Chapter 1
Depaysement
Intense homesickness; the sense of not belonging.
War had taken everything from her.
In her dreams she could still smell the acrid stench of explosives, feel the slimy cold river water that dragged against her body and threatened to pull her under, hear the sounds of babies wailing, mothers pleading for the lives of their children, grown men heaving horrific sobs.
She slipped from sleep, stirred by the crackling voice coming through the bus speakers, stilted and awkward as it attempted to voice a cheerful welcome in her native language. The greeting fell flat despite the genuineness of the attempt as the bus grew silent. The occupants stared out of the hazy, bug-flecked windows at what was now to be considered their new home.
Home. She thought with a rush of nausea to her stomach.
It had been two years since she had fled her true home. Since she had last seen her father or held her sister. Two years since she crossed that wretched, blessed river that took everything from her.
Little did she know that it would somehow give more in return.
After crawling out of that god forsaken river, she found herself in a camp. Surrounded by thousands of other scared, sweating bodies that hoped for life and freedom and peace in this new land, she had never felt more alone.
Time passed sluggishly, plodding along to the slow march of regimented days that gave just enough structure to lose herself in and dull the ache of loss. Punctuated by bland lukewarm meals, scratchy blankets, and cold showers, time almost seemed suspended as she waited - for what, exactly, she couldn't even be sure of.
She couldn't help but notice that for so many around her, life continued on. Babies were born. Children fought and played and grew. Lovers met and somehow found the greatest of hopes in the most desolate of situations.
But for her, life had stopped its momentum altogether and for almost two years she merely… existed.
It was roughly six months ago when things began to shift and time started to resume. In fact, the rusty cogs of her dead locked life seemed to squeak into motion the moment she learned about the opportunity to leave the camp. The generosity of the country she had found herself in was not limitless, and there was an offer of a new place. A new land that presented fresh beginnings and the bittersweet promise of being so far away that her heart could maybe, just possibly, begin to heal.
From then on, mornings were spent taking language courses, her tongue feeling thick and awkward as it rolled new sounds around her mouth. Afternoons were spent filling out mountains of paperwork and studying the history and customs and politics of a nation that was not her own. All towards the aim of claiming citizenship, of staking allegiance, of carving out a new home.
In no time at all she found herself flying halfway across the world.
Shuffling out of the bus, she stood uneasily on the pavement and gathered her duffel bag close to herself. All her worldly possessions were contained within it.
She looked around, disoriented and dizzied.
Where her country was warm and lush, the landscape here was frigid and bare. Where her home was filled with the sounds of life lived in close quarters, this place was muted and hushed, like the sound of too much space. And most of all, there were no smells to greet her here. Not the sweet scent of wisteria trees. Not the salty, fatty aroma of spiced meat that always had children running the moment they were released from school to spend their pocket change. Not even the pungent burn of the cigars the elders would smoke as they argued over neighborhood politics and games of shogi.
"Hyuga, Hinata?"
She blinked, shaken out of her reverie by the call of her name. The woman that had extended the welcome just moments earlier on the bus held out a small envelope towards her. She grabbed it, opening it to reveal two small, metal keys.
"Apartment 455. Welcome home, Hinata."
The keys sat heavily in her hand, metal digging into skin as her grip tightened.
She walked aimlessly on yet another cold, windy day.
Almost a year had passed in this new place, this city that always seemed to be cold.
She hated the cold.
But even more than the cold, Hinata hated the close, bare walls of her small, stale apartment.
So she walked.
She walked to empty her mind, to calm her heart. She walked to forget, if only for a moment. And as she did so, she learned things along the way. Like how to take the bus, how to read street signs, even how to ask for directions if she was particularly desperate. She also discovered where to find the strongest cup of tea, the cheapest omelet, or the best noodle soup to thaw oneself on a frigid day.
Her stomach grumbled loudly just then, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since early that morning.
Attempting to find her bearings, Hinata realized at once that she had strayed from her current favorite walking route. The street she was now on was small and unfamiliar, pocked with potholes and in desperate need of a street sweeper.
Deciding her best course of action was to turn around and trace her way back to the bus stop, she abruptly turned on her heel, probably looking quite silly (or quite lost) to anyone who happened to be watching. It was mid turn when her eye caught a familiar shape across the street, barely discernible but instantly recognizable. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she crossed the street, her breath hitching with every step closer.
There, sitting in a window on display was a koto. At six feet long, it took up almost all of the display area, but it served well as a statement piece, for this one was simply but beautifully made. The paulownia wood swirled and shone; the steepled bridges marked their way across the instrument at a gentle angle; the strings were perfectfully strung and spun with care at the end. It had been years since she had last seen one, and it felt like a piece of herself was falling back into place as she took in every feature.
Her gloved hands were pressed against the glass, eyes growing damp as she remembered a simpler time, when the hardest thing about her days was facing the disapproval of her father and the teasing of her younger sister. A time when she would retreat to a quiet corner of the house to practice the koto until her fingers blistered and her back ached. Until the music seemed to flow as an extension of herself, her hands weaving a melody of their own accord.
She was brought suddenly out of her misty-eyed reminiscence by a sharp knock from the other side of the glass and a pair of equally sharp, annoyed eyes looking down at her.
The eyes belonged to a young man with a shock of dark hair that stood in stark contrast to his pale, drawn features. His mouth moved, the words muted by the thick glass between them. Although she couldn't understand what he said, she could still read faces, and this one was most certainly unfriendly. Stumbling backwards in surprise and embarrassment, her face flushed as she fumbled over an apology that he likely couldn't hear either.
Hinata turned and walked quickly away from the shop, torn between the desire to continue admiring the koto and the fearful notion of facing that stern countenance once again.
Sasuke Uchiha watched the girl go, giving a final huff of good riddance as she retreated into the distance. She was bundled so heavily he could barely tell she was a girl at all. Just an amorphous collection of layers that seemed a little excessive to him. I mean, it was cold, but not that cold. The only part of her that wasn't covered was a large pair of pale eyes, as gray and as sad as the dull, wintery landscape around them.
She had stood there fogging up the window for a full ten minutes before he could no longer bear it and finally decided to rap his knuckles on the glass, asking "are you going to come in, or what".
Of course she chose to walk away.
God, he was sick of the window shoppers, the people that stared and pressed their greasy hands to the glass, the ones that couldn't make up their minds. Why couldn't people just come into a store and look around? It was beyond him.
He glanced around at the roughly 700 square feet that comprised Uchiha Music Co. and asked himself for the thousandth time why it was he kept this place going at all.
Owning a music shop was already a fast track to poverty, but owning a music shop that sold only unique, rare, and uncommon instruments was basically a guarantee that he spent his days watching his bank account dwindle and willing people to step in from the cold (and cursing them under his breath when they walked on).
That, and googling side hustles.
Fortunately the miracle of the internet kept him afloat despite the almost non-existent foot traffic the brick and mortar shop received. Online sales were bringing in the majority of his profits at this point.
But, he had to admit, the shop did have quite a loyal customer base, small though it was.
Mostly, that was because his brother Itachi had spent years establishing the shop and marketing its unique wares. He had partnered with schools, attended community events, hosted lessons and workshops. And on top of that he traveled the world, searching for rare finds and meeting like-minded individuals along the way that were eager to partner with the young man and his singular obsession. Itachi was quiet and reserved, but his seemingly endless knowledge and natural giftedness drew many people to him -and likewise- to the shop.
Meanwhile, Sasuke manned the store and painstakingly learned how to run a business behind the scenes. He swept the floors, worked the register, fixed the toilet. He perfected the website, kept track of inventory, shipments, and sales. He learned the ins and outs of the enormous variety of instruments they bought and sold. How to recognize quality and craftsmanship, how to negotiate a price, even how to tune a drum or re-string a shamisen.
But while he may have become the brain behind the shop, Itachi had always been the heart.
And then Itachi died.
So here he was, left with a small shop that was filled to the brim with instruments all serving to remind him of his late brother and his travels and his life's obsession.
He finished looking around the shop, and couldn't help but wonder how long Uchiha Music Co. could keep going without a heart.
Hinata had been standing on her feet for hours. For so long, in fact, that she wasn't sure her knees would even choose to bend if she tried to sit down.
The days were long working at Akimichi Restaurant, but in the hustle and bustle of the kitchen she found the closest thing to belonging since fleeing her country. It was chaotic and it was loud, but it was warm and filled with the comforting smells of good food. Not to mention that it kept her out of her sad, quiet apartment for the majority of her days.
When she walked in to speak with the chef and owner, Choji, six months ago, she knew she had little to offer. But he revealed himself to be a friendly man who didn't judge by appearances, and didn't mind at all that her language skills were lacking. Instead, he was more interested in work ethic, consistency, and character.
She could hardly believe it when he told her she was to be hired on immediately as kitchen porter.
The first few weeks at the restaurant were overwhelming. Learning not just the prep work, but the mechanics of a kitchen, the step and dance, the long hours. She made a number of embarrassing mistakes and had never felt quite so tired in her life.
But she stuck it out.
She kept her head down. She worked hard. She found her rhythm and mostly stayed quiet, observing and learning and fumbling over her words and sentences along the way. And while she wasn't exactly making best friends, she could tell she was gaining respect.
It was nine hours into her current shift. Dinner service was at its peak and Hinata was in the middle of dicing what was piling up to be a literal mountain of mirepoix. Her fingertips and palms were stained orange from carrots; eyes tender and red from the raw smell of onions.
"Psst," came a sudden sound from her nearby vicinity, causing her to startle and nearly slice open her thumb in the process.
Her heart thudded as she looked down and around, attempting to find the source of the noise but discovering nothing out of place whatsoever. Quickly deciding she must be crazy or dead tired, she continued on with her work.
"Hey," whispered a small voice and this time she knew it wasn't a figment of her imagination.
Setting down her knife and washing her hands, she began a more thorough search of her surroundings.
Nothing seemed to be particularly out of place… until her eyes locked onto a shelf to her right, where sacks of potatoes were lined up in a row along the bottom. All seemed normal at first glance, but upon closer inspection she noticed that one in particular was… moving. She walked over slowly, approaching the sack cautiously before peering down into it with amazement, coming face to face with a young boy whose black eyes startled her with a strange familiarity.
"I'm hiding." He said, entirely serious despite his disguise as a rather pointy bag of potatoes.
"Hiding? Who from?" She asked.
He pointed a small finger behind her and she turned just in time to see Choji leading a tall, dark-haired man through the kitchen doors.
Hinata knew she should do the right thing and signal to Choji that she knew of the boy's whereabouts. If this were her son, she would be terrified to find him missing. But she didn't want to risk the boy running off if she were to give him away.
"Why are you hiding?" She whispered.
"I was bored, and he was taking too long on his date." The boy screwed his face up in disgust, and Hinata stifled a giggle, though she had even more questions coming to mind now. First of which, was why someone would bring a young boy along on a date.
She watched her boss lead the man methodically through the kitchen, asking the staff one by one if they had seen the boy.
"Don't worry, we do this all the time," the boy whispered again as she gave another nervous glance towards the two men coming ever closer.
With a guilty, unsure look, she picked up her knife and returned to her vegetables. It wasn't long before Choji approached with the tall man in tow.
"Hey Hinata!" His voice boomed. "We're looking for a young boy, seven years old. Dark hair, dark eyes. Have you seen him?"
"U-uhm, boy…" She stuttered out, her eyes shooting to the shelf, then back to the two men waiting for her to answer. Choji stood there with an understanding smile, clearly assuming it was a language issue that held her back from answering. The man next to him, on the other hand, squinted at her in suspicion. She met his eyes briefly, and hers widened in surprise, stomach sinking as she realized the man looking for the boy was none other than that man. The one whose dark, angry eyes came to vision every time her fingers itched at the thought of that beautiful koto in the window.
She shivered with a mixture of despair and wonder that she should suddenly find herself in his presence, no longer separated by a thick pane of glass. Up close, he was even more intimidating, with a face like sculpted stone and eyes that were just as hard. He raised a dark eyebrow at her and she blinked, remembering that she still had not answered their question.
Just as she opened her mouth to inform them of the boy's whereabouts, a small sneeze escaped a certain sack of potatoes before it unceremoniously tipped over.
The dark haired man muttered under his breath as he approached the shelf.
Hinata gaped as he lifted up the sack that held the sneezing, hidden boy within and threw it with ease over his shoulder. A small 'oof' escaped the bag, but the man's face remained impressively stoic.
Choji's face, on the other hand, was reddening at his contained laughter while Hinata's mouth hung ajar, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.
The man spoke. "Thanks for your help, Choji. I guess he must have ran off. Well, I'll just go and throw away this bag in the dumpster for you. See you later." He turned and began to walk away.
"Wait!" A muffled voice suddenly cried out, the bag shifting desperately. "I'm in here!"
Placing the sack down on the floor, the man opened it up to reveal the young boy with a sheepish look on his face.
"Out. Now." He commanded.
Choji was approached just then by the manager, who spoke briefly into his ear. Nodding, he began to move away, pulled back into the many other responsibilities that demanded his attention. "Glad you found him, Sasuke!" he said, clapping a large hand to his back. "And Hinata," he added, "please start prepping the potatoes for tomorrow's service." Giving a wink and another booming laugh, he walked off.
She nodded and shot a quick look to the tall, stern man she now knew was called Sasuke before approaching one of the real sacks of potatoes and pulling on it quite lamely. The sack weighed nearly as much as she did and on a good day, was brutally heavy. But now, for some reason, she could barely drag it off the shelf.
She tugged at the bag with a jerk and it moved a pitiful few inches. Face burning red at the knowledge that she had an audience, she regripped the bag and dragged the giant sack another foot before her hands lost their hold. Of course her tired, overworked body chose that moment to fully revolt.
"Hold on." An annoyed voice spoke into her ear before a pair of large hands took the bag from her.
He brought it over to her station as she meeped out an embarrassed, "thank you." His only response was a grunt and a shrug of his shoulders as he began to walk away.
The boy had fully emerged from the sack at this point and walked over while holding out his hand towards her. "I'm Souta. That's my uncle Sasuke." He pointed a thumb at the retreating figure behind him.
"H-hello. I'm Hinata." She said, grabbing the small hand and giving him a smile before nervously flickering her eyes to his uncle. He had stopped his retreat but hadn't turned around.
"Time to go, Souta." Sasuke said over his shoulder, his voice cold and filled with the threat of punishment.
The boy's head hung with feigned regret. "Okay…" he said pitifully.
As they walked away, Souta looked back at her one last time. "Bye, Hinata." He gave a small wave, the twinkle of mischief quickly returning to his eyes.
"Goodbye." She said, before returning to the potatoes, preparing herself to spend the next hour scrubbing, peeling and dicing.
Two pairs of black eyes lingered in her mind's eye, similar but yet so very different. She hoped they would be able to work things out, especially as she recalled the ice laced through the voice of the older. But soon enough the memory of Souta's sneeze and image of him helplessly tipping over made a laugh bubble up within her that she couldn't contain, the noise drawing a couple of curious looks from coworkers.
Blushing, she returned to her task at hand.
The walk to the car and subsequent drive to the apartment was done in complete and utter silence.
Sasuke's hands gripped the steering wheel, debating internally how to handle the next phase of… whatever this was. Some kind of punishment, right? A grounding? Bed without dinner?
He sighed. He knew nothing about raising kids. Well… he knew a few things. Mainly that they were messy, chaotic, and generally a disruption.
He had gotten a firsthand view ever since Itachi came home one rainy April day with a small, five year old boy that shared his dark eyes and Uchiha features. His brother never did explain how… or who… but he brought Souta into his life without a second guess. He welcomed the boy and all his emotions, strange eating habits, and questions (so, so many questions).
Their lives adjusted to this new addition with a few bumps and bruises along the way, but Sasuke mostly got to watch from the sidelines.
Uncle privileges and all that.
But then Itachi died just a couple years later, leaving behind a seven year old Souta, who now had neither a mother nor father to call his own.
And all those doubts and grievances, though still present, no longer mattered as much. When he looked at his brother's eyes framed within that small face, he knew he would do absolutely anything to honor Itachi's most precious legacy.
The last year had been full of mistakes, and arguments, and messes. Tonight was just the latest in that series, but for some reason it left Sasuke feeling quite at a loss.
They arrived at their small apartment above the shop and entered silently. Pacing the small stretch of living room, Sasuke pointed a finger at the couch until Souta sat down.
"What the hell were you thinking, kid?" He said with exasperation, finally revealing just how shaken he was by Souta's game of hide and seek.
"Sorry…" the boy said earnestly. "I just get bored when you're on your dates…" he bumped the toes of his shoes together.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Those aren't dates. My meetings with Sakura are about the business. She helps me acquire instruments and has connections with many important vendors."
Souta barely resisted rolling his eyes, thinking that it seemed awfully like a date to him... eating dinner together, at a restaurant. Isn't that what a date basically was? And even though he was only seven, he still knew what flirting was. And Sakura definitely flirted.
But he said none of this to his uncle.
"Look, I'm sorry I have to drag you along to all this stuff with the shop. This isn't… it isn't how I wish it could be." Sasuke dropped down onto the other side of the couch, dragging a hand through his hair.
No, it certainly wasn't how he wished things could be at all. He knew he was a sad replacement for his brother. Not only when it came to the shop, but when it came to raising a kid as well.
He felt the couch shift next to him, Souta's small body sitting next to him in solidarity.
"I miss him too, Uncle Sasuke."
Looking down at his nephew he nodded, all thoughts of punishment flying out the window. He placed a large hand on top of Souta's head and ruffled his hair as they continued to sit in quiet support of each other, clinging to their shared love for someone gone much too soon.