I Think I Can Write | But Can I Draw Tho? | Will Gently Slap Anyone For Hinata | FFN - PianoCoat | Current WIP - Pluck | PFP by the Wonderful @Hanchu27
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.
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 keep 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 – but really, 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 drink. 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 in 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 hand 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.
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.
When asked, Inuzuka Kiba says, "Yeah, it's been kinda obvious for a while."
They're sitting on the concrete steps leading up into his family's home. The dogs, with thick winter coats, are ecstatic about the cold. They run in packs along the grounds, barking and chasing one another. Neither of them seem very curious about the two of them — except Akamaru, who (upon Hinata's quiet squeak at Kiba's confession) trots over to nudge his cold nose into her hot face.
"Oi," Kiba grumbles to him, tearing a piece of beef jerky with his sharp canines, "give her some room, buddy."
"Y-You knew?" Hinata whispers, staring at him.
In the corner of his eye, Kiba gives her a look before sighing. "Hinata. Everyone knows."
Everyone seems frightening and big. How come everyone seems to always know things when it comes to her; first, it was her crush on Naruto — and now this. When will there be a time where the whole village doesn't know something delicate and vulnerable about her?
Horrified, Hinata drops her face in her knees. Akamaru whines, so Kiba reaches over to scratch behind his ear.
"It ain't your fault," he tells her. "The bastard's the one with the — the — y'know."
Well, sure. But Hinata knows what that's like. Her crush on Naruto lasted over a decade, and it had its highs, but it also had its lows. Days where she would overthink and realize it would never work between them, that he'd never acknowledge her the way she wants him to — that, no matter how hard she works, he'll never like her. Not like that. And those days were miserable.
Had Sasuke ever . . . .
He wouldn't, Hinata tells herself.
. . . Would he?
…
"Well, he never came in here, if that's what you're asking."
Yamanaka Ino is fashioning a rather beautiful bouquet just behind the front desk of her family flower shop. She arranges red roses and white lilies in a lovely display, the reds and whites contrasting perfectly with each other; and once that's done, she lifts her giddy eyes back to Hinata.
"Never tried to get you flowers," she continues, "or buy one of our cards. If you ask me, he was perfectly happy with you never figuring it out."
Hinata is a healthy pink as she examines all the flowers decorating the shop. Really, she could never imagine Sasuke in a place like this, taking time to look at every carnation and tulip.
"You think so?" Hinata muses softly. A small flock of older ladies shuffle from behind. They're too deep in their own conversation, but she still keeps her voice low to not disturb them.
Ino shrugs. She places the bouquet down gently before cutting ribbon and tying it around the stems. She plucks a few misplaced leaves, then smiles as her work. "Well, he never made it obvious before, did he?"
The memory of a shadowy alleyway and the rough texture of a wall blooms in her mind. Suddenly, she remembers his soft mouth and how he felt tall and capable when he held her along the side of the building — and all that seems obvious, doesn't it?
Steam could be rolling from the top of her head. Ino blinks, head tilted with curiosity.
"Now that you mention it, how do you know?" Before Hinata can even think of an excuse, Ino yelps, and the older women spin around on their heels. "Oh — gods — he told you. Sasuke told you, didn't he!? That dog!"
"Ino, please."
The women coo in wonder, and Hinata hides her face in her hands.
…
"He's always been obvious, you know."
If anyone would describe Uchiha Sasuke as "obvious", it would be Haruno Sakura. Most of her life has been spent with him, around him; chasing him, pulling him back. With teammates like him and Sai, Sakura has garnered the skill of noticing the small things, the subtle hints, the cues that most would look over.
They're sitting across one another at a small table outside of a cafe. Their tea is steaming, and Sakura warms her hands along her cup before she takes a sip. She's grace and tranquility, and Hinata takes a moment to watch in awe.
"Well, not in the normal way," Sakura continues. "Nothing is really normal about him. But I noticed things. How he'd stay late in class if you were staying behind. How he'd train in the grounds surrounding the Hyuuga compound. He never wrote love letters or followed you home, but he liked you. He likes you."
Heart strumming along her ribs, Hinata pushes her hands in her lap. Sakura lays it all out in a calm, straight manner. No cutting corners or exaggeration. It makes it impossible for Hinata to ignore — not that she ever could. Not anymore.
"You know?" Sakura takes another sip.
Hinata's nod is shallow, but purposeful. "Yeah."
"I knew you'd realize eventually. He's been getting more obvious."
Sakura smiles, and a bolt of guilt shoots through Hinata. It's a bit cruel to ask the girl who used to have a long-term crush on Sasuke about things like this, isn't it? Even if Sakura has notably moved on, Hinata feels like a villain. Her tea is starting to cool, but she doesn't have the appetite to swallow it down.
"I'm sorry."
Sakura opens her mouth, but she's cut off by a familiar chakra burning through their senses. Before they know it, Naruto is pulling up a chair, grinning down at both of them.
"Chilly, ain't it? I'm surprised you're both sitting out in this cold. So — what are we —" With a tilt of his head, he gets a good look at Hinata's expression, and Naruto's face softens. His grin cools into a smile, and he sits. "Finally figured it out, huh? Or did the bastard get the balls to tell you?"
Sakura kicks her heel into his leg. "Naruto."
Panic pinches into Hinata's chest at his sudden proximity. "No — he . . . uh . . . ."
Once again, Hinata's tongue is completely tied up. She lets her sentence run dry as a breeze blows past them. Somehow, she doesn't feel cold; everything is boiling and bubbling inside her.
Naruto leans back in his chair, considering. Then, with a light laugh, he says, "Well, either way, cat's out of the bag, huh? I think it's good this way — I mean, was he going to keep a secret forever? What good will that do?" Light reflects from his face as he gives her a cunning look. "So I tried to help, get it? Because that idiot doesn't know how to deal with anything — so he only ever acts out when he's jealous. That's why I — well, you get it."
At first, she doesn't. The words just slip in and out of her mind without much depth. Then Sakura's face twists as she slams her tea cup down, and the noise startles Hinata — and that's when she understands. That time in Naruto's apartment, when he was flirting with her, and when he would call her pretty at Ichiraku's —
It was all to get Sasuke jealous.
Sakura nails Naruto hard in the chin. "Idiot! You have absolutely no tact!"
With a severe need to do something with her hands, Hinata grabs her cup and brings the now cool tea to her mouth. She sips without tasting a thing, too stunned to do much of anything except stare at the two. They argue and prattle as she takes sip after sip until everything is gone, and then she excuses herself politely and flashes a reassuring smile Sakura's way before leaving.
The day grows colder. Hinata secures her coat close to her as she walks, relief and confusion a concoction in her gut.
…
Hinata wanders the streets of Konoha with a cluster of emotions caught in her chest. She lingers along the main roads, the bustle of the village deaf to her ears. As the sky turns violet, her feet automatically drift in the direction of home, but she stops herself before she can reach the Hyuuga compound. Neji and Hanabi will grill her. Worse than that, she will have to go to bed with all this new knowledge — all these sudden epiphanies. What girl, after all, has the gall to get a good night's rest with the knowledge that Uchiha Sasuke has had a crush on her since they were children?
So she traverses, and she floats, and the heat of her flush meets with the bitter cold of the air. Hinata considers, many times, that she might take her meandering down a certain road — where at the very end of it lies the half-standing Uchiha district. She'd go to the gate and wait there; he might not even be home, but she'll wait. She'll stay there until the gate opens and Sasuke looks down at her, and he'll realize that she knows everything — almost everything — and then what?
Her heart hiccups. There are a few things she'd like to happen next, though she's slightly ashamed to admit them.
It's all silly day-dreaming anyhow. Soon, it will be night, and she'll have to be home eventually. Neji and Hanabi will wait, and they will have plenty of questions for her, but she'll have to get through them eventually.
Pulling out of her imagination, Hinata looks around to see where she has wandered — and freezes.
To her immediate right, no more than a couple meters away, is the Uchiha gate.
And approaching her from the opposite way, carrying a pack of beer in one hand, is Uchiha Sasuke. He seems stuck in his own thoughts, but when their shadows meet in the middle, he looks up, spots her, and stops.
Oh dear. What to do.
She should have really gone home when she had the chance.
Hinata stares at the eight-pack of beer hanging from Sasuke's fingers, and then follows his arm up to his face. She blushes, swallows, shifts awkwardly. "Um." A million things come to her tongue, fighting for the air needed to be spoken. Can I come in? I talked with a few people about . . . you. Is it true you've liked me all this time? "I . . . u-um . . . ." I think I like you, too. No. I know I do. I'm not just realizing this because I now know that you have feelings for me — even before that — Sasuke, I've liked you even before — "Uh—"
"Want to come in?" His foggy question smokes around his face, filtering around his eyes, making them seem gray and warm for a second.
A startled hiccup croaks in her throat. She looks at the gate, at him, at her plain boots. Their shadows are sinking into the darkening ground. Soon, the stars will be out, watching them with amused twinkles. Hinata nods, and Sasuke opens the gate door wide enough for her with his shoulder. They enter the main building together. It's sparsely decorated, but comfortable. Hinata examines the simple furniture placed about the main room, her heart racing in her throat. Sasuke places the pack on the low coffee table that Hinata sits at. He looms for a moment, and then disappears to the kitchen, giving her a moment to gather her wits.
Her nerves are singing opera. They sizzle in her eardrums as her attention jumps from sofa to sitting cushions to the box TV sitting on a crate. Clearly, Sasuke lacks a passion in interior design, but it only tickles Hinata more. The bunny-ear antenna are bent in peculiar angles, perhaps to get the best service, and there's a tidy collection of VHS tapes stacked to the side. Hinata almost scooches over to see if they're rented or if they're owned, but she's stopped by Sasuke's return. He places a bowl of sliced apple on the table, then sits at the corner perpendicular to her. The closeness of his body awakens her. She shivers, and he presses the top button on his TV remote. The black screen cracks to life, playing a colorful game show that Hanabi likes to watch in the evening.
Sasuke works on opening the box, offering her a can of beer that Hinata takes with both hands timidly. She cracks it open, takes a sip, and lets the muted taste soak into her tongue before she swallows.
What should I do? Sasuke didn't invite her in just to watch TV and drink beer, did he? Surely, he knows that she knows. She stares at his profile, searching. His face changes colors with the screen, and when he drinks, the lines around his brows relax. She can't tell if he knows. Does she have to tell him? But isn't it obvious?
Hinata takes another sip, steeling her nerves.
"Sasuke, um . . . S-Sasuke?" Slowly, his dark eyes slide to her, and Hinata nearly forgets how to breathe. "I . . . so I, w-well, I talked with a few people. Or, I mean, I asked Kurenai first — and she said — she said —" Like a rock is stuffed into her mouth, the words just stop. She can't manage to force them out. Hinata turns more red. Gods, how can he not know? "S-Sorry. I don't know what I'm saying."
The show plays at a soft volume, the laugh track rumbling in the hardwood floor between them. Hinata had long ago lost the ability to look him straight in the eye, but she can feel his gaze still on her.
He's waiting. Does that mean he wants her to keep talking?
Sucking in a breath, Hinata tries again. "Have you, u-um . . . . Has it been like this for a while?"
Sasuke, already done with his first can, grabs another from the back and downs half of it in one gulp. Hinata is sure he understands what she means — because, all of the sudden, he refuses to look at her. His frown is severe and deep, and his cutting gaze slices into the TV screen. If Hinata were who she was a few weeks ago, she'd be terrified by this expression. She'd be sure he was furious, and she'd be bowing her nose to the ground by now, begging for forgiveness.
But now, Hinata can see straight through that angry Uchiha facade.
She's caught him.
Remembering her own drink, Hinata finishes it, then joins him in a second can. She wipes her slightly sweaty hands on the knees of her pants, then turns more to him.
"Sasuke," she says, gently, and almost smiles at how his spine straightens, "you won't tell me?"
Sasuke considers this with a softening scowl. He finishes his second can, starts on a third, and then leans over the corner of the table to kiss her. It's a quick peck that lands more on the corner of her mouth, but it's enough to turn her hot and ecstatic. When he pulls away, it's not by much, and the look in his eyes tells her that was his answer.
A man of few words indeed.
Not that Hinata's complaining.
…
"Is it true," Hinata says, "that you've liked me since the Academy?"
Sasuke's right arm prompts between them, giving him the leverage to lean over and brush his mouth once more against hers. This kiss is a whisper of a touch, so delicate that it makes her toes curl. Hinata's lids droop, but he pulls away before she can shut them completely. His breath is warm on her chin. The light from the TV and the golden glow of a lamp makes his face so colorful and open to her. Suddenly, it's hard to believe that this man before her is said to be the most emotionless creature in all of Konoha.
Not with that expression.
Not with that mouth.
Hinata goes again. "D-Do you, um, still? Like me, I mea—"
Sasuke's mouth prompts hers open, and this kiss is wet and deep. His teeth graze her lip, tugging it until she groans, and then he tilts his head and goes in more. He tastes like rice beer and apples. He takes her breath away — and Hinata is left panting when he finally peels away from her.
"Obviously," he mutters.
Well, yes, the answer is rather obvious to her now. Hinata's eyes blink rapidly as she combs her hair behind her ear. Her heart could jump out of her — which would be rather embarrassing, for Sasuke would know how it races for him without the thought of stopping. She wonders if his races, or if it's steady and calm. Based on the slight tension in his face, Hinata is sure he's not as collected as he acts.
"Right," she whispers.
Sasuke adjusts himself closer so that he no longer has to be propped up by his arm. His now free hand rests against the side of her face, and Hinata relaxes into his touch.
"Ask more," he tells her.
A bolt of adrenaline shoots through her. "Did you know that Naruto was—"
This time, he bites her lip a little harder; not enough to draw blood, but just enough to surprise her and make her gasp.
"Not about him." He gives her a look. "Dummy."
"Oh — I'm so sorry! I didn't —"
Now he kisses her mouth better, nose nudging into her cheek. "I did."
"H-Huh?"
"I knew what that bastard was doing."
Hinata nods, mostly to herself. It makes sense that he would know. His team is all that Sasuke really has, so he would obviously know if Sakura or Naruto were up to something. And if things keep progressing between the two of them, she might be one of the few to know the true side of Uchiha Sasuke as well. The though makes her pink with joy and pride.
She'd like to know him more. In fact, she'd like him to know more about her — though, in a way, he seems to have a pretty good understanding of her as of now. She thinks of all those times where he was magically around the corner when she needed help. Had that all been on purpose?
Realization makes her voice pliable. "You've been looking out for me for a while, haven't you?"
And this time, Hinata gets a good look at Sasuke's face before he leans in and kisses her. There is a shine of complete adoration captured in his gaze, and she can feel that in how his mouth moves along hers — as if he's worshiping her.
The noise from the TV fades away. All she can hear is her heart and the buzz of her excited nerves and how their breaths crash into one another. His are shallow and fast. Hers are light, lacking the sort of oxygen she needs.
"Um. U-Um . . ." It feels as though her face will always be this bright red. She must look ugly — or silly. And yet, Sasuke is watching her like she's the best thing he's ever seen. "I'm rather dull, you know. I can't hold a conversation very well — a-and I'm not charismatic, um, or witty. I won't be a very exciting gir—girlfriend — um, not that — I mean —"
Suddenly, she's on her back with Sasuke looming on top of her. He takes one moment to confirm she's not scared out of her wits, and then he starts devouring her. Hinata has never been devoured. She didn't even realize being devoured was such a pleasurable experience. Maybe it's because Uchiha Sasuke is the one eating her alive — tasting her, lapping at her, sucking on her pulse and trailing his tongue along her jaw — that she feels so nice, so good.
He reaches a sweet spot close to her shoulder that makes her moan, spine lifting off the floor. Her whispered 'fuck' is what makes him finally pull his greedy mouth away from her.
"Don't say that," he hisses, glaring down at her.
Hinata stares back, startled. "I'm sorry—"
"No." There's that miserable frown again; the one that makes Hinata want to kiss it away. "I mean . . . you're not dull, and you're definitely witty."
"Really?"
Another peck to her mouth, and then Sasuke smiles. He smiles at her. He smiles because of her, and Hinata feels so giddy that it's hard to keep still.
So she doesn't.
Arms wrapping around his head, Hinata brings him back down to her until she feels that smile against her mouth.
…
Pressed down against the floor while they continue their rather thorough make-out session, Hinata soon feels an ache in the back of her skull. To help ease the pain, Sasuke slides his hand beneath her, pillowing her head from the hard carpet of his floor. For a while, his elbow anchored him a good amount of centimeters above her, but that soon grew exhaustive for even him.
Carefully, he relaxes his body into hers, careful not to crush her – though Hinata kind of likes the thought of it. Her legs part slightly for him to settle, and with her happy sigh encouraging him, he returns to attacking her mouth.
With him so close, practically stuck to her, it reminds her of both times they were in the alleyway. This is much more comfortable, and far away from any peeking glances.
But thinking about that time . . . .
A slight whine escapes Hinata, for she needs to breathe, and Sasuke's hand under her skull is holding her right in place for his prodding mouth. On the end of a groan, Sasuke pulls away and watches as her chest lifts and falls with her heavy pants. She likes how captivated he is when he watches her. It makes her feel beautiful.
When his mouth finds her neck, sensitive and flushes, she bends slightly into him.
"S-Sasuke." His name is breathless.
He hums, sinking lower.
"Do you remember – um –" When he reaches the loose collar of her sweater, he pushes it down her shoulder, bringing her bra strap with it. It thrills her to no end, and Hinata almost gives up finishing her question. "Do you remember what you told me in the alleyway? That, u-um, you wanted me to stop wearing that hoodie?"
That seems to get his attention. His face snaps up, and his eyes are wide and wild. Shocked, as if he didn't realize he ever said such a thing. But he did. Hinata has been wondering about it ever since.
His brows pull down, and he frowns and glances away. "You can forget that."
That's not the response she was hoping for. Hinata guides his face back to her, catching his eye. "Why?"
His mouth screws shut.
Hinata blinks, startled. "Maybe – oh, you must really not like it –"
"That's not it," he mutters.
He won't say anything more, that unsocial part of him taking over once again. Hinata has found she's grown more and more fond of that part of him. Rather than annoyed, she's rather pleased to see it back in play.
"You won't tell me?" she muses.
Sasuke looks down at her, then kisses her mouth gently. A sweet kiss that seems to treasure her, all of her. Every single part of her; even the parts she doesn't like herself.
Hinata smiles when his mouth leaves her. "You like it that much?"
His huff is light and amused. Sasuke smiles a little and rests his face into her neck, nipping and kissing softly.
Her hands go into his hair. "Should I wear it more then?"
All of the sudden, his mouth latches onto her neck, sucking hard before licking the sting away. He's definitely telling her to behave. Hinata's laugh is intertwined with a moan, and she feels his smirk when he comes back up to kiss her.
...
It's rather late into the evening when Hinata's adjusting herself in the bathroom mirror. Her shirt, still on but a little lopsided, is readjusted, but upon further inspection, she notes that the collar of her sweater isn't long enough to hide a few of the marks Sasuke had left on her neck. Neji and Hanabi will definitely notice. Well, they would have noticed even if she did have a high collar and a little foundation — damn those Hyuuga eyes. Hinata frowns, and Sasuke, leaning against the door frame, meets her eye in the reflection.
"I-I'm not angry," she tells him quickly, fixing a smile on her face. "It's just . . . um . . . nothing."
He comes up from behind her, at least a head taller than her and taking up most of the tiny mirror. He inspects her neck with gentle fingers, and then tilts her head back to look into his face directly.
"I think," he muses, after a while, "I need to get better at finding my words."
Hinata grins, for she thinks that's a rather silly thing to say — or maybe her mind is still there, in the main room, pinned down on the floor with Sasuke atop her, leaning in to answer every one of her questions with his mouth on her neck. How much do you like me, Sasuke? Bite. Do you know how much I like you? Kiss. Do you want to continue what we did in the alleyway? Suck. If she didn't have a family waiting for you, Hinata would have liked to stay there for the rest of the night.
"It's a little hopeless," she says. "I've, um, been trying for more than a decade, and I'm not very good."
He squints. "That's pessimistic."
"Maybe . . . you'll have more luck?" At her half-hearted encouragement, he nips her mouth, and Hinata laughs. Leaving the bathroom, they bundle up in their heavy coats and scarfs, and then they trek out into the dark cold. The stars are, indeed, out. They coo and murmur as they watch the Uchiha and Hyuuga walk down the street together, hand in hand. His palm is warm and takes her fingers in completely. Hinata smiles and squeezes back. "But I . . . like how you talk, Sasuke. Really."
He hums something soft and lulling. He does not have to say a word for Hinata to know how much he cherishes her. It's in the way he matches her pace without being asked and how his hand brings her so close that they share body heat.
Hello! Hello! We have a couple of announcements for you today!
ARTIST OF THE YEAR:
Folks, today the mod team for SasuHina month has the pleasure to announce this year’s event. It will be in August of 2026! We are very excited to see what people create this month. Another thing we are excited about is our Artist of the Year! For 2026, it will be Kuroo, also known as @kurootedi . Kuroo has created a wonderful fanart and we would love it if you could tell her how wonderful her work is. Thank you so much, Kuroo, and thank you to the wonderful SasuHina fans who participate!
PROMPTS:
Every year we stay grateful for the SasuHina community. The mod team for SasuHina month hopes this year’s event can be a celebration for our sometimes silly, but always fun ship! We have chosen the theme of: Flower Meanings!
Our prompts are listed below!!! Remember, we have multiple prompts for every day of the month, so you can pick which one works best for you.
SasuHina Month 2026 Prompt List
"Flower Meanings"
Day 1 | Día 1
LILAC - First love / Reminiscence | LILAS - Primer amor / Memorias
It's been a while, hasn't it. Admittedly, the Mod Team has been a bit busy with school and other life responsibilities, but we've finally gotten together to discuss SHMonth for this year. Thus far, we have decided on two things with more information to come in the following month!
We're hoping that August will be a good time for our lovelies this year. At the tail-end of the summer, we're excited to send off the end of the season with a fun, positive spin.
Most of us might associate Hinata with flowers and spring, but I think there's a little bit of Sasuke in anything. Perhaps the flower, themselves, hold no importance to him, but the meanings and secret messages behind them might hold much more significance. What is more Uchiha, after all, than using symbolism to vocalize one's feelings?
So what cat you expect next from us?
The Mod Team will be working on the Prompt List following this year's theme, as well as getting into contact with 2026's Artist of the Year. Both of these will be shared with the rest of you in time, so keep an eye out for any posts from us in the next few months!
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.
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 off 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 her 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 quickly 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 all 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 could 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.
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.
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 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 in 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. “Hinata.”
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—“ 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 — beat — 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 . . . .”
”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. She 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 Hinata wonders 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.
...
"S-Sasuke," she moans just as his tongue leaves her mouth. "Do you – do you remember the last time we, u-um, were in Hokage Tower together?"
It's a fluttering memory that her drunken mind snags onto. She had been upset with him – of course, she had been. But what had frustrated her the most is how unaffected he had been, standing in the same room as her. Now that same man has her against the wall in the middle of an alleyway, tasting her mouth like it's the sweetest thing. One hand scrapes across the bare skin at the back of his neck, making him groan.
"You never looked at me," she says.
His eyes drill into her. His mouth has gotten swollen, and he looks as though he could bite her – in the best way. "I couldn't."
He kisses her again, distracting her for just a moment.
"H-Huh?"
"You were wearing that hoodie."
Hinata tries to think as Sasuke's mouth searches out her jaw next. His body heat is driving her wild, and every time his breath hitches when she adjusts against the wall, she feels like she might burst. But she can't. Not right now.
Hoodie? Had she been wearing one. Sure, she probably was. It's been freezing for the entire month –
Ah. Right. She had been wearing that purple one she used to wear on missions all the time.
Sasuke sees the realization hit her and sneers – but it's not very mean. Actually, it makes her smile.
"Never wear it again," he mutters.
"You, um, don't like it?"
He's back to sucking her mouth, never replying. Not that Hinata minds. She likes this much more.
...
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 have 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 ninja 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.
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.
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 fascinated 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. When she dreams of that miserable frown on his mouth before he leans into her, 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. After 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 that 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.
Sasuke doesn't answer. He scoffs at the end of a breath and doesn't look her way once.
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, she 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 will simply 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 skin 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 sirens cough and whine, giving him no choice but to cut the question short. Villagers waddle out of their homes, heavily bundled. They are stationed at the back of a 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 below. 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. Not in a blatant sense, but subtle and quiet. A soft 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 thing.
…
Soon, a gravelly voice announces over the walkie that the drill is over. Sasuke returns the 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 is 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.
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.
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 than 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 are rather sensitive to the cold. Despite the clan having lived in Konoha for countless generation, and thus having faced its wintry months for decades, the Aburame are 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 draw behind his glasses. “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 beetles, 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 his hand perched against a thick trunk, stands Uchiha Sasuke. His dark form stands out from 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 had 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 mirror 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 can 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, I guess.”
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. And the sound of her name on his tongue is an added bonus. He has said it before, plenty of times, but it's different this time. It feels on the precipice of something.
“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.
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.
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 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 right now. 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 into plastic mics until their vocal cords to shreds, 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 bubble 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.
The other patrons stare warily at the poor bastard on the floor, coughing and grumbling. Not one of them comes to help; even the bartenders play unaware.
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 a tamborine.
“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 your 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 the drinks 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, one at a time, from her hands to set them onto the table. The stab of relief from his help makes her almost weep.
“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 Hinata. “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?
Probably some girl he decided to mess with after leaving the karaoke bar. 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 days if, um, I was feeling adventurous.”
He doesn’t laugh at her mild joke, though she wishes he would. Anything to break the following silence, to cut her off before she gets scared and says something silly again. Sasuke almost looks like a phantom. His dark attire blends him into the background, and he's so pale; a concerning pale.
Again, Hinata worries for his health, but she won't tug at his hand and rub heat into it this time. She's way too sober for such a thing.
“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.
She murmurs, “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 to. His words 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 cutting 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," he says at last.
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.”
"I never said I did it." But when her eyes drift down to his hand, to those scratched up knuckles that are still red from impact, Sasuke releases a defeated exhale. "It would have been nice to snap his neck."
A surprised sound hiccups from her throat. "Oh – you shouldn't!"
"Joking," Sasuke drones, and then, sorta, smiles. It's a faint lift of his mouth, and it isn't very bright or warm, but it relaxes his features some.
It takes her heart – for only a brief moment. It looks so alien on the usually untouched canvas of his face, but at the same time, it looks nice on him. Like it should be there. Konoha rumor says that if Uchiha Sasuke ever smiles at you, you'll be slaughtered in the night, but Hinata is not afraid at all.
In fact, she wants him to smile more. At her. With her, maybe.
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 is 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.
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.
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 grounding. 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.
Unconsciously, she stops in front of a section of dried seaweed snacks that her sister likes the most. She reaches out the pluck one from the shelf, but just then, she feels Sasuke's presence suddenly right next to her and panics. Her hand knocks into a few bags, but before they can fall, Sasuke leans over her and grabs them.
The wheeze that escapes her is full of thrill and nerves. The back of her neck burns alive with shame.
"Sorry —" Hinata twists slightly to stare at him. His eyes are so dark that they could swallow her whole. "Thank — oh dear, I'm so sorry. I was just, u-um, startled."
Not what she meant to say. She doesn't want to give the impression she's scared of him. Nervous and slightly puzzled, sure, but not scared.
The packs of beer hanging from her hands start to bite into her fingers. Hinata adjusts, and then blushes some more when Sasuke's gaze slides down to them.
"It's . . . It's . . ." Hinata bites her tongue, praying for anything to say; anything that isn't stupid, that will make him realize just how much of a pest she is. She can't ask why he has come. Absolutely not. So, awkwardly, she says, "It's good to see you again."
. . . Again, probably not the best thing to say. Not because she doesn't mean it — but if she had given the impression at the bar that she had a thing for him, then this is really selling it.
Sasuke's expression turns dark. Not angry, but severe. It makes Hinata's heart drop right into her gut. "Sure," he mutters, pulls away from the shelves, and wanders away from the aisle they're in.
Hinata's shoulders wilt. Really, she should just learn to keep her mouth shut. It's not like anything good ever comes out.
She lingers along the shelves a little more, collecting herself, before the bite from the cases get too much and she goes to pay.
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 keeps 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 DVDs 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 DVDs 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.
Hello when is the cut off time for late submissions?
Hello!
Everyone has until September 19th before we stop taking late submissions for SHMonth2025. We wanted to make sure we gave more wiggle room for our busy fans and members while not stretching the Mod Team out too much.
Half of the world is already in August, so welcome!
Here are Week One's Prompts, but remember you always have access to the full Prompt List (it's pinned on our blog site). Likewise, everyday our Mods will be announcing the daily prompts, so look out for those.
Just a few reminders before we start:
Get our attention by using tags (#sasuhinamonth2024 and #shmonth2025) and @ing us on Tumblr and Twitter/X.
We reblog/like submissions of current or previous days, not days in advanced.
Cross-platform submissions are welcomed! Feel free to share your fics or art from FFN/AO3/Twitter/X here so we can like and share!
For NSFW submissions, feel free to still use the #sasuhinamonth2025 and #shmonth2025 tags and indicate in tags that the submission is NSFW. We may not be able to reblog them, but we'd still like to see these submissions.
An AO3 Collection for SHMonth2025 is in the works, so stay tuned!
In a few hours, you'll see another post from us announcing the Day 1 prompts, but this is our official start!
We're looking forward to seeing everything you've got for us! And if you're interested in more SasuHina stuff, feel free to join our Official Discord.
Happy SHMonth!
With SHMonth2025 just around the corner, we thought it'd be a good idea to get you familiar with our Mod Team! Here are the first four, and you'll meet the rest tomorrow!
With the approach of SHMonth2025, I thought I'd share a small snippet of what I will be posting during August. I wrote this long before the SHMonth2025 Theme and Prompts were created and shared, but I think there's some way to link them together.
This story is originally inspired by a piece that was shared by a classmate of mine in my Master's program. With her permission, I was able to turn it SasuHina (with my own spins and flares, of course). You'll notice the 1st Person Perspective. That was inspired from her piece, and I really enjoyed it and decided to keep it in my little remix.
This will be finished by August, so I won't have to be writing and updating at the same time (which means more time to focus on Pluck -- woohoo!)
Summary: Sasuke shouldn’t have gotten involved with Konoha politics. He can hardly stand the village as a normal shinobi, and the majority of Konoha feels the same about him; but now, he constantly feels at the end of his wits. As a desperate attempt at escape, Sasuke visits the library’s isolated Archive every Friday. There, he’s alone — almost. There’s a girl who reads Konoha’s History books and hardly says a word. Turns out, she’s a member of the new clan that just came to Konoha — which can only mean trouble. Damn, when will he catch a break?
______
It's because I needed space that this happened. Humans can only get pushed so much. Plenty of people in Konoha don't consider me human, and plenty others who do can't acknowledge that I would have some sort of limit, some sort of breaking point. They think it was crossed long ago, when my own brother killed my entire clan and tortured me with the memory until I was a wreck of bone, blood, and rage. They think someone who has lived through my experiences has touched the burning brimstone of Hell: there's no lower I can get, so it would take another brother massacring another entire clan for me to, once again, reach my breaking point.
But Konoha has, and Konoha will. When you put yourself into the system and deal with the stupidity of the common man who hasn't trained a day in his life, who couldn't tell you the difference between D-Rank and B-Rank missions, who couldn't even name a kunai even if it was thrusted into his face — an untrained, unknowing, pathetic man who somehow has the gall, the egotism to think he should have a word in the world of shinobi — it all gets irritating very quickly. And when you, who has had your highs and lows, who hasn't always been on the side of Konoha but grew up a ninja and has lived a ninja and will probably die a ninja, has to deal, day-after-day, with that man, even you would be pulled to the end of your rope by a week.
For me, it's been four months, and I have the curse of Uchiha genes: a short patience, an even shorter tolerance of negligence and utter stupidity. I wake up in the morning to work for a government that is homed in a village that killed off my family. I meet with the Barrier Division's leader, who complains about the outdated, old walls and how the wear-and-tear of the Main Gate is causing issues with security and safety. Then, the Military Police Force's head stomps in, clothed in his uniform, the print on the sleeve and back of his vest missing my clan's fan — something I always note, something that always irks me. He barks about the rising crime rates around the walls: "The people are scared," he says. " Those walls are no good. War tore 'em up. Barrier is screeching about it, and the citizens hear it. They try to move to the center, and that leaves abandoned homes, and abandoned homes birth crime." The entire Security Department calls for better walls and more, better gates. So I meet with the Financial Division, and they say there's no money; and I meet with the Construction Division, and they say all material is going into rebuilding hospitals and homes. So I meet with Finance again, and I tell them to get the money, and they say there isn't any, and they say that I should call up Research or Intelligence or Communication to see if they can survive with loaning out a bit to Security — as if it's my damn job — as if I got "Head of Financial Division" stamped right next to "Creator of Miracles". And all the while, the common man is passively reading in his office, and when I present the issues to him and the rest of the Advisors, he just smiles, and he says to pull money out of the Reconnaissance Division. "We're not at war right now," he says. "Who could we be interrogating? Who do we need to search and retrieve?" Like an idiot. Like a fucking moron.
No ninja background. No understanding of the system.
And I have a limit. A deep limit, hard to find, but a limit nonetheless.
And if I don't get away, I will destroy. I will take that book away from the common man in his tidy office and smash his teeth out of his simpering, pathetic mouth.
So I get away. So I have been getting away. And that's where it starts — where she and I share the same space, the same air, the same smell of old paper and aged ink and leather and the clean, light, citrus scent of carpet cleaner and all-surface spray.
The Village Library (there are many libraries in Konoha — perhaps thirty, give or take a handful — but only one with a commanding and matter-of-fact name like The Village Library) sits comfortably in the middle of my commute from work and the half-standing remains of the Uchiha Estate. The library, itself, is impressive if your thing is how many books can be crammed into one building, but what is significant to me about this specific place is the basement, where The Archive tucks itself away from the noise upstairs. They say The Village Library can get up to seven-hundred visitors a day; more than one-thousand on weekends. But as visitors comb through the shelves and huddle at public tables and check-out tapes and glossy-covered books and local newspapers, The Archive homes its own, unique atmosphere.
Friday afternoons, when I escape work and the annoyances that follow it, I take a turn into the library, grab a local newspaper from the stack by the door, take the staircase down, follow a simple hallway to the only door on the right, and enter The Archive. The shelves here are wooden and antique, but not a crumbling old. They line the walls and split the small room into thirds, small signs hanging from the ceiling to indicate sections. I wander with ease into the section named Konoha Shinobi, find the spot in the shelf where I had left off, remove a few files, and maneuver back to the front of the room, where cushioned seats and small, round tables circle each other. I sit in my usual spot, in a corner next to Konoha Clans, drop the files onto the round table next to my left arm rest, unfold the newspaper, and sigh.
The Archive hardly gets a visitor, and when it does, they dip in quietly, and they meander some. A few stay and sit and read. Most leave after a glance around — and that's why I come here. This is where I get away, where I relax and read and forget about my heated need to smash in the teeth of some of my fellow Advisors.
It's five after four in the afternoon, and this is where I always am, every Friday, and it's quiet, and I'm unbothered, and it's as close to perfection as you can find in Konoha.
______
History Girl makes a knot in my normal, Friday afternoon schedule.
It's not something I take special time and care in noticing. If it weren't for repetition, she would be another, blank face — another stray body that comes in and sits and reads a little. Nothing that would be entertaining enough to make me look away from my reading material. Nothing that would make her face burn into my memory for a prolonged span of time. She comes, she goes, and that's it.
But that isn't it.
Every Friday, at 4:00, I come, I grab the paper, I search the files, and I sit and read until 7:00 comes and I peel out of the chair and return the files to the shelf and grab a bite on my way home to sleep and waste the weekend away. Every Friday, at 4:25, History Girl slips into the room, disappears for only a moment into the Konoha History section of The Archive, and curls into the chair by the door, where she sits, hardly moving, never talking, until it's 6:45 and she's off into the not-Archive; into the 'rest-of-the-world', as it were. And I only notice because this has been the norm for the past twelve Fridays, and you're bound to notice another body in this small, quiet space coming every Friday for twelve weeks — especially if you're a shinobi; especially if you've grown and trained with the ability to notice and observe quickly and subtly, without much effort.
The only thing that stands out to me, that really registers with me, about History Girl is the eyes. Peculiar and white, almost like the film over the blank, still gaze of a dead animal. At one point in those twelve Fridays, I wondered for a second if she was blind, then dismissed it as immediately as the thought came. A blind girl wouldn't spend her Fridays here. And even if one would, it isn't my business. It's the people I come here to avoid. History Girl keeps to herself and stays quiet and doesn't bother me, and I'm not about to compromise that.
______
It's the first Friday of August. The elders of the neighborhood write in their newspaper that the last days of summer will leave ferociously, without conceding. As temperatures rise to 38 C, they remind readers the common and traditional practices of avoiding heat stroke. Keep water on you. Stop in air-conditioned shops if you're taking walks. Wear light-colored clothes and wide-brimmed hats. I skim the section for the sake of finishing it, flip over to the next page, and skim what they have to say about locals and local businesses before my eye dips to the Sudoku puzzle in the corner. This group of elders must have a knack for it, for they add a new one in every Friday Issue. The Tuesday Issue has crosswords, but the Friday one is sectioned off into three different levels, and my pen aims for the last — the "hardest" one, as they advertise.
Half my mind on Sudoku, the other turns to one of the files waiting for me on the table. I pause after jotting down a few numbers in the upper section of the puzzle, bring the file onto my lap, open it, and begin to read the content inside. This file lists and delves into unique ninjutsu Konoha Nin have developed since the start of the village. Half of it is something I could never pull off — not because I'm outclassed or under-skilled, but more because it's out of my element. It's a unique ability to an individual and that individual's traits and elements and set of skills and clan. It's far beyond me, but I read, and I store it in my memory — because Konoha is the heart of the Shinobi World, in some ways. We send our kind out, and they interact, and they come back with a little bit of the people they met, and those nin have a little bit of us with them. It's likely that I will meet an enemy shinobi one day with a specific ninjutsu that their great-grandfather had learned and adapted from a Konoha shinobi years ago. It could be one of these.
For a while, I go between ninjutsu and Sudoku, flipping to one when my mind has to take in the other. The room is quiet. The lights flicker dimly above my head. Their buzz is muffled when the door opens, and my gaze flashes to the clock hanging on the wall. 4:25. Just in time.
History Girl creeps into the archive. I see a flash of cream before she disappears into the shelves. Perhaps she read the warnings of the elders in the paper. No hat, of course. How the grandmas would huff. I finish a line in Sudoku as she reappears, tucks herself in her corner, and grows still and tranquil as she dives into her readings. The history section is half-file, half-old-book. The one she has is thin-spined and ancient. I can't make out the title, nor do I wish to. Ninjutsu pulls me back in, and we settle into the quiet like it's any other Friday.
But then the door opens, and this time, it's a herd of janitors, hair twisted into buns, striking blue, rubber aprons tied to their fronts. They pull in brooms and spray and dusters. The final lady that comes in brings a vacuum, but she stops at the door upon sighting History Girl, then me, and leaves the device to stand by the frame. It's impossible that time has passed so quickly, but I look to the clock anyway and confirm, indeed, no more than forty minutes have passed. The janitors don't sweep through until the library closes at 7:30. I usually pass them in the hallway as I leave. They hit The Archive first, seeing as I'm usually the last to be inside. The sight of them here, early and off schedule, makes me scowl, and the one with the vacuum smiles nervously at her coworkers.
"Excuse us," she says, loud enough to get History Girl's attention. Her head snaps up, and her strange, white-film eyes expand at the small crowd of janitors by her seat. "We've come to clean early. Storm comin' through tonight is a monster, so they lettin' us cleaning girls off early. Oh, don't worry, you can stay. We'll be quick 'n quiet and gone before you know it." Her wide, nervous smile turns to the girl. "Ma'am."
A quiet, inquisitive hum leaves History Girl.
"Could we ask you to move?" Another janitor asks. "Just temporarily."
Lifting gracefully, she moves to a different gathering of chairs in the center of the room.
"What we mean," says the janitor, gaze turning to me, "is if you could both stay in the same area. Just for now."
History Girl directs her gaze over to my corner. My scowl does not hide for her sake. It's not her issue, of course, but I won't hide my displeasure. I get three hours a week to get away and find some ounce of peace. Having those three hours cut in half because of some storm, because a flock of janitors can't survive a measly Konoha storm, is not pleasant, is not wanted, and is not something I will simply regard with a shrug and a sigh. I let my displeasure boil, and the girl cringes, crinkles her eyes, and presses her old, thin-spined book to her chest as she tip-toes over, as if it were a shield to protect her from my disdain.
Her small feet touch the back foot of the chair across from me. When she stands before me, I notice her smallness. It irks a nerve in my jaw, and I grit my teeth.
"I'm sorry," she says. These are the first words she's ever said to me. They are small like her and quiet like her — warm like the red embarrassment on her face. They are light like yellow paper from ancient books, feeble against the slight blow of air-conditioned air in the room. Her shoulders hunker inward, and her eyes stay on the floor between us. "Would you mind?"
And a spiteful line of words collect on my tongue. Yes. Go away. You're bothering me. And then I'd like to turn to those cowering janitors and spit, with more wrath on my tongue: This is hardly professional. If you fear a meager storm that much, then leave. Quit. Move to Sunagakure. Never step into society again. And then I think, perhaps, this anger of mine is better directed to them than History Girl. She is as much in this mess as I am. If the roles were reversed and I sat in the chair by the door and that long-mouthed janitor batted her lashes at me and said "sir, could you please?" and directed me to this corner where History Girl sat, feet tucked in, eyes glued to the words, still unaware to the world around her . . . .
Well.
I would not tuck my tail in and obey.
But I am also someone who directs his rage at the right people. Itachi, then Konoha. The simpering common man. The department and division heads who don't know how to do their own job. That block-headed Military Police Chief who can't see the irony of reporting to an Uchiha.
In this instance . . . History Girl does not deserve my rage, and the mean cut of words I have die in my mouth. I grunt, and she hesitates, bends, and sits on the edge of her cushioned seat.
The janitors sigh quietly. The one leaves the vacuum in the hallway, and they hurry through The Archive.
History Girl fingers the corner of a page, opens, and slowly delves back into the words. I twist my fingers into my pen and bore my eyes into the middle crease of my file. Ink blots the puzzle. I don't care.
You guys remember that SasuHina Month 2025 is next month, right?
...
RIGHT?!
That's good because we want to remind you a few things before things get started!
You can participate by submitting a fic, fanart, moodboard or even a playlist related to the prompt. You just need to follow the daily prompt with the respective tags.
Following the last point, we'll reblog everything related to the day's prompt, so if we are on Day 1, we'll only reblog things related to Day 1 or Day 2 because of time zones! If it's Day 3 and we see some Day 1 prompt's, we'll go ahead and share/reblog/retweet those, since Day 1 has already passed.
We will not reblog advanced prompts! for example, if it's Day 1, we'll not reblog something related to Day 15 since we haven't reach that point yet.
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See you soon!
- The Mod Team
In the discord server a few days back, a member requested a delinquent x A-student SasuHina fic, where Sasuke is a rich college boy and Hinata comes from a middle-class, hardworking background. I was instantly hooked and wanted to write the first chapter of this idea.
I didn't expect it to reach over 15k.
So here it is!
Keeper, Keep Her
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Tags: College / Modern AU | Hinata POV | Delinquent | Fluff | Low Angst | Bad Boy x Good Girl | No Uchiha Massacre |
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Summary: Hinata lives a simple life. School, work, sleep. She’s not about to change that, either.
Sasuke, frankly, doesn’t give a damn about simplicity.
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The tail-end of August is clogged with humidity, and a cloth of wet heat sticks to the back of Hinata’s neck, exposed, arched at a notable angle so that she may look upon her Physics notes with full focus. It’s just after six o’clock. The cicadas are clearing their throats, preparing for their blaring cries that crescendo into the late evening. The pests hug the hanging signs of shops and the damp, wooden walls of old homes that fill the street. A rather fat one crawls along the swaying, overhead sign of Sarutobi’s Bike Shop and Repair. It massages its shell, gives its wings a flick, and begins to croon like an old lady. Only then does Hinata’s gaze rise from the pages of her notebook, giving a heavy stare up at the bug.
“Well now,” she says, as kindly as she can muster. Most wouldn’t bother to follow polite etiquette around insects — especially annoying ones like the cicada — but a good friend of hers would always say that the creatures have a mind like any other animal; a soul. He went so far as to have conversations with pollinating bees and marching ants, which wasn’t really Hinata’s style. Still, she tries to follow his advice when she can. “It’s all well and good that you want a girlfriend, Cicada-san, but I have a test I really need to study for, if you don’t mind.”
To give evidence, she offers her notebook, showing off her pages of notes, neat and tidy on thin lines. She wasn’t the kind to worry about aesthetic, coding vocabulary and equations in pastel highlighters and titling every new page with cursive, ink letters. The girl that sits next to her in Lab, Yamanaka Ino, has a great hand at decorating her pages. Sometimes, it makes Hinata jealous; but, then again, it wasn’t the look of her notes that got her scholarships, so that jealousy was quick to evaporate.
The cicada, now aware of a college student in need — or, maybe, is utterly disappointed with the sight of such lackluster notes — buzzes off to the bakery across the street. Hinata smiles, quietly thanks Shino’s odd but helpful insect advice, and turns back to her notes —
“Hinata-chan, another bike for you!”
Until the bike shop owner calls her from inside, signifying the end to her fifteen-minute break. Clasping her notebook shut, she lifts from the dusty, plastic chair set in the front of the shop and goes through the gaping entrance. When the shop is open and weather is nice, the owner likes to keep the metal, garage-like door open. He likes to say in creates an inviting atmosphere, and Hinata doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s the main reason why the AC bill is so high during the summer months.
The interior of the shop isn’t very exciting. Gray floor, gray walls. Metal shelves and rolling stations full of tools and bike parts. A few bikes for sale hang on the wall, and a small sitting area that rarely attracts people is stationed close to the gaping doorway. It overlooks her station, where a bike leans on a wobbling stand for her. The owner, Sarutobi Asuma, holds it upright with both of his hands on the handles.
In her station sits a wheeled shelf, where she puts her notebook. There’s a tiny break room in the back where her backpack hangs in a locker. It’s a rather stuffy room with no windows and a desk far too big, so Hinata usually takes her breaks in the front or in the cluster of stores across the street.
“Keeper?” she asks. It’s the title Asuma uses when it’s a fix-and-sell sort of job instead of the usual fix-and-return.
His grin is wide and white. “You learn fast.”
She wouldn’t say two months is very fast, but she has learned to find the signs for keepers. Usually more than one issue, which this bike has, and little-to-no upkeep. Not to mention Asuma has her work out all the paperwork for customers who want a fix rather than a sell; paperwork that is notably vacant from his person.
Hinata takes the handles from him, overlooking the bike. White, with a pretty, fake-leather seat. It’s purple, with a simple flower design on the sides. What a shame to get rid of such a pretty thing, she thinks. Once it’s fixed up and on the wall, Hinata has no doubt it will sell fast.
Asuma’s greasy hands lodge into the deep pockets of his uniform: a green, short-sleeved coverall with a work belt around the waist. Hinata has a matching one, the cuffs of the pants faded from dust and grease and multiple deep washes.
“Run down,” he says.
Hinata overlooks the bike again. The chain is obviously broken, and the wheels look like they haven’t been changed in years.
“New chain, new front and back. Replace the stand.” She tries the breaks. They work well, but could go for a rub and a nice clean. Most of the bike, in fact, could use a good wash. “Might be a squeaky brake. And could use a hose down.”
Asuma’s smile stays, patient but waiting. Has she missed something? She gives everything a second glance, but nothing seems bent or broken aside from what she’s already listed. His gaze is fixed to the flashy seat that’s a little worn, and Hinata understands.
“You want me to change the seat?”
His chuckle turns into a laugh when he sees the disapproving twist to her mouth. “Just your style, I take it?”
Hinata’s face turns rosy. It’s rather pretty, she admits, but she wouldn’t dare ride something so flashy. It doesn’t fit her, and she already has a trusty bike, Einstein, that has been with her since high school.
“I think people will like it,” she says. “I can mend it. I’ll make it look good as new — if, um, you’ll let me.”
Asuma lets out another barking laugh. “Your way is cheaper than mine. Have at it.”
Pride takes a hold of her beating heart, and Hinata tries to keep her grin small and polite.
It’s nice to have a boss that listens and trusts her. She’s only worked here for two months and still has plenty to learn, but she likes to think the expertise she’s acquired since her first day demands some credit, if even a little. When she had first applied for the job, it was Neji that gave the most protest. Papa wasn’t pleased, which was expected, and Hanabi thought it was killer, which was also expected; but Neji was the worrier of the family, the deep-thinker. He didn’t like the idea of his cousin working at a shop full of prideful, stupid men (his words, not hers). A woman in such a position was likely to not have a word in anything, and to the Hyuuga, that was worse than sin. He had much rather her work at a hotel or a preschool, but those types of jobs wouldn’t give her the kind of experience she needed for her major, so Hinata insisted, and Hinata got the job — and she was immensely lucky Sarutobi Asuma wasn’t one of those prideful, stupid men she was warned about.
For Hinata, it wasn’t common for people to listen to her, to trust her word.
For Hinata, if she finds someone who will do exactly that, she will grab them, and she will keep them, and she will not ever let them go.
. . . Not in a creepy or suggestive way, of course. Especially in regards to Asuma, who has at least fifteen years on her. And is married.
“Think you can get it done before closing?” he asks.
Hinata finds the clock on the wall, sees that it’s only a bit after six, and nods. She doubts many people will come in the last hour, anyway; and if they did, anyone sensible would understand that a fix any bigger than a loose chain would have to be dealt with tomorrow.
Asuma leaves it at that, going to his station in the other section of the shop that separated by a thick, concrete wall and one wooden door. While bikes were usually in the care of new recruits, interns, and part-timers like Hinata, Asuma and one other worker did a different kind of bike entirely: motorcycles. The real income. Sometimes, Hinata’s work day would be interrupted by the rev and growl of a fixed bike, and she would wonder if, in another month, another year, she might one day pass over to that side of the shop. Another goal. Another thing to work towards.
With the sun setting in the west, casting a red glow through the wide doorway, Hinata prepares for work. She manages to balance the bike on its wobbly stand and pulls her phone out of her coverall’s side pocket. She plugs in her earbuds and lets one rest in her right ear. When customers are around, she’s not allowed to listen to her own music. They have a radio by the front that they can play, but that’s the extent of music in the shop. When the place is empty, however, she’s allowed to play whatever she wants as long as she only has one ear plugged in case Asuma needs her for something.
So, with Nujabes playing in one ear, Hinata gets to work. She starts on the stand first, unscrewing it and measuring it the find the right size in the back. Fixing the bike would be a lot simpler if it could stand, after all. After that, she undoes the broken, rusted chain, cleans the gears with alcohol, and puts on the new chain with ease. Every so often, when she needs a tool, she lags around her cart, overlooking the equations in her notes and repeating them to herself as she turns back to work.
Cicada-san must have told his buddies about the college student working the shop, for the songs of insects seem distant to Hinata. She works efficiently and smoothly, never stuck on a problem that she couldn’t fix.
It’s like that for a while. Almost thirty minutes pass without any interruptions.
And then the air changes.
There’s a rumble. A sort of tremble in the floor. A small earthquake, Hinata thinks, until the roar and grunts of motorcycles fill the air. Motorcycles, plural. Which means it isn’t just one that Asuma is testing out. A group, maybe, that is passing through the quiet part of town. The noise gets louder, and Hinata waits for it to pass, but it never does.
It sounds like they’re right in front of the shop.
Hinata takes a second, pausing her music. Are those voices she hears? A crowd of them, it sounds like. Loud like their bikes. Oh, Asuma will have his work cut out for him, she thinks. He might have to call his nephew in tomorrow. Konohamaru’s mother doesn’t like it when Asuma schedules him on school days, but aside from the owner, no one else but his nephew has experience with motorcycles.
Unpausing her music, Hinata gets back to removing the front wheel, wondering what she should pray for. If all the bikes need a fix, then it would bring a hefty income, but would totally push them behind with other work. On the other end, only a few bikes would be easier to maintain . . . but, as Hinata said, the summer heat really is eating up the AC bill, and a little extra money never hurt anyone.
“Lady.”
Front wheel off, Hinata takes a second to look over the last page of equations.
“Oi, Lady.”
Really, they’re simple equations. It shouldn’t be too hard to memorize —
“Are you fuckin’ deaf or something!?”
The harsh yell chills her, startles her. Hinata jumps, heart skipping, and she quickly pulls her earbud out before turning around. There, crowding the doorway, stand five men, no older than twenty. One of them has a bike with him — a motorcycle, she means — and they all are wearing . . . rather intense jackets. Some bleached, others black leather. One boy to the side looks like his jacket was splashed with spray paint and he never got around to cleaning it out.
Her eyes scan the whole of them. Dyed hair. Pierced ears. Some of them even had ink on their faces, not even bothering to hide it. It wasn’t the look that most bikers had. She’s seen many of the customers Asuma worked with. They could be a bit mean-looking, and sometimes their beards were long and wild, but they were nice people. Fine. Polite, and not the kind to fuss too much.
These boys, however . . . .
Hinata tries to shake the thought out of her head. Mama said it was never good to judge people by how they looked — even if they looked like this.
She’s not too sure who was the one who had yelled, so to all of them, she says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you all there.” They snort and huff, and she realizes it was silly to say, even if it were true. Everything about them was loud and noticeable. “Does your motorcycle need a fix?”
A boy in the front rolls his eyes. “No, babe. We’re just here to show it off. What do you think?”
His eyes are as sharp as his tongue, and his cheeks are tattooed red. How strange, Hinata thinks. She’s never seen tattoos like that before — never really seen tattoos period. Maybe he belongs to a gang. Maybe they all do.
It’s a nice relief to know she won’t have to deal with them.
Kindly, she gestures to the side. “Try the other door. The owner there is the one who can help you.”
“Damn,” another one says, hair dyed a striking blonde that’s brushed to stand in all sorts of directions off his skull. His tone isn’t nearly as cutting, but it doesn’t provide Hinata any kind of relief. “Shouldn’t you have a sign or something then? Make it a bit less fuckin’ confusing for your customers.”
There is a sign. Right above their heads.
Hinata just smiles.
The boys slowly filter out. The one dragging his bike turns it back outside, and that’s when she sees the nasty flat the back wheel is sporting. All kinds of torn.
Poor Asuma, she thinks, turning back to her bike.
…
She had thought she wouldn’t have to deal with those boys again. If it was just the one bike, Asuma would have it fixed by tomorrow, and they’d hopefully pick it up quietly and with no hassle and be on their way.
What she didn’t expect for the wooden door separating her station from Asuma’s opening and those boys slipping in, one after the other, all with their own expressions if distaste. Asuma is the last to come in, smile wide but obviously strained.
Hassle, she supposes, and no good news.
“This is Hyuuga Hinata. She’s worked here for about two months, but she’s a natural with bikes. You won’t have anything to worry about.”
None of the boys’ expressions change, and Hinata shoots the owner a confusing look.
He comes to her side, lets her stand, and goes over everything quickly. As it were, the motorcycle they brought in has a slashed, custom tire that would need to be ordered before he can even start the replacement process. It could take two days — a day, at the very least. And they refuse to go to another shop that might have the tire they need, so now it’s Asuma’s problem (or so Hinata words it, secretly, in her head).
The issue is this: the bike has no chance at being fixed today, and anymore time on the road will ruin it more, so it has to stay here until the ordered tire gets in. Hinata picks it up from there before Asuma even has to explain it to her. Five boys, four bikes. Probably far from home, too, which means they need some sort of way home. Taxis don’t go to this part of town, and she doubts delinquents are the kind that like to couple-up on their rides. So now they have another problem to fix: how is the shop going to compensate them for their wait and get them a ride home?
Hinata looks down at the half-fixed bike she’s working on, and everything clicks with a rock of dread dropping into her stomach. Ah.
“You got plenty of bikes on the walls,” the boy with the red face tattoos says, pointing to the bike wall. “Why can’t we just borrow one of those.”
Asuma turns back to them, his customer smile back in place.
“I must regretfully inform you that those are not for loan,” he explains. “Once they’re on the wall, they’re for sale only.” His left shoulder gestures back to the bike she’s working on. “But as you can see, we have one that’s just about fixed. We won’t mind loaning it to Uchiha-san until your tire is fixed.”
Hinata glances at the one who had been dragging the bike. He’s a rather dark fellow, with black hair and black eyes. But she doesn’t recognize him. For some reason, the name Uchiha sounds familiar, but she doesn’t know that face at all. No surprise, she supposes. Her circles and his wouldn’t really mix, she imagines.
“Hinata-chan.” Asuma looks down at her, kindly, a little sympathetically. “How long do you think it will take?”
“No more than half an hour,” she replies softly.
“You boys can wait outside or sit in the corner while you wait.” Asuma lands an assuring hand on her shoulder, giving her a look she recognizes. If there’s trouble, let me know. He can’t stay and keep the boys under watch. He has to finish up a project and start the closing process. But Hinata trusts he’ll come running if she so much as squeaks, so she nods. Asuma’s gaze lingers on the boys, and then he leaves.
The moment he leaves, keeping the door slightly ajar, the boys scowl and make their way to the seating area at the front. A shame. Hinata had hoped they’d at least stay out by the streets.
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” The one with the face tattoos again. She’s already memorized his voice, his slight country drawl, his affinity for cuss words. “Around two days of waitin’ around and they can’t be pissed to at least give us a bike that won’t break on us. Stellar pick, Shikamaru. Fuckin’ phenomenal.”
Hinata starts screwing in the new front wheel, a little surprised, though she really shouldn’t be. They surely are well aware she can hear them. They just don’t care. It would be polite to take such complaints outside, but she doesn’t fault them for that oversight. Delinquents aren’t exactly known for their manners.
A new voice pipes up. It drags out lazily through the air, like it’s a chore to speak. “Cool it, Kiba. Asuma’s chill. And unlike the rest of you, I at least knew a place that wouldn’t sell us out to Sasuke’s old man.”
He knows Asuma? Well, that’s a surprise.
Someone turns on the radio, cranking it to a blare. Hinata works faster at the back wheel.
“I need a smoke,” the lazy voice drawls.
“You always need a smoke, Shikamaru.” That’s a forth voice. It sounds kind of different than the rest.
Curious, unable to stop herself, Hinata peeks over her shoulder. It had to have come from the round boy. There are tattoos on his face, too, but his face is round, and he was born with kind eyes. A strange collection of boys. When she sees them pass a packet of cigarettes around, she really wishes, with all her soul, that they’d go out.
They don’t.
The radio jumps to an ad. The boys pass a light, drag, cough, and blow out streams of smoke. Hinata stands slowly, wipes her hands on an old towel, and comes up to them. They’re spread out all over the place, lounging on the benches. The blonde boy is perched on the front desk where she usually takes payment.
“Excuse me,” she says. “The smoke zone is just outside.”
They all stare at her, and it makes her a little nervous. All she has to do is scream, and Asuma will come running. But how long will it take for him to get from Point A to Point B? Forty seconds? A minute? In that time, anything could happen. They could steal her away — kidnap her, she means. Steal away sounds far too romantic for this kind of situation.
The brash one — Kiba, she thinks is his name — sucks at the end of his cig before he rolls it to the corner of his mouth. “Hina-chan, ain’t it?”
Hina-chan? Hinata blinks, astounded. No one has called her that since she was in elementary school.
“Any way we can get you workin’ faster on that thing? We’re kind of in a rush.”
“A rush!” The blonde snorts. “Where do we have to go, you bastard?”
They’re definitely ignoring her. “Um —“
The lazy one — Shikamaru, wasn’t it? — kicks his neon shoe into Kiba’s knee. “You heard her. No smokin’ inside.”
“That goes for you, too, asshat!”
Can’t they settle down with the language? Thankfully, they stand and shuffle out into the front, blowing their smoke into the wind. All but one. The owner of the motorcycle — the expensive motorcycle that required special tires, and yet, out of all places, he decides to bring it here. The dark one with at least four pairs of earrings in each ear and — oh goodness — a nose ring to match. Hinata would likely faint if she saw whatever ink he had under the long sleeves of his back jacket. He stays, an unlit cig rolling in his mouth.
Upon her stare, he frowns.
“You’re going to kick me out, too?” That voice cuts through her soul, right into her stomach. A sweat breaks out on the back of her neck, and Hinata decides just then, that out of all of them, he is the one she wants to leave the most. “It’s not lit, sweetheart.”
Her heart joins that ball of dread in the pit of her body. Her face warms, and she swallows.
“I know,” she says. “You can stay, of course.”
Making her way back to the bike, she begs her pulse to calm.
…
“Hina-chan.” Kiba blows a long stream of smoke before turning his head to call into the shop. “Do small things like you work at places like this often?”
It’s fifteen minutes until closing. The screeching radio hurts her ears, and every so often, Hinata gets a whiff of tobacco and holds back a shallow gag. The wheels have been replaced. The stand is fixed. The gears are clean, and the chain is new. All she has to do is hose everything down and fix the breaks. The seat can wait.
She really isn’t sure if she’s meant to respond to that.
Thankfully, the blonde on speaks up before she wrestles over it too much.
“Fuck, man, your sis would have your head if she heard you ask that!”
There’s a howling of laughter that does not go well with the music from the radio. Hinata thinks she’d rather listen to the hollowing song of Cicada-san and his mates. She might go home to a headache tonight.
She barely hears them crush their cigs into the cement before they come back into the shop.
“What my sis knows and don’t know ain’t none of your business, Naruto.” Kiba drops into the bench. “And I wasn’t sayin’ anything mean. Can’t a guy ask a girl a question? I mean — look at her.” They all do. She can feel every single pair of eyes land on her back. “Girl knows her stuff, and not all of them do, y’know? I’m just observin’ over here.”
Well.
That’s a nice thing to say, Hinata supposes. She stands, again, and comes over to them, pulling the bike with her.
Shikamaru leans back into his seat and grins. “Uh oh.”
“Sexist bastard,” Naruto cackles. “Give it to him, Hina-chan. Kick his ass!”
Her eyes widen, and for a second, her words get stuck in her throat. Kiba grumbles, and the bunch laugh and snort.
“Excuse me,” she says. “Which —”
“What’s that?” Naruto yells. “I can’t hear you!”
Shikamaru wedges his elbow into Naruto’s ribs. “That’s because you got the damn radio blasting, dumbass!”
Naruto angles his arm and twists the volume knob to a reasonable level, and Hinata’s shoulders drop their tension. Much better.
“Which one of you is Uchiha-san?” she asks. She already knows, but, for some reason, she asks. Maybe to be polite. Or maybe to not give him the satisfaction of her already knowing who he is — if he’s the kind to get satisfaction from such a thing, of course. They all look to the dark one in the back, and she smiles. “I’m going to give this a hose and dry it up for you, and then I’m done.”
He says nothing, just stares. Hinata is secretly glad. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself if he started talking again.
…
The wind blows a bit of the water against her hot skin, which feels nice and gives her a bit of a cool down that she desperately needs. Ever since those boys came in, it felt as if the shop rose ten degrees. It’s close to seven, and the sun is behind the buildings across the street, casting Hinata in shadows. The sky is beautiful, and insects are a sweet noise in the distance. She takes a minute longer than necessary to wash the bike, enjoying the subtle noise, the aloneness.
When she’s done, Hinata cranks the hose until no water comes out, and she lets the majority of the suds and water drip off the bike before she rolls it back inside to give it a thorough dry with a towel.
The clean must have done wonders, for when she passes the group, the most of them start cackling.
“What a pretty thing you get to ride!” Naruto teases.
“Maybe we should ask for a flower basket too!” Kiba barks.
Hinata kicks out the stand, and then looks at the seat that she had detached for the wash. They’ll definitely get a kick out of it when they see it all together, flashy seat and all. It’s a bit torn in places, but it’s still awfully pretty.
I really should mend it up, she thinks, holding the seat in both hands.
Hinata turns to the bike, then hesitates. It wouldn’t hurt, she supposes, to lend a generous hand and hook up a different, plain seat to the bike. Just for now. Just until she mends up the seat it came with. It would most likely save that Uchiha’s pride. Hinata doesn’t know him that well — doesn’t really want to know him that much — and would prefer it if he and his friends never came to the shop again. But Hinata isn’t the kind to be overly rude to customers to scare them away. She’s more the kind to follow the ‘kill them with kindness’ approach.
. . . Not that she wants him dead, of course.
Just not here.
So she goes into the back and finds a seat that would fit the bike and would be a good size for him. She’s determined to also adjust it to his height, but that might not be an easy feat. He hasn’t been standing much, and she has no gauge of his height.
Hinata spins on her heels, returns to the boys, and says, “Uchiha-san, could you please stand for me for a moment?”
They stare, quiet, a bit surprised. Then, slowly, they all look back at the Uchiha, he maintains a blank face that reveals no thought, no annoyance. With a grace that no man should be able to hold, he stands, and Hinata surveys him. 180 centimeters. Maybe a bit taller. Close enough, she’s sure, and hurries back to the bike.
The whispered cackling of the group is not lost on her.
“Jesus, that was unsubtle.”
“Her eyes were totally eating you up, you damned bastard.”
Her face is as hot as the summer, and shame collects in the curves of her ears, red and smoldering.
…
With the bike cleaned and fixed, she wheels it over to them.
“It’s done.” Her voice is quiet, and she has a hard time looking at them. “Everything is working well. The tires are brand new, and I made sure the breaks won’t give you any trouble. I even made sure to adjust the seat for you. Um. I’ll take your ID at the counter, Uchiha-san.”
She leans the bike next to her, looks up, and is surprised by their stares. It’s kind of different from how they looked at her before. She can’t really define how they looked at her before. Actually, she can’t really define how they look at her now. It’s just different.
Did she say something wrong? Hinata shifts from one leg to another, and they stand, one by one.
Kiba looks over the counter, eyes sliding along the bike, and whistles. “She ain’t no bike, but she’s pretty.”
Naruto scratches the back of his head, and his grin is less conniving and more, well, boyish.
“Maybe we ought to apologize. We kind of started on the wrong foot, huh?”
“It was a fucked day,” Kiba continues. “Bastard slashes his tire. Tries to get all of ours, but only got the most expensive bike.”
“What we mean,” says the round, kind-eyed one that Hinata still hasn’t learned the name of, “is that we appreciate your work.”
Well.
This is a . . . surprise.
Was it the wash that got this reaction? Maybe the new seat? It wasn’t anything fancy. Just a plain, black leather. All she did was save them a step and adjusted the height a little, and that’s it. Everything else was her job.
A new kind of uncomfortable takes a hold of her. “Your ID, Uchiha-san?”
He comes to the front, looming over her and the counter. His jacket is flung over his shoulder. She’s sure it didn’t help much with the suffocating heat of the shop. Upon a glance, Hinata saw that her guess had been correct: a sleeve of tattoos decorated his skin. I mirage of ink that she didn’t try to understand.
He pulls out his wallet, thumbs his ID, but doesn’t give it to her.
“Why do you need it?” he asks, coolly.
It was hopeful thinking that she’d get through this interaction without him talking. If bad choices had a sound to them, it would be his voice.
“It’s protocol.”
His eyes meet hers. “You think I’m going to steal it.”
Will he? Are delinquents bold enough for that sort of thing? They smoke, and they skip class, and they talk too loud and color their skin and dye their hair wild colors, but do they steal bikes from locally-owned shops? Hinata wouldn’t know. She’s never really been around his type.
“We have your motorcycle,” she says, kindly. “It wouldn’t be wise to steal from us.”
He considers this, then finally hands her his ID. A student ID. It belongs to that STEM university deep in the city. The expensive one that Neji goes to — that he only managed to get into on a full scholarship. The university that Hinata wanted to go to, but that was a thing only for dreams. Her family wasn’t struggling. Not even close. But they didn’t have the money for a university like that without a scholarship, and unfortunately, she never got one from them.
She swallows the bitter taste from her mouth before it stays too long and jots down his information. Uchiha Sasuke. Hadn’t one of the others called him that?
When she’s done, she hands it back with both hands, and Sasuke stuffs his wallet back into the side pocket of his worn jeans before he rounds the counter and takes the bike from her. Seeing them together, the bike really isn’t a fit for him. Hinata hides her smile behind a hand and watches them leave through the door. It’s just seven, and Asuma will be wanting her to leave soon. Home, and then a bath, a meal, a bit more studying, and finally, Hinata can sleep, and this day will be far behind her.
She will probably never see them again.
. . . But, if she did —
“Um!” Her voice leaps from her tongue before she can stop it. The group stops, turns, looks. Sasuke’s expression is void, and his eyes could cut her. Hinata feels every corner of her body burn, and with a shaky breath, she says, “Just so you know — I — I had Uchiha-san stand so I knew his height. To adjust the seat, I mean. I wasn’t — of course I wasn’t —” Her breath hitches, and her gaze falls to their shoes, “eating him up.”
A moment of silence allows the cicadas to drone and the crickets to chirp.
And then the air breaks into laughter. Kiba cackles, and Naruto wheezes, and Shikamaru shakes his head and grins a shit-eating grin.
Sasuke, among the racket, unfazed from their howling and poking and gaggling, stares at her. He stares, and he doesn’t look away, and nor does she, and Hinata thinks that look of his will haunt her in her nightmares for the rest of her life.
…
She had been right.
Her sleep that night is restless. She kicks through one dream to another, tangling the sheets around her ankles. That Uchiha is caught in her nightmare, hands tight on the handles of a giant motorcycle. He crashes it through the bike shop, trapping her beneath the front tire. It’s too heavy for her to get out, so Hinata just lays, stunned, on her back. His boots come to stand next to her skull, and when she looks up, he stares back — the exact same look he had given her just that evening. There’s something heavy and pointed behind his eyes; it’s not puncturing or mean, Hinata thinks. Concentrated, maybe. Full of pulp, if one could describe eyes in such a way.
In the dream, her spine is sharp against the concrete floor of the shop, and her lungs feel claustrophobic. That Uchiha crouches next to her, pulls out a cigarette from thin air, and offers it to her.
Smoke, sweetheart?
I . . . don’t . . . her words come out in wheezes, smoke.
So he scrapes the cig against her cheek like he would a match, and the orange paper lights up with a small, eager flame. The embers are sparking right before her eyes. Hinata struggles. She doesn’t want to get burn. And that disturbed Uchiha just watches — and that’s how she wakes up, sweating and sore, exhausted.
Her alarm is going off on her phone. A hand angles back to tap the screen and end the alarm, leaving Hinata in the muffled songs of morning birds as she stares at her white bedroom ceiling, willing herself to get out of bed and face the day.
…
In the middle of her Physics Lab, Hinata’s phone buzzes in the side pocket of her backpack. Normally, she wouldn’t bother checking her phone until class was over, but lab today was swift and easy, and she already finished the paper assignment that came with it and now spent the last twenty minutes of class studying. The test isn’t until next week, but it never hurts to get some early studying in, especially if her scholarship depends on high grades.
And it’s not that Hinata doesn’t understand the material. She understands it fine. Rather, it’s the equations that give her trouble. Memorizing the step-by-step process of logging numbers and methodically untangling the equation until the desired answer surfaced went against the wiring of her brain. Wouldn’t it be easier if she just did everything in her head and jotted down the answer? It would save her professors time on grading, too, she’s sure.
But that’s not how this class works, so Hinata has to spend her free time memorizing a process that she can do in seconds in her head; and after looking at the same equation for the 56th time, it gets a little exhausting. That’s when her phone buzzes, and Hinata takes a look around the quiet classroom before she fishes it out of her backpack and taps the screen on.
A text from Neji.
Your sister was pissy last night and took my Econ txtbook. It’s in ur backpack. Could you bring it to me by 1?
It is? Hinata peeks inside and — look at that — his textbook is right there between a plain binder and her hefty Physics book. It’s thin, with a plastic front and ringed binding. It can very well be mistaken for a fancy notebook, so Hinata supposes she can’t entirely be blamed for not noticing it prior — though, well, her lack-of-sleep and distracted mind couldn’t have helped much.
Her class ends at 12:10, and the bike ride to Neji’s university is just short of thirty minutes. She has no other classes today, and she’s off work on Wednesdays, so it would be no trouble to run over. Hinata taps in a quick reply, asking which building she should meet him at, and after receiving an address, she puts her phone away and returns to those bothersome equations.
“Girl. You’re already studying for that exam?” Her desk partner, Ino, chews on a ball of bubblegum as she gives Hinata’s notes a look-over. Not impressed, Hinata is sure. Clear, but not very pretty to look at. “Eager thing, aren’t you?”
The backs of Hinata’s ears heat up, and she bows her head and memorizes the best she can.
…
Einstein enjoys the ride through the city. There’s a certain gleam to his coat of paint that gives Hinata the impression that he’s satisfied. Perhaps it’s weird that she imagines her bike would feel emotions — and maybe one could say that she spends too much time around them at the shop to be healthy — but, well, Shino talks to insects, so she ought to be fine.
The campus of Neji’s university is worlds ahead of her campus. It’s large, taking up several blocks, and the dorms had been renovated two summers ago to have a more modern appeal to them. There are large courtyards for students to study and relax, marble fountains around every corner, bike and walking trails, and a towering clock tower that played a unique song every hour. The only brick building is the oldest one on the northern outskirt of campus — the very building that Hinata is set to meet her cousin at.
She’s lucky to find an open spot for Einstein nearby and makes sure to properly lock him into the rack. The students of this university tend to be upper-class or very lucky, with little need to steal a bike aside from, say, amusement purposes; still, Hinata doesn’t like a risk, no matter how small it may be. Adjusting her backpack on her shoulders, she advances to the brick building, circling it slowly, trying to find the set of sun-washed stairs that Neji told her to wait at. It’s a rather big building, but it has a cozy feel to it. Perhaps its the orange brick or the rosebushes around the foundation, but it reminds her of the buildings that make up her campus.
The sun is high in the sky, beating down on the faces of passing students. The drone of traffic feels ever-present, and skyscrapers surrounds this pocket of school-life like giants. Hinata pauses, for a moment, as a few girls find a spot at a nearby metal table, chatting, and a gang of boys ride past on electric scooters. She takes in the scenery, the smell, the noise, the hot light of the sun, and pretends, just for a moment, that this is her school. That it had accepted her. That she were good enough for it.
Don’t feel sorry for yourself, she reminds herself. You’re a very lucky girl.
She is. The university she goes to may not be as advanced or elite, but it specializes in all things Mechanics, and the program she’ll be entering next year for her major is one of the best all around.
And they had wanted her.
Hinata continues around the brick building, almost completing a full loop before she finally finds the staircase where she’ll meet Neji. He’s not there yet, but she’s about ten minutes early, so she approaches with the idea of sitting to the side, in the shade, to wait.
The toe of her sneaker meets the first step when the heavy doors at the top of the stairs open, and just like that, Hinata’s heart falls out of her chest. She jumps, staggers back, and ducks behind a small maple tree before anyone spots her.
Am I dreaming? Her mind buzzes in a moment of panic, unable to distinguish reality from dream for just that moment. Hinata crowds close to the tree, nose nearly pressed into the bark. Just to be sure — absolutely positive — that she’s not seeing things, she peeks out, and there is that pierced, inked, dark Uchiha Sasuke that had plagued her nightmares and given her a good dose of fright just the previous evening.
He’s here. At this university.
Well. That makes sense, she supposes. The ID he’d given her was from this school. She hadn’t really expected to see him here. It’s a large campus with thousands of students. That, and . . . admittedly, she didn’t think him the kind to be a committed student and show up for his classes. That’s her bias talking, she supposes. Maybe delinquents only skip class in high school. If that’s the case, then what makes a college delinquent a delinquent?
The piercings, maybe, and the sleeves of tattoos. The way they walk with one hand halfway into their ripped jeans’ side pocket with their backpack partially zipped with a mess of loose papers and notebooks hanging out.
If he’s not careful, it could all come falling out.
Hinata almost calls out to him, then remembers that she’s hiding. Why did she even hide in the first place? Perhaps she had no desire to meet him again, but that gave her no excuse to go ducking behind trees. He hadn’t been mean to her — not really. He had a frightful look to him, but she’s met plenty of frightening people at the shop and managed them just fine.
Thinking of the shop reminds her of the last thing she’d said to Uchiha Sasuke. ‘I wasn’t — of course I wasn’t eating him up.’ Her face burns with embarrassment and a deep sense of shame, and Hinata supposes that, right there, is the reason for her hiding.
Thankfully, he doesn’t spot her, and Hinata waits for him to be completely out of view before she creeps up the stairs, where Neji is waiting for her.
“I’m going to kill that kid,” he announces as she pulls his textbook out from her backpack. He lodges it under his arm, checks the time on his phone, and sighs. “Enjoy being a single child soon, Hinata.”
She smiles, waits, and when he’s ready to head to class, she catches his sleeve and gives him a look.
“You’re welcome,” she says, words terse.
He blinks, shakes his head, and laughs.
“Thank you, Cousin.” And then he smiles, and the worried lines around his mouth fade. “I’m sorry I called you all the way out here.”
Hinata grins, kisses the side of his face, and tells him she hopes he’ll call her over again. She likes the campus, and Einstein enjoyed the ride over.
…
The custom tire for the Uchiha’s motorcycle comes in on Thursday. It’s a sad coincidence that Thursdays also happen to be the shop’s busiest days, so Hinata’s not surprised when she gets a call from Asuma just as she gets home from school, shoes not even off and her backpack hanging from one strap off her shoulder. He asks if she can come an hour early, and he promises to free up her Saturday as compensation. Hinata would rather a ninety-minute break on Saturday instead. Experience isn’t the only reason she has the job, after all.
Quickly, Hinata fits into her uniform that hangs from a plastic hanger in her room, packs a quick lunch in the kitchen, and hurries out to find Einstein waiting for her. Her neighborhood is just on the edge of a suburban strip, with the quieter country part of town not too far away from her house. Biking to work takes around fifteen minutes, though she’s been able to shorten it to eleven minutes when the weather is nice and traffic is light.
Upon arriving, she chains Einstein in the back lot, shuffles her lunch into her locker, and quickly gets to work. Asuma is too busy to give her a full run down of what needs to get done, but she’s able to look over what’s logged into their old, boxy computer in the back. A few break fixes and an issue with a tire not keeping air. No keepers, which makes things a bit easier. Hinata prints off the list and goes through the bikes in order. Most of the customers asked to be called when the bike’s ready, which lets her push the next-day jobs for later.
For the first hour, no one stops by her station, so she plugs her ear with music and goes through the list with ease. The first customer she calls was waiting in the collection of stores across the street, the second a woman who lives not too far away and is able to walk over and pick it up.
Around five, the sun gets in the right position to fill the shop, and the heat gets almost unbearable. Hinata’s coveralls sticks to her back, and she breaks away from her task every now and then to fan the collar against her face for some iota of relief. Asuma stops in to relieve her for her fifteen-minute break, where she sits in the backroom for a change, chugging a room-temperatured bottle of water and wiping her face clean with a dry rag. She eats her sandwich and apple slices quickly and spends the last three minutes with her nose in her notebook, and when her break is over, Hinata brings it out to her station with her in hopes of getting a few peeks in between jobs.
A stream of crooked handles and squeaky breaks come in. A clique of teenage girls hover around the sitting area while they wait for their friend’s bike to get fixed. One of the gears got loose, creating a rather obnoxious cranking sound that sometimes ended in her chain getting free. A pretty easy and cheap fix. Hinata takes an extra two minutes to check the rest of the gears while she’s at it. The girls have the radio on at an appropriate volume, which she is thankful for.
The cicadas find their time to sing once the sky begins to change colors with the slowly setting sun. Neither Hinata nor Asuma have gotten a rest since her break. Not that she’s complaining. She likes the work, and it makes the minutes pass by faster.
About an hour before closing, jobs slow just enough for Asuma to let her take the second half of her break. Stretching, popping her back, Hinata takes a moment to turn off the radio and retie her clunky ponytail. She’s in the middle of contemplating if she wants to spend another break in that depressing backroom or chance melting in the summer heat when someone ducks into the shop. One look, and Hinata can tell it’s got a good collection of issues. The back tire is flat, so worn that it barely has any traction, and the mandatory front light that all bikes in the area need to have is smashed in and needs to be replaced.
A job that will definitely take the majority of the last hour of being open. Hinata tries to hide any sort of expression as the man rolls the bike to her station. He might be a year or two older than her, his tank top showing off his tan.
“I need you to get this thing fixed today,” he tells her, kicking out the stand.
Hinata perfects her customer smile. “I’m sorry, sir, but I just started break. I can get your information and have it ready for you by tomorrow morning —“
“I don’t think you heard me.” His voice isn’t harsh or nasty. Not exactly. But something about it sends a crawl down her spine. “I’d like it done today.”
Hinata takes a purposeful look at the wall clock, nods, and squats down to inspect his back tire.
“I can try,” she says, “but if we don’t have the right kind of tire, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Standing again, Hinata looks over at him, waiting.
“Well then?” He rolls a shoulder at her. “Get to it.”
She swallows a hot clog stuck in her throat and goes to the back where they keep all the tires. Sifting through the collection, she can feel his eyes take in every slight movement of her body, every bend of her spine and twitch of her hand. When she looks back, he does not have the decency to look away and pretend like he wasn’t staring. His eyes drill into her, looping into her skin like a hook. She feels caught and uncomfortable, so she turns back, finds the right kind of wheel for his bike (shame), and rolls it over.
“Just a moment,” she tells him, keeping a smile.
Hinata crosses the floor to the door, opening it so that she can step halfway into the other half of the shop. Asuma, as expected, is bent over a motorcycle, handling it like he might handle something delicate. Gentle, searching hands and a keen eye. What Hinata doesn’t expect is for Uchiha Sasuke to be right there with him, and when they both turn their heads to her, she freezes.
Oh dear. Suddenly, everything feels very muddy in her head.
“I’m sorry.” Hinata shifts, leans in a bit more, and tries her best to not look Sasuke’s way without making it obvious. “I won’t be able to take that break. Someone needs a fix.”
Asuma stands and wipes a towel over his shoulder, frowning. “Tell them you’re on break.”
“I did. I —“ She feels that gaze slide down her spine and cringes, “tried.”
The expression on the shop owner’s face turns cold at the sound of her shaky, pitched tone. With the towel on his shoulder, he wipes his hands clean and makes his way over to her, but is momentarily stopped when Sasuke passes both him and Hinata, slinking through that small doorway to reach the other side. His front brushes against her side, and he smells like cigarettes. Hinata blinks, surprised, then looks back at Asuma.
Leaving the door open, she meets him halfway.
“Do you feel unsafe?” Asuma asks.
Her stomach tightens. A little bit, if she’s being honest, but she feels silly. That man couldn’t really do much to hurt her. Asuma is always a few steps away, and it’s not like Hinata herself is totally helpless. The word unsafe makes her feel childish, so she shakes her head.
“He’s just odd,” she says, “and pushy.”
“I can go out there and talk to him, if you’d like.”
Something that she ought to do herself, Hinata supposes. Again, she shakes her head. “No. It’s just a tire and a light replacement. I can get it done, I just wanted to keep you in the know about my break.”
Asuma examines her, then offers a relaxed smile that helps ease some of her tension.
“Poor Hinata-chan,” he hums. “How I overwork you.”
She laughs and waves him off to get back to the Uchiha’s bike — ah, right, the Uchiha. With a turn, Hinata returns to her station. Sasuke has himself standing at her shelf of tools, not even sparing her a glance. His eyes are trained on the man, and Hinata does not waste time contemplating this. Putting the bike on its side, she works off the tire, replaces it, and pushes into the front one to make sure it has a good amount of air before she sets it upright once more.
There’s a cold tension in the shop that she’s not very sure how to handle. Hinata collects herself while she finds a replacement for the light, letting herself linger. What’s the point of having both of them here, crowding her, distracting her from her work? Hinata misses the evenings of an empty shop, filled with nothing but her work, her music, the cries of cicadas. Ever since yesterday, she’s felt on end, like she’s on the cusp of fight or flight. She can’t seem to relax. Especially with that Uchiha around, she can’t.
Eventually, she makes her way back to the bike.
The tension, this silence, might kill her if she doesn’t find a way through it soon.
“Uchiha-san,” she says, softly, as she works on removing the broken light. She has to wear gloves for this process in case broken glass tries to slice at her fingers. “Have you come to get your bike? I heard your tire came in today.”
He doesn’t talk, doesn’t even acknowledge her words. Maybe he’s not listening.
Or, maybe, delinquents only listen to things they want to hear. Well, Hinata muses, how is she supposed to know what he does and doesn’t want to listen to?
“I think you should quit.”
It’s that strange voice again. Dangerous isn’t exactly how she would describe it. Maybe others would, but it seems a bit cliché. It’s a bit low, she supposes, for his age. A lot of boys in their early twenties, Hinata finds, are kind of nasally and still hold that boyish charm from high school. His voice doesn’t sound exactly like that, but it doesn’t sound as adult as Asuma or Father’s do.
Either way, it still gives her the same reaction as it had yesterday. Not a very pleasing feeling.
His words, of course, don’t help with that.
Her attention turns to him, and Sasuke is looking back. Over her shoulder, Hinata sees the man is gone. When had that happened?
“I doubt you need the money,” he continues. “I saw you yesterday.” At her surprised expression, an easy smirk takes up his mouth. “You’re not very good at hiding, sweetheart.”
Oh, what an embarrassing thing to be caught doing. Hinata bows her head to hide her flush.
“I’m not a student there,” is all she says.
She thinks she understands a bit better now. He must not be in the position to know how important earning your own money can be. She tried to avoid logging him into the stereotype of what students of that university tend to be, but now it’s all clear. He’s well off. He owns a motorcycle with custom-made tires and goes to one of the most prestigious schools in the country. He can tell the girl at the bike repair shop to quit her job without seeing anything wrong about it.
Do sons of rich families usually become delinquents?
Maybe Hinata needs a refresher on the definition.
“Is something wrong with your bike?” Replacing the light is a quicker job then she had thought. She checks the charge of the batteries in the battered light, finds they’re dead, and digs through her shelf to find the right kind. “The one you’re borrowing, I mean. Was there something I missed?”
She sees his cool expression in the corner of her eye. “I’m not telling you to quit because you’re shit at your job.”
So Hinata waits for him to clarify, but he doesn’t. What other conclusion does he expect her to come to? Hinata searches the front of the shop, but the man hasn’t returned, and her shift ends in less than ten minutes. Maybe he went out to the shops? Still, she steps out of the large doorway, and is both pleased and a little unsettled to find him just outside the shop, crouched down against the pavement, thumbing through his phone. She doesn’t miss how his eyes flash and carve over her form when she tells him that his bike’s done and that they take cash or card for payment. She checks him out at the counter with few words passed between them, and when the man leaves, Hinata lets out a relieved breath.
Thank goodness she was just overreacting.
When she returns to her station, Sasuke is overlooking the open page of her notes with a bored recognition in his eye. She cleans up the area, organizing her tools back in order so she won’t have to deal with it when she comes back tomorrow.
Hinata reaches for her notebook when she’s finished, but isn’t quite fast enough, for Sasuke’s hand slams onto it first. His hand could be twice her size, and the cuff of his jacket hikes up his arm just a bit to reveal the dark ink of a tattoo. Scales, she thinks it looks like. Something that, if she pushed up that sleeve just a bit more, might slither out and bite her.
“Could you —”
Sasuke anchors his face down to her level — or, not quite. He still has a few centimeters over her. Hinata has no doubt this is the norm for him: looking down on others. He might bend down some, in an essence of equality, but he wouldn’t stoop so low as to be, completely and totally, at her level. Even a few centimeters feels like a big difference between them.
“The next time we run into each other,” he says, that easy smirk back on his mouth, “don’t hide from me, sweetheart.”
He releases her notebook, straightens, and leaves.
Hinata listens for the roar of his motorcycle, but it never comes.
…
When she arrives for her shift on Friday, Asuma tells her he’ll let her have an extra fifteen-minute break whenever she’d like. Hinata smiles as she shuffles her backpack and lunchbox into her locker. She can use that extra fifteen minutes to go across the street and buy something sweet from the bakery. The sign in the front advertised a new melon bread that would only be sold until mid-September. Hinata’s been meaning to give it a try. Maybe she’ll buy an extra for Asuma as thanks for the extra break.
The bakery is popular with a lot of students from her university. Especially on Fridays, when they can leave after class and not have to worry about any obligations until the weekend ends. When Hinata works on airing of tires and hosing down muddy bikes, she will sometimes look across the street to see students coming in and out of the bakery, cute paper bags clasped between their hands. Sometimes, Hinata thinks she’ll see Ino. A girl like Ino would love that stylish bakery. She might come with all her friends, and then they’d sit on the curb and scroll through TikTok and nose through the Instagrams of boys they have a fancy for.
For a moment, Hinata’s sunny mood dampens.
As it were, she doesn’t think she’ll ever be in that kind of position: eating melon bread and gossiping about boys on a Friday afternoon. Hinata wouldn’t call herself a loner, per se, but busy. Busy with a schedule full of responsibilities that she put onto herself.
In high school, she had a small handful of friends. They’d study together and sometimes go out for ramen and karaoke. During PE, they’d group up, and they would excitedly message each other when a school trip would come up. But after graduation, they naturally separated. Some moved away, others went to a different university. And Hinata was busy.
Hinata was always busy.
Get out of this funk, girl, she tells herself. Finishing the hose-down, Hinata drags in the bike (a keeper that came in just before her shift started), checks the time, and sees an hour has already passed. Perfect time to use that break — melon bread will surely lift her spirits again. With a smile, Hinata dries off the bike, sets it to the side to be mounted on the wall later, and goes over to the door to call for Asuma.
“Is it alright if I take that break now?” Peeking in, Hinata’s surprised with what she sees. No Uchiha (thankfully), but his bike is there. How? Hadn’t he picked it up yesterday. “I thought you finished that thing yesterday.”
Asuma gives the motorcycle a glance, then smiles at Hinata. “Got to it this morning. I asked Uchiha-san yesterday if he wanted me to do anything extra to make up for the wait. He stopped by yesterday, and we decided on a wax.” Scratching at his beard, Asuma checks the clock and nods. “Go ahead. Enjoy it.”
Hinata keeps her smile, nods, and slips back from the door.
She tries not to think about how that Uchiha will have to come (again). She grabs her wallet from her backpack, goes across the street, and waits in the short line at the bakery. The AC on her face feels nice, and she hopes, with luck, that she won’t have to see him.
…
After a good enjoyment of sweet, sticky melon bread paired with her strawberry milk that she brought with her from home, Hinata is back to work. Fridays, usually, are not as busy as Thursdays. She’s able to go a while with doing stop-bys and keepers, which gives her ample time to squeeze in a few glances at her notes between jobs. Outside, store owners sweep dust off their front steps and splash water into the streets. There is not a cloud in the sky shading anyone from the sun, but that doesn’t stop the street from being decently busy with school students and workers just getting off work and having a leisurely stroll before heading home.
When the day drags into the late evening and the quiet part of town turns quiet once again, Asuma pops in, a thin line of concern between his brows.
“I’ve just spent the last two hours looking for my polisher.”
Hinata, working on her seventh set of breaks, wouldn’t mind a change in scenery. “Want me to have a look?”
“No, no. No need. I’ve basically turned the entire shop upside down.” Asuma jams a thumb back to his station. “I’m going to close my area down and run over to the place down the street to get a new one. I have five jobs lined up, and I’ve wasted enough time searchin’ for that damn thing.”
He fumbles a pack of cigs out of his pocket. His wife won’t be pleased with that, Hinata figures. Kurenai has been trying to ease him off of smoking since the birth of their daughter. She won’t say anything about it, of course. He doesn’t smoke in the shop (his own policy) and he seems just a little stressed.
“I’ll let customers know if anyone shows up,” she says kindly.
“You’re an angel, Hinata-chan.”
He ruffles her hair like her uncle does, and Hinata grins.
It’s not the first time she’s been left alone in the shop, so Hinata isn’t worried. Asuma doesn’t like it, but he’s never out longer than thirty minutes, and it’s not like this type of shop brews trouble and a bad crowd.
The evening has turned slow and humid. With no customers waiting for a call or breathing down her neck, she can go at a slow pace. She takes her time overlooking notes, squinting at those pesky equations. Just a few more days, and then she’ll have the test out of the way and won’t have to bother with them again.
. . . Instead, she’ll have to deal with new, more complex ones.
Hinata stifles a groan, turns back to the bike at her station, and crouches down to feel the air pressure in the wheel.
She doesn’t hear anything, but she sees the shadow of someone come up from behind. A customer, she supposes, so she stands, wipes her hands, and turns.
“Hello —” Her chipper greeting crackles in the air when she sees who it is. “Oh!”
It’s the man from the yesterday. The pushy one that never stopped looking at her. He hangs around the open doorway at the front, and next to him, leaning on the wall outside, is another man she does not recognize. They have no bike with them. Dread builds up in her gut, and adrenaline is already pooling into her system.
“Can I — help . . . you?” She tries her very best to keep a cool, even voice, but the words trip out of her mouth.
The man looks over her slowly, smiles, and glances over at the open door that leads to Asuma’s station. He must know, somehow, that he’s not in. How? Had he been lingering around, hidden, waiting for the right time?
Had he been waiting for her to be alone?
Hinata takes a few steps back, putting her wheeled bench between her and the men. The closest exit is where they are. She heard Asuma shutting the garage door for his section of the shop, which means the only way out is the back door — but the only way to reach it is by going through the wood door, maneuvering through Asuma’s station and all the tools and bikes he has there, reaching the far corner, and slamming into the bar of the door to get outside. The door leads into the back lot where Einstein is waiting for her, but what if there’s a third man already waiting for her out there.
Hinata might have to take her chances.
Her pepper spray is in her backpack, which is a no-go.
If she wants to get out, she’ll have to sprint for it.
The man probably sees this realization hit her face, for he’s advances on her, long legs taking him halfway to her station before she can even start to run. Yelping, Hinata ducks around her shelf and makes a run for the side door. When she feels a hand grab the back of her coveralls, she manages to grab the door frame, keeping herself from losing her balance and falling back.
Heart racing, Hinata flings her leg back. She tries to catch his knee, but she misses. Will anyone hear her if she screams?
Before she can try, a cry shoots out from behind, and the hand on her back tenses. Gaze flinging over her shoulder, Hinata finds the second man that had stayed by the front, guarding. His form is on the ground, kneeling over. Adrenaline blurs her vision. She blinks, shudders, and finally sees Uchiha Sasuke standing over the man.
The one holding her hisses a curse. That hand releases her coveralls to grab her hair, yanking her head back. Lightning pain courses through her skull. Her grip does not shake from the door frame, but she can’t help the hitch of pain that catches on her tongue. His hold on her is hard, unrelenting. She feels some strands get loose, tugged out and falling down her back. Tears of frustration bites the corners of her eyes as she readies another kick —
Then another cry. Much closer.
The man is ripped away from her, thrown back. The release of her hair sends Hinata forward. She catches herself, winces, then whirls around to find Sasuke in front of her. He keeps himself between her and the men; a barrier. This is the first time Hinata has ever considered a human a barrier, an obstacle, a way of protection.
Her neck is hot. Everything is. Adrenaline, the humidity — it all bubbles inside of her.
But Sasuke looks fresh — like he’s made of ice, like he’s meant to be packed in a frigid freezer. The only color she sees on him is the ink on his forearms as he rolls up his sleeves casually, simply, like everything is normal. Like he isn’t about to go at two men who are collecting themselves, sneering, spitting.
Fight or flight kicks in, jumbling. The men are larger. And even if they weren’t, two against one is a severe disadvantage. Sasuke goes at the closest one — the man that had her — and Hinata flings herself into Asuma’s station. It would be smart, she supposes, if she ran out the back. Begged a neighboring shop to call the police. Made a racket to get help. But Hinata doesn’t like the idea of leaving someone alone with two men who could very well kill him.
She grabs the first heavy thing she can find: a monkey wrench nearly the width of her forearm. She knocks into a shelf on her run back — a bruise for later. When she gets back to her section of the shop, she sees one man slouched against the wall, out. The other has Sasuke in a hold. His arm is tight around his throat, choking him. Alarms ring in her nerves. Hinata slips behind him, anchors back, and with all her might, she hits the man in the ear, smashing it into his skull.
She’s not strong enough to knock him out, but it startles him, and he loosens his hold on Sasuke. The Uchiha takes the opening, driving his elbow into the man’s stomach before launching him back with a kick. The man thuds onto the concrete floor, unconscious.
Hinata stares, shivers, and drops the wrench.
Sasuke wipes the blood off his lip, grinning. Why is he grinning?
“Sweetheart,” he says, head cocking her way, eyes easy and face bright with excitement, “I told you to quit, didn’t I?”
There are two, injured, unconscious men in the shop, leaking blood from one wound or another. Her shelf was knocked over, tools flung across the floor. The only thing in her station that seems upright and undisturbed is the bike she had been working on. It leans on its stand, observing the mess.
Slowly, Hinata makes her way to her station, grabs her phone off the ground (uncracked, thankfully), and punches in the number of the local police station. Her head still stings. Her chest hurts, and her pulse won’t calm down.
Sasuke observes the men. He crouches over the one on his back, sticking a finger under his nose.
“Still breathing.” He flashes Hinata a wild grin. “Looks like you didn’t kill no one.”
Is he trying to make her feel better? All she feels is numb.
When Hinata puts the phone to her ear, she doesn’t even feel it.
…
In twenty minutes, everything is slowly going back in order. Asuma returns, surprised at the mess he finds, the officers littering the shop and two men being wheeled into their respective EMT vans. The first thing he does is apologize to Hinata, checking if she’s injured, if she’s alright, if he needs her to call anyone for her. His hand is comforting and snug on her shoulder, and Hinata tells him softly, that she’s fine, but she needs to give an officer a rundown of what had happened, so could he please clean up her station while she’s doing that?
The officer is kind and patient, which Hinata is grateful for. She feels like if anything so much as a whistle sounds, she might lose her nerve. Her body feels tightly wrapped in plastic, and she can’t seem to cool down no matter how she fans herself or takes an offered water bottle to her flaming cheeks. To the best of her adrenaline-burned, shaky memory, she goes over the happenings: last night’s visit, Asuma’s trip to the store, the fight. When she tells him about how her head is pulled, he inspects the back of her skull, jots something down, and asks if she’d like something for that, which she politely refuses. It only stings a little, and she’d really hate to be a brat.
The officer thanks her when she’s done, asks if she needs a ride home.
“I-I have a bike.” Her voice feels swollen and uneven. She blushes and motions her shoulder to the back. “I’m okay. Thank you.”
The officer smiles, stands, then gives a dark look Sasuke’s way.
“And him?” he asks. “Did he give you any trouble?”
Hinata looks over at the Uchiha. He talks with Asuma, low and too far away for her to hear. Though she probably would not be able to hear either way. Her ears keep repeating that wet thud of the wrench hitting the man’s head; the loud ricochet of it falling to the floor as she dropped it. The two of them talk, and every now and then, Sasuke bends over, grabs one of her tools, and puts it on the uprighted shelf. He doesn’t put it in the right spot — of course not, how would he know? But, still, it’s the thought that counts, and Hinata finally feels like she can catch her breath.
“No. Of course not,” she says. “He was the one who helped me.”
The men are shipped off, and after a few photos and interviews, the police see no threat and head back to the station. Paperwork and such. Hinata knows it’s not over, but she lets herself sigh and try to relax. Asuma guides her into the backroom, gives her another bottle of water to sooth her nerves. She collects her things in her backpack, holds it between her hands. For some reason, it feels too heavy on her shoulders.
“You can have tomorrow off,” he says.
Her spine cricks. “But I —“
“I’m closing the shop.” His smile is reassuring. “Really. It’s okay. Get some rest.”
Worry is a fly in her throat, but she forces a nod and leaves the backroom.
Sasuke is at the front of the shop, enveloped in the dark, red hues of a deep evening. His motorcycle is parked right in front of the garage door, waxed, the back tire new and unpunctured. Hinata catches a look at a back helmet hanging from one of the handle bars.
He’s been waiting. Obviously for her.
“Get on,” he says when she reaches the front.
Hinata gives a wary glance at the bike. It’s so much bigger up close. A giant when compared to what she usually works on. She remembers the roar of them from a distance, and she can’t imagine how loud, how haunting, they are when riding one.
“Thank you,” she whispers, “but I —“
“I’ll take you home,” he says. He doesn’t make it sound like a choice.
Hinata contemplates, though she tells herself she shouldn’t dare ride the thing. She approaches the bike and lets her hand trace the leather of the seat. A little rough, a little smooth. How it must feel — to get a ride from a delinquent. He must race through the streets. He must tear through sleepy neighborhoods in the twilight hours without a care in the world. What a life to live, full of risk and instabilities.
Hinata cannot even let herself imagine taking part in such a thing.
The adrenaline is starting to leave her body, and she trembles in the summer humidity.
“O-Oh, I can’t,” she murmurs. “Really. You don’t know where I live —“
“Sweetheart.”
“— I could be out of your way, and it’s late — oh! It’s very late, isn’t it —“
“Baby.” The word cuts through her. Deep and feathery. His palms reach out and rest on the motorcycle, an arm on either side of her, trapping her there as his face turns serious. In a low, but somewhat gentle tone, he says, “Get on the fucking bike.”
She warms, shifts, then says, “O-Okay.”
His hands find her waist, and he lifts her onto the seat, and finally, they’re on the same level. His eyes melt with the evening sky, and the wind catches a hint of tobacco from his jacket.
“Oh!” Hinata grabs his shoulder before he can move away. “What about Einstein?”
“Who?”
“My — My bike.” Humidity collects like a sticky towel on her face. “I ride him — I mean, he’s a normal bike. Not . . . not like this.”
She taps the seat of the motorcycle to make her point. Sasuke’s smirk makes everything feel stickier, like the air is compact, gluing to the back of her neck.
“Einstein,” he muses. When he leans over to grab his helmet, Hinata takes the space to breath a lungful of summer air. The lights in the shop are blinking off, one by one, as Asuma slowly closes down. She feels bad about the mess in his station. She ought to stay behind and clean it up, but she knew he wouldn’t let her. The helmet is offered to her, Sasuke giving her an expectant look. “Put it on.”
“Do you have a spare?”
His smirk widens. “What do you think, baby?”
She thinks that her previous deduction that delinquents don’t tend to share rides on their bikes is true. She also thinks that he must be allergic to saying her name.
“Then you should —“
He fits the helmet over her head, cutting off her protest.
“I’ll take care of your bike,” he tells her as he lifts the facemask up to reveal her eyes underneath. “What’s your address?”
Hinata has to angle her head down to see that he has his phone in hand, ready to punch in whatever address she gives him. Is it smart to give him that? He saved her, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely good himself. Not to mention the loudness of his motorcycle chugging down the streets of her neighborhood would get anyone’s attention.
Sasuke taps the side of the helmet, grabbing her attention once more.
“Address, baby.”
Swallowing, Hinata tells him, and then says, “My name is Hyuuga Hinata.”
Sasuke just breathes out an amused exhale and mounts his bike.
…
The firm body of a boy she hardly knows is the only thing keeping her from falling off this thing as he rockets down the street. She had been right. It is very loud, and she can feel the purr of the engine between her thighs. Her hands are around Sasuke, fists against his stomach; she tries very hard to keep them there, to not let them slip. The helmet is a clunky thing. She has her neck strained back to prevent the front of it from knocking between Sasuke’s shoulders. The angle prevents her from watching their surroundings pass by. All she can do is watch the sky slowly turn from magenta to navy. A ribbon of charcoal clouds and the bright faces of stars.
Her stomach lurches whenever they turn. When Sasuke brings them for a stop, she adjusts her hold on him. Once, at a light, she found her hands practically in his lap, and she tensed and quickly lifted them to a more appropriate spot on his body — thought, really, everything about his body felt inappropriate.
The sky begins to hide behind trees and stretching branches. The bike slows, stops, and Sasuke cuts the engine and kicks out the stand. When he slides out, Hinata can finally drop her chin and sees they’re in front of the gate of her family’s home. Her legs are shaking, and her head feels heavy.
Sasuke works off his fingerless gloves in a manner that seems sensual and purposeful.
“Accident free,” he tells her. “How did you like it?”
Hinata feels like her stomach was left behind.
“It was —“ she gulps in the air as she pulls the helmet off, “fast.”
Sasuke’s grin is amused and impish. “I was going five under, baby.”
Her gut boils and pops. Won’t he stop calling her that? It makes her heart jump every time. Hinata carefully slips off the bike, finds her footing, and fixes her hair as best she can. She’s surprised her father or Hanabi have not already come out to investigate the oddity of a motorcycle roaring down their street. Maybe she should take whatever luck she has left and hurry inside before they see Sasuke in all his . . . dark, pierced glory.
“Thank you.” She gives him the helmet and tries to smile. “For the ride, and, um, for the . . . for what happened in the shop.”
His eyes glitter as he rests the helmet on his hip and watches her come up to the gate and slowly put in the code.
“Give me your Line,” he says.
Hinata’s heart quivers as the gate unlocks with a snap, swinging open for her entrance.
“My Line,” she repeats, the syllables cloudy on her tongue.
He whips out his phone and looks at her expectantly.
Alright. Exchanging Lines. Alright. Hinata supposes that would be normal. Normal for other girls, maybe, who have pretty notes and go out to eat melon bread and muffins with their friends on Fridays. Girls who might look at boys like Sasuke and coo, bat their eyes, waltz over to rub their hands along his bike in a way that can only be interpreted as suggestive.
Girls like that.
Has Hinata ever been a girl like that?
After a beat, she pulls out her phone. The entire time they’re exchanging Lines, she’s holding her breath — until she sees his profile picture. A black cat.
Cute.
He’s looking at hers, too, and snorts. It’s a picture of Einstein in a field. Naturally.
“Cute.”
…
The first message she gets from him comes the next morning: Delivered. That’s it. It kind of has an . . . intimidating tone to it. Have the yakuza sent such messages to their boss when they’ve delivered someone’s corpse to another person’s front step?
Oh dear. Did she just share her Line with a yakuza member?
The mystery, thankfully, is quickly solved when she steps outside and sees Einstein waiting for her at the bottom of steps. How did he get past the gate? She remembers how his eyes watched her closely as she put in the code, and her heart beats like thunder.
No more messages come after than, and Hinata doesn’t dare to send her own.
But she’s not free of him yet.
On Monday, she’s back to work. There are no signs of the fight that had happened on Friday. Everything is back in order, organized in that semi-clean fashion that any kind of mechanics shop, bike or otherwise, would have. Hinata does not feel any dread or anxiety when she returns to her station. Instead, she’s eager to get back to work — and so she does.
Until she hears it.
A shift in the air. The approaching growl of motorcycles. Oh no.
And before she knows it, they’re all filtering into the shop, snorting and cackling like a bunch of demons just out of Hell. Bike helmets and jackets and gloves. They gather by the front, hogging the large entrance — and Hinata has a feeling, suddenly, that this is something that she will just have to get used to.
“I forgot to ask.” Sasuke is the only one that approaches her. The rest of them keep back, snickering and grinning. What could they possibly find so humorous. “When are you usually off?”
Hinata stares at him. Off? Off from work?
“Se . . . ven.”
He nods to himself.
“You could have messaged,” she says, kindly. She doesn’t want him to think she doesn’t want him around. Her feelings on that matter are confusing enough on their own, without his input. Rather, she cannot understand why he’d come all the way out here for just a simple question.
And why does he want to know when she gets off of work?
Sasuke just smirks, saying nothing else.
Hinata glances back at the bike she’s working on, then once more at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m busy . . . .”
His smirk falters, and he shifts from one leg to the other, leaning his body just the tadest bit closer to her. She can smell the smoke on him, again, and something else. Something she doesn’t quite know yet.
“No kiss goodbye?” he asks.
Kiss.
Kiss?
Kiss?
Hinata’s mouth gapes, and she tenses up with confusion. “I — what? Why . . . ?”
The boys at the front howl, but Sasuke doesn’t mind them.
Every inch of his face glows with amusement,
“Baby,” he says on the end of a laugh, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind her hair, letting the side of his gloved hand brush against her skin with purpose, “I don’t just let anyone on my bike.”
Right.
. . . Right.
________________
Uchiha Sasuke has spent the last five minutes looking at the odd profile picture of Hyuuga Hinata’s Line account. It really shouldn’t be that captivating, he’s aware. It’s just a boring bike with a green field as a background. Most girls, they have stylized selfies or pets. Decorated espresso from the local cafe. The side profile of their favorite anime VA.
Hyuuga Hinata has a picture of her dingy little bike.
She hasn’t messaged him since he stopped by her shop yesterday. Actually, she hasn’t messaged him at all. He didn’t get it for a while. He had waited the weekend and only got silence. Most girls can’t stop bothering him. That’s not his ego talking. That’s the truth.
But after what he learned yesterday, it clicked.
She didn’t know.
She had no clue that, the moment her pretty self got on his bike, she was his.
Well, he thinks, sighing the last bit of smoke from his cig into the thick, clammy air before he drops the butt and crushes it under his shoe, she knows now.
Just as he pushes off the wall of the adult karaoke bar, several bikes finally arrive and park in the lot. They shake their heads, store their helmets away, and come up to him.
“Don’t say a fuckin’ word,” Kiba barks before Sasuke can even open his mouth. “It ain’t my fault we’re late. Naruto was droolin’ over this chick — real slim — and flirtin’ with her while Shikamaru and I were sweatin’ our asses off!”
“I got her Line!” Naruto brings up, mouth full with arrogance.
“Inside,” Sasuke mutters, “before I kick your ass.”
They grumble and follow him inside. They’ve been to this joint plenty of times; a good spot to waste time. They serve alcohol and have all the songs that Choji likes. Sasuke goes up to lady behind the counter. He had approached her an hour ago, told her to reserve a room for them when he realized, like always, the bastards were going to be late. The reservations only last an hour here, so when he asks if the room is still waiting for them, the mild panic on the lady’s face tells him everything he needs to know.
“That’s fine,” Naruto says. “Just give us any, old room —“
“I-I’m sorry, sir, but we have none.”
“What the fuck?” Kiba drops his hands on the counter, giving the woman a mean look. “The hell do you mean you have none? You’re tellin’ me this shitty place is so popular that all your rooms are full?”
“Cool it,” Shikamaru mutters. “If we had been on time, this wouldn’t be an issue.”
Choji, the most mild of them all, is already peeking at the door. “Let’s just go somewhere else.”
The lot of them are giving Sasuke a headache. He’s good and fine with leaving the place, but before he can gather them up and kick them outside, he hears a laugh from behind. A rather familiar, annoying laugh.
Suigetsu. Looks like he and his gang of idiots stopped by today.
“What’s that?” Suigetsu, leaning back against a nearby wall, smiles wickedly. He got his teeth sharpened one year ago, but Sasuke can still remember when he was a twiggish brat back in high school. “No room? Too bad? I hear this place doesn’t let piss and shit into their rooms anymore.”
“Motherfucker.”
Kiba launches before Sasuke can hold him back. Suddenly, the front of the place is full of throwing fists and yelling. The lady behind the counter yelps and ducks away. Sasuke’s irritation thunders inside of him. Fine. He needed to blow of steam anyways.
He joins in, dodging blows and flying feet, until he reaches Suigetsu. The bastard has been an annoyance lately, so Sasuke will take any excuse to readjust that cocky face of his. Suigetsu seems to have the same idea, for most of his fists aim for Sasuke’s face. Stupid moron. He’s easy to dodge, and Sasuke manages to kick him into the wall and grab him about the collar of his shirt.
“Your aim is off,” he mutters.
Suigetsu sneers. “Just wait. One day, I’m going to break that ugly mug of yours!”
Not a chance — though, somewhere deep inside of him, he likes the idea of going to Hinata with a black eye and a crooked nose. How would she react? Maybe she’ll hold him close, bringing out a First-Aid kit to mend him up herself. Will she cry over him? When he remembers the sight of her with that wrench after clocking that bastard in the head with it, Sasuke supposes that, no, she wouldn’t cry. She’d probably tear at him, demanding he never do something so stupid again.
That shoots a bold of pleasure right through him.
. . . But . . . speaking of Hinata.
“Pause.” Sasuke keeps Suigetsu pinned to the wall and looks around for a clock, but can’t see one in this damn place. Shit. “Do you have the time?”
Suigetsu stops struggling, for a moment. “What?”
“The time, dipshit.”
Suigetsu blinks, then pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Uh. It’s ten til seven.”
Fuck.
Sasuke immediately releases him, much to Suigetsu’s bafflement.
“Where the fuck are you going!?”
“I need to pick up my girl from the bike shop.”
Sasuke makes his way out the front doors, mapping out the town in his head, trying to decide the best course that will get him there the quickest.
Behind him, in the karaoke bar, all fighting stops.
Suigetsu is still against the wall, wide-eyed. The collar of his shirt is messed up, but he doesn’t bother to fix it.
