A/N: Dear reader, after much thought...I decided to upload this very short chapter as its own. This chapter was supposed to be longer, and I have more words, but I decided that this should be a stand-alone chapter. The next chapter is supposed to be action-based, so I think it will be uploaded by May? Hopefully sooner. I just had been so busy, so if you could understand, that will be great.
Please let me know your thoughts! Your comments are always what I look forward to when I upload TP.
Sasuke was lying on his bed, his eyes closed but his senses slowly coming to an awaken state. His head resting on a pillow his wife made with clumsy, but diligent fingers. That was the pillow she had been working on for so long that he always had to wonder what she was pricking her dear fingers for.
When she finally showed him her creation, at first, he was dumbfounded by the disparity between the beaming pride of her face and the rather irregular stitches and threading creation despite it being "new." It looked worn out. With an entreating look, she insisted that it will look better if it was stuffed with cotton. He almost accidentally let out a snort at her remark, because his wife who used to be an aristocrat had vastly different ideas of what commoners could afford. Cotton was a luxury. He remembered her blushing in embarrassment when he said that cotton was too expensive. She seemed disappointed that all her hard work might be for nothing. He hated seeing her so crestfallen.
She was greatly pleased when he came back from the woods with fistfuls of wild geese feathers. She diligently washed each feather and dried them in the sun and then stuffed them into her pillow case. She kept chattering in that smooth voice of hers that they were lucky to have so much sun. The feathers dried out quickly. Now his bed had twin pillows, one for her, and one for him.
Before, he used to always recline straight in a recumbent position, but since Hinata shared his bed, he faced her way, their legs intertwined, with his arm draped across her small form. She would softly snore, and sometimes in the midst of sleep, he would find himself buried into her chest, his bangs ruffled by her quiet breathing. When he woke up like that, he would squeeze her tight, his arms wounding her rib, and she would wake up, her senses emerging from slumber. Her face would flush a deep red when she find him nuzzling her chest. She would compare him to a child, and in retaliation he would bury himself even further into her chest. She would gasp and try to push him away, clasping on his biceps, and he would squeeze tighter as a prank, making her laugh in defeat and mirth. She was quite ticklish.
Her laughter subsiding, she would wound her pale arms around his head and bury her lips in his dark hair. The sunlight would be piercing through the crack of their window with its wooden blinds. They were living in a mountain hut with a roof made of clay tiles, but it always seemed as if her presence made the place seem so full.
He was not good with making poetic expressions like what Hinata adored reading in scripts, but if he was to make a comparison, he would compare her presence in his little hut like a throng of white poplar trees that he loved so much. Or a splendid water fountain in the middle of the village plaza with streams that reflected the sunlight. She was quiet, but her presence bubbled of life. Even the dust particles reflecting the sunlight looked like fireflies when she was there.
He felt a presence next to him, warm yet strangely nostalgic. When he turned his head sideways, his lips parted after a weighted pause.
Right next to his head were red poppies strewn on the mattress by a careful hand. Behind the blossoms, Hinata was sitting on the floor, resting her cheek and interlaced fingers on the mattress. She was closing her eyes, her lips in a pleasing curve as if she was having a sweet dream. She rested her cheek against interlaced fingers, slightly tanned by scavenging for herbs under the sun. He remembered her fingers being marble white when they first met. Something in his chest tightened as he realized that life in the woods marred the delicacy of her appearances. He felt guilt but tried to push the slight prickling sensation in his chest away. When Sasuke looked at the petals, he saw drops of morning dew still chilled by the fog in dawn.
He looked at the face of his wife. It was clearly his wife, but something didn't settle right. It was his wife. But he kept on feeling doubt creep in. It felt like a mirage that if he stretched his hand forth, she will disperse into sunlit dust in the quiet morning. Or burst into fireflies that were only deceiving him, a god's trick. "Hinata-" he called forth to the visage before him. His voice sounded strangely choked. Maybe because it was morning. His coarse fingers gingerly touched the petals, "Did you pick this? This morning?"
At his cautious voice, long dark lashes stirred, delicate brows furrowed slightly at the mild disturbance he caused. Then impossibly large eyes fluttered open. At first, Hinata merely gazed at him. Then her pale lilac eyes crinkled, reflecting a warm, shattering kind of delight, and her lips widened in a smile so sweet that it stirred something in him. Something that shouldn't be there. Sorrow. Longing. Then she closed her eyes again and smiled sweetly, resting her unbelievably soft cheek onto his rough, tan hand that stretched forth towards her. He felt the slight cooling sensation transfer from her cheek to his palm.
A subtle giggle. "You're so warm," he finally heard her voice, soft like little cooing doves. She leaned in closer to his hand as if desiring to absorb more warmth.
A slight pang resonated in his chest. He suddenly felt as if his chest was pricked by a very small needle, but the sting was there. But what overwhelmed the pain was the powerful surge of longing, and he felt the urge to grab her in his arms, but for some reason, he was even careful to breath out loud. She simply closed her eyes and smiled, leaning her cheek onto his hand. He saw how the sunlight slid across her dark hair as if her strands were oiled.
Was this what people called love? He wondered. He was so overwhelmed, but what lied underneath this melange of emotions was pain- the most exquisite sort that gripped at his chest.
He could have stayed like that forever until he felt a breeze sweep through his face.
His eyes fluttered open.
He found his head resting on the very same pillow Hinata made with clumsy but careful fingers.
He let out a small breath. He felt as if a small wave washed over him as he lied on a flat surface of chilled sand. The peace after such dream was deafening, making him feel empty.
When he woke up, he didn't know why, but he had to take a deep breath and gather his hands to his face, calming the unwarranted turmoil that shouldn't be there but just be there. He scrunched up his eyes in discomfort and tried to relax his brows that kept furrowing in tension. He didn't feel a headache, but he was feeling a strange hollowness in his chest.
He rose halfway on bed, resting his elbow on his knee. He turned to see...nothing.
Only to wake up to find... that there were no red flowers. And no Hinata lying by his side. Instead, he saw an indentation upon his mattress, in the shape of the position in which Hinata would curl and sleep next to him. He remembered how she would curl her fingers to her lips, her shyness showing through in her sleep. He saw few long strands of dark indigo hair lying on the mattress.
He wondered where she went. Perhaps she was coming back from a little morning stroll or was outside to collect some herbs.
He waited. Keeping quiet until he could hear a sound, a shuffle of feet, anything.
When Hinata did not return soon, soon enough for his liking, that was when he rose from the bed and peered outside the door. The sunlight was blinding, causing him to squint. He called out, "Hinata?"
The small garden plot next to his hut, Hinata's creation, was devoid of her warm presence. Only green tomatoes, the size of silver coins, were hanging, suspended from the fuzzy vines. Hinata suggested purchasing some young tomato plants and transplanting them near home. The image of her carefully holding the pot of little tomato plants as if they were treasures was engraved in his mind. All because he said in a passing that he liked tomatoes. An ache, in his chest, he felt.
Trying to ignore the ache, he called again- "Hinata!" But the distant chirping of birds were the only answer.
He turned his head sideways, "Hinata?"
He moved, putting one foot before the other in a brisk pace before it accelerated in panic. His face remained calm, severe, but his posture betrayed him.
He tried to arrange his mind clearly, but his chest kept palpitating madly.
His first thought was to go to her favorite, frequented spots in the forest. He went to the bubbling streams where there were poplar trees, the place where they first met.
He could still remember vividly when he saw her lying on the bank, her finger tips dipped in the flowing stream.
She might be crouching over and washing herbs or doing laundry. He told himself. She had an unusual desire to go out and do laundry-she said she enjoyed the cumbersome task-always did. He never knew that women of the high class enjoyed hanging laundry by the sun to dry.
He ran across the river banks, and at the end, he tried to tell himself that it is too early to make assumptions.
He never thought that one day, his favorite spot in the forests would feel so empty.
Suddenly, something of alien quality, like murky panic settled into his chest like cold, swallowed molten steel. The ends of his hands turned clammy and cold.
He went down to the village.
He asked the oil merchant.
He asked the miller's wife.
But he did not get the answer he was looking for. They all shook their heads, concern and worry appearing in their weathered faces. He turned away as soon as he got their answer, uncaring of what he would look like. Whether he looked mad. Whether he looked desperate.
He encircled the village square as many times as he could, but he could not find his timid wife.
He even went to places that he knew she would not frequent- like the mayor's mansion or the drunkards' tavern.
Then thinking he did not search the forests well enough, he returned to the woods like a mad man and called out her name, his feet crunching on weeds, hands pushing through thick twigs. He went around the woods till his limbs ached, but he could not even find her shadow.
For the very last time, he went to the meadows that he showed her a few days ago. Hinata adored the sight of poppies in full bloom, surrounded by dappled blue anemones and daisies.
They held hands when she first saw them. Sasuke, it's so beautiful! She exclaimed. The Elysians could not rival this!
But this time, he was by himself, stranded in the meadow alone.
Everywhere, he saw red poppies. Red poppies- just as in his dream.
For a moment, he looked dazed in wonder at the scarlet poppies.
He took a step forward.
What he did find was beneath the crunch of his boots. When he saw it, he stooped low and his coarse fingers dug out the object- it was the purple sash he could recognize everywhere, lying amidst the long green stalks of poppies.
He picked up the purple sash and brought it to his lips and uttered breathlessly, "Hinata-" He could still smell her lingering scent of wild lavender.
He wanted to believe that this meant she was not far off. That she was clumsy and simply dropped her sash by the wind and was unable to find it.
She was probably foolishly wandering the village or the woodlands in search of the scarf. That must be it.
He trudged his way back home. However, he could not get rid of the hope that whispered to him that she might be home, keeping his bed warm and lighting a candle at the upcoming dusk. When he opens the door, she would turn around and look up to him with wide eyes and say Sasuke, where have you been?
When she sees the purple sash in his hands, her eyes would light up and she would beam in relief and gratitude- Where did you find this, Sasuke? I have been looking forever. Thank you- She would wound her arms around his bare neck and breath in.
However, when he opened his door with a creak, dust fell on the footsteps, and the house was empty, the shadows of furniture looming long across the dirt floor.
He lied on the bed, bowing his head, not knowing what to do. He stared down at his hands covered with dirt, holding the purple sash, but it was more as if he was staring in the blank.
Suddenly, he felt empty.
The sky outside his window turned orange, signalling dusk, the passing of time. Somehow the color seemed ominous, despite it usually being associated as a cheery color. It was if the sky was bleeding through. The silhouette of his shadow cast upon the floor was stark black, contrasting with the bleeding red light.
While he was staring into the void, the red light diminished and he was surrounded by cold darkness. The frigid air made him keenly realize his loss, the loss of the warm body next to him, the soft voice, silky strands of hair, thoughtful hands, lips.
When he became keenly aware of the loss, the frigid air propelled him to rise from the bed and walk forward to his table that had his hunting gear.
He prepped himself with his dagger and bow, strapping several arrowheads to his leather belt, and briefly contemplated taking his torch with him but decided against it. He told himself that darkness will be his companion in case he attracts beasts with the light. He would not mind if he was hunting solo, but in case he finds Hinata in the woodlands, he did not want to attract beasts when she was near him. He would not be able to protect her.
In his heart, Hinata was still his to protect- forever his. His woodland nymph, dryad, his Leuke.
He calmly prepared himself for his expedition, and he was surprised at himself for how her disappearance gave him a sense of much needed clarity in the moment of need.
But right when he was about to leave, the door barged open.