couldn’t have.

. . . But maybe he did.

Once she drinks a good amount of sake from the glass, she pours the rest into the masu cup and drinks from it’s corner, enjoying the hint of cedar that compliments the subtle melon. Hinata goes so far as to turn the bottle to get a look at the name, which she doesn’t recognize at all but imprints into her memory.

“Do you drink this often?” The question spills from her before her eyes take in Sasuke’s profile. He has his hand beneath the cup, a finger at each corner so he has a good hold of it as he lifts and drinks the sake. That hand has touched her often in the past few weeks. Between her hands, on her shoulder, around her arm. It’s just a hand. There is nothing special about a simple hand. But, she supposes, it’s better to think about that than his mouth. “The, um, sake, I mean.”

Sasuke rests the masu cup on the bar top. His ‘sure’ is far away and not convincing at all.

He ordered it for her.

He definitely did.

A thrill caresses her back as Hinata fills his glass and hers again. She follows the process again: sip, pour, drink. Soon, alcohol begins to warm her belly.

She means to say ‘thank you’, but the words that come out instead are: “Is this weird?”

Sasuke turns his head just enough to look at her, to see every inch of her red face. “What do you mean?”

Well, she can’t back out now. “Is it weird to drink with me?”

“Why would it be?”

“I, um – because I’m –” a stranger sounds wrong. They’re not strangers, not anymore. But he knows nothing about her, and yet she’s still invited him out to drink. And he accepted. Why did he accept? “Because I’m me.”

How else can she describe it without sounding pathetic or like she’s fishing for compliments?

“You’re you,” Sasuke says. He makes it sound like an indisputable fact; well, it is, but the way he says it makes it sound final. Then, he lifts his cup again and taps one of the corners against hers. “Drink, Hinata.”

So she does. They finish the entire bottle together, not really talking, but still enjoying the atmosphere. Her nerves never relax, but at least she’s not a bumbling mess. Together, they glance over the food menu and order a few finger food dishes to share. Hinata asks for a water as the sake in her belly begins to settle. Part of her wants to get tipsy – just enough the smooth out the edge. But she kind of got tipsy the last time she was at a bar, and she doesn’t want Sasuke to think she’s irresponsible.

And now that, suddenly, this idea has become a concern in her frantic mind, Hinata says, “I wasn’t drunk that time. Not really.”

The door to the bar opens as a group of four enter. A breeze snags her hair, and Hinata shivers and fingers the cuff of her jacket. She doesn’t dare put it on, however. She’ll start melting the second she does.

“I know,” Sasuke drones. “I was watching you.”

Watching you, sounds nice when he says it. It doesn’t sound creepy or intense. It sounds like someone looking out for her. Her heart thunks, then sings. She thought he had been ignoring her that night, but perhaps that wasn’t exactly the case.

“It was nice,” she says, “that night.”

Sasuke drinks the last few drops of his sake. The bartender takes the bottle and the cups away.

“Why did you come?” she asks. They both flinch, and Hinata worries her question came out pointed and accusatory. “You – I mean, you were, um, a-allowed to come, of course. I’m glad you came. Just . . . .”

Stop, damn you, her mind begs her tongue.

“Everyone was there,” is his prolonged answer, which isn’t really an answer at all.

But Hinata doesn’t push.

She’s too frightened by her unintentional confession: ‘I’m glad you came’. In her head, it repeats herself, every time sounding more and more like ‘I like you and I keep thinking about your mouth’. That’s not how it actually sounded, right? She’s just being paranoid.

“That’s true,” she whispers.

Sasuke’s narrow gaze peers at the shelves of bottles behind the bar. “I shouldn’t have come?”

“N-No – I –“

“You can tell me the truth, Hinata. I don’t mind.”

Somehow, he sounds a little light. A little smug. The shadow of a smirk on his mouth that tells her he’s teasing her. He knows what she means. He heard her the first time, that she liked that he came. Of course, he did. He just wanted her to say it again.

Why?

Does he like it when she says things like that?

“I liked, um, that you came,” she says. “Honestly.”

She dares not look at him, but she can hear his short nails tap against the bar top. Is he nervous, or is he pleased. Personally, Hinata is both, plus a million other things.

“Another drink?” she asks. And before he answers, she waves over the barkeeper. “Shots. Can we h-have shots of something?”

Her eyes turn to Sasuke, who looks back for a moment before he tells the barkeeper to bring them a few kamikaze shots.

…

“Vodka,” she realizes, after giving one of the shots a sniff.

Sasuke is already downing one with ease, not reacting at the horrid taste that probably burns down his throat. Hinata can’t imagine having that kind of finesse. It seems so beyond her that she can only watch for a while, twisting the glass slight between her fingers.

“Too strong?” he asks.

Hinata wonders what he’d do if she said yes. Would he drink them for her? That would kill him, wouldn’t it? She’s not sure how much alcohol is in one shot, but vodka sounds strong and daunting. At the very least, he’ll be stumbling out of the bar. Hinata wouldn’t mind walking him home and helping him into bed. The image of tucking him into bed and brushing hair out of his face as he falls asleep turns her into mush and goo, and Hinata brings a shot to her mouth, hesitates, then steels herself.

“Of course not,” she says.

“Right,” Sasuke muses, jaw perched on the heel of his hand. “Experienced drinker.”

“For all of two weeks, yes.”

“You’re hesitating.”

Without giving herself time to think, Hinata downs the shot, then nearly gags as she forces herself to swallow the bit that lingered on her tongue. A ravenous shiver takes over her body, and she drinks a good amount of her water.

“O-Oh my goodness!”

Sasuke’s got that almost-smile again. “Not a fan, huh?”

“I, well, the sake was much better.”

Sasuke takes one of her shots, just as she expected him to; and while she really, really likes the idea of walking him home and getting a taste of how a drunk Uchiha Sasuke would act, she couldn’t possibly put the burden on him. Hinata manages to swipe one of his shots, choking it down before he can stop her.

He frowns. “You don’t like it.”

“I’m – ugh, I-I’m building my tolerance.”

Sasuke shakes his head, and he snorts, and he kind of laughs again. An aching laugh that catches in his throat, as if he’s not used to making such a noise. And, heavens, it sets Hinata off. She thinks something is boiling right beneath her skin.

Maybe . . . maybe she is one of those girls that can make a boy laugh and smile and enjoy her company. Maybe she can be funny and charismatic and smart. Maybe she can say the right things to get his attention, to make him realize she sees him.

But is she brave enough.

Well . . . .

They say you’re braver when you’re drunk, so Hinata downs her shot, downs the next; a blanket wraps around her brain as the dim lights of the bar twinkle overhead. Her stomach is still full of food, and despite her determination to get somewhat smashed, she can’t help but follow her alcohol with glasses of water. Within the next ten minutes, she becomes a subdued tipsy; a giddy, soft sort that makes her forget any anxieties she’s ever had while interacting with Uchiha Sasuke.

“I think,” she says with a determined spin on her stool, distracting him enough to leave his water glass hovering close to his mouth, “that you – that you do well with talking.”

His head tilts in the slightest symbol of curiosity. “You’re drunk,” he decides.

She cannot outright deny it, for he had been at her side for the entire night, eyeing every shot she downed as he took his in stride. But drunk wasn’t right. Drunk was a bit too dramatic. Hinata felt too aware to be drunk, yet not exactly sober all the same. A perfect middle that still allowed her enough spunk to speak her mind.

“Not yet,” she tells him with a happy smile that she has no control over. “You, um, you have your own way of talking, but I think you do it well.” Then she frowns. “Well? You speak well? You speak good?”

“Drunk,” he mutters.

“And I think – I think, um, sometimes being a good talker isn’t the only way to communicate.” The lull of the atmosphere and the sake in her belly relaxes her muscles. For the first time in a while, Hinata feels the strain of stress pool out of her body. A relief that makes her smile turn brighter, prettier. “You know what they say: actions speak louder than words.”

That’s Sasuke’s way, she thinks. His mouth may not say a word, but it’s what he does that has helped her understand him better. The simple move of stabilizing her stool so she won’t fall. The way he pays and carries her things from the corner store. The stability in his hands when he helps her lift an injured civilian to his feet. Somehow, in the last few weeks, Sasuke is everywhere she needs him to be, covering her back and aiding her without being asked.

In those scenarios, words are not needed for Hinata to realize Sasuke isn’t bad at all.

He’s gone quiet, but she’s used to that by now. Whenever Sasuke falls silent, her eyes roam his form, searching for any signs that his expression will not confess. His torso turns to the bar, and his teeth bite together – almost like he’s irritated, but she doesn’t think he is. He’s something else, and his eyes are dark, and his hair brushes past his lashes when he bows his head away from her.

“Fuck,” she hears him whisper.

He downs his water, then calls the bartender over for a harder drink: an old-fashioned that smokes the air with the scent of whiskey. Is he following her lead, Hinata wonders. Chasing that fine line between tipsy and drunk – and for what reason? To forget? To avoid? To relax?

To become brave?

He barely swallows down something thick and amber when he turns suddenly in his seat and stares down at her. “Well, I have something to say, as well.”

Things dim, then brighten. Hinata steadies herself on her stool, then waits.

”Ichiraku’s,” he says.

Hinata nods.

”About . . . that . . . .”

”Y-Yes?”

He frowns to himself, then starts, in a rocky voice, “You’re . . . .” Hinata waits some more, heart skipping. She doesn’t dare hurry him — not that she could, even if she wanted to. The wind has been knocked out of her. “You’re . . . .”

It’s not a lack of words, Hinata slowly realizes. Sasuke hardly stutters. If he’s at a loss for words, he’d rather say nothing at all than force something. Clearly, Sasuke has plenty to say. It’s the rush of alcohol to his brain and the tipsy taste on his tongue that makes him slur, pause, struggle to get his words out.

Uchiha Sasuke: tipsy. Hinata never thought she’d witness such a thing.

”You’re be . . . beau . . . bo —“ He hisses a curse, glaring at the glistening specks of amber and topaz in the bar top. “Fuck, what’s that word? Byu— fuck.”

Hinata rubs her hands up and down her legs, head tipped at a bemused angle. She hasn’t a clue what he means to say, but helping him will probably frustrate him more. Bo? Byu?

”You’re fine,” he grits out, “and you’re gentle — and you’re bou — beaut — byoti —“

A hand tears through his bangs in frustration, and the golden lights of the bar snag across his perfect teeth as he sneers. Hinata stares at those teeth, then at the glow of his face, then at his narrow eyes.

She knows what he’s trying to say.

That conversation at Ichiraku’s — when Ayame asked how Sasuke saw her; this is his reply. A clumsy, stumbling, tongue-twister of a reply that only a tipsy Uchiha Sasuke could muster.

Hinata falls a little more in love with him. Any lingering doubts have melted away as she stares at him, burning and excited.

”You’re okay,” she encourages.

He blinks the glare out of his gaze. “Byou . . . Bruti . . . .”

”Keep going.”

”Beau . . . tish . . . .”

Annoyed, he snaps his head back. Hinata has to bite her lips together — hard — to keep herself from laughing. Heavens, he’s adorable.

His face is grave, which does not match the tipsy flush on his cheeks at all. He looks all too severe for a comfortable bar on a wintry night, clogged with people and cigarette smoke and low music and golden lights. Hinata is enchanted by the warped line of his mouth and the pink of his ears.

“What I mean,” he murmurs, leaning in – closer – closer – until she smells the whiskey and the cologne and the spearmint gum he popped into his mouth five minutes ago, “is that I want to kiss you.”

That warm fondness for his stumbling confessions turns into a raging yearn that she has never felt before. Her heart sings. Her brain is sending her nothing but green lights and visions of what it would be like to be kissed by him, by that mouth; that cute, stumbling mouth. In that moment, Hyuuga Hinata thinks there is nothing better than to be kissed by Uchiha Sasuke.

Hinata does what she has wanted to do all this time. She reaches out, grabs his hand, and pulls him with her.

…

In the alley behind the bar, there’s a stack of boxes that are stored there until the next day of recycling. Hinata knows this, because the second she tugs Sasuke through the ‘Employee’s Only’ back door, she all but throws him onto it. A shinobi, even a rather tipsy one, has some semblance of balance, so he catches himself on the pile, sitting upon it rather than toppling over it — which works out perfectly for her to sit on his lap, grab his jaw with both hands, and kiss him.

She doesn’t really know how to kiss someone; not like this. A chaste press of lips together, she’d be able to figure out, but that’s not what she’s aiming for, and nor is Sasuke. Her mouth opens his without any struggle, and their teeth knock into each other – but that’s alright. She’s too drunk to feel embarrassed about it, and based on the noise Sasuke makes, he doesn’t seem to mind either.

His hand holds onto her waist, then perches on her hip. As she massages his bottom lip with her tongue, she decides she wants that hand – that damned, beautiful, perfect hand – everywhere on her. Which wants it in corners and long expanses of skin. She wants the heat of his skin to warm hers.

Hinata grabs it, and Sasuke tears his mouth from hers, breathing hard and wondering if he wants her to stop. Then he twitches, and his thighs beneath her flex when she slides those long, rough fingers under the hem of her uniform top, letting him just graze the soft skin of her stomach.

“Fuck,” he says

Hinata likes how he curses, how he seems so blind-sighted by the feel of her skin. She dips down and kisses him again, so pleased and giddy and excited by how good his mouth feels and how the taste of spearmint and melon sake and citrus whiskey gets her addicted and wanting more. She bends into him when his hand slides to her back and plays against her spine. Her lungs burn when she doesn’t take a second to breath because it feels like a crime to separate her mouth from his. One of her hands manages to grip the back of his head, twisting into the roots of his hair. She wants him to do that, too – she wants him to grab her hair and anchor her closer. Is there a way to communicate that without removing her lips from his?

His hand slips out, and she almost shouts.

But then it runs down the cold length of her left arm, shocking her into another wave of pleasure.

Suddenly, she pulls away, breathing and breathing. God, the cold air hurts her lungs in just the right way, and she never wants Sasuke’s hand to leave her skin.

“Oh my gosh,” she says, “we forgot our jackets inside.”

The idea is so wild that she laughs out all the air her lungs just got until she’s wheezing. Hair falls around her face, dipping over Sasuke’s torso. He’s looking up at her like she’s the prettiest thing in the world.

“Put your arms around me,” he tells her.

So she does, and she laughs again when his arm fits beneath her thighs so he lifts her up as he stands. Her legs fit around his hips like they’re meant to be there. Suddenly, he has her pressed to the brick wall of the bar, halfway against the back door. His mouth molds against hers once more. Hinata tries to bring him all the way into her body, holding him there as he mouths every good thing into her swollen lips.

How long are they out there? Hinata doesn’t care to know.

All she knows is that it’s been a while before Sasuke manages his mouth away from hers and says, breathlessly, “Home.”

Hinata stares at him in wonder. “Your home?”

He looks shocked, which unfolds into bewilderment. “I’m taking you home.”

And to prove his point, he wraps his arm around her back to secure her against his front, and then he leaps onto the roof of the bar. Her stomach rolls in a nice way, and she laughs and kisses his neck.

“That’s fine,” she muses, “but my family is there.”

He groans in frustration – in a collection of all kinds of frustrations that make her smile and tease his neck some more. “No, Hinata, I’m not staying with you.”

Is there a way she can make him? Hinata turns her head to kiss him some more, unbothered by the torrent of wind beating against their bodies. Sasuke manages to leap from one roof to the other without their mouths separating. He manages that for most of the journey, and when they make it to the gate of the Hyuuga estate, they don’t even half to stop because the guards aren’t in their usual spots.

He corners her against the gate and tastes her tongue for a while, stirring with every noise and exhales he takes from her. Then, finally, he moves just enough to rest his forehead against hers, and Hinata has never felt happier in her life.

“You sure you won’t stay?”

He thinks about it. There’s something exciting about the idea of sneaking in and not being caught. They are, perhaps, too drunk for such feats, but the skill of a trained nature is a wonderful, uncanny thing.

“No,” he says, finally.

Hinata kisses him a final time, then turns to open the gate. Sasuke watches her cross the path and up onto the engawa. There’s something endearing about him that she can’t quite place, so Hinata waves at him before she enters into the overwhelming heat of her home.

[hazelsarts]

Day 9 of @nhmonth2025 “gender swap”

I just love the idea of long haired Hinata 🥹💕

[pianocoat]

Tongue-Tied: Part 5

Summary: It's no secret that, sometimes, Hyuuga Hinata gets a little tongue-tied. Despite her best efforts, it's a bad habit that she simply must live with. As it turns out, Uchiha Sasuke sometimes finds himself at a lost for words himself -- but only around a certain someone.

Tags: Post-War | Naruverse | Fluff | Romance | Awkward Romance | Hinata's POV | Canon Divergent | Misunderstandings | Hurt/Comfort | Mutual Pining

Hinata decides her feelings for Uchiha Sasuke are perfectly platonic.

She’s not denying that she is intrigued by him and, in a way, attracted – attracted in the sense that she wants to know more about him, of course. Of all of her old classmates from the Academy, Sasuke was the one she never truly grew to understand. Didn’t have the interest to, really. She was fasc9inated with Kiba and the countless dogs he tried to sneak into the classroom. She was enchanted by Sakura’s bright hair and pretty face, the way she simply took up a room. She was monopolized by Naruto --

Lord, Naruto.

There was no room in Hinata’s heart for anyone else but Naruto back then. Uchiha Sasuke was a glimpse, a dark splosh of something in the background. She knew him vaguely, and that was it, and that was fine.

And now it’s been almost a full decade since those years, and suddenly, everything has changed. Now, Naruto is a mystery she cannot solve as her feelings slowly change, and Sasuke – Sasuke is something else. Something peculiar. Something exciting and heart-pumping.

. . . In a platonic sense, she means.

“You like him,” she tells herself in the dark of her bedroom, curled atop her bed, “as a friend. A friend, Hinata.”

Of course, she does. If she liked him any other way, it would all be so complicated and confusing. She already has Naruto to worry about. She can’t add Sasuke to the mix.

She can’t.

…

Her dreams, of course, betray her. They explore scenarios where things were different. Scenarios where Sasuke is walking her home after her twentieth birthday celebration and, somehow, his hand has found hers in the cave of her sleeve. He squeezes her palm and springs heat into her bloodstream, and the streetlamps start melting, and the wind turns into steam, and her heart is racing so fast she can hardly tell one beat from the other.

And there are other scenarios, where Sasuke goes a little further every time, and Dream Hinata never minds, never protests. She wakes up in a startled mess, blushing, on the brink of a fit.

And she decides, just then, that until she has everything sorted, she ought to avoid Uchiha Sasuke.

“Hinata! Oi, come join us!”

Her plans, of course, immediately backfire.

It’s her own fault. She should have known to avoid Ichiraku’s. Uzumaki Naruto is another obstacle in her thoughts, and being that he spends most of his free time at the ramen bar, she should have known to stay clear away. But a drowsy and messy mind gave way to leading legs, and before she knew it, Hinata is here, staring in awe at Naruto’s bright face as he waves her over.

And next to him, naturally, is Uchiha Sasuke.

The clouds could hear her racing pulse. With lagging steps, Hinata approaches. She tries to think of a believable excuse to leave, but nothing comes by the time she reaches them. Naruto touches her shoulder – has he always been so touchy with her? – and tells her to order anything, his treat. The stool to his right is free, but Hinata is sure she would melt if he kept touching her and smiling at her like he is now. Distance. She needs distance. So she takes the spot next to Sasuke, and only then remembers she had meant to avoid him too.

Oh dear.

Ayame offers a pretty smile when Hinata orders miso ramen. Through peeks, Hinata examines Sasuke’s profile – the same one she has seen time and time again. Unaffected and straight. So distant that he might not even realize she’s right next to him. But he has to. Fter all he said yesterday, he has to. Cold builds up in her bones. Hinata breathes warmth into her palms and tries to ignore whatever knot is forming inside.

“You look pretty today,” Naruto calls across the bar. “Your hair. It stands out!”

Ayame places the steaming bowl of ramen in front of Hinata, whipping back her rag when she lectures Naruto that a girl is pretty ‘every day’ and that it’s not polite to only point it out once. Hinata fumbles with her chopsticks, manages to crack them apart, rubs the ends together to get the splinters out; she takes a hearty potion of the noodles and slurps them up without mess. It’s warm and salty. Her face is also warm. A lot of things are suddenly warm, and anxiety worms into her gut and loosens her appetite.

Still, to be polite, she eats.

Was he flirting just now? What is the difference between a flirt and a compliment? She should know, shouldn’t she? She’s an adult, and adults know things. They don’t need to go to their sensei for answers about silly things like this.

Ayame places another bowl for Naruto, shutting him up. She asks Sasuke if he wants another bowl, and when Hinata looks at him, she notices his frown. Unhappy again; probably annoyed. Because of her?

Stop thinking like that, she tells herself.

“Then what should I say?” Through a mouthful of noodles, Naruto continues.

With a small sigh, Sasuke pushes his bowl away, signaling to Ayame that he’s done. Taking his bowl, she says, “Just drop the today. Hinata, you look pretty. Get it?” Then, the girl grins at her. “I think you’re always pretty, Hinata.”

Taking in another mouthful of food, she blushes, chews, swallows, then whispers, “Th-Thank you.”

Naruto laughs, and Ayame’s grin turns sly. “What do you think, Sasuke?”

Hinata’s heart stops. She freezes up, then trembles, then steams with embarrassment. She begs for him to say nothing, but then longs for him to say something, anything at all. She doesn’t understand why she wants Sasuke to think she’s pretty, but she does. She wants to be that kind of beautiful where he’ll have no choice but to look at her and talk with her at her twentieth birthday celebration at the bar. He might say something that will send her heart fluttering – something so uncharacteristically Sasuke – something like ‘I don’t think I can leave you alone tonight’. Something he usually would never say – but she is so beautiful, and men act differently around beautiful things.

She wants him to confess, confidently, that he finds her the most exquisite thing.

She also wants him to never dare answer a question like that. No matter his answer, she wouldn’t be able to handle it.

. . . And where did all that come from? Hinata hasn’t ever been interested in capturing Sasuke’s eye before. For most of her life, she was more focused on a certain someone rather than the popular Uchiha that the rest of Konoha adored. Even when he returned to Konoha, changed and slightly subdued, but still that devastatingly intimidating being, she only had a tepid acquaintanceship with him. What has changed? Why, all of the sudden, does she want to be beautiful to him – to this man who can be both kind and chilling at the same time. Why does she dream of him holding her hand and touching the small of her back awkwardly, like he’s not sure, like he’s scared he’ll scare her away.

Why does something as simple as him calling her an idiot in the subdued Uchiha affection, half-laughing, make her so, so happy?

Everything has become so complicated; Naruto, and now this.

The air is so thick. It’s clogging up her lungs.

A shake to her hands makes it difficult to hold her bowl up to drink her broth, but she manages. Run, her mind begs, but she will not.

She’s tired of running, even if the situations makes her want to.

So she waits in the thick silence for Naruto and Sasuke to finish. Despite Naruto’s kind offer, she pulls out her wallet and pays for her ramen, and then she rocks back on her stool and nearly topples it over – Sasuke’s anchoring foot stabilizes it before she can, thankfully, though her embarrassment is an ugly red against her face. How could she ever think he saw her as beautiful? Stupid Hinata.

“Th . . . Thank you for the food.” She forces a smile at Naruto, stands, waits and begs for them to stand, as well, so it doesn’t look like she’s trying to get away from them.

And they do . . . slowly. Naruto is chatting with Ayame, not a care in the world; and Sasuke is adjusting his scarf around his neck, eyes on the sky. Clouds are swirling, threatening another round of snow. Hinata hopes it does. She wants to be buried in it. She wants it to melt into her face and seep the blush out of her face.

With a half-step, she starts on her escape.

She only manages a half-turn when Sasuke grabs her arm, stopping her in her tracks. Even through her layers, she can feel his heat. It drives her insane. It makes her exhale every ounce of control she has left in her body.

He knees almost topple. Imagine that: a shinobi collapsing in the streets for no apparent reason.

“Eh?” she hears Naruto muse from behind. “Something wrong?”

Hinata steels herself and looks at Sasuke. He looks dark. He always does, but this is strange. This is deep, reaching his core. His hand squeezes, then releases her. He says nothing, and Hinata shivers and bows and leaves. She nearly sprints, but that would be running, and she is not running.

Above, snow begins to fall.

…

For whatever reason, Konoha thought it was a good idea to schedule their war drills in the icy depths of winter. Even as a child, Hinata would have to go through them every year: the siren’s would go off, and civilians would be guided into secured shelters beneath the village. Several shinobi would be in each shelter, listing out the safety measures that one should follow in the case of an attack. She remembers curling into the warmth of her mother, once, when she was a child. The heat of a body against the cold made her sleepy, and the next thing she knew was being carried home after the drill was over.

The year after that, Mother was gone, and Hinata was given the chore to keep baby Hanabi quiet while her father stared blankly at the shelter walls.

As a kuonichi, the days of being guided into designated shelters are long in the past. Now, she gathers with the rest of Konoha’s nin in front of Hokage Tower, where Shizune hands out scrolls with the necessary information on them – which shelter, which neighborhoods, what guidelines to go over, how long to stay inside, and who she will be working with.

Uchiha Sasuke. Of course.

Somehow, Hinata had expected that. It’s the miserable aftermath of a blizzard. The temperatures haven’t been given the chance to rise over freezing. It’s just her luck that she will have to follow through this exhausting procedure with Uchiha Sasuke of all people. When given the chance, Hinata catches a glance at the Hokage, wondering if he is punishing her for any misdeed of the past.

The devil himself joins her after the brief meeting, eyes scanning their shared scroll. Hinata wonders if there’s any way she can get through this day without him ever looking at her. If so, he might not remember that embarrassing display from yesterday, and she might be able to go to bed tonight with some shred of dignity.

A hopeless thought, of course.

Biting back a sigh, Hinata leaps after Sasuke as they make their way to their designated spot, where they wait for the sirens to go off. The villagers are used to it by now. Most just leave their house and come to the closest shelter. There will be no need for guiding anyone in their section, which is a shame; Hinata is in desperate need of a distraction.

The snow clouds from the blizzard are still overhead, daunting. The gray of it all has made the colors of her village bland. She longs for spring, for green to etch its way through Konoha. She longs for sunshine and flowers and a warm breeze that doesn’t snag against her shin and make her shiver despite the three layers she is wearing. In most instances, they are meant to wear their uniforms during drills. Lord Kakashi, ever merciful, decided that the temperatures have allowed some leniency. A scarf is snug around her neck, and Sasuke’s down coat is long and heavy, pitch black. Striking against the dull background.

It is hard to ignore him.

“Hinata.” Why must he say her name like that? Like it is a dainty ice crystal in the air that could shatter if he speaks too loudly. She wonders if he thinks she’s fragile. They have had a couple of missions together. He has seen how tough she can be – perhaps not like stone, but like willow. Bendable, not breakable. “You were strange at Ichiraku’s.”

So he noticed. Well, anyone with half an ear would have heard her stutters and sputters. Shame carves into her cheeks, and her eyes are steady and forward, not daring to look back at him.

She had hoped her lack of answer would have warded him away, but he continues. “Are you . . . .”

His dragging pause is natural, but then the siren cough and whine, giving him no choice but the cut the question short. Villagers waddle out of their homes, heavily bundled. They are stationed at the back of small museum, where the shelter is tucked away in the basement. Sasuke pulls open the heavy metal doors, and Hinata counts the villagers as they duck into the narrow stairway that leads them into the small, bare room inside. Thankfully, her number matches her expected count on the scroll, but she makes sure to do another head count inside the shelter.

It is not a pleasant place. Dark and cold, though recently cleaned. There are no chairs, so civilians sit along the wall on the floor, tucking hands away into pockets or between their knees. There are only two handheld lanterns to light the room, giving it a dim, yellow glow that barely shines in the eyes of its occupants.

It is mostly quiet, aside from a child near the front, who fusses softly in his mother’s arms. Cold, probably. Poor dear. Hopefully, the survey of the village will be quick. Sometimes, it can take up to an hour before people are allowed to return home.

After finding that her count is once again correct, Hinata waits for Sasuke to shut the door before she goes over protocol. In an easy tone, she instructs the civilians what to do if an attack hits Konoha – what to bring, which shelters are nearby if this one is full, what the all-clear will sound like. She passes around a map that shows possible escape routes if fleeing is necessary. The poor child tries to snatch the map out of his mother’s hands, not in a good mood at all. Hinata smiles at the apologetic glance the mother offers her.

When she prompts for questions, no one says a word. A few villagers glance nervously at Sasuke. Not very happy to be stuck in a shelter with him, she supposes. Quietly, she agrees with them – though for very different reasons, she is sure.

The walkie at her hip cracks awake, and a voice drones that the survey has begun.

Now they wait.

Hinata sits with her back against the cold, metal door. Is that her breath she sees? It really is freezing. It wouldn’t have hurt anyone if the drill was postponed by just a week. But Hinata won’t complain, and from the looks of her civilians, nor will they.

The boy breaks out into a cry – not very loud, but the beginning whines of a temper. He’s shaking, and the mother has taken off her jacket to wrap him as best she can. It’s not unusual for small children to cry during drills. In past drills, Hinata has watched even adults throw a temper or two. It’s nothing a shinobi cannot handle, especially with past partners like Ino or Shikamaru. With them, she can joke around and talk. With them, the minutes go by fast.

Uchiha Sasuke makes time stand still, and it’s both unsettling and a little romantic.

Hinata blows hot air into her palms. A sob breaks from the child, and a few people stir. The mother tries to shush him, but it does no good. Dark bags hang under her eyes, and the poor girl looks thin and stressed. Hinata leans forward, working her coat off. Shinobi are trained to survive terrible conditions. If she were to die in a Konoha shelter of all places, than she does not deserve her title.

A hand lands on her shoulder, stopping her.

Sasuke is already standing, blankly looking down at her. He pulls her coat back up, then crosses the shelter to loom over mother and child. The boy struggles and squirms. The mother looks up, pale and terrified.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, rocking her child. “He is cold and a little sick. I – I’m trying . . . .”

Chakra pools into Sasuke core, electric and hot. The friction raises his body temperature. With her senses, Hinata can feel it from across the room. She watches him closely as Sasuke kneels down and cradles the boy’s cheek in his hand. The mother freezes, but the boy quiets some, leaning into the warmth. Then, Sasuke worms the boy’s hands loose from his mother’s coat and holds them against his palm, then rubs heat into his thin legs and arms. It reminds Hinata of the techniques they learned to keep themselves warm and their blood circulating if they were ever stranded in freezing temperatures. With his chakra, Sasuke becomes a beacon of heat. A few of the nearby civilians, while still cautious, lurch their shoulders forward to feel that heat.

When the boy is warm and quiet, Sasuke returns to his spot by the metal door. Hinata feels her right side steam at his proximity.

“Smart,” she whispers, because she knows something closer to a ‘good job’ would annoy him. For some reason, Uchiha Sasuke does not like his good deeds to be acknowledged.

Ten minutes pass quietly. The silence is only disturbed by the soft cracking of their walkies as the surveying shinobi clear sections of the village. Hinata thinks she’d rather be out there, searching. The Hyuuga are usually asked to fill such roles, after all. But not her. Not this year. This year, she is in a small, dark shelter with Uchiha Sasuke, half of her body warm from his roaring chakra kept secured in his core.

The child stirs again, cooled and sniffling. He tries to wriggle free from his mother’s white-knuckled grip. His small feet kick against her thighs. She holds the boy close to her mouth, whispering, begging for his patience. But the boy keeps wiggling, and more civilians begin to rock awkwardly.

”Let him,” Sasuke says.

The mother’s face falls, terrified. It’s rather apparent that she does not want her child anywhere near the traitor. Allowing Sasuke to warm him in her arms was one thing; to release her child to the clutches of the daunting Uchiha is another. Hinata readjusts and slips her legs beneath her, kneeling.

”I’m sure you’re cold,” she says, smiling. “It’s alright. Put on your jacket. You need to stay healthy for your son.”

”Oh, I . . . .” The mother trails off, hesitates, and slowly releases her child.

The boy pulls away, sniffs, and wanders over to Sasuke. Hinata comes to the young mother’s side, helping her yank her light jacket back onto her small body. A thin thing, with hardly any fat to keep her warm. Hinata does not allow her concern to reflect in her eyes.

”H-He won’t hurt him,” the mother whispers, “will he?”

Hinata glances over her shoulder and sees the boy has curled up into Sasuke’s side, breathing softly, already half-asleep. Sasuke carefully lifts the edge of his coat to wrap it around the boy’s shoulders, making no motion to pull him away. The sight makes her heart thrum with fondness, and she quickly turns back to the mother before her glee becomes obvious on her face.

”I promise he’s safe,” Hinata said. “Let him sleep. It might be another forty minutes.”

Hinata wraps her own jacket around the mother, securing the sleeves around her thin wrists before she returns to Sasuke’s side. Heavens, it’s cold. She wills her body to adjust, to not shiver in a desperate attempt to warm up. She hopes Sasuke will not notice. If he takes her in like he had the child, kindly, but with a sense of duty, she wouldn’t know how to react.

”Are you alright?” she asks him, mostly to distract herself. Thirty-nine minutes and counting.

He glances down at the child, then stares passively at the opposite wall. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Well, not everyone likes children. Hinata adores them, cherishes them, loves them even if they are a mere stranger passing by on the street. Children make her think of Hanabi, of Mirai — of the people she holds so close to her heart that, sometimes, it aches when she thinks about them. But not everyone is like her. Uchiha Sasuke does not seem the sort to like children.

But he doesn’t seem the type to be kind for kindness sake, and she’s well aware that he is. Too kind, even; the sort where she feels a little breathless and a little unbalanced every time he does something nice.

Oh dear.

That sounds like a crush, doesn’t it?

And isn’t it just her luck that Hinata would discover that she maybe, probably, possibly has a crush on Uchiha Sasuke in a shadowy shelter.

Or maybe she knew all along, and is only brave enough to acknowledge it now.

”Hinata,” he says, low and soft, so unlike his normal drawl.

She feels fizzling and pops in the center of her spine. Oh dear, oh dear. This isn’t good at all. “Y . . . Yes?”

”At Ichiraku’s, you were strange.”

Ah. He’s bringing that up again. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not insulting you,” he says, but not like before. Yesterday, it was almost desperate, like he hated the idea of her believing he would truly see her as an idiot. Right now, it’s a bit stoic, a bit flat. “I’m asking why.”

Why.

Why?

It’s obvious, isn’t it? “Naruto,” she blurts before she can stop herself. It just rushes out – as if it’s been waiting on her tongue for a long time.

Sasuke doesn’t look surprised. He probably had a feeling. Of course, he did. He’d been there for all those instances. When Naruto had flirted with her – it had been flirting, hadn’t it? – during the movie night at his apartment, Sasuke had seen. He had been absolutely disgusted. He sat between them probably because he didn’t want it to happen again. Which makes sense, now that she thinks about it. Sasuke doesn’t seem the kind to appreciate public flirting and PDA.

So he must know. He must see how confused she is with every new thing.

The attention – the small touches – the playful flirting that might mean more; it all clusters into something larger than Hinata, than any girl who has a heart that beats, sings, yearns. Uzumaki Naruto might . . . or might not . . . be interested in her, and she doesn’t know what to do about it. Shinobi are problem-solvers. They find the answers. They fix things.

Hinata does not know how to fix this. Her arms stretch across her peaked knees, partially hiding her face. She murmurs, miserably, “He makes everything confusing.”

A minute shift in Sasuke’s character catches her attention. The small child huddled to his side does not feel it, but Hinata has become susceptible to Uchiha subtlety. There’s a tick in his arm, and his hooded gaze is narrowed with annoyance – more than that, actually.

“Actually,” he says, softly, to not disturb anyone around them – especially not the child slowly falling asleep into his structure, “that might be my fault.”

What does that mean? Hinata can’t wrap her head around it. He couldn’t have asked Naruto to act this strange way towards her. What would Uchiha Sasuke get from that? Pleasure at her distress? Maybe, as a timid genin, she would have believed that.

But not now.

Now, Sasuke is . . .

Sasuke is . . . .

Sasuke is someone who walks a slightly-tipsy woman home without having to be asked. Sasuke is brave enough to admit he has an issue with talking to one of the most socially awkward girls in Konoha. Sasuke is a quiet protector that lets a scared child soak up the warmth of his fiery chakra in the cold dark of a Konoha shelter. Hinata stares at him, and all of the sudden she wants to lean in and feel that warmth, too, that structure. That closeness to someone that she hardly knows, yet wants to keep knowing.

And when he looks back, it’s as if he’s feeling the same things.

…

Soon, a gravelly voice announces over the walkie that the drill is over. Sasuke returns to child to his mother as Hinata opens the heavy doors and sees everyone out of the shelter. The fresh air feels nice in her lugs. The sun has nearly set behind the homes across the street, allowing shadows to creep over her.

Together, she and Sasuke turn in their report, and then they hesitate in the lobby of Hokage Tower.

It’s a natural enough ending, Hinata supposes. This us where those tense scenes in her romance stories stop. The girl realizes she has a thing for the boy, and then the next chapter begins in a totally new place. She and Sasuke will leave; he will go home, and she will go home, and they might see each other again tomorrow or the day after that – but for now, this is it.

“Um. Uh, Sasuke.” But . . . Hinata doesn’t want it to stop here. “Do you – I mean, if you’re not busy – um, do you want to grab a drink? With . . . with me, I mean. Now.”

Not a very seductive invitation, but when Hinata finds the will to look at him, he seems a bit put-off. Not in a disturbed way. More like he expected anything else but such an offer. Perhaps he never thought Hinata so daring as to invite someone out to drinks – someone who wasn’t quite a friend. Someone who was in that weird zone where no title seemed to work.

His hand digs deep into the pocket of his coat. With a shallow incline to his head, he motions her to lead the way, and Hinata, buzzing, does.

[pianocoat]

Tongue-Tied: Part 4

Summary: It's no secret that, sometimes, Hyuuga Hinata gets a little tongue-tied. Despite her best efforts, it's a bad habit that she simply must live with. As it turns out, Uchiha Sasuke sometimes finds himself at a lost for words himself -- but only around a certain someone.

Tags: Post-War | Naruverse | Fluff | Romance | Awkward Romance | Hinata's POV | Canon Divergent | Misunderstandings | Hurt/Comfort | Mutual Pining

Neji is waiting when she arrives home, a small dusting of frost on her jacket’s shoulders. He’s in a thick yukata, hair free to slip over his shoulder as he idly concentrates on weaving dried bamboo – a hobby they learned when they were young to promote finger flexibility. On the engawa, cast in twilight, he looks suddenly very mature, and Hinata stares for a moment, surprised. Where had that small boy gone? The one who followed her when they were children, who hated her when they were genin, who promised to protect her with all he had after that? When had her cousin grown so?

So caught up in her thoughts, she almost misses his question. Almost.

“Are you close with Uchiha Sasuke now?”

Hyuuga Neji never just asks a question. There is always more to it then satisfying his mild curiosity. In most cases, he already knows the answer and merely wants to test if she will answer truthfully or not.

Only, in this case, Hinata isn’t sure what the truth would be.

Joining her cousin on the engawa, she peeks up at the dark sky. There are no stars, and soon, the snow will come. She can taste it on the breeze. “I’m not sure.”

The hollow sound of bending bamboo peppers through the silent night. The Hyuuga compound is secluded in a sleepy neighborhood, far away from the hubbub of the village. Often times, she will find her cousin meditating in these quiet hours, no matter the weather. She has found him in the rain. She has joined him in windstorms.

He should be meditating now, and she should be chasing sleep.

But he isn’t. He’s asking about Uchiha Sasuke, and she is thinking about him all over again. Her throat still feels cool from the water he had bought her.

“He had walked you home that night,” Neji muses. “And you saw him again tonight.”

Hinata is not sure how he knew about the small rendezvous by the park. For all she knows, her cousin has been home all night, weaving and waiting for her. Had he used the byakugan? Or, maybe, it’s the same as it is whenever she’s out with Naruto. Hanabi says she can always guess when she talked with Naruto because she has ‘an expression’. Does she have one with Sasuke as well? Hinata feels her features, her mouth, the undersides of her eyes. Nothing is unusual – at least not to her.

Neji, watching her from the corner of his eye, huffs a laugh. “It’s not your face,” he says. “His chakra is stuck on you.”

Turning pink, Hinata rubs her cold hands together. There is a sticky quality to chakra that most people beyond the Hyuuga are not aware of. Like scents, they can attach to the people around you, and they can stay for hours. In most cases, it takes very close proximity for chakra to latch onto another form. Sasuke hadn’t been . . . that close. All he did was block the wind a bit.

What must he think? Hinata stares at Neji’s profile, aghast. Does he think we’re secret lovers?

. . . For some reason, Hinata doesn’t feel completely disgusted at the thought.

Groaning, Hinata bows her face into her perched knees. “He was just being nice.”

Neji’s hum is full of amusement. “That’s how it starts, dear cousin.”

…

The Aburame is rather sensitive to the cold. Despite the clan having lived in Konoha for countless generation, and thus having faced its wintry months for centuries, the Aburame is not at all a fan of snow, freezing temperatures, and the like. Between late November and early March, they fall into a sort of informal hibernation – ‘homebody syndrome’ Kiba calls it. A buncha lazy asses.’ The Aburame gather food and supplies during the late fall, and once the first snow hits, they huddle into their fortified homes and, for weeks on end, stay there. Occasionally, one might pop out to observe whatever insect are about and make a pit stop at a local store, but most of them stay as far from the cold as they can.

Except the shinobi.

Naturally, Aburame shinobi cannot ignore their duty as a ninja just because of their clan’s hibernating habits. Most of them unwillingly go out into the cold, bundled up, and quickly return home once the mission is complete.

Shino is not like his family. Not in this instance, at least.

In fact, when winter hits the village, Shino becomes rather annoyed with them.

“They act as if they will die,” he mutters to Hinata.

He says this every year, but she always lends a sympathetic ear. They are just returning from a search-and-rescue mission. One of Konoha’s merchant clans, the Yanai, reported their son missing after he left to deliver supplies to one of the small villages to the north. Team 8 is known as the best tracking team in all of the ninja world; with Kiba’s nose, Shino’s surveying insect, and Hinata’s dojutsu, the poor lad was found within six hours. After the report, Kiba sprinted back to his clan. A new litter was due to arrive at any moment, and he wanted to be there to help his sister. This left Hinata and Shino to their own devices. They gathered a few things for the Aburame, and then they were on their way.

“Your mother?” Hinata asks. “How is she?”

Last year, she caught a terrible cold that left her sons in a fit. Weak to the cold, she’s always been a sensitive sort.

Shino’s brows drawn behind his classes. “Fine. Absolutely lovely. Why? Because she has made a ridiculous shawl out of all the old quilts and parades around like a madwoman.”

Hinata adjusts the bags of fruits and tissues in her arms. “I’m glad she’s well.”

He snorts. “She was much quieter when she was ill.”

Then, he shoots her a smile, and Hinata laughs.

At the Aburame compound, Hinata helps Shino deliver supplies to different houses. A few clansmen are scattered about, checking nests of eggs and the ant colonies on the border of the compound. Many of their usual insect, Shino has told her, either migrate or lay eggs and die when winter comes. Still, it’s a bit unsettling to not hear the usual cacophony of chirps and buzzes and hums.

There is a special beetle that the Aburame has bred to survive in Konoha’s winter: a bulky thing with a glassy elytra that reflects the white of snow and the gray of the sky. Past winters, Shino would take her out to the forests surrounding his clan to show her the beetles. She gives the trees a longing look when the last of the supplies have been delivered.

“You want to see them,” Shino realizes in a soft tone.

Hinata, a little embarrassed for being read so easily, nods. “Would that be too much trouble?”

“I shall need to check on my mother.” He frowns, then rolls his shoulder to the treeline. “Go ahead. I’ll join you soon.”

Hinata bites back her excitement and peels through the first wall of spruce and naked birch. Fern and other brush snag at her pant legs as she traverses forward, eyeing the trunks she passes, searching for the beetles. Due to their reflective shell, they blend in with their scenery; sometimes, it takes a special angle to spot them.

A wintry forest is quiet and still. A layer of snow crusts against the west-facing sides of trunks, and some of the overhead branches creak with its weight. Hinata finds no beetle, but she’s content with the quiet isolation for a while.

A slight movement in the corner of her eye makes her turn. There, about thirty meters away, with a hand perched against a thick trunk, stands Uchiha Sasuke. His dark form stands out fro the soft browns and grays of the forest. He seems to spot her just as she notices him, and for a second, they stare at each other.

Oh, what to do? Their talk last night lifted the cloth from her eyes . . . in some ways. In other ways, she’s just as confused as before. But she knows he does not hate her, and that’s all well and good, but . . .

Well, admittedly, the thing Neji said on the engawa unsettled her. ‘ That’s how it starts,’ as if this rocky, trembling friendship slowly building between her and Sasuke will change. As if it won’t simply grow into a more stable companionship. As if something more will bloom from it.

And when Hinata had thought about it, she felt conflicted. She felt like opposite parts of her mind were battling. She both liked and hated the idea of something coming from this tepid relationship.

But no worries, she had thought. By the time I see him again, all will be figured out.

She thought she had a week – maybe a handful of days.

Ha.

What a silly thought.

“G-Good . . . um, hello, Sasuke,” she calls.

His nod is shallow but acknowledging. Enough for her to move on without feeling guilty. Is that what she should do? Keep walking? Leave him there?

Hinata hesitates. Well, walking away won’t do either of them any good. She needs to get in the habit of conversing more smoothly – plus, it never hurt to be a little friendly. Up to this point, Sasuke doesn’t seem to mind.

So she slowly crosses the terrain until she’s next to him, smiling awkwardly.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Your teammate required my aid,” is all he says.

Hinata supposes he must mean with the beetles. Why else would Uchiha Sasuke be in the middle of this forest? They walk together, the snaps of foliage and twigs the only noise between them. Hinata hunts for something to say – anything. Small-talk won’t do. Sasuke gives the impression that he’d hate such a thing, and Hinata isn’t one to deliver such talk in a way that isn’t stiff and awkward. She has a million questions to ask, but that seems a bit suffocating. Lord, how do Ino and Sakura do it? How can Kiba and Naruto talk on end without stopping? How does everything Shikamaru and Shino say sound intelligent?

A hand gently taps her shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts. She looks up at Sasuke, then follows his gaze to a tree where two beetles huddle next to each other. Their horns are short stubs, and their elytra mirroring the deep greens of the ferns and moss surrounding them.

Hinata shivers with elation. “Oh, good! I was scared I’d not see one today.”

Sasuke tilts his head a tad. “They have chakra.”

He means that she could easily find them with her dojutsu, and Hinata grins. “Well, I wanted some challenge.”

He scoffs and continues on. When they reach the outskirts of the forest, Shino is waiting for them.

“My apologies,” he says, “I forgot to inform you that I asked Sasuke to survey the beetles.”

Hinata smiles up at the Uchiha. “That was, um, nice of you.”

In return, Sasuke scowls. “I can’t be nice?”

And, somehow, they both freeze up. Hinata winces and wishes she could word things in a better way, and then she notices the sort of awestruck wideness to Sasuke’s gaze. Ah, right. That unsocial part of him has won again.

“I know what you mean,” she whispers.

Sasuke sighs out a long exhale that ribbons from his mouth. To the side, Shino looks a tad perplexed. He probably thinks she and Sasuke are close. Hinata con only hope that’s all that he’s assuming about them.

“Tea,” he says, at last. “Please allow me to pour you tea before you both leave.”

And Hinata knows he didn’t mean it in such a way . . . but the way those words sound – both leave – makes it out to be as if she and Sasuke will leave together. Her face pinkens, and she nods and follows both men to the compound.

…

The green tea that Shino pours for them is steaming, perfect to pool into her stomach and warm her from the inside. Hinata enjoys the small minutes out of the merciless cold, fingers regaining their color as they rest against the china of the teacup in her hands. Shino and Sasuke murmur about the beetles, low and smooth, enough to make Hinata relax.

And then tea is over, and when she stands, so does Sasuke.

Again, Shino shoots her a perplexed look. She secretly waves his wonders away, pulls on her coat, and thanks him as best she can. The whole time, Sasuke looms next to her, determined to leave when she does no matter how she stalls.

This time, when she steps into the howling wind, the cold is welcomed upon her red face. Hinata once again finds herself in a battle for words. Nothing right comes to mind. ‘Do you have any plans for this evening’ sounds too suggestive. ‘How is Sakura?’ is a bit silly – as if Sasuke is the only one that ever gets to see her.

‘What’s happening here?’ is what she wants to ask, but refuses to release from her screwed mouth. People can walk with people. That’s common, especially with friends; and even if they are just beginning to discover their friendship with one another, that still makes them friends, doesn’t it?

But when it comes to Uchiha Sasuke, everything feels . . . strange.

That rope of anxiety that twists in her stomach whenever she thinks about Naruto and how he may or may not have a thing for her – it’s that same feeling.

It shouldn’t be, but it is.

“Hinata.”

Her stomach drops as her heart sings in surprise. She stares up at him. “Y-Yes?”

They are stopped on a corner. Coat-cladded civilians pass by them in groups. Sasuke lifts his chin and nudges it to the side. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Hinata analyses the street once more and finds that he’s absolutely right. To get to the Hyuuga clan, she should have taken a right ages ago. From how it looks, it’s as if she’s following him to the Uchiha complex.

Oh dear! Hinata fears her face will never turn its normal color again.

“That’s – I didn’t – oh my goodness, I wasn’t paying attention. S-Sorry – I wasn’t – I didn’t mean . . . .”

Hinata feels as though one of those beetles has gotten stuck in her throat, buzzing wildly, digging deeper to seek more warmth. Nothing sound is coming out of her. Hinata clamps her mouth shut and wallows in shame before anything else embarrassing happens.

Sasuke observes her coolly, which does her no good.

Then, he scoffs lightly, and he shakes his head and says, lowly, “Idiot.”

Huh?

H-Huh?

Blood drains into her legs, leaving her upper body cold and numb.

“I-Idiot?” Of course, it’s not the first time Hinata has been called such. Children at the Academy would taunt her with such names, and while the word idiot wasn’t exactly in her father’s vocabulary, he had always treated her as a moron. What would normally be a mild insult brings a lifetime of pain to her chest, and she cringes away. Anti-social or not, Uchiha Sasuke seems to think her a moron. “I don’t try to be.”

A flash of Sasuke’s teeth comes with his scowl. He grabs her arm, as if she will run away – and, honestly, she almost does. It’s a cowardly thing, but sometimes a hurt dog needs seclusion to lick her wounds and heal. Hinata hates to run, and she feels as if she’s been running a lot recently; all because of this confusing man.

“It’s not an insult,” he says.

“How can it not be?” She almost yanks away from him, but his grip is strong.

Sasuke huffs, shakes his head, huffs again. He blows smoke like a dragon, and his chakra snaps and thunders. Eventually, he releases her to run his hand through his choppy bangs.

“I’m not insulting you,” he says, again.

It’s a bit of a spectacle to see him struggle like this. Since she’s known him, Hinata has always viewed Sasuke as someone who never had issues. Things came naturally to him: aiming a kunai or remembering hand signs. Always the top student. Always the fastest, the strongest, the brightest. And even into his adult years, he seemed perfect at everything. Even the simple act of drinking at a bar seemed perfected. For the longest time, Hinata was sure Sasuke had absolutely no weaknesses.

To see him in this state is a little rewarding. Not in a mean way, of course, but it reminds her he’s just as human as she is. He makes mistakes. He struggles.

“If it’s not an insult,” she says, “then what is it?”

He stares at everything but her as he thinks, ponders, allows that needed time to find the right word. Then, in an even lower voice that makes Hinata lean in to hear, he says, “Endearment.”

At first, she doesn’t believe him; and then she remembers Naruto and Sakura and Sai and Kakashi. She remembers the closest people to Sasuke and how he always, always talks to them. Idiot. Bastard. Dumbass. A million other insults that Hinata cannot hope to recall. Naruto is practically family to Sasuke, and everyone knows the deep bond between Kakashi and all of his former students.

It used to confuse Hinata, at times. Why insult the people you love?

But everyone has a different way of showing affection. Ino loves to splurge on the people she loves. Choji creates hearty meals. Shikamaru allows his moments of quiet to be shared.

For Uzumaki Naruto and Uchiha Sasuke, it’s insults. It’s every horrid name that could ever exist. It’s fighting someone one moment and doing anything for them in the next.

To Hinata, idiot is nothing but a sting.

But to Sasuke, it’s something much more.

“If you don’t like someone, what would you call them?” she asks.

Sasuke’s mouth screws up. “I wouldn’t be talking to them, Hinata.”

That makes her feel better. Tons better. Warm and light and a little giddy.

“Oh dear.” She rubs her hands down her face to hide her smile. “I misunderstood. I’m sorry.”

That large, somewhat rough hand lands on the crown of her head, gently tossing through her hair. With a breezy voice that sounds on the verge of a laugh, Sasuke whispers, “Idiot.”

This time, Hinata feels her heart race and leap. An excited pulse beats against her throat . . . which all feels strangely familiar. A little too familiar, as if she’s gone back a few years to that timid, nice girl who had a terrible crush on Uzumaki Naruto – only this time, Naruto is no where to be seen.

Oh dear, indeed.

[hazelsarts]

This fic is fueling my entire month

[kia8088]

Me? I’m not explaining SasuHina to anybody. The Girls that get it, get it. And the girls that don’t? Don’t. 😭

[hazelsarts]

YUP!

[hazelsarts]

Day 1 of @nhmonth2025

Celebrity Naruto x Bodyguard Hinata 😌

(He’s the spoiled son and next in line to be the Hokage and asks his dad to assign his crush to be his bodyguard) 🥰🔅😤

[pianocoat]

Tongue-Tied: Part 3

Summary: It's no secret that, sometimes, Hyuuga Hinata gets a little tongue-tied. Despite her best efforts, it's a bad habit that she simply must live with. As it turns out, Uchiha Sasuke sometimes finds himself at a lost for words himself -- but only around a certain someone.

Tags: Post-War | Naruverse | Fluff | Romance | Awkward Romance | Hinata's POV | Canon Divergent | Misunderstandings | Hurt/Comfort | Mutual Pining

As expected, the days following the New Year are swamped with havoc. Civilians who may have enjoyed their nights celebrating have decided to carry on their drinking activities far into the first week of January, and with more drunks on the street means more noise complains, more fist-fights over pretty things, more property damage. Not only that, but even some of the shinobi, restless from a shallow pool of missions that hardly offers anything higher than D-Rank, have caused some mischief. In just the past two days, the springs have been frozen over and the Hokage has found his office covered in slime multiple times. In fact, when Hinata is called for her presence at Hokage Tower, she is specifically instructed to come to Shizune’s office. Apparently, the staff is still working on de-stickifying Lord Kakashi’s office.

It’s a frightfully chilly day, with snow clouds roaming the horizon. Hinata fits into her mission outfit, regards her short sleeves and open-toed sandals with hesitation, and decides to cover up with one of her old lavender hoodies. It will simply have to do, and if her suspicions that Kakashi will be handing her a patrolling mission for the day are true, then she will be able to survive the cold by patrolling between cafes and shops.

The run to Hokage Tower is quick, though the wind is merciless against her. She takes a minute to heat up in the main lobby of the building, and then she goes up to Shizune’s office, knocks, and then enters.

She feels, of course, an electrifying presence in the office, but her dissatisfaction does not claim her until her eyes land on Uchiha Sasuke standing in the middle of the cramped but well-decorated room. This office, unlike the Hokage’s, is narrowed by thick shelves on either side of the desk. Kakashi has managed to get himself comfortable behind it, but it does not hold the space of his own, so most of his documents and files are piled on the floor around him. Shizune stands next to him, ringing her hands, not at all pleased with the mess of everything but knowing well there is nothing she can do about it.

Hinata has no choice but to stand rather close to Sasuke, and she does well to not look at him as she bows.

“Never strive to be Hokage, you two,” Kakashi drones, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “While the rest of Konoha is celebrating the New Year, you get to stay late reading lousy documents – and your thanks? A prank from a bunch of genin that makes your office all but unusable for a week.” Then, for some reason, his eyes begin to twinkle, and something beneath his mask turns up into a smile. “Shizune, perhaps it’s time we give Naruto a promotion.”

Shizune turns red. “You jest, Lord Hokage!”

“I wish I wasn’t.” He sighs again, this time sounding exhausted. He looks exhausted, and Hinata forgets her discomfort for a moment.

“How shall I help?” she asks.

Kakashi cracks an eye, then leans forward with both hands on the desk, pressed together. “Well, I don’t suspect you’re very good at cleaning out slime, are you, Hinata?” At her start, he waves a hand and laughs. “I’m joking. No, I need both of your help on the streets. Truthfully, this time of year is a pain. I’d like both of you to patrol the streets together and try to catch things before they become a nuisance.”

Just as Hinata expected. She’s happy, at least, that he’s not asking her to take extra shifts in the watchtowers or by the main gate. The cold would likely kill her. But it’s that together that stops her from immediately taking on the job. Together would mean to work with Sasuke, someone who doesn’t like her very much – someone who, at the moment, she’s not very fond of herself.

“I’ve already gotten a few pairs out there,” Kakashi continues, “but I suspect the two of you will be my most efficient team.”

Of course, they would be. A Hyuuga’s byakugan and an Uchiha’s power and reputation would make nearly any mission child’s play.

Too bad Hinata doesn’t want to work with said Uchiha.

“I’m really, very sorry, Lord Hokage,” Hinata starts with a bow, “but I have to refuse.”

Shizune looks blind-sighted, and even Kakashi is momentarily surprised. Hinata has never refused a mission before. No matter how dangerous or tedious or boring it could be, she’s always taken it on without hesitation. D-Ranks like chauffeuring crabby elders and fishing through mud for a missing item haven’t scared her away before, so why should this one? She sees Kakashi’s eyes flash to Sasuke, who has yet to move a muscle, and the Hokage must have an idea, for he doesn’t seem too angry with her.

“You’d help me quite a bit if you agreed,” he muses.

Hinata deepens her bow.

“I’m very sorry –” and when she finally stands, she turns directly to Sasuke and stares at his profile, at his unmoving gaze directed forward, “but I’m sure Sasuke can handle himself fine without me.”

She leaves after that. Adrenaline makes her feel restless and sick, so rather than return immediately home, she paces the village streets, sucking in as much cold air as her lungs can take and letting it sit there and cool her down from the inside.

Confrontation is not her forte. While she is no longer that little girl that cowers away from a slightly-raised voice, and while her long years of being a kunoichi has prepared her to handle most physically-aggressive situations, when it comes to more personal or intimate confrontations, Hinata would rather avoid them altogether. Most of the time, she keeps any negative feelings to herself until, with time, they fade – and they do fade. Hyuuga Hinata seldom holds a grudge.

Until now. Is grudge even the right word for it? Perhaps she is simply creating distance between her and Sasuke until she can calm down and look at the whole situation with a less skewed lens. Hinata feels far too close to her feelings to consider any of this a grudge; it all had, after all, been just last night when he had told her, under no uncertain terms, to leave. He had made it awfully clear he wanted nothing to do with her, and rather than leave himself, he had the audacity to tell her to leave – to embarrass her in front of everyone – and then to just ignore her in Shizune’s office –

No. This is not a grudge.

This is hurt feelings. This is a strange concoction of rage and shame that makes her feel dizzy and confused. This is stepping away before he can hurt her again – or, for that matter, before she snaps back at him.

Hinata does not realize how long she has been in the cold until she cannot feel her bare legs. Her jacket is thick and warm, familiar – but her lower body is unprotected from the chill. She will have to go home soon and sink into a warm bath. Hanabi will have a fit once she knows her elder sister has spent most of the morning walking around in nearly freezing temperatures. Snow clouds cloak the horizon, and she smells frost.

Yes. Home is a good idea. Neji will definitely sniff out her bad mood, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Turning a corner, Hinata comes across a growing crowd gathering in the middle of the street. She considers leaping to the rooftops, but upon closer inspection realizes that something isn’t right. Carefully, she meddles between people, and once she is through the thick of it, Hinata sees the issue.

A man – or, maybe, boy is a better term, for he hardly looks a day over eighteen – has somehow gotten his right leg stuck in a manhole. The cover is to the side, warped and bent. An old covering that probably should have been replaced five years ago. Hinata activates her byakugan as she kneels in front of the boy. His face is a dreadful white, but she’s more concerned with his leg. It doesn’t look broken, but he’s somehow got his ankle trapped between the ladder and the wall.

“You’re alright,” she tells him, smiling kindly. “I can help.”

The boy pushes his arms into the pavement, trying to haul himself up. When he can’t, he starts to shake. “I’m stuck!”

“Your foot is trapped in the ladder. Can you move it?” And when he does, Hinata breathes a quiet sigh of relief. He isn’t too injured or too shocked to not be able to move his leg at least. The crowd draws closer, and Hinata motions for them to step back and give her room. A few maybe step a few centimeters back, but most of them stay in place. A concern for later, she supposes. “Alright, good. Rotate your foot so the ball of your ankle is against the wall – yes, like that. Now, carefully, try to slide your ankle out.”

He does, but all strength seems to leave his body. He sort of slumps into a mess of shakes and trembles, both from the cold and the pain. Hinata catches him under his arms.

“It’s alright,” she whispers. “I’ll lift you out – let me just, um, get the right angle.”

She stands and comes behind him, and finally the crowd begins to fall back. She hears a whisper of a name, and just then does she feel an electric pressure on the backs of her ears.

Sasuke’s chakra. It has always been very distinct: static and smoke and the chemical reaction of something burning. It fries her stiff, frozen skin. He has to be close. Did he follow her? Hinata frowns, circles her arms around the boy’s torso, and begins to pull him out.

Another hand grabs under his left shoulder, helping her. Together, they lift him out with ease, and Hinata quickly gets under him to help him balance off of his injured leg.

“I’ve got you,” she says. “I can take you to the hospital.”

The crowd parts, allowing them a clear path to the hospital. Despite herself, Hinata looks around, but Uchiha Sasuke is nowhere in sight.

…

She is all but numb by the time she reaches home. She makes it to the bath without catching anyone’s attention, and she lets herself soak and breathe in the steam, and when her head leans against the porcelain back and her eyes finally close, she remembers that hand. The one that had helped her; the one that had accidentally brushed her own hand as it pulled away. She thinks about the night after the bar, the way her hands had engulfed Sasuke’s, the way he did not flinch away. Long fingers and a rough palm.

The same hand that had helped her.

Hinata sinks further into the nebulous bath water, and she reminds herself that she’s not happy with him at present. One good deed will not fix his errors.

Hold a grudge, she wills herself, for once in your life.

…

A night meant for relaxing and recharging suddenly becomes –

“Hey. Oi. Sweet thing, I do not remember seeing you here before.”

. . . This.

As it were, Ino and Sakura were livid. Understaffed hospitals and long, tedious missions can do that to just about anyone, and when Ino and Sakura are livid, they tend to go to karaoke joints exactly like this one. Cheap and, maybe, a little shady; nothing a trained shinobi can’t handle, of course. They book a room for two hours and scream their vocal cords to shreds in plastic mics, and by the time their session is over, they tend to be refreshed and ready to take on the next day.

Hinata . . . is not exactly on the same wavelength as them.

Hinata likes quiet. Hinata likes familiar places where the usual patron isn’t the kind to just walk up to a girl in hopes of a little bit of late-night action. Turning away from the employee brewing up Sakura and Ino’s drinks, Hinata regards this fellow talking to her carefully. The cigarette between his lips reminds her of Shikamaru, and his sharp eyes have a small semblance to Kiba’s, but nothing else reminds her of her friends. He’s twiggish, but mean-looking, and his smirk makes her nervous.

Is she supposed to . . . ignore him? This sort of thing doesn’t happen often to her.

She hopes, for a moment, that Sakura or Ino will come out to look for her. Maybe one of them will realize those drinks are taking a little longer than expected and will help her out of this situation.

No such thing happens.

The man laughs at her wide stare, leaning into the bar with his arms crossed over his chest. “Quiet thing,” he muses. “That’s fine. I bet I can get you talkin’ by the end of the night. Maybe a few other things too.”

Her stomach coils. Yikes.

“I’m busy,” she says.

“Then another night.” He leans in closer, turns his head just so to blow smoke down the side of her face. “Or maybe you can ditch whoever’s keeping you and come with me instead.”

Not likely. Finally, the drinks she needs are pushed across the bar top to her. Hinata grabs them both and gives the man a weak smile.

“I’m so sorry.” Shit. She hadn’t meant to say that. Apologizing for nothing is a habit that she wishes would just die off by now because it is not helpful for circumstances like this. “I should get back.”

She only makes it one step before he grabs her arm, tugging her back. “Hey, wait.”

Alarms and fire and buzzing adrenaline slosh through her system, along with the burn of chakra to her palms. Jerking back, Hinata wonders what the best course of action is. Taking time to put away the drinks to free her hands could waste precious seconds – not that he’s much of a threat to her. Rather, Hinata simply wants to get away from this man as soon as possible. Dropping the drinks, of course, would cause its own kind of mess.

Either way, this man is about to experience his first ever Gentle Fist to the stomach.

“Hinata.”

A body is suddenly between her and the man, forcing that hand on her arm to retreat away or else get shoved into the side of the bar. She hears the man yelp, but then her attention rises to the placid face of Uchiha Sasuke. He looks down his nose at her. Not in a . . . judgmental way; rather, it’s the only way he can look at her when they are in such close proximity to one another. She can smell winter on his down coat.

“O . . . Oh,” she breathes out, a burst of adrenaline deflating in her stomach.

“Sakura said she’d be here.” He pulls out something from his pocket. An ID; Sakura’s, in fact. “She left it at Naruto’s. Do you know where she is?”

“U-Um.” She can hardly understand what he’s saying. Fight or flight instincts are clouding her mind, preventing her from taking in anything else but potential danger. “Well . . . what was that? Sakura?”

Sasuke blinks, then turns slightly so that he can regard the man over the square of his shoulder. Electric chakra blasts into her face, so she stumbles back, coughs, shakes. With a quick jutsu, snakes emerge from beneath Sasuke’s sleeves, dropping onto the floor and curling around the man’s limbs. He screeches and tries to kick them away, but they trap his legs together and cause him to fall back onto the floor. His shoulder hits the floor at a weird angle, and Hinata hopes that something pops or breaks.

When Sasuke turns back to her, she sees his sharingan’s red glow die in his iris.

“Sakura,” he drones. “Do you know where she is?”

Right, Sakura. Her ID. Slowly, Hinata’s mind pieces things together, and with a fleeting glance at the man in a tangle of snakes, she leads him into the back. Their room is the third on the right, and when they enter, they see Sakura screaming a pop song into the mic as Ino cheers her on with maracas.

“Took you long enough!” Sakura shouts as they enter. “Not you, Hinata. Thanks for getting those. You, Sasuke, are the one who decided to drag his feet!”

Huffing, Sasuke shoves her ID into Sakura’s hands. “A thank you will suffice.”

“Oh my gosh, Hinata,” Ino says from the couch, “you’re shaking. Everything alright?”

A sting of tears that she will not let fall burns the undersides of her eyes. Hinata leans over and tries her best to steady her hands, fearing she will spill them if she tries to put them on the low table. Right now, she’s too embarrassed to say anything. She’s a kunoichi, for fuck’s sake, and here she is – acting like a scared teenager because some man sorta, kinda grabbed her arm. A man she could very easily carry all the way to Hokage Rock and throw over the side if she so pleased. Hadn’t she faced wars and much more dangerous enemies?

Bitterness makes her frown. She feels Sasuke take the glasses from her hands to set them onto the table.

“I’m okay,” she manages in a smooth tone, “just cold and a bit of a headache.”

Her eyes flash to Sasuke. Don’t say anything. Please.

He watches her, but only for a second, then mutters, “I’m leaving.”

Sakura puts a hand to her hip. “You won’t stay for even one song?”

“Busy.” He’s gone before she can even reply.

Sakura scoffs, returns the mic to its stand, and joins Ino on the sofa.

“If you’re feeling bad, you can go home.” Swirling her straw through her lemonade, Sakura takes a sip before smiling at her. “Really. We can even cut it here and take you home!”

Home sounds awfully nice, but Hinata shakes her head. That man might still be out there, and she doesn’t want to face any questions Ino or Sakura might have if he says something to her.

“Maybe one or two more songs,” she insists with exaggerated cheer. “I want to hear you two do a duet before I go.”

Her acting must be convincing enough, for Ino and Sakura agree without push back. They scroll through a long list of songs until they find one that both of them like, and Hinata makes sure to tap her tambourine in rhythm to the song. Adrenaline drains from her body, leaving her empty, but she hopes that doesn’t show on her face.

…

Finally, she finds a good chance to leave, hugging both Ino and Sakura and thanking them for the invite. She gathers all her things and leaves into the cold night. Bars and restaurants and hotels cast artificial light onto the street, so Hinata follows the asphalt with ease. It’s not a desolate night, but only a handful of villagers cross the street, huddling from one building to another. Every now and then, Hinata checks behind her, then the tiny alleyways she passes. The man had not been in the lobby where she and Sasuke left him. Of course, that was a relief, but that did not entirely mean he was long gone.

A soft, pained noise comes from a shallow alley. Hinata jumps, turns her byakugan down the shadowy crack between two buildings, and falters. She sees a figure, and with the power of her dojutsu she can make out those familiar, awful features. It’s that man.

But before panic can grab her, she notices the discoloring around his eyes and the odd shape of his nose. She smells the blood, and she hears another groan. A broken nose. A rather intentional one, at that. Hinata has seen plenty of the sort to differentiate ones caused by a trip-and-fall and ones caused by a fist to the face. His was definitely from a fist.

Sasuke? she wonders. A silly wonder, she realizes. Why would he?

Either way, Hinata feels a little satisfied. She would have liked it for her own fist to have broken the bastard’s nose, but karma sometimes takes matters into its own hands.

The cold and her headache become a painful mix that causes her to sit on a bench overlooking a quiet park. The buzz of the vending machines behind her creates a perfect white noise, but her headache begs for water. Just as she pulls out a wallet, a water bottle is held before her, and she does not have to look up to know who it is – but she does. Sasuke stands before her, cloaked in darkness and thick fabrics, and just a single glance at his split knuckles tells her that her suspicions had been correct.

Hinata holds the offered water in between her palms, a feathering smog of cloudy breath overtaking her eyes as she examines it, then Sasuke. Somehow, she can’t find a bone in her body that hates him, and her shoulders sag in exhaustion and defeat.

“I had promised myself,” she says, unscrewing the cap with a crack, “that I’d hold a grudge for at least a day.” The cool drink feels wonderful against her hot throat, and she can’t help but smile. “Maybe even two if, um, I was feeling adventurous.”

He doesn’t laugh at her mild joke, though she wishes he would. Suddenly, Hinata wishes nothing more but for Sasuke to laugh.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” he says after a while of both of their breaths melting before their eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

The glow of the vending machine casts a subtly green glow upon his features, making him look softer, less intimidating. Or maybe that’s her overwhelmed mind coming up with silly things. “You told me to leave Naruto’s.”

“I did.”

“And . . . um, you keep jumping to worse case scenarios with me.” Hinata downs about half of the water before tightening the cap back on and letting it rest between her jumpy knees. “Like at the store.”

His eyes turn away, but he doesn’t deny that either.

“I’m confused,” she admits, finally.

Anyone would be. One minute, he ignores you; the next, he buys you a water for your headache. One minute, he wants you as far away from him as possible; the next, he gives the creep who wouldn’t leave you alone a broken nose in some alleyway. He’s the kind to trip you, then offer you a helping hand up, and Hinata isn’t sure what to do with that. She can take nice, and she can take mean, but it gets complicated when it’s both at the same time.

“I’m not very –” Sasuke stops himself there, as if second-guessing what he was about to say. She watches his dark eyes narrow and his frown deepen into something closer to a scowl, and she fascinates herself with this look of his because she’s never seen something quite like it. Pinched annoyance, but at himself rather than at her. A spark of amusement warms up her knuckles when, at last, he says, “social.”

Well, anyone would know that much. Still, she thinks she understands what he means. Unsociable in the sense that, perhaps, the things he says don’t come out quite the way he means them. Words that are harsher than the actual meaning  behind them.

“If you do not hate me, then why did you tell me to leave?”

The quiet that follows does not feel dismissive. Sasuke isn’t ignoring her, she thinks. Nothing about his face reveals a single thought going through his mind, but something about the situation, the lack of hostility flowing from him, makes her think that he’s just . . . thinking. Considering what to say — perhaps to avoid the harsh words that he is so used to saying without consequence.

Finally, he says, “I did not know how else to say it.”

Say what? Hinata holds that question back. She is only just now starting to get an understanding of Sasuke; she does not want to push too much and ruin this small amount of progress.

So, instead she says, “I’m — um, I also struggle with my words.” Her face heats up immediately. An obvious, redundant statement. Everyone in Konoha knows about her trouble with words. Everyone. Even the last Uchiha. “A-And I’m not very sociable either.”

He murmurs, “I don’t believe it.”

“You think I’m lying?”

His teeth grit, and Hinata catches on. It happened again. He said something that implied something he didn’t mean. “I think you’re sociable.”

An intense glee makes her temporarily immune to the cold breeze pushing against her. Somehow, that is the best thing anyone has ever said to her. She feels kiddish, but she doesn’t mind.

“You broke his nose,” she says. “That man.”

Sasuke’s blank face reveals nothing. “Who knows.”

“Thank . . . um . . . thank you.”

He looks away again. Is she making him uncomfortable? Maybe he’s not used to being thanked. Most of Konoha, after all, views him as a bastard traitor. Most of the civilians have not forgiven him. Some may never. It’s sad to think that someone who is trying to do better is being judged for past mistakes. Hinata tells herself to thank him more often – even for small things. Her tepid grudge, by now, is long forgotten.

Another chill goes through them, and this time, Hinata shivers. Sasuke puts himself in front of her, his back blocking the icy wind and his down coat kissing the edges of her knees. A strong sense of ease washes over her in that instance, and Hinata stares at him, warming up and turning pink. It feels like stars are stuck in her eyes.

Sasuke shifts and glares at the vending machine. “Don’t look at me like that.”

A flash of shame is quickly overwhelmed with glee. See? She’s already learning. “Is that the truth,” she asks, “or your unsociable half talking?”

Now that glare drops onto her, though it’s not very threatening.

Hinata laughs, and Sasuke huddles a tad closer to encapsulate her arms in his cover as well.

“Thank you,” she says.

And when he refuses to meet her eye, she feels her heart soften — just a tad.

Indeed, Hyuuga Hinata cannot hold a grudge for very long.

[hazelsarts]

Wearing her husband’s clothes 🥰💕

[pianocoat]

Tongue-Tied: Part 2

Summary: It's no secret that, sometimes, Hyuuga Hinata gets a little tongue-tied. Despite her best efforts, it's a bad habit that she simply must live with. As it turns out, Uchiha Sasuke sometimes finds himself at a lost for words himself -- but only around a certain someone.

Tags: Post-War | Naruverse | Fluff | Romance | Awkward Romance | Hinata's POV | Canon Divergent | Misunderstandings | Hurt/Comfort | Mutual Pining

It’s the first of January when Naruto invites her to a semi-late New Year’s celebration at his place. He catches her between Hokage Tower and home, hardly bundled up, ears pink and hands looking on the verge of frostbitten. He doesn’t even have a scarf, and Hinata thinks he’s taking advantage of his streak of good health. It’s not common for Naruto to get sick, even if (sometimes) Konoha wants him to. Many of the villagers adore him, but even his most loyal fans can admit that he could use an off-day or two, and everyone knows that Naruto only takes an off-day when he’s too sick to leave his bed. But the flu can strike down even Konoha’s most powerful shinobi, and Hinata contemplates telling him such.

Would he mind? She might come off as nagging . . . which might make her come off like his girlfriend or his mother. Right now, Hinata would rather avoid both interpretations.

He tells her, in his normal, boyish voice, that he’s hosting a small get-together at his place since he wasn’t really able to celebrate the New Year due to a mission. Nothing like her birthday, just a handful of friends and some snacks and maybe a movie.

“And beer,” he tells her, grinning, “so you can get better at drinking.”

Her blush makes him cackle, and he tells her the time and hopes she can make it. He leaves her a bit startled and a bit breathless, and her walk home is contemplative. She’s never been invited to his home before. They have always been friends, even when she used to wish for something more than that, but something like stopping by his place has always been a figment of her imagination.

When she gets home, she finds Hanabi and Neji in the dojo, and after a look at her face they know something has come up. She has on her ‘Naruto expression’, as her sister puts it. Hinata still is not sure how it is different from any other expression she has.

“He’s invited me,” she tells them, “to his apartment this evening.”

Hanabi squeaks, and Neji frowns.

“Alone?” he asks.

Hinata shakes her head, “Oh, no! No, of course not.”

“Boo,” Hanabi grumbles, then smiles at her sister. “Oh well. I’m sure you’re happy about it.”

Hinata supposes she ought to be. A childhood dream is finally coming to life. But why now? If it’s because he’s, at last, developing some kind of romantic interest in her, does she want that? Just as her feelings for him have begun to fade, does she want to return to that Hinata? Not that it was a bad Hinata – the one who gave all her heart to Uzumaki Naruto. But she is twenty, and she has matured, and she is trying to stray away from those more awkward parts of her: the stutter, the fainting, the obnoxious blushing. The awkward parts that Naruto used to bring out of her.

But, probably, she’s overthinking things. It could very well be a simple, friendly invite.

Probably.

…

By eight, she’s at that door. It’s nothing special, nor does she suspect it to be a trap of any sort, but Hinata finds herself hesitating. It’s a party. He said others would be coming. It’s not just the two of them, and even if it was, nothing would happen. Naruto is being friendly, and this worry building up inside of her is misplaced. So she should just knock.

Just . . . 

A hand grabs the knob, twisting it. A hand she recognizes. A hand that took her two days to forget the feel of. Sasuke, once more, has appeared out of nowhere behind her, quiet and tall, looming just slightly over her.

“He keeps it unlocked,” he mutters, opening the door.

Hinata gapes, then looks up at him. “O-Oh! Hello, Sasuke. I didn’t know you were also invited.”

A wave of heated air mists over them. Sasuke pushes the door open, then stands straight and frowns. “Are you planning to stay out here all night?”

“Oh!” Shivering, Hinata steps inside, flustered and a little embarrassed. How long had he been there, watching her stand like an idiot in front of Naruto’s door? Did he see how nervous she was? “I’m sorry – um – I –”

“There you are.” A different, warm hand grabs her arm, spinning her around to face Naruto. Hinata’s heart leaps, surprised, though it’s silly to be. It’s his apartment. He invited her. Of course he’s here. “Come on, get warm. Sit wherever you want. I can take your coat – oi, Sasuke, you’re late!”

“I’m exactly on time,” is all Sasuke says before he disappears into the kitchen.

Naruto takes Hinata’s coat and scarf, hanging it in the entrance closet before he follows Sasuke. She sees Sakura and Sai huddled by a low table in the living room, warming their hands with cups of ramen. Sakura waves her over and offers her a cup, and they vaguely watch the TV show playing while they catch up. The hospital has been busy, and the Hyuuga still plan for Hinata to take on her birthright role within the next few years. Along with training and missions and the chaos that always comes with this time of year, it’s been busy in Konoha.

At some point, Naruto and Sasuke join them with bowls of chips and edamame. Naruto is split between laughing at the show and telling stories about his latest missions and such. He at least has the mind to wear a sweater, and everything about him seems warm to Hinata.

He catches her eye, grins, then suddenly stands. “Right! Beer. Poor Hinata. I bet you’ve been waiting all night, haven’t you?”

When he passes by, he rustles his hand through her hair, and Hinata feels that familiar heat touch her face and the back of her neck.

Sakura takes a drink of water, then blinks. “Beer, Hinata? Have you started liking it?”

“O-Oh, no, um . . . .”

From the kitchen, Naruto calls, “She begged me to bring some tonight. Said she wouldn’t come otherwise.”

“Th-That’s not true!”

She hears him laugh and realizes he’s teasing her. Is that normal? Maybe it’s friendly teasing with not much else behind it. Either way, Hinata feels hot, and she wonders if she can hide away in the bathroom for a moment without concerning anyone. Just a small break – a minute alone to reassess and find her ground. That’s all she needs.

“Uh oh.” Naruto returns from the kitchen, and instead of sitting back with the group, he opens the closet once more. “Looks like I forgot to actually buy the beer.”

Sakura sighs, and Sai says he’s reminded him a few times. Hinata, however, sees her chance, and she quickly comes to Naruto’s side, reaches past him, and grabs her coat from the closet.

“Let me,” she insists.

Naruto watches her pull on her coat, wide-eyed. “Eh? No, Hinata, that’s okay.”

“Really,” she says. “I need a little fresh air. I won’t be long.”

She checks her pockets for her ID and wallet, nods to herself, and opens the door before any more protests can come from anyone. After a while in the warm apartment, the air outside shocks her system, and she feels every hair on her arms stand. Indeed, she will have to hurry before she freezes alive. Hinata tugs on the handle to shut the door, but something stops it before it closes all the way.

Sasuke. He opens it fully once more, down coat already on, and steps on the welcoming mat before closing the door behind him. A snake of fog leaves his mouth, and he starts towards the nearest convenience store.

Maybe . . . he also needs some fresh air.

Once again, Hinata finds herself completely baffled by him.

…

The beer is easy to find, and Hinata makes sure to get two cases – just in case. Then, she meanders down the aisles, looking for nothing in particular. She had wanted a moment to clear her head, but now she’s wondering about Sasuke. Is this becoming a pattern? First, he walks her home, and now he’s accompanying her to get beer. The walk after the bar could be construed as gentlemanly, but this would be a bit of a stretch. Perhaps he’s trying to be nice? She wouldn’t know. Hinata doesn’t really know anything about him, especially not what’s going on in that head of his.

At the register, the cashier scans in her packs and overlooks her ID as she digs through her wallet. A few bills of yen, however, drop onto the counter before she can get the right amount, and Sasuke balances both packs on one arm and makes his way to the automatic door. Hinata and the cashier meet eyes. He wonders if she’s just been robbed, and she shakes her head.

“A friend,” she tells him, though she’s unsure if that’s true. “U-Um, I’ll take the change. Thank you.”

Afterwards, she hurries after Sasuke. That, too, seems to be a pattern. She’s always going after him. Why is that?

“Here,” she says as she reaches his side, “the change.”

Sasuke trudges on. She doesn’t quite understand. Sometimes, he talks; other times, he doesn’t. How can she tell when he's in a more talkative mood?

“Thank you,” she continues. “You didn’t have to – I mean, um, I was okay with paying. But—”

Sasuke stares down at her, halting just a moment.

“Do you think,” he drones, “I can’t afford something as cheap as beer?”

Hinata squeezes the yen coins into her palm, horrified. Is that how she’s coming off? Maybe her tone is all wrong, or her posture. Her shoulders tense up, and even Sasuke looks slightly taken aback.

“No,” she whispers, “I . . . .”

She doesn’t know what else to say. The cold is seeping into her stomach. Sasuke continues down the road, and once again, Hinata follows, feeling miserable.

…

He probably hates her. She’s not exactly sure what she could have done to make him hate her, but she’s sure he does. It’s also possible that their personalities simply don’t mesh. Maybe they simply don’t click, and she hasn’t exactly done anything to make him so . . . standoffish. That’s probably it. Hyuuga Hinata isn’t the kind, after all, to be chummy with the likes of Uchiha Sasuke.

But then why the strange acts of chivalry? Why come to her birthday celebration? If he hated her, wouldn’t it be best if he simply avoided her?

“Need me to crack that for you, Hinata?”

Naruto sits next to her on the floor as Sai and Sakura look through rented CDs for a movie to watch. He’s already through his first can and notices that she hasn’t even touched hers. His grin is gentle and a little lopsided, which catches her a bit off guard.

“O-Oh.” He takes the can from her before she can say anything else. With his index, he cracks the can open, and the beer fizzes and pops as he hands it back to her. “Thank you.”

He puts a hand on his bicep, as if he’s strong enough to open a thousand cans in one day if she asks him to. He probably could, and Hinata laughs. To the side, Sakura muses that all the movies Sai has picked are horror. Not a very good choice for a New Year’s party, she thinks, but Naruto looks pretty excited as he leans over to give the choices a gander. After a minute of debate, they finally decide on an old slasher that came out when they were still in the Academy. Sai plops it into the CD player, and Sakura wraps herself in a swath of blankets, rolling her eyes in mild defeat.

Naruto turns off the lights so that only the screen of the TV shines through the room. When he returns to the floor, he seems to be sitting closer to her. Or maybe Hinata’s just imagining things.

“You like these kinds of movies?” he asks.

Hinata thinks her choice in movies is rather girly: dramas or romances. Sometimes, Hanabi will get her to sit down and watch something a bit more daunting or frightening, and while Hinata never found herself scared to the bone, she usually finds herself drawn back to her usual genres.

“I don’t watch them much,” she admits.

Naruto grins. “Scared?”

And because she feels like it’s the right thing to say, she says, “Maybe a bit.”

His eyes flash past her for a moment, and that grin turns sly as he leans a bit closer.

“Don’t worry,” he assures her, “I’ll keep you safe.”

Her lungs feel on the brink of popping. Before Hinata can turn into a boiling puddle of ooze, however, she sees a flash of darkness and bends her head back to see Sasuke looming over her. This time, her lungs shrink and tighten, and her pulse stutters in alarm against her throat. How is he everywhere and nowhere at the same time?

Sasuke has a rather obvious expression; a first for Hinata. He looks absolutely repulsed.

“Revolting,” he mutters, kicks Naruto back, and sits between the two of them.

“Oi!” Naruto shouts.

With the edge of his thumb, Sasuke cracks open his can, and he gulps down the entire thing before the movie even starts.

…

It’s . . . not a bad movie. A bit cliché, though most of the movies that came out around that time are, but not bad. And it had a semi-happy ending, which Hinata appreciates. Life as a shinobi is depressing enough, so the least her movies can do is end with a little bit of hope. Sai gets up to flick on the lights as Sakura slowly removes herself from her cocoon of blankets. Naruto, surprisingly, looks a bit pale in the face, which he tries to hide with a grin as he looks past Sasuke at Hinata.

“Didja like it?”

Hinata finishes her third can and nods. “It was nice.”

He laughs and rests an elbow on the table. “You’ve got that tipsy flush,” he says. “It’s cute.”

Hinata swallows and buzzes, but before she can make a fool of herself, Sasuke slams down his fifth (or maybe sixth – she wasn’t really counting) can before turning to her.

“Shouldn’t you,” he mutters, “be leaving now?”

Everything freezes, cracks. Her stomach folds into herself, and Hinata wants to wither away. For some reason, shame is the first to hit her. She’s not sure why. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She just came to a party. She went out to get beer, and she watched a movie with her friends. That’s all. What is there to be ashamed about?

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come. Naruto is complicated, and Sasuke is making everything strange and tense. Hinata tries to smile, and then she stands and starts putting on her coat.

“Sasuke,” Sakura hisses.

“Hinata,” Naruto begs. She whispers a ‘good night’ and hurries into the night. This time, the door shuts behind her with no hand blocking its way. Sasuke doesn’t follow her, and she makes her way home shaking – a little hurt – a little embarrassed – a little peeved.

[pianocoat]

Tongue-Tied: Part 1

Summary: It's no secret that, sometimes, Hyuuga Hinata gets a little tongue-tied. Despite her best efforts, it's a bad habit that she simply must live with. As it turns out, Uchiha Sasuke sometimes finds himself at a lost for words himself -- but only around a certain someone.

Tags: Post-War | Naruverse | Fluff | Romance | Awkward Romance | Hinata's POV | Canon Divergent | Misunderstandings | Hurt/Comfort | Mutual Pining

A/N: While slowly working through Pluck (phew, those are long chapters) and my Thesis for my MFA, I've been working on this in the background for something light and simple. I was aiming for a shorter fic closer to It's All About the Timing, so if cheekiness and awkward romance sounds up your alley, maybe give this a try! Enjoy~

Nothing was supposed to be dramatic about turning twenty – because, really, Hinata hates dramatics – but, somehow, that is exactly how it all came to be.

“Hey. Hey. Sakura, didn’t we pass it, like, five minutes ago?”

“For the last time, Kiba, I know where we’re going.”

It’s a freezing night in Konoha with the slow approach of the New Year just on the horizon, but the group has found themselves walking down streets and through throngs of misty breaths and crystallized vapors for the past twelve minutes. In any other circumstance, Hinata would feel every part of her body slowly lock up with ice; but right now, she feels positively seared. It’s expected, she supposes, with the amount of people around her, some grumbling, others blowing steamed breaths into their hands. Shikamaru is wrapped in nearly five layers and still looks frightfully cold. Choji, on the other hand, seems rather used to the cold, though his nose has already begun to turn rosy. Everyone looks ready to go into a nice, heat-blasted building, but it’s the two at the front of the group that keeps everyone out, walking back and forth down the same three streets.

It was Hinata’s birthday yesterday.

No, not only that – it was her twentieth birthday yesterday, meaning that she was officially at Konoha’s drinking age. Being the youngest of all her friends, the past year has been spent in bars and karaoke rooms that served alcohol, sipping on an orange soda or tea while the others around her would partake in sake shots and entire glass mugs full of beer. Not that she had minded, of course. Drinking was never a passion of hers, and she was always happy to play the sober friend who helped everyone get home safely after a night out.

But now she is twenty, and after telling Ino that she only had a celebrational shot of nanbu bijin with her family, word quickly gathered among Konoha 12 that Hyuuga Hinata was in desperate (Ino’s words, not hers) need of a night out drinking.

And so, here they are, searching for the new and popular tachinomi bar that all the local papers have been advertising. Kiba, who already got a few shots in at another bar before joining the group, thinks every bar they pass is the one they’re looking for. Sakura, just off from a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, looks ready to pound in his skull if he so much as says another word to her.

“Fuck!” Kiba rubs his gloved hands up and down the side of his head, using friction to warm up his ears. “Who cares about some fancy bar! Let’s just go to the one we took Naruto to!”

Sakura stops in her tracks, and the group stops with her. Hinata almost bumps her nose into Shino’s shoulder, which he catches in the corner of his eye and offers a stabilizing hand. Most of his face is covered by a thick scarf or his dark glasses, but Hinata still sees the hints of annoyance caused by the bickering.

“That bar,” Sakura hisses, “is packed this time of year, and unless you want to drink in the cold, we —”

Hinata finds the right time to tug at Kiba’s sleeve, making both him and Sakura turn her way. “Should I ask someone?”

The streets around them are decently busy despite the freezing temperatures. It wouldn’t be too hard to get someone’s attention to ask them where this particular bar might be.

Ino beats her to it before anyone says a word. She asks a man passing by, smiling cutely and letting her soft eyes gleam so he wouldn’t be compelled to be annoyed by such a question. He tells her happily, using his hands to mark up directions and streets, and Ino’s ‘thank you’ is grateful and polite, cutting off any offer he may have to walk her to the bar and, perhaps, buy her a drink. Hinata has seen her in action many times and has yet to not be impressed and, maybe, a little jealous of her charisma. Never would she be able to do such a thing. Not with how she stumbles and fumbles with her words.

“Not very hard, now was that?” Ino grins cheekily at Sakura and Kiba, then takes the front and leads the group down the right path.

And there it is, in a small alleyway they must have passed a handful of times. A collection of sighs take over the group as everyone begins to peel off mittens and scarves. The bar is homely, large enough to not be claustrophobic, and it has an arrangement of tall tables all around for patrons to stand at and mingle as they drink. There is a long table in the back, snuggled close to the wall, that is able to fit all of Konoha 12.

The menu is simple, and everyone takes time to order their drinks and some dishes for the table. They decide on dassai sake for the toast, and the rest are up to individuals. Kiba coaxes Hinata to try a glass of asahi beer – or rather, it doesn’t take much pursuing. Rather, she’s been wanting to drink something from those large, glass mugs for a while. Now she finally had the chance.

Around the table, everyone has found their spot. Sakura keeps everything tidy, moving dishes around to make sure everyone has easy access. Choji helps with carrying drinks over from the bar, and Naruto stands right across from her, positively golden in the subtle lights overhead. For a moment, Hinata’s heart stutters, and she wishes away that old crush of hers before it gets her in trouble again.

Looking away, she finally notices the quiet figure standing next to her. Of all the people to come to her twentieth’s celebration, she didn’t think Uchiha Sasuke likely to come.  Not that he was hated, of course! Nothing like that. Nor were they strangers, though friends would be a stretch for the sort of soft acquaintanceship they’ve managed over the years since his return. They’ve had a mission or two together, and with mutual friends like Naruto and Sakura, they were bound to cross paths every now and then.

But Sasuke, as she understands, isn’t much for large gatherings. With all the birthday celebrations that have transpired this year, he has only shown up to one: his own. And even that was a hassle – or so Naruto describes it.

No. It’s not typical for Sasuke to go out for occasions such as this. But here he is, next to her, silently drinking at his jug of beer as he listens to the multiple conversations spread across the table. Hinata takes a sniff at her own. It smells strong. Does it taste that strong?

Oh dear. Perhaps she should have gone with something more subtle or fruity. Even the sake she had last night got her drinking down water quickly to get the taste out of her mouth.

In the corner of her eye, she watches Sasuke. It seems to go well with his palette. He drinks it in the same way he would tea or water. Hinata swallows, heats up, shifts a little. She ought to talk to him. It’d be rude if she didn’t. He came out for her celebration, after all – though, she suspects, not willingly.

It would be good to talk. He’s not scary, though he is a bit intimidating in casual circumstances like drinking together at a bar. When they’re mission partners, that strong, overpowering aura of his is expected and a little comforting; here, however, it can put her a bit on edge.

“Sasuke,” she says, and because her voice sounds muffled under the cacophony around them, she turns most of her body his way. “Um, Sasuke.”

He must hear her. He doesn’t exactly look at her, but he stops in his drinking.

“Do . . . do you, um, drink often?” Is that a stupid question? Hinata’s not sure, though the warmth collecting on the backs of her ears make her think it is. “I mean – just, um, it looks normal, I guess, when you drink. Like maybe you’ve grown a taste for it.”

That could have come out smoother. The last thing Sasuke wants, probably, is some girl with an old stutter she’s still fighting against talking to him. Dread starts to form in Hinata’s throat as, slowly, his dark gaze turns her way, peering down at her. He’s got at least fifteen centimeters on her. Maybe even twenty. Is he annoyed? He won’t yell, she knows. Uchiha Sasuke doesn’t yell.

But he’s not saying anything either. He just, kinda, looks at her. He doesn’t exactly look happy. He doesn’t look furious, either, but that doesn’t cool down any of her anxieties. She must have done something wrong. Does he think she’s calling him an alcoholic? Or maybe – oh dear – he’s interpreting her weak conversation starter as flirting? Maybe the start of a suggestive invitation: ‘If you come to my place, you can show me how to build up my alcohol tolerance.’ Is that how she’s coming off? Like one of the many girls in the Academy who would make up any excuse to be alone with him?

Hinata starts to apologize, then bites into it before it leaves her mouth.

Kiba slides next to her and asks, “Ready to try that beer, Hinata?”

She turns around to him, smiling, hoping her fried nerves aren’t reflecting in her eyes. He taps his glass to hers, and when she gets through the foam to that first sip of beer, it rusts into her tongue and slides down her throat, and the taste makes her shiver.

When food and drinks come and everyone’s shot glass is full of sake, they toast her birthday and clink glasses with her. It scorches down her throat, unlike the beer, and makes her squirm. Kiba laughs, and Naruto says she’s cute, and Ino already starts to pour her another shot.

Hinata feels warm. The heat, and so many other things, make her entire body light up. In the corner of her eye, she watches Sasuke again; watches how he takes the whole shot down in one swing and how nothing changes in his face. A cool, distant expression that earns her glances every so often . . . when she’s sure he wouldn’t notice.

…

It’s a bit after midnight when they all leave. Mostly everyone is drunk – or, at the very least, tipsy. Kiba, of course, is the worst off, stumbling out of the bar and barely able to leave the alleyway before he trips over himself. Naruto is howling – ‘you’re smashed, you bastard!’ – and gets his shoulder under one of Kiba’s arms, but he’s just about as drunk, and soon enough they’re both fumbling around. Shino manages to get a hold of both of them, and Choji and Shikamaru, slightly tipsy, make sure to walk Ino and Sakura home.

“Wait. Wait!” Sakura flings her arms around Hinata, laughing lightly. “Happy birthday. Did you enjoy it? You didn’t feel forced, did you?”

Hinata laughs with her, shaking her head, which feels light and fuzzy. “No, of course not. It was wonderful.”

Sakura balances both hands on Hinata’s shoulder, looking her in the eye despite her sway.

“Are you good to get home? Do you need . . . .” Something beyond her makes Sakura pause, blink, then start again. “Oh, oh! Okay, well, I’ll see you another time, alright? Don’t be a stranger.”

Sakura goes back with her group, and Hinata watches them turn the corner. It’s cold beyond belief, which does not settle with her warm belly full of alcohol and yakitori. Hinata secures her scarf closer to her chin, mapping out the way home in her head. The Hyuuga complex isn’t very far, and she isn’t very drunk, just . . . fuzzy. Foggy, maybe.

A steaming bath would do her good. She wouldn’t want to catch a cold. With that to look forward to, she turns and almost immediately runs into Sasuke standing a bit behind her. His long coat reaches his mid calf with deep pockets to protect his hand from the chill. He looks rather casual and not at all concerned about the cold biting at his skin.

“O-Oh!” The alcohol must have made her senses dull. She had thought he had parted from the group long ago. “Hello, Sasuke – or, um, maybe good night is better. Or . . . good morning?”

She stops herself there. Any more, and she’ll just embarrass herself. She’s already embarrassed enough as is from the potential misunderstanding earlier. A steady stream of steam leaves him in an exhale, and Hinata watches it disappear into the dark night. He’s not talking again. Is he ignoring her? Or, perhaps, he’s rather drunk. Hinata scans him, not seeing any signs of obvious intoxication – but then again, Sasuke masks a lot of what he feels.

“Do I – should I . . . .” She wills her mouth to slow down, to wait for the words to form before she starts talking. “If you’re drunk, I can walk you home.”

Hinata waits, and she waits, and she moves her weight from one leg to the other and tries to ignore the cold bearing into her.

Sasuke pulls his arm from his pocket, adjusts his scarf, and finally, he says, “I’m walking you home.”

Oh.

Oh!

Well . . . that’s kind. Not that Uchiha Sasuke can’t be kind.

“It’s cold,” she says, which is obvious. “You’ll get sick.”

His reply is to start in the direction of her home. Hinata matches his pace at his side, watching her feet, then the sky, trying to get a grasp of things with her cloudy, confused mind.

…

Halfway to the Hyuuga compound, Hinata starts suddenly.

“About, um – about what happened earlier.” She’s been thinking about it. Actually, she hasn’t been able to think about anything but what happened at the bar. A lot of things happened, but for some reason, Sasuke brushing her off is what keeps sticking, what keeps replaying in her head. Somehow, she must have messed up. Uchiha Sasuke doesn’t just brush people off for no reason. Well, true, he used to. But he was young then, and now he . . . is different. Grounded, maybe? Matured. He’s not the kind to straight up ignore someone unless he really, really hates them, and the last Hinata remembers, they’ve been on good terms for a while. Not friendly terms, but good ones. So she must have done something. She must have come off in a way she didn’t mean. “I didn’t – I wasn’t trying . . . if you thought, um . . . .”

Admittedly, being a little tipsy isn’t helping with her trying to find her words. Hinata stops herself again. She doesn’t dare look at his face, scared that a cut of annoyance will be found in his gaze. He’s probably thinking ‘I wish this girl would just stop talking to me.’ All he’s trying to do is be gentlemanly and walk a kinda-tipsy sorta-acquaintance home. Her half-sentences are not needed.

So she stops all the way to the Hyuuga. The normal guards at the gate are inside, away from the cold.

Sasuke pushes the gate open for her, which makes her heart throb with guilt. Before he can put it back in its pocket, Hinata grabs his hands and rubs it between her palms in an attempt to warm it up some. It’s cold and big. She makes sure to reach all the skin she can.

“You should hurry,” she tells him, “and drink something warm when you get home. Take a shower, maybe. Really. I don’t want you to get sick.”

He doesn’t snap his hand away, which makes her feel like he isn’t totally annoyed by her. He lets her take a few more seconds to warm his hand, and then she slips past the gate.

“G-Good night, Sasuke.”

He slowly puts his hand into his pocket and says, lowly, “Night.”

And he leaves, and she hurries into a sleeping compound and starts a bath, strips, sinks into the warm water with a sigh. Her cloudy mind has turned sleepy, and when she goes to bed, she can still feel Sasuke’s hand between her palms.

[hazelsarts]

[hazelsarts]

LOML 🥺

[hazelsarts]

First date in arranged marriage au 🥰

Part 1 (first meeting):

[wreegis]

* i trip and hundreds of inocho doodles fall out of my pockets* oh shi-

[hazelsarts]

KYUUUUUUUUUUTIIIIIEEEESSSSSS

[hazelsarts]

"I pass away if i stop drawing her" at this rate i will too she looks so goooood

Aghhhh! I know this is late but yesss 😌 I also can’t wait for HinaWeek!

[hazelsarts]

hello hazel! can i just say i love your sasuhina art 🥹

do you do request? because i would love a piece of RTN!sasuhina as rodrick x regina (have you seen that ship going around on twitter/x? it gives me total RTN!sasuhina vibes! the pretty, popular, plastic & the childish, loser, punk rock boy! 💕🎀👛☠️🖤🎸 #PUNKPLASTIC

ooomggg i was JUST thinking about doing a RodGina ShikaIno but it would actually fit RtN! SasuHina too 😩 we NEED to do this!! Just give me a bit to look around for Inspo photos and i will get back to you!