family affair
eight:
knives out
The speakeasy opened up like the mouth of a cave.
Sasuke felt the nefarious energy of the dark bar scrub his insides raw. There was a DJ who played low drums in rapid staccato rhythms, featuring oozing flutes and low singing like whispers or ritual chants laid over a saxophone. If he didn't feel that his life was immediately in danger the second he'd stepped over the threshold, he might have called this place sexy.
It was certainly not a place for a woman, or the imaginary stripper Star, though, that was for sure.
To his left, Neji's face became a casual mask of intrigue, his jaw relaxed for once, his contact lens-bound eyes curious and open. Sasuke had never seen him make such an expression and was grateful that he at least knew how to conduct himself in a place like this. Shikamaru, walking to his right, was much the same––though his bored expression remained, it wouldn't be a detriment.
As planned, Shikamaru asked after a bathroom, Neji chatted with club go-ers, and Sasuke sat at the bar, his fingers aching as if he'd suddenly gotten the urge to throw a punch. He felt antsy, though he didn't let his movements show it. Right across the bar counter was a small framed photo of a red cloud. He knew he was in the right place.
Mentally, he made a list of all of the known Akatsuki Members. There was imprisoned Hidan and rumored Itachi. Everyone else had mostly escaped the spotlight and lived their days in secrecy. ANBU at least knew that they had a headquarters somewhere besides this speakeasy, a cloud symbol, and a reputation. It wasn't enough, and it angered Sasuke that the agency had been too lazy––too cash motivated––to care about gathering intelligence.
If they did, he'd be in an entirely different situation.
The club was sleepy without much foot traffic, but Sasuke could see how quickly things started to shift as the clock slowly eased past midnight. More and more men started gliding through the maintenance doors, their arms and legs and torsos swept for weapons. They slid into booths with bottle service, their heavy-gemmed rings glinting against the low-hanging purple lights. Women had started to appear wearing booty shorts and morsels of fabric for tops, their long necks bent as they wrote down orders, whispering in the ears of men who Sasuke slowly started to recognize the longer he sat still.
A Senator with a golden tooth, there. An actor who'd just won a big award, here. A big-wig defense lawyer that once paid ANBU a six-figured check for a hard-hitting tip against the plaintiff just purchased one of the best brands of whisky they had.
If Sasuke thought hard enough, he could see this man's face. He would know that this man had represented Hizashi, and it was for Hizashi's case that he had requested the Agency's help. He would write this fact down, store it inside, and save it for later. It was not something he could simply explain to Hiashi––nor did he want to––but it did cast the speakeasy in an uncomfortable, dangerous sort of energy.
For a moment, he mulled over telling Neji as he sipped his second whisky for the night. He made a decision when he decided that the lawyer recognizing Neji would jeopardize the mission––and their safety. When Neji stood beside him, ordering another drink, Sasuke leaned close to him, saying casually: "...I could be wrong, I don't pay much attention to these kinds of things but...isn't that the man who defended your father?"
He phrased it like a question but he knew the answer with the subtle tightening of the Hyuga's jaw. Neji gave a quick glance around the club, his eyes landing on the man in question, then stiffened, relaxed, all in one breath. "Noted," he said curtly, perhaps gratefully, though nothing ever reached his eyes. "Focus on the mission."
With that, Neji returned to his task mingling amongst clubgoers. Sasuke returned to his drink, sipping, and began to think about Orochimaru. It seemed obvious by now that this had been one of his old, undiscovered digs that had been passed down––or stolen––by the Akatsuki. The dark aesthetics were telling of Orochimaru's style: dark floor, low ceiling, and a sick, pulsing energy.
Sasuke didn't have time to dwell on it, besides, the bartender was sliding a drink across the counter. It clanked with his empty glasses. Sasuke looked up, an eyebrow raised, "I didn't order this."
But got no response. The bartender was deep on the floor, handing trays of champagne to one of the bottle girls. The bar was mostly empty, save for him. When he grabbed the drink, he sniffed it carefully. That was when he realized that there was 5000 yen stuck to the bottom of it.
Carefully, Sasuke unstuck the cash and looked it over. It didn't look like anything out of the ordinary; slightly wrinkled and soft to his fingertips with age––so used, it almost felt like cloth. It could've accidentally been stuck to the bottom, tip money fallen to the wayside. But Sasuke didn't believe in coincidences. ANBU, and the Uchihas, had taught him that.
He pocketed the bill and set the glass, untouched besides that, back onto the counter. He looked over his shoulders to search for his partners––Neji on the perimeter, scoping out the exits, and Shikamaru was still nowhere in sight, just as they planned.
As easily the night had started, just as quickly did it unravel. As Sasuke was finishing tucking the bill into his pants pocket, he saw the slip of a pale ankle as it rushed into a back room. A tattoo lined the surface of the visible skin and an inky drawing of the handle of a fan vanished from view as that tattoo entered a room.
A fan. Sasuke felt his blood run cold, then hot. A fan. The fan. The Uchiha fan tattoo.
Without thinking––his years of training forgotten and his mission completely discarded from thought and mind––he charged after this figure heading straight for the room he had seen it disappear through his mind screaming at him the fan, the fan, the fan, the fan, the fan––he dared not to think about the name Itachi for fear that if uttered he would summon him and all of his fears, or hopes, would come true.
He slipped by the first round of guards, but when he got close to the door, a man in a long dark robe appeared from the shadows and pushed him hard. His skull cracked against the wall with a whip.
Sasuke remembered himself suddenly like he was being pushed back into his body after his head was snapped back with a heavy punch. There was a PUH! sound, which he realized was the air leaving his mouth after the fist had attempted to carve a hole into his mouth.
He tasted blood and remembered he was an agent. One of the best, actually, so he felt his body relax as he calculated his next moves. He let his neck crumple over, his chin hitting his chest like he had briefly lost consciousness.
"Who the fuck are you, yeah?" The man was saying as he gripped one of Sasuke's shoulders. Sasuke registered that this was another Akatsuki member. He filed some information away: Blond-haired, blue-eyed, fairly short with a medium build. Fast and good with his hands.
Now that he had him in a vulnerable position, Sasuke delivered a crisp blow across the man's face, knocking him to the ground. He crumbled like dominos, his legs going slack from the surprise. Sasuke kicked him a couple of times in the ribs, saying "that's for Hyuga Hizashi."
Behind him, the door that the fan tattoo had gone into seemed to glow with temptation, but Sasuke caught the eye of Shikamaru across the bar. He looked alarmed at the situation Sasuke had found himself in, but that was it. When he nodded his head, it was to confirm that he had gotten what they'd come for.
Neji, closest to him, ducked into the corner with Sasuke, took one look at the blonde-haired man on the ground, and kicked him hard in the ribs.
Well shit, Sasuke thought, momentarily impressed. Then, the Hyuga boy did something even crazier.
He walked out of the open, pulled a gun from his pants, and released three shots into the air.
The music, the conversation, the glass clinking––all this stopped as Neji took in his surroundings. By that point, he had scooped the place out, asked pointed questions to unassuming guests, and chatted politely, if not flirtatiously, with the bottle girls. By that point, he knew who was in charge there.
"Long live Hizashi Hyuga!" Neji yelled into the quiet, his gun smoking at his side. Sasuke covered Neji's back quickly, his eyes on the blonde-haired man on the ground who twitched minutely. Sasuke saw his eyes open, and so he unbuttoned his shirt and showed him the handgun he had expertly concealed within the folds of his undergarments. He may have told Neji and Shikamaru not to bring theirs––he hadn't trusted them or their skills completely––but he certainly was not going to hold himself to that same standard. It appeared that Neji hadn't, either.
Sasuke pointed the gun at the man, kneeling so that he could hold it under his quivering jaw. "What is your name?"
"Fuck you!" The man sneered. He reared back and launched his head forward, but Sasuke dodged the headbutting attempt.
"––This club now belongs to the Hyuga Syndicate. You all have two minutes to vacate the premises––" Neji was saying. In the front, Shikamaru was smashing bottles and yelling backup commands. Row after row of liquor fell into a puddle on the floor, the liquid pools reflecting back the flashing purple lights of the club. It looked like how Sasuke imagined the River Styx.
People started running for the doors as terrorized noises filled the room.
"Are there more of you here?" Sasuke asked, nudging the gun further under the man's chin. The metal was cold against his skin.
"I said fuck. you." the Akatsuki member spit at him. This is where Sasuke realized that he was much, much more dangerous than he had originally thought and that he had made an error in processing. The man didn't give a fuck about his life. The blonde man basically absorbed the gun into his throat as he made an effort to scratch Sasuke's eyeballs out. With icy shock, Sasuke realized that he was willing to literally die trying.
Sasuke's fingers itched on the trigger when hot, wet, pain seared across his upper right thigh. The man under him giggled with his mouth open, his teeth covered in blood. Fuck, Sasuke thought in mild panic. He could feel the sudden wetness of his pants. Had this man hit an artery? When he looked down he saw the knife curled around the man's fingers, his blood glinting sickening marron in the light.
"For fucks sake," Sasuke bemoaned, quite unlike himself, and shot the Akatsuki member in the throat. He just wished he knew his name. The smell of smoke entered the air as Sasuke tore his gun away.
At the sound of the second gunshot, the clubgoer's screams rose. They were quite literally terrorizing this establishment––but what did it matter; Neji was proclaiming (over, and over again) that this was a Hyuga club now.
No sooner than Sasuke had killed a man, Neji was pulling him up to his feet and worried at the slice in Sasuke's leg. He gave Sasuke a quick, unfiltered look of alarm that seemed to say, are you fucking kidding me?
As soon as Neji secured an arm around Sasuke's waist someone started yelling "Fire! Fire!" Above them, the ceiling sprinklers activated as behind them smoke curled out of the glowing door that Sasuke had so badly wanted to enter. All thoughts of the Uchiha fan and his brother were gone as Hyuga Neji ran Sasuke out of the club, leaving a body behind in the puddles.
Despite the pain, Sasuke had his bloody gun posed and ready behind Neji, and Neji had his ablaze in front of them. Shikamaru flanked their sides as they quickly entered the garage. The Maserati was long gone, so they piled into the Royce, laying Sasuke in the backseat of the vehicle. Neji took off his button-down shirt without a second thought and fashioned it like a tourniquet around Sasuke's leg while Shikamaru drove quickly and urgently down the street.
About three blocks away, they saw smoke billowing into the air casting the night in hot, orange light. Sasuke watched from the backseat, dull with pain, thinking that he had been right, after all. There was someone else in that back room. Someone who had started the fire.
He took the 5000 yen from his pocket and put it into the gun holder around his stomach. He had a strong feeling he would need it later.
-:-
Hinata began skinning the body of a fox, working quickly to distract herself from the rush of thoughts that pressed against her frontal lobe. Her gloved hands were soaked in red, which was a needful distraction indeed.
The morning had been hard. She sat in meetings with her Father and Uncles from other parts of the country, who openly demeaned her and made fun of her stutter, not knowing that she was Hiashi's eldest child. They always assumed it was Neji, and that Hinata was mere help.
Hiashi liked Hinata to attend meetings. He thought her presence was important and he thought her tendency for quiet was strength. These men, of course, had not gotten off easily after boldly making comments, their chests thrown out with humor and their mouths falling open. They had gotten beaten quite badly, and they trembled when they bowed before Hinata with their apologies.
To Hinata's credit, she did not enjoy their repentance any more than she enjoyed being bullied by men who thought their genders superior. If they had known she existed and was in such a position, they would've simply whispered their insults over drinks when Hiashi was not in the room.
When she was young, Hiashi always told her that her weaknesses could be strengths if she used them correctly. To him, her stutter was nothing short of one of her biggest gifts. He knew that she possessed skill and intellect far beyond the average man––they just wouldn't believe it to be true because she stumbled over her vowels. He sat her down one day when she was eight and said, "they will think you are incapable, but you will know you are not."
This "gift"––nothing more than a symptom of Complex PTSD––did indeed make her better at deceiving people, but that was only because people were ableist, discriminatory assholes at their core. When she stuttered, they were either annoyed or endeared, neither of which allowed them to take her seriously. She had gotten a lot of information out of people, this way.
It helped, she supposed, that people thought she was beautiful. She took after Aoki, with her moon-shaped face, button nose, and long dark trendles of hair that fell down her back. Hiashi had seen this and used it, often sending her on tasks that involved men of certain status when she was old enough. He never wanted her to engage with them in sexual ways––that would be too far and too demeaning, nothing that would befit a Hyuga daughter––but he did want her to date them. He wanted her to hold them just far enough and just close enough, that they sought more from her. They were willing to trade their deepest secrets to touch her.
She never allowed it. Especially after Gaara. Not that her father knew about that.
Still, all the talk about her stutter had drudged up the grimy reasons why she had one in the first place. When she was seven she'd been kidnapped. There was a man with more power than a Hyuga running the city, and he was known for trafficking the things that the Hyuga had for decades, refused to: humans.
Hinata remembered walking home from school by herself one day. She can't remember why––maybe her mother was sick. But then, why wouldn't a servant get her? Maybe she had stupidly decided to go by herself. Who knows. She had spent years wondering over the hows and whys of the situation, but there would never be an answer to satisfy her.
At the time she wore her hair in pigtails. She remembered what she had on: a Pooh-Bear-themed yellow dress with a pink long-sleeved shirt underneath it, black and white striped socks, and a pair of dirty sneakers. She remembered passing the supermarket at the strip mall near her school when a man in a parked van swept her into the back seat, shoved a cloth into her mouth, and drove off. The world went black. Hinata did not remember what happened after that.
But they kidnapped the wrong child. She knew that she had been recovered within five hours. She knew that no real harm had come to her body that she, or anyone else, could discern. She also knew, when watching the news, that a man named Kabuto had been brutally murdered and left in a public pool. There were no suspects. Even then, young Hinata had known that the Hyuga had gotten their revenge––in fact, they celebrated it, loudly cheering "We ran that snake bitch out of Konoha!" They drank long into the night while Hinata sat swaddled by her mother in her bedroom. They peered down at the yard as the men drank and partied. Hinata was unable to speak.
Hinata knew that for years, people on the internet would speculate about where kingpin Orochimaru had disappeared to. For years, no one heard from him. It was like magic––poof, he was gone. Then, about five years ago, he'd reappeared. Hinata had gotten the biggest headache of her life when she saw the news that day. At the time, she didn't know why.
Now he was gone, again, but her stutter remained. She remembered the news from that day too––two years ago he was captured by federal agents or something. He was put away in the pen. How she had wished and wished, when the news covered every television screen around, that with his capture and institutionalization, her stutter would die, too.
If anything, it acted as a gruesome reminder of an event she had only a speck of memory of.
A throat cleared from the doorway, and Hinata almost sliced her palm with her knife. She fumbled for a moment before dropping it into a metal pan and looking up. A clang sound resonated against the walls of the otherwise completely silent room. Neji and Sasuke stood in the doorway, Sasuke leaning heavily onto Neji's side as he held a hand to his right thigh. They made a peculiar pair: Neji, shirtless, and Sasuke, covered in blood.
"Sorry to interrupt," Neji said, sounding genuine and tired. "He got stabbed. Can you fix him up?"
"Of course," Hinata said, immediately springing to action. She only allowed herself to feel alarmed for a palmful of seconds.
She quickly discarded her gloves into the metal tray with the knife and grabbed a folding chair from the closet. She then went to Sasuke's other side, sliding his free arm around her shoulder. Together, she and Neji walked him over. She tried to ignore the feeling of his warm breath on her cheek. When they moved to sit him down, their cheeks brushed and Hinata felt dampness there.
"Get me a clean towel and the bag from under the table and you can go," Hinata said while she made quick work of washing her hands and putting on a fresh pair of gloves. She kneeled before the Uchiha, whose face at that point had gone white, and undid the clumsy tie of Neji's discarded shirt. How quickly she forgot that in action, her stutter fell away with her panic.
The wound was bright red and gushing, Sasuke's skin looked jagged and purple underneath the blood. Hinata prodded the skin lightly, nodding. "It's not deep. You're lucky," she looked up at him then, their eyes meeting for a long second. His were filled with muted pain, though there was something else, some other feeling swirled within his dark gaze. Hinata looked away, feeling, for some reason, out of breath. She cleared her throat. "––Whoever did this didn't hit an artery. You'll just need stitches."
Neji placed the bag beside Hinata's kneeling form, made a face, and promptly left the room. Hinata laughed quietly to herself as she grabbed a small plastic bin and a bottle of saline. She held the bin under his thigh, then looked back up at him, "this is going to hurt, but probably not more than being stabbed."
Sasuke let a short chuckle escape before hissing in pain as Hinata squirted the solution on his bleeding thigh. To distract himself he said, "What's with Hyuga?"
Hinata continued to irrigate the wound, not even seeming surprised at the question. "He hates blood."
Now, Sasuke outright laughed. Hinata finished cleaning the wound, changed gloves, and started to stitch him up without preamble. She was quick at her job; making fast work of patching Sasuke up again, and she didn't bother to ask what happened. She'd likely hear about it later.
Possibly to distract himself from the pain, Sasuke nodded to her work table where the remains of a half-cut open fox lay, "What's with that?"
"Taxidermy," Hinata said as she stuck the needle through his skin. "S-sometimes we put drugs or m-money inside before we send it off."
"Sometimes?" Sasuke rose an eyebrow.
"Most times," Hinata confirmed with a twist of her lips. "Okay––every time. We s-send things inside...every time."
They lapsed into silence as Hinata finished her last few stitches. Sasuke's skin was red and taunt, beginning to yellow already when she pulled the final thread and wrapped a bandage and gauze around his leg. When she stood and got rid of her third pair of gloves for the evening he looked at her for a long moment, his eyebrow still raised.
Self-consciously, her cheeks colored as she busied herself disposing of the various bio-hazards that had amassed. "Wh...what?"
"Nothing–––you're just interesting, Hyuga," Sasuke made to stand, but put pressure on his right leg and faltered. Hinata caught his arm, dropping the bin and the bandages in her haste. They locked eyes for another long moment, and Hinata became glaringly aware, once again, of how close their bodies were. She breathed slowly as she guided him back into the chair, her hand a solid weight on what appeared to be a very toned bicep.
"W-why do you say that?" She asked after she ducked down to pick up the things she'd dropped, so she would not have to look at him or think about how her body felt when she did. It was a feeling she hadn't felt in a while, and she would like to keep it that way.
"You have a lot of unexpected talents."
That could be true. Hinata said nothing as she disposed of the items, her face inflamed as if the compliment––or touching him––embarrassed her.
This time, Sasuke smartly remained seated but he leaned back, seeming to look her up and down with his eyes. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her uniform of plain black leggings and a crew-neck sweatshirt she'd saved from high school. Was it too tight around her stomach? Were her leggings too sheer?
"What I wanna know is," Sasuke started, his voice eclipsing in her ears as if he were a siren. "Have you ever done a full-body tattoo?"
Hinata's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the question as she returned to her station with the fox. "S-sure I have. Why do you ask?"
"Thinking of doing my back," he said.
"Trying to s-show off, Uchiha?"
She had this surprising bite that always caught him off guard when she chose to use it. He smirked in response, "Trying to stay alive. I have plans."
Everyone knew that the more tattoos you had, the more dangerous you were perceived to be. Especially in a city like Konoha. Hinata nodded, slightly and inconceivably pleased by the answer. "I can...I can work on something for you if t-that's what you're asking."
"It is," Sasuke said. He began to unbutton his shirt, citing the heat as his reasoning, though Hinata found it rather cold. It had to be, to keep the fox intact. Though she assumed his brush with a sliced artery was reason enough to have elevated vitals, Hinata looked away politely, focused on skinning her animal. "I'd appreciate that, maybe we can sit down and talk ideas one day."
"Sure," she said. She didn't look at him.
A moment of silence passed until Sasuke asked if Hinata had any painkillers. She gasped as if she felt stupid for not providing them, though Sasuke waved off her apologies. Slipping off her gloves once more, she dug into a bag asking if narcotics were okay or if he would like something less intense. Surprising her again, Sasuke said that Tylenol was fine.
When she gave it to him her sweater had come up around her back after digging around for it, exposing a slither of tattooed skin. Sasuke looked at it in such an obvious way that she turned red and straightened quickly, handing him his pills with an outstretched hand.
Sasuke ignored the hand, "Can I see?"
"That's...that's...uh...I–"
"Nevermind," the Uchiha said. He leaned back, accepting the pills and dry swallowing them without a drink. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"I'm not un-uncomfortable!" She blurted, though she truly was and she was not sure why she lied. It was possible that Hinata had a complex, just like she had one with her stutter, that made her want to prove herself to near-strangers. Besides, last night Sasuke had questioned her abilities. Why not show him that she could take the pain she doled out regularly, as well as do a good fucking job taking it?
She turned around and lifted the back of her shirt, exposing her back and wincing a little with embarrassment when she realized he could see her bra strap. Her tattoo started mid and central back, right below the line of where a sleeveless dress would show her skin. It was completely covered in black and red ink, all the way down and dipping below where her leggings started.
For a long, enduring moment, Sasuke said nothing as he stared at the tattoo. It featured a kimono-clad woman holding a knife between her teeth as flowers bloomed on either side of her figure. Her hair fell in long trendles around her, and it looked to loop around the other side of her body and dip below Hinata's pants line. Above the figure's head, scales like a dragon tail flickered around the woman's neck. The scales, too, seemed to come from somewhere else not being shown to him.
Hinata lowered her sweatshirt as if she were ending a show and quickly dusted off the sides of the garment with her hands. When Sasuke said nothing, she walked back to her station but couldn't continue her work. Her hands were shaking.
"My uh...m-my mother was an artist though she n-never called herself one. She drew the design," Hinata said quietly to fill the silence. She was too scared of what she had revealed to him and too scared of what she was now revealing. "I found it in her sketchbook after she d-died. I was 15."
Sasuke said nothing. Hinata continued, "My uncle was the o-one who taught me to tattoo. Hizashi. I had wanted him to give me my first big piece b-but..."
"He went to prison," Sasuke supplied.
"Yes, he did," she said. "But by that p-point, I didn't want h-him to do it anyway. It would've been dishonorable," she said this with zeal, her words laced with anger despite herself. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. Her hand still shook when she held the knife so she gave up for the night and began to pack the animal away in a bag so that she might freeze it for later. "A f-friend of mine, we went to school together, learned to tattoo with me. Well, not with me, but w-we did skill s-sharing. I mean––I––"
"You taught this friend how to tattoo, didn't you?"
Hinata blushed humbly, "Only a f-few things. I got this done only a couple of y-years ago, after––" she cleared her throat again, stopping herself. Garra's image bloomed in her mind and she shook it away quickly. Sasuke's sitting form filled her line of sight suddenly. He was reclining, his gaze intently watching her. His legs were open wide, his head back slightly, he looked as if he could be watching an interesting film.
With frustration, she jammed the fox into the bag and sealed it. Why was she saying all this stuff? Why was she having to stop herself? "––After a p-particularly hard year. The drawing comforted me. It was a story my mother used to tell us about a woman who caught the Last Great Dragon, before setting him free. She caught him to s-show the people, the men, her strength. She let him go to show her compassion."
"I know that story," Sasuke said. "My mom used to tell it to me. When the dragon didn't attack her after she let it free the men were shocked. Instead, the dragon left her gifts––pots of jewels and silk."
Finally, Hinata looked up at him, her eyes wild with surprise. "N-not many people know that story," she said. She looked pink and delighted––and somewhat embarrassed.
Sasuke seemed to drink the look on her face in as if it was the first glass of water he'd had all day, then he shrugged casually, saying "My mother told us all kinds of stories."
"I'm––I'm sure."
"It's a beautiful tattoo, Hinata" Sasuke said kindly, honestly. His tone was even when he said her name, his tongue exploring the syllables against his mouth, making contact with the roof of it when he pronounced the "na" and "ta" sounds. It was a pleasant rhythm when he said it. He began to stand, his right leg heavy and awkward at the same time. The pain echoed in response. "Hopefully I get to see the front of it one day."
Hinata cracked an awkward smile as if she didn't know what to say or think about the idea of exposing that to him, but then she paused, her face serious and somewhat concerned as she said "Actually––y-you might..."
Sasuke quirked an eyebrow, his expression an interesting juxtaposition of curious and confused. He was keeping a smirk from filling his features, "what do you mean?"
"Um," Hinata blundered awkwardly with the fox and the bag and the gloves. She shook her head, holding up her hands "Not like––n-not l-like th-that!"
"Like what, Hyuga princess?" He seemed to delight in seeing her flustered.
Her hands flew as if she were trying to figure out what to say, "nevermind!" she said with a huff, turning her back abruptly as she hauled the fox off the table. "I–-um, I was j-just saying that we have a job to do next w-week. At a b-bathhouse."
"Sounds...steamy," Sasuke said.
Hinata began dragging the bagged fox behind her, walking right past him, not even meeting his eyes, "Um...ok. Se-see you then, Sasuke!"
She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. She screwed her eyes shut, sick with humiliation.
AN. Hey ya'll! I'm going on a brief hiatus-ngl the lack of attention has been hurting my writing process when I had hoped that publishing early would strengthen it instead. I only have a few more chapters left to write for this one, so I'm going to focus on that final push before I start updating again! There will be about 24 chapters in total!
Thanks so much and i'll see you all soon. Hoping to be back in a couple of short weeks. Please review if you feel inclined, in the meantime!
