When she served him breakfast that morning, he almost looked interested. A sparkle in a stranger's eyes indicating he was up for small talk.
Soon as he finished, as she took out the tray looking as if he'd licked it clean when he rarely ever touched the food he's served, Hinata dared ask how the vegetable soup was. She didn't expect a decent answer, of course, as Sasuke Uchiha never once yielded to interrogators and prison guards. He had welts on his skin and bruises on his cheekbones, but his head never hung low, small and defeated. Even now as he looked at her straight in the eye, saying he did have a good meal.
Then out of nowhere, he asked what her favorite color was. Hinata paused, unsure what to make of it. She was never asked this question before. Ninjas don't; even young girl ninjas with colorful slam books. But maybe that was only her cooped up training in the compound for the most of her childhood. So Hinata threw the question back at him.
"Y-you?" She tried to hide feeling unnerved by speaking louder. But it only made her voice come out weakly.
"Black," Sasuke said, and for some reason Hinata found this oddly predictable. Then his wounded lips held up a wry smile. "But lately, I'm thinking white is beautiful. Sometimes turning lilac in the light. Like your eyes."
He must be taking her for a joke, she thought. Through blushing cheeks, she cleared her throat and stood up tray in hand to leave.
"Your favorite food?" said Sasuke.
A harmless question, though a bit too familiar. Regardless, she wouldn't be disrespectful. Thinking she'll deign him one more question, she answered as tersely as he asked: "Cinnamon rolls."
Fatigued and beat up, Sasuke could hardly laugh, but he did. She didn't find him funny; she was mad at his ridicule. Neither could she figure out which part about cinnamon buns tickled his funny bone. But it fascinated her how natural he sounded. That for some reason, it never occurred to her he could ever laugh like this.
"Sweets are terrible," he said, his tone arrogant she'd briefly forgotten he had just been tortured with shackles binding his wrists and feet.
When she delivered lunch later that day, she was told it was no longer necessary. Sasuke Uchiha's cell was already empty. Just before Konoha's old trusty prison clock struck eleven in the morning, a straight, clean cut from the executioner's blade had done away his sable head off his neck.
She didn't cry. There was no reason to. He was nobody to her as she was to him. They were strangers. But in the silence that over took his prison cell, she knew what his laugh sounded like, and yes, she could hear him say terrible. His voice was distinct, it was real… or was it?
Anyone can claim a man named Sasuke Uchiha died and still be lying. They can say he liked black or white turning lilac when it hits the light; they can say he hated cinnamon buns.
But Hinata could only be certain about one thing. Inside her, she was sure. Something inside her certainly died.
A/N: Eyy! 'Sup! Remember "Fifty Days" by ohgoditsbriony? Me too.
Been long guys. rn I'm recovering from some sorta measles. In case I missed something in the edit, just let it pass. Or u can be my editwah if u lyk. I'm not exactly super sane at this point. (And even if I was, I'm not super super)
@GuestLion: Heard ya.
Till next time:)
