project: Fifty Days
disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
dedication: To all of the new readers, as well as the old. Gosh, this has taken so long. D:
chapter: 2o/5o
summary: "In fifty days, Uchiha Sasuke will be executed." For fifty days, she will visit him. For fifty days, he will fall steadily in love.
notes1:
First off, I'm really sorry about the wait. I've had this half-completed for so long, but the chapter just wasn't working for me. I ended up deleting it all and re-writing, and I'm so much happier with this version. This chapter also almost directly follows on from the last, too, so yeah.
Enjoy! :D
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Hiashi worried.
He couldn't recall when he first started worrying — it wasn't when he was younger, that was for sure, as he'd always played with his brother, and he had never worried once. Hizashi had always been so carefree, constantly smiling, always laughing; he'd been a little beam of sunshine, a little ray of happiness, and, because of him, Hiashi had always been smiling and laughing too. They'd been the perfect pair; they were like clockwork, moving in perfect time, in harmony with one another — and it had seemed like there was never a sunny day.
They had been unbelievably, incredibly close; as cliché as it might have been, they had shared a bond only twins could share. They were attached at the hip, as the saying might have been; had you told six-year-old Hiashi of his future — of the terrible tragedy that would befall the pair —, he would have scoffed. He would have laughed, as surprising as that may seem. Their bond was too strong to be broken by a something as petty, as ridiculous, as the separation of the Hyuuga clan; even at an early age, he had known he would become the leader of the clan eventually, but that hadn't mattered. To him, that would never have changed anything.
One January, just after their seventh birthday, Hizashi took him outside, and showed him the tree-house he'd been building; his younger brother had spent all of the last few months building it, despite the fact that it snowed almost constantly all throughout that winter. He remembered his brother would disappear for a few hours, and then return later on in the evening, his nose pink with cold, teeth chattering. He'd been so angry that his brother was keeping secrets from him, that he hadn't spoken to Hizashi for a week — but Hizashi had simply smiled and taken his punishment in silence, never revealing the secret.
When the tree-house was revealed, Hiashi had clapped his hands to his mouth; his bottom lip had started to wobble, and he said sorry and thank you so many times that his brother threatened to punch him if he didn't shut up.
"Don't be a baby," Hizashi had grinned, but he'd looked ever so slightly embarrassed when Hiashi had announced it was the best present ever.
They spent many years playing in that tree-house; there was many a summer afternoon, when the sky seemed golden and the air seemed to buzz with warmth, spent hiding in that tree-house, playing shinobi together and talking about the academy and just generally having fun. Everything had seemed so perfect. In fact, one time, after spending a week convincing their mother, they slept in that tree-house.
That was when Hiashi made the promise.
It was the first summer when they were ten, and Hiashi had spent the entire afternoon in his father's study, learning the secrets of the Hyuuga clan. It had been so boring, he'd almost fallen asleep a few times; and, worst of all, Hizashi hadn't been invited. He'd had to sit alone in their shared bedroom, having fun without Hiashi, and that was what frustrated him most. The moment the lesson had finished, he'd launched himself out of the study and played with Hiashi until nightfall; then, as their mother had promised, she'd given them a sleeping bag and some ramen, and let them sleep in the tree-house. Staring up at the stars, he'd turned to his brother and said, "I never want it to change."
"Want what to change?"
"It," Hiashi had announced, as if that explained everything. "This. I don't want it to change."
Despite the fact that Hiashi was older, Hizashi had always seemed so much wiser to Hiashi — although, if you had asked Hizashi what he'd thought, he would have immediately proclaimed that Hiashi was far smarter than he was. "It doesn't have to change," he'd said, and he'd said it so matter-of-factly that Hiashi had believed him instantly; rolling over onto his side, he'd stared at his brother and said the words that Hiashi wanted to take back, even to this day. He'd been too young to really grasp the weight of a promise, but he'd promised anywhere.
Two tiny, stupid words — "I promise." — and, as soon as they were said, it was as if those sunny, summer days faded to grey.
As time passed, and the two became older, it became more apparent that Hiashi was older than his twin, if only by a few minutes; their parents began to focus their attention solely on him, paying for the best books, the best teachers, the best of everything — and Hizashi had slowly fallen into the place of second best. It had been a gradual thing, but, looking back, he couldn't help but feel as though someone had simply clicked a button; one day his life was a kaleidoscope of colours, and then everything had turned grey. The two brothers had stopped playing with each other; Hiashi became quieter, more focused on his studies, and Hizashi had grown distant.
All of a sudden, they became strangers.
He would have said that that was the moment he began worrying, but, at the time, he hadn't been all that aware of the sudden gap between him and his other half. He'd been painfully oblivious to it, far too wrapped up in his studies, far too eager to impress his parents, far too selfish to notice such an obvious gap — it was as if a chasm had opened up between the two, but Hiashi hadn't noticed.
One day he would fall and plummet to his doom — it was only cruel fate that meant his brother fell and plummeted with him. The day his brother died, he thought, was maybe the day he began to worry; when he saw the empty eyes of his brother gazing back at him through the eyes of his nephew, Neji, he felt something clutch at his heart so tightly, so awfully, that it made him flinch just thinking about it. He couldn't pinpoint that moment exactly, when worry first overcame him, but he worried now, and that was all that mattered.
In fact, he often worried.
He was worrying at that precise moment in time, although you would never have been able to tell from the expression on his face. Hinata hadn't returned home from the hospital last night, and she was still missing, despite the fact that the sun had already painted its golden way across the sky hours ago. Stood in the kitchen, his back pressed against the counter, arms folded across his chest, he found himself worrying about her — something which he'd never admit. He often worried about her.
Sat with her back to him at the table, Hanabi nursed a cup of hot tea; steam curled over her shoulder, up into the air, and he watched it idly. "Father," she spoke, not glancing at him, "You ought to eat something."
"I am not hungry."
"Father," Hanabi pressed, shoulders hunched as she took a small, polite sip of her drink. "Eat. You needn't worry about Hinata."
Sometimes, it surprised him how alike he and his youngest daughter were; she was able to read him like a book, and he was able to tell exactly how she was feeling at any moment. The pair weren't close — he wasn't really close to anyone, nowadays —, but they were so similar, it sometimes scared him. She was far too like him; if he were a better father, he would have tried to steer her away from the lonely path he had taken.
If he were a better father, he thought, he would be looking for his eldest daughter, instead of waiting for her to return.
He sighed.
But he wasn't a better father, and every time he looked at Hinata and saw her flinch, saw her lip tremble, saw her eyes flicker away, he knew it. Everything he had said to her, everything he had done to her, was a mistake — a selfish, stupid mistake, because he had been mirroring his own father; but, despite that, a little bit of him was trying to create the brother of his childhood. A sunny place.
The sound of the front door clicking open disrupted him from his thoughts, and his head jerked up, his back growing stiff as he listened to the familiar shuffling of a person removing their shoes. There was a moment of silence, followed by footsteps, and then Hinata appeared in the doorway, her hair swinging into her face as she bent her head politely. Her shoulders were hunched. She didn't look at him, nor did she look at Hanabi, and instead she kept her gaze trained on the floor below her. She looked so small, he thought, but strong — her fists were clenched loosely by her side, her feet a shoulder-width apart, and her expression was carefully blank as she raised her head to look at him.
"Father, I—"
He cut her off, holding his hand up.
In front of him, Hanabi didn't move, still nursing her tea. Her entire body was stiff, however, and she was too still. Defensive, maybe. He stared at her, before looking up at Hinata; she held his gaze for a moment — longer than normal, he thought, and he felt something stir inside him —, before letting her gaze fall, waiting for him to speak.
"You are old enough to make your own decisions, I suppose," he spoke.
Hiashi watched as both of his daughters relaxed; Hanabi took a sip of her drink and Hinata's fists loosened. She looked up at him, a small smile flickering across her face, and she looked as if she were going to speak again — he held his hand up, silencing her for a final time. Her expression turned to one of puzzlement. He crossed the room quickly, easily, to stand by her side; she tipped her head, gazing at him in silence, and, awkwardly, he placed his hand upon her shoulder. It felt… different. It was something new, something unknown, and he squeezed slightly, his brow furrowing as he stared at her. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.
"I was…"
At the table, Hanabi looked away.
A smile crossed her lips.
"Worried," he finished, with a small sigh, "I was worried."
Hiashi squeezed Hinata's shoulder again, before leaving the kitchen without another word. His footsteps squeaked as he crossed the hallway, heading towards the stairs and his study; he felt strangely calm, his mind oddly blank, and it came as a surprise to him when he heard hurried footsteps behind him. "Father, wait!" With his hand still on the banister of the stairs, he turned, staring at Hinata as she stood before him; her fists were clutched at her side again, and she looked almost angry, chest heaving as if she had finished a round of training — he wondered, maybe, if he had said something wrong.
And then she smiled.
It was a huge smile — a grin, even, and something that he hadn't seen for a long time. No, perhaps that wasn't quite correct; he had seen Hinata smile, and often too, but that smile hadn't been directed at him for a while. Shame pierced his heart, if only for a moment, and he felt such extreme sadness, that he couldn't look at her. Like his brother had been, he thought, she was too sunny for him to see; he had to shade his eyes, otherwise he was certain he would turn blind.
"Thank you," she said, her voice so quiet he barely heard it, and then, with that said, she disappeared back into the kitchen.
He stood where he was, listening as his daughters began to speak; he caught a few words, heard his nephew's name a few times, and listened as they broke into laughter every now and again. He must have stood there for a few minutes, rooted to the spot, but then the trance he was in finally broke, and he shook his head.
Some people are too kind to be shinobi, Hiashi thought, and made his way to his study.
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After changing her clothes, as she'd been wearing them for two days almost, Hinata bid goodbye to her sister, and left again. Originally, when she'd returned home, she'd planned on heading to her bedroom for a little kip — nothing big, really, but she'd been tired then, and she wasn't now. Her head was buzzing, in fact, and she felt ever so slightly giddy; with a foolish smile plastered across her face, she made her way through Konoha, her hands clasped in front of her. She couldn't help but think of her father—
"I was… worried."
—and her smile grew ever so slightly wider. It had come as a surprise to her. His outburst had seemed so sudden, and his hand upon her shoulder had felt so… foreign, and yet oddly welcome. It felt as warm and big as it had when she was younger, and he used to lead her by her hand to her bed each night, with a glass of warm milk; she remembered his hand used to seem so large, then, and so strong. It hadn't changed at all, she thought, and she tipped her head back, gazing up at the sky. Everything seemed so peaceful. She felt so at ease, in fact, that she completely forgot what she was doing, and found herself bumping into someone — she staggered backwards, instantly holding her hands up in front of her.
Shino blinked back at her, his glasses slightly lopsided on his face; he had been clutching bags of groceries beneath his arms — fruit, she realised, upon getting a better glance —, but she'd knocked one of the two bags to the floor after bumping into him. Grapes spilt across the ground, rolling in the dirt before coming to a halt.
Immediately, she began to apologise.
"Sh—Shino! I'm s—so, so sorry," she spoke, her voice hasty as she dropped to her knees and began to gather the grapes; a few of them were a bit squashed, and guilt overwhelmed her. "I'm really sorry!"
"It was an accident," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I accept your apology nonetheless, Hinata."
He gazed at her for a moment, watching as she scrambled about the floor, placing the ruined fruit into the brown paper bag; it had been trampled on, as she'd stood on it when she'd staggered backwards, but she was acting as if it had never happened. Her cheeks flushed red, he couldn't help but feel ever so slightly amused; with a small sigh, he held his hand out to her.
She stared back at him.
"Please, Hinata — I can buy more grapes, so stand up," he said, as his face softened into a smile; she looked ever so slightly hesitant, glancing down at the grapes once before taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. He began to walk and she immediately fell in time with him, walking without really thinking about it; he snuck a sideways glance at her, but didn't speak.
Hinata quite enjoyed the silence. It was always such a comfortable, welcoming silence, whenever she was around Shino; it was as if he knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say, and exactly when to speak — or, rather, what not to do, what not to say and when not to speak —, and that was why she enjoyed his company so much. He knew her and she knew him, and that was that. That was why she wasn't surprised when she caught him glancing at her, and instead she took a bag of grocery off him — he spluttered his protests, but it was the least she could do to help him out — and asked him, "Where are you heading with all this stuff, a—anyway?"
"I'm visiting Kiba."
"With fruit?" Hinata replied, and couldn't stifle the laughter that left her lips.
Shino shrugged a shoulder, feeling the need to explain, "I am well aware of the fact that Kiba would have preferred something tasteless and chewy, but it is customary to bring fruit to hospital patients, and Kiba's diet is sadly lacking in the necessary dietary requirements like fruit. Besides," he added, with a gentle smile, "He cannot complain, as I also bought a bone for Akamaru."
Hinata couldn't help but laugh, then, as she thought of the expression that'd appear on Kiba's face when he saw Akamaru's treat — the fact that Shino'd bought him fruit, something he disliked more than anything else on the planet, was enough to make her burst out laughing then and there. But the fact that, to add insult to injury, Shino had then bought Akamaru a bone — a treat the dog enjoyed more than anything else — would just be too much. Kiba would complain non-stop, that was true, but it'd be worth it just to see his face.
"Do you plan on joining us?"
She nodded, with a grin. "That's an opportunity I c—cannot pass up."
"Indeed," Shino nodded, and they continued walking in silence.
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When Hinata arrived at the hospital, Shino by her side, Kiba was up and dressed, perched on the windowsill and gazing outside; he looked bored, she thought, and just a little bit tired. His entire left arm was bandaged. She frowned at that, worry tugging at her heart; she hadn't noticed how extensive his injuries were until now — that night, when she'd found them, she hadn't really been thinking too much about it, and so it was only now that she realised how badly he'd been hurt. Still, his wounds didn't stop him from grinning upon seeing her, and throwing his (good) arm around her neck.
"Hey," he grinned, pulling away from her to give her a quick once-over — probably checking to see if she was alright, she thought, and couldn't help but wince at the irony —, before glancing over at Shino. "What's in the bag?"
"Gifts."
He tossed the bag over; Kiba caught it awkwardly in his good hand, balancing it on his bad arm to sort through the contents. He winced, jostling through the contents before scowling, glowering at Shino as he pulled out Akamaru's bone — his partner and friend let out a yip of joy, as he placed it on the ground, before attacking the bone with some ferocity. Kiba looked almost slightly jealous as he let out a sigh, resigning himself to having a banana instead; he held the bag out to Hinata, who sorted through and pulled out a small basket of strawberries, popping one into her mouth and relishing the taste of the sweet, sweet juices. She crossed the room, placing the basket in her lap and sitting down on the edge of the hospital bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, I guess," he shrugged, perching on the windowsill again. "My arm's useless, though — Shizune's been in and out, but she said it's going to be a few months before it heals properly, and even then it might not be as, uh, good as it was before."
She bit her lip. "That's awful."
"It could be worse," Kiba shrugged again, before offering her a cocky grin. "I could be dead. Besides, I think I held my own — I can't really remember what happened all that well, anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter either way."
He took another bite of his banana, cringing at the taste.
"God, why are these things so mushy?" He muttered, before catching Hinata's curious gaze. "What? Is there something on my face?"
"What h—happened?"
She couldn't really stop herself from asking; the question slipped out of her mouth before she really had a chance to think it through, and, judging from the look on Kiba's face, it was a poor choice in questions, too. His expression went from one of slight irritation to thoughtfulness, and he took another bite of his banana, chewing slowly, carefully, murmuring something about them not being all that bad after all before falling silent again. Shino stayed where he was, entirely still, a statue frozen by time; he simply watched, as he often did, and waited.
Finally, Kiba spoke.
"You know I'm not supposed to answer that, Hinata — it was a mission, after all," he said, choosing his words carefully as he did so, his brow furrowed in concentration, "And there's not really all that much I can remember. One minute I was up and kicking, the next I was down and out; pathetic, really, but… the Akatsuki were there. We weren't even outnumbered. They… they told me Kakashi's missing, too, and I think—"
He cut himself off there, taking a huge bite out of the banana and then throwing the rest into the bin. His expression turned troubled; as if sensing his discomfort, Akamaru moved away from his bone, brushing himself against Kiba's leg.
"—I think he's dead," he continued, his voice hesitant. "We were… I'm pretty sure we were up against that Hoshigaki guy — Kisame, I think, and the man in the mask. I can't remember what Kakashi said, but it was an Uchiha something or other — Madara, or something. I don't know. I can't really remember all that much, I guess; I was unconscious for most of it. If they took him, then he's probably dead; I mean, Kakashi wouldn't give out any information on Konoha, because he's too… strong for that. I don't know — I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."
"You've told Tsunade all you can remember," Shino stated, blankly.
"Well, duh," Kiba snapped, "What d'you think I am, stupid?"
"Completely."
"Don't be a jerk, I'm wounded—"
"That has nothing to do with your intelligence."
Hinata couldn't help but smile as she listened to the two bicker; it reminded her of how they'd been when they first became a team. The two boys had been constantly at each other's throats, arguing about who was the leader and who could give the instructions; as time had passed, however, they'd grown used to each other, and their bickering was far more playful, now. It was homely. Still, despite their arguing and despite the warmth it brought to her, she couldn't help but think of Kiba's words. They had been attacked by the Akatsuki.
By Madara.
They were lucky to be alive.
A bitter coldness overcame her, and she couldn't stop herself from shuddering; only now was it apparent how close to death her cousin and friends had been. In fact, Kakashi was still missing — who knew what had happened to him? She couldn't help but feel sorry for Naruto; the not-knowing had to be worst of all. Absently, she found her thoughts moving to Sasuke. He had fallen silent when she'd told him about Kakashi; it was understandable, really, but it still surprised her. It wasn't that she hadn't expected him to care, but…
She trailed off.
He'd been so quick to change the subject, and she couldn't help but wonder if maybe she ought to talk to him about it; after all, the two had shared a bond, even if Sasuke had tried his hardest to shatter that bond — even she could see that it was still there, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Perhaps, in fact, she ought to ask him more about everything; about the things that had happened to him, about the decisions he'd made; perhaps she ought to be trying to understand him, even if it hurt them both to do such a thing. No, that wasn't quite correct — she did understand him, to a certain extent.
But she wanted to know more.
That thought struck her hard and fast; she'd never thought she'd get so attached to Sasuke, but there was this driving need, now. She wanted to know — she wanted him to be able to tell her these things. She wanted him to trust her, even though, to a certain extent, they were strangers. She wanted to know.
"Earth to Hinata," Kiba's voice cut across her thoughts, and she blinked, snapping back to reality. "Quit hogging the strawberries, they're the only fruit I can vaguely stand."
Still blinking, she handed over the basket, almost in a daze. Shino had fallen silent now, and was sat slightly forwards, his fingertips pressed together as he stared at her; it hadn't been that long, she thought, since she'd told him about Sasuke, and she wondered if he knew what she was thinking. Judging from the look on his face — disapproval, she thought, but hidden so brilliantly that she barely managed to pick out the emotion —, Hinata was certain he did.
She caught his gaze.
He nodded, a tiny movement that she only just caught.
"Who were you thinking about, anyway? Your face went all dazed and stupid, like it does when you think about Naruto — was that who you were thinking about, huh?" Kiba teased, popping a strawberry into his mouth but talking around the fruit nonetheless. "Who've you got a hot date with, then, Hinata?"
She felt herself turn red — a deep, bashful shade of red —, and she instantly brought her hands to her face, attempting to cover her expression. It was a little bit shameful, but she couldn't stop the grin from passing over her face; a childish, girly grin. Kiba didn't know how wrong he was, and, yet, how right he was. It wasn't Naruto she'd been thinking of — absently, she mused, she'd started thinking of him less and less —, but instead Sasuke; and if she thought of her little visits as dates, then her cheeks turned crimson and she couldn't stop the giddy smile from passing across her face.
Sat opposite her, Kiba's eyes widened and his grin turned into a fully-fledged smirk, "I was right, then; you were thinking naughty thoughts about Naruto, weren't you? How saucy."
Hinata began to splutter her protests, as Kiba's taunts grew louder and louder; he began to make kissing noises, wrapping his good arm around his body and slipping his hand up and down his back, acting in that immature way only boys can. Letting out a quiet wail of despair, unable to stop her face from turning dark, dark red as she found herself unwillingly pondering on what naughty thoughts she could be thinking, Hinata pressed her head into her hands and found herself giggling. Even Shino was smiling slightly, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the two with some amusement.
This was normal.
This was safe.
Sat there laughing with her two best friends, Hinata couldn't help but think how much it all reminded her of old times, when they were young and naive and just beginning. It was such a perfect moment, that she couldn't help but laugh and laugh and laugh, her head tipped back and a grin plastered across her face.
A part of her couldn't help but think that maybe she and Sasuke were just beginning, too.
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Sasuke was reminiscing, too, when Hinata arrived.
Her news about Kakashi had shocked him, and he'd felt an odd numbing sensation overcome him; he'd mostly been able to forget about it, when Hinata was there to distract him, but the moment she'd gone, he'd found himself dwelling on the fact that his childhood mentor — his living memory — was gone. He was missing in action; dead, more likely, but he'd attempted to banish the thought from his mind; still, the dull aching in his heart hadn't disappeared, and the niggling idea had still been there.
Upon her departure, he'd found himself… remembering. They were memories he'd thought he'd forgotten; he'd lost them, he thought, when he joined Orochimaru. No, not lost — he had chosen to forget, or had attempted to do that, and somehow they'd resurfaced. They were silly little memories; unimportant, small things, like the way Sakura used to rub her nose when she was embarrassed, and the day he and Naruto had trained together late into the night, before sitting together to watch the sun rise into the sky. He remembered the day Kakashi appeared at his bedroom window, making him start with fear, falling out of his bed in a tumble of blankets, pillows and old shirts his father had worn; he'd started wearing them not long after the massacre, because it had made him feel bigger — stronger. He remembered making Kakashi promise not to tell Naruto, because it had been embarrassing.
Kakashi had held that secret above him, using it as blackmail, all the while smirking and chuckling and grinning, until Sasuke found the hidden stash of adult books in his sensei's home, and had threatened to burn them all.
The secret had stayed a secret, then.
The thought made him smile — just a tiny, little smile, and it vanished as quickly as it came. He wanted to run a hand through his hair, to sigh, to stretch, to run, but any movement was difficult in his restrictions; all of him ached. Absently, he wondered what Naruto was doing; if he was maybe training, or out on a mission, or trying to find their oldest friend and greatest sensei — only sensei, he corrected; Kakashi had been the only one who'd mattered. God, it hurt to think about it all.
His mind moved to Hinata, and he wondered where she was and what she was doing. A part of him hoped she was on her way; that she was already passing Ibiki, nodding in greeting or asking him how he was or whatever the hell she did. A part of him hoped that she would open that door right then and there, that she'd smile at him and tell him that they'd found Kakashi and everything was alright. All of him, however, knew that latter part was never going to happen, and that did hurt.
The former — Hinata's arrival — was true.
Within moments of him thinking those thoughts, the door swung open. Stood in the doorway, Hinata bowed her head in greeting, her hands clasped in front of her; she looked bigger than normal, he thought, and her cheeks were tinged slightly pink. She was smiling. She looked happy. Her eyes met his and they lingered for just a fraction too long; he sensed something like curiosity swirling in their depths, and he looked away, his expression turning blank. He was distantly aware of the two ANBU leaving their posts, disappearing to stand outside, as Hinata made her way over to the only chair — her chair —, and sat down.
"Has there—?"
He broke off. The words choked his throat; they felt cruel and thick and too much, and he fell silent. It didn't matter, though; Hinata knew he was talking about Kakashi, and she shook her head.
"There's been n—no word, Sasuke," she practically whispered, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear her speak. "He, ah… Shinobi are searching for him, but he — he hasn't been found. Not yet, a—anyway."
"Hn," a non-committal grunt left his lips, and he looked away. If he was going to be truthful to himself, he had to admit that he hadn't really expected anything less than that. He wondered why it hurt so much; all shinobi had been trained to prepare themselves for moments like this. There was always a chance that a friend, a comrade, a teacher, a father might not return from a mission; there was always the risk of death.
He'd killed his own brother. This shouldn't be affecting him. It shouldn't be affecting him, at all. It couldn't hurt him. It shouldn't. It wouldn't.
It couldn't.
So why the hell did it hurt so much?
He needed to think about anything else, about something else, and so he glanced up at Hinata, his eyes catching hers; her eyes widened ever so slightly, but he sensed she understood, and so she began to talk. "On my way here, Sasuke, I was, ah, I was thinking about when I was at the academy," she spoke, words tumbling over one another in her haste to distract him, and he couldn't help but soften at the sight of her trying. "I don't know if you remember — you p—probably don't —, but there was that day when those ANBU turned up at school. It was that t—talk, remember? They told us about missions and different ranks and all that important stuff that Iruka hadn't told us, yet."
"I remember," Sasuke nodded.
Hinata's expression brightened. "Well, I remember that before that, I was really nervous; my h—heart kept pattering, and I wasn't sure what to say or do, because I think Chouji or someone said it was going to be a test. If I failed, I thought my f—father would be so angry, so I studied all the night before; I read over all the textbooks and notes from c—class, and I trained until really early in the morning, and all because someone had told me that if I failed, I'd never get to be a kunoichi ever.
I stayed up so late, I ended up feeling ever so t—tired in the morning. I could barely stay awake, but I was so excited, that it didn't matter. I don't know if you felt like that — you probably didn't —, but I really wanted to prove myself to the ANBU."
She trailed off, looking embarrassed as the childhood memory resurfaced.
"I, ah… I ended up falling asleep during the t—talk."
Sasuke chuckled then. He did remember the lecture Hinata was talking about, but he had been nowhere near as excited as she'd been; when he was younger, he'd listened to Itachi give the same lecture. His older brother had been one of the ANBU to talk to the young academy students, back when they were younger, and so he'd heard most of it before; but, at the time, he had heard the rumour that there was going to be a test of some sort. He wouldn't admit it, but he'd studied frantically too — as had most of the class —, but he hadn't fallen asleep in the lecture.
"When the talk ended, I was so upset that I'd missed it, that I went and c—cried in the girl's bathroom for a little while," Hinata admitted, her cheeks turning slightly red as she pressed her fingers together, her voice growing gradually quieter and quieter. "I told Iruka, and he reassured me that he'd find a way for me to hear it again; a few days later, one of the ANBU came back in, just to have a talk to me. I felt r—really special, I guess, like all children do when they get singled out like that; for a good reason. But I was a—also a bit worried, because I thought they'd be cross, so I didn't — I didn't want to go, either.
But, despite my initial worries, I ended up going anyway.
It was a woman I ended up talking to; she was very n—nice, and she told me everything I wanted to know a—and more. She asked me why I was so tired, and I said I'd been up all night studying because I thought there was going to be a test and I had to prove myself because I wanted to be a shinobi, and she—"
Hinata stopped.
For a moment, she simply sat there, staring down at her hands and thinking; her face screwed up with concentration, she looked ever so slightly unsure, as if trying to pick together the right words, the perfect memories, to try and explain what had happened.
"'It's not in my place to judge,'" she spoke, finally. "That's what the ANBU s—said; 'it's not in my place to judge'. She was one of the first people to tell me to stop trying to prove myself, because people will judge you either way — but the people who are truly your friends, they won't judge. I know it's a massive c—cliché, Sasuke, but… I won't judge either. So p—please, when you need to s—speak, don't hide it all; don't bottle it all up, because you don't need to prove you're a statue to m—me. I won't judge."
She looked at him then, and he found himself shocked at what he saw; a fierce determination burned in her eyes, a stubbornness he'd only seen once before, mirrored in his own gaze as he set out to kill his brother. It was scary, he knew that, but he also knew she wouldn't judge; that she was perhaps one of the only people he knew who wouldn't. She was still a stranger, at times, that was true; but sometimes, she just seemed so familiar.
(A woman with dark hair, pale skin and paler eyes danced in his dreams.
He banished the thought.)
He found himself wanting, then, to just let it all out; to tell her everything, an urge he'd felt a few times before when speaking to her. He wanted to tell her that he had no regrets, and yet he regretted everything; he wanted to tell her about Itachi and the secret of the Uchiha clan; he wanted to tell her that he'd grown up too fast. He wanted to unload, to spill out every single thought he'd ever had, to tell her his fears and secrets. He wanted it all to mean something to her.
But that idea still scared him, and so he simply closed his eyes. "Thank you, Hinata," he said, and then fell silent.
They sat like that for a little while, the silence growing heavier and heavier; he thought that maybe she was waiting, but when he opened her eyes, he thought she looked a little bit sad. Her shoulders slumped slightly, contrasting with how rigid she'd been earlier as she told her story, and her hands were loose in her lap. He wondered, maybe, if she'd given up.
She stood up.
"It was n—nice talking to you, Sasuke," she said, bowing her head in farewell. "I h—hope you feel better soon. If I receive any news about… about Kakashi, I will inform you immediately."
With that, she was gone and Sasuke was left in silence. He stared for a moment, unable to really comprehend what had happened; a memory flashed across his mind — a memory of a pink-haired girl clutching him tightly, crying as she begged him not to leave her, to open up to her —, and then it was gone.
His head hurt.
(So did his heart.)
.
.
Hinata wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected to happen; she'd known for a fact that Sasuke wouldn't open up immediately, and yet it had still stung as he'd brushed her pseudo-confession away. With a bitter chuckle, she thought this was the second boy to simply turn their back on her after she'd spilled her secrets; but, with that thought, she felt a little bit guilty. It hadn't been Naruto's fault, not really; he'd tried to keep their date, but things had spiralled out of control and he had made it up to her, eventually.
And it wasn't Sasuke's fault, either.
There were certain things she was certain he simply couldn't tell her; secrets too deep, feelings too strong, that he undoubtedly just didn't want to share them. He obviously wasn't ready to loosen his guard entirely, and he probably thought she'd said it just because she'd had to; that maybe Tsunade had put her up to it, because she was supposed to be gathering information for the Hokage, after all. It had still hurt, though, the fact that he still considered her to be a stranger to him. She wanted that to change. And it could change, she thought, with time.
With smile on her face, she decided she would wait; after all, Hinata had always been very good at waiting.
.
.
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notes: So yeah, I decided to leave it on a hopeful note. SasuHina is blossoming, guys! :)