This is the love buried.
It's easy to fall in love.
It's easy to look at windswept blond hair and feel warmth spreading across her chest at the strands that spill across his eyes.
It's easy to blush and stutter when she's looking into eyes deeper than the ocean, wide and trusting and open in ways that her own family could never show.
It's easy, she thinks, to love Naruto Uzumaki the hero, when he grins brighter than the sun as they cheer his name, hands lifting him into the air again, and again, and again; when he strolls around the village with the most powerful people in the world laughing with him on the way to Ichiraku's; when he sits on the little swing next to the Academy with children hanging onto his every word.
It's easy to love him when he's all grown up and strong and beautiful; aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones reminiscent of his father's, and dimples framing mischevous smiles that echo his mother's.
It's so easy to love him now that everyone does. It's evident in the flowers left on his doorstep; in the carefully wrapped presents shyly thrusted into his arms. And it's evident in the way the ladies at the local cafe giggle and wave at him when he passes by; in the awed whispers that leave children's lips at the familiar sight of orange tracks.
Perhaps that is why she stops loving him.
(Or rather, she tries, at least.)
Because it was easier to love him when no one else did. It was easier to let herself be pulled into his orbit when he smiled, a little sad, a little broken, a little like her.
It was easier to love him, wholly and purely and encompassingly when he was only hers to admire.
(No one would tell her she wasn't good enough for him. Not like they would now.)
And perhaps she is selfish, and cruel, and horrible to ever think that way, but for all the praises her friends sing on her behalf, Hinata is only human.
So she lets the childish, naive, perpetual feelings of love and adoration and devotion she has for him settle deep in the recesses of her heart. She lets them simmer from the bright, fiercely blushing mess of a thing they were into something more subtle, something more fragile and hesitant.
She lets the blushes fade away with every day she spends with him on the training grounds, the vermillion of her cheeks dulling into a soft pastel with every touch he leaves on her skin.
She lets the stutters smoothen into full words with every bowl of ramen she shares with him under Teuchi's roof, and lets her words turn into sentences with every minute she spends with him once their bowls lay empty on the counter.
By the end of the year, her love has simmered and dulled in its intensity, but her heart still skips when she sees him and the butterflies in her stomach refuse to die when he calls her name (Hi-na-tah, he pronounces, the last syllable that escapes him always softer in volume, yet heavier with the weight of a message she cannot - will not - bring herself to decipher).
She tells Neji about this one morning, when the cemetery is still bathed in the gentle mist of dawn. She tells him how easy it is to love him now when everyone does (her father approves and so do the Elders - of what, she is unsure, for there is nothing between them to even be approved of). And she tells him how hard it is to love him because everyone else does too.
She doesn't deserve to love him, not anymore. She has nothing to offer a hero or a saviour, much less The Saviour. There are more people better-suited to loving a hero; people who aren't afraid of falling deeper into the chasm of his attentions, people who aren't dark or weird or timid, people who can show that they love him, without question, without hesitance.
When she stands, knees aching from her perch on her cousin's gravestone, she nearly loses her balance. A hand catches her before she can fall and she stammers out a quick thank you before her eyes drift up to meet her saviour's face.
(Her heart skips.)
A warring storm builds before her in the baby blues she loves so much.
(Her butterflies soar.)
"Hinata," he murmurs, soft and heavy, sweet and sad. Hi-na-tah. "You promised we would talk."
(And this is how it begins again.)
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This is the love planted.
He falls in love easily.
He's not afraid to shout it to the world either when he does. In fact, the world has borne witness to his loud declarations of love more times that he can remember - the boisterous confessions of undying devotion to his pink-haired teammate now a plaguing memory that leaves him grinning fondly.
He's not afraid to show the world he's in love either, his childhood spent trailing after Sakura and chasing after Sasuke a blatant declaration of his intentions to the universe.
He falls in love the way he fights - hard and fast.
So it comes as a surprise to him when he realises he's been falling for Hinata for weeks, months, years. Slowly, steadily, surely.
He doesn't realise he's in love with her until Sakura kisses him with a blush and tells him she loves him. The elation he should be feeling, the electricity that should be sparking across his skin at the feeling of her lips on his never come. He's numb, and the snow that kisses his skin can barely compare to the chill in his soul when he realises that he might have never truly loved the woman before him.
At the time, he's confused, because why isn't he happy? He should be. He's been dreaming of this moment. He was a hero now, loved by the village and revered as their saviour. All he has to do to fulfill his childhood dream was to get the girl - the girl who had just confessed her love.
He's not happy though. He's hurt. Angry.
Because he knows she doesn't love him. Not the way she does Sasuke.
Because he's not sure if he wants her love, not when it meant that he'd be left wanting for more.
Because he thinks he might not be able to love her the way she deserves, not when his heart beats faster around another; not when he's bought dozens and dozens of lilies, only to leave them at the Memorial Stone at the last minute.
He runs away after that, eyes burning.
He doesn't realise he's standing before the Hyuga Compound until he hears her laugh.
The spark he should have felt when his long-time crush had kissed him jolts him out of nowhere and he breathes out harshly at the sight of the Hyuga princess.
Naruto cannot help but stare.
Hinata Hyuga is -
She's -
He clenches his fists, forcing his heart rate to calm.
He has always known she'd grow to be a beauty, Jiraiya-Ero-Sennin had said so. "That one's going to be a heartbreaker," the old man had teased him, the day that they left the village so many years ago. Naruto had disagreed heartily. Hinata would never! She was too nice.
The old coot had merely snorted, "All the more reason the boys will be hogging her."
The kid back then had scowled without knowing why.
The man he is now thinks he understands better.
He bites the inside of his cheek as he watches her blush at her latest suitor's touch; her cheeks turning aflame when the man tucks a flower behind her ear and eyes brightening when he says something to her.
Naruto wishes the mystery suitor would spontaneously combust.
He wishes she would smile the same, laugh the same when she was with him.
Iruka and Teuchi say that she used to do that a lot, that and more. Blushing, stuttering, fidgeting, the works. Naruto wishes he hadn't had a rock for a brain as a kid, because maybe then he wouldn't have been so dense as to miss his only chance with the one girl he thinks he might love forever.
He watches mutely when the suitor leaves, a ridiculous grin on his ugly mug when Hinata bids him goodnight. Hinata stays at the gate, and Naruto is surprised to see the pleased smile on her face dim.
He's walking up to her before he realises, adrenaline from Sakura's sudden confession still coursing through him, forcing his feet forward.
"Hinata," he greets, taking pleasure at the way she startles and squeaks. For a Byakugan user, her blind spots seem to be wider than most.
"N-Naruto-kun!" She stumbles a little when she turns, her feet tangling in the drapes of her kimono. It's instinctive, the way he leans forward to steady her, his callused hands finding their way to the curve of her elbow.
He stifles a choked noise in her hair when her fall ends up with her being pressed up against him, cheeks flaring up at the feeling of her supple flesh against his chest.
He looks down at her, desperately praying that he didn't look as flustered as he knew he was.
She doesn't seem to notice, her lips forming a barrage of words as she stammered out apologies. He hopes he doesn't look like an enamoured idiot when he simply lets her ramble, blue eyes staring at the slow creep of red up the gentle slope of her neck.
He dazedly notes that her hair was tied up in a bun that day and wonders briefly what it would feel like to unravel it; to have his hands running through her midnight silk; to see her hair splayed across his pillow.
He subconsciously tightens his grip on her hips (when had they moved there?) and she startles again, pulling away.
Naruto snaps out of his reverie and shoots the Hyuga heiress a bashful grin.
"Sorry, zonked out a bit there," he says, taking a step backwards. He hopes he wasn't being too forward. He doesn't want her to think he was a plebian or god, even worse, a pervert.
But she shakes her head and laughs it off instead. "It's alright," she smiles. "I was...I was the same before you came over."
"What were you doing out here anyway?" He gestures at the snow laden landscape around them before nodding at her clothes. "You don't seem dressed for a walk."
Hinata smooths down the front of her kimono, fingertips kissed pink by the cold. "I was seeing off a...guest," she replies slowly. "My grandfather has been arranging many meetings recently."
Something that Shikamaru had mentioned recently comes to mind...something about the noble clans rushing to arrange marriages for the younger generation before the war starts. They wanted to guarantee a new batch of children - soldiers - before the current generation died in the carnage.
A million thoughts race in his mind and he scrambles to find the right words.
"You're getting married?" he bursts out, eyes wide. The panic that weighs on him makes it difficult to breathe.
She loved him. She said...she said that just a week ago. He doesn't even know what to make of it yet, he hasn't made a choice yet. He hasn't had enough time.
She cuts in frantically, cheeks brighter than any tomato he has ever seen. "No!" she shouts, before blushing madly. "No, I'm not." She pauses, fingers fidgeting with the obi bunched around her waist. "But the Elders have insisted that one be arranged by my birthday."
Naruto cannot breathe.
Her knuckles are white when she continues, "I plan to reject the suitors they offer me." There is a gentle sort of fury that blazes in her eyes. "I won't marry until the war is over. I won't - I refuse."
He's mesmerised.
"You're fighting?" he asks instead, and it must have come out wrongly because she flinches. He backtracks quickly, "I didn't mean it like that! You're one of the best shinobi in Konoha, and we all know you're the real reason Kiba hasn't wrecked Team 8 yet." Hinata frowns at that, and he panics. "Not that Team 8 isn't amazing!" he yells.
She relents at that, her gaze still stern but the twitch of her lips belie her amusement. He relaxes. "I just thought that, y'know, being the heiress and all, they wouldn't let you out."
Hinata tilts her head at him curiously. "They won't. Hanabi will be staying in the compound."
She says it so simply that he doesn't register her words.
"Neji-nii and I will be leading the Hyuga Divisions," she continues. "Tsunade-sama has been overly kind in my assignment to such a position, but I hope...I hope I can learn more from Neji-nii." She looks up at him, almost shyly. His heart beats faster. "And from you."
"M-Me?" he stutters.
She nods, looking down. "I've said it before. You inspire me. I only wish that I could be half as strong as you are when we meet our enemies in the battlefield."
He clutches her hands and her head snaps up to stare at him.
"After the war - " he swallows painfully. "After the war when we win, promise me we'll talk." He smooths his thumb over the ridges of her palms, scarred from years of combat. He looks into her eyes, praying that she sees everything he can't say in words. "Promise me."
She nods, and something like hope blooms in him.
They'll survive. He knows they will, right then, as the snow falls and the sun sets.
Because she's smiling at him, and just for a moment, the future seems bright.
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This is the love growing.
It starts with a promise, then a shared cup of ramen in the cold, beside a graveyard where the silence pierces through the air, a ubiquitous reminder of those who were loved and lost.
It grows with a touch. An "I love you" whispered into their clasped hands, his lips touching the skin of her palms.
It grows with a laugh, months down the road, when she learns to heal; to love. His rumbling laugh joins hers and they learn to find joy in a world so robbed of it.
It grows with time. They marry when he is named Hokage, and he cries halfway down the aisle as he holds her hand. She learns to love the way he clutches her when he sleeps, and he learns to savour the "okaeri" that accompanies his "tadaima".
Theirs is a love that grew. Slowly, silently, steadily.
A/N: hope you enjoyed this shameless one shot that i worked on while trying to get over my writer's block for my ongoing multichap fic. boy, do we love consistency!