This an 'optional' sequel. If you are satisfied with the oneshot I published years ago, you can stop here.
There have been so many of you suggesting that I write a sequel that I just had to entertain the idea at some point. I know, I know, it has been a while, but oh-well. Better late than never.
Two idiots in love? I raise you two awkward and shy nerds in love.
Enjoy! :D
Hinata came back from work, nervous, chewing on her bottom lip. Her feet shuffled in front of her apartment building as she shifted the pile of work in her arms.
Her fingertips grazed the door handle, before she paused and readjusted the paperwork again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, barely hanging one to her files. They would slip, her mind tried to convince her. They would slip. They would crash-
"I can do this. I can do this," she muttered over her mind, but her body betrayed her, weighing her down like lead. Her mind pulled her back-and-back to all the mistakes she had made in previous projects, to all the moments she had embarrassed herself.
'I can do this.'
Another step, a jiggle of her keys, the burn in her arms.
'I can do this.'
Finally, Hinata managed to unlock the door and entered the building. The door shut sharply behind her, startling her. Her mouth still agape from her small cry, she flushed, frozen in the middle of the entrance of the building. She raised her arms to cover her face with her files, but they ached and trembled under the weight of the paperwork she carried.
"I'm sorry about the noise," she mouthed to the empty lobby and bowed her head.
With difficulty, Hinata walked to the elevator, fingers pinching wildly at escaping paper sheets. With each step, her overflowing purse dug in her hip before swaying uncomfortably.
Still, as she waited for the elevator, her thoughts turned to her neighbour. She froze when she thought the elevator doors may open to him standing there.
Her cheeks warmed.
Her mind frayed, her work and him, eating at her. She could feel the messy bun at the top of her head sliding down, her fingers tightening, her knuckles trembling.
She swayed, ashen, always, and always thinking that she was moments before everything would come crashing down.
Hinata only wanted to survive this: the hallways of her apartment building. It wouldn't matter there if her work was overflowing because she was too slow, too weak. Nor would her boss' various memos on every other page. Nor would her messy hair and dishevelled appearance.
And there was something dormant, lurking in the corner of her mind, discomfort that threatened to bloom. She didn't like how anger snuck more steadily on her now, how it demanded things from her. She didn't like how it made her feel more vulnerable than before when she would simply ignore it; now she wanted to act. Now she wanted to say something.
Her body in awkward angles, Hinata wiped at her brow.
It all started with Gaara, and now she was caught in a whirlwind of emotions she could barely explain to herself.
She couldn't wait to be home.
In the comfort of her home, it wouldn't matter that the garden balcony of her neighbour made her too nervous to think rationally; the sole possibility of him being there- at the corner of the hallway, in front of his door unit, or in the elevator- was enough to jumble her thoughts. And whenever he wasn't there, her shoulders sank, her knees locked, and she wondered if she had failed some test somehow.
'Don't ignore me anymore, please,' Gaara had said, but she hadn't seen him since.
She was eager to see him.
She was eager to avoid him.
Hinata shook her head. It was well past 11PM, her neighbour was most likely sleeping like she should be. She was only working late these days because one of the books she was editing was due to be released next week.
As the elevator's doors slid open, Hinata hunched her back, but the hallways were empty. As she got off the elevator, she nearly tripped over her own feet and sent everything she was carrying flying.
Hinata grimaced and carefully readjusted the files in her arms before carefully making her way toward her apartment.
Once in front of the door of her apartment, Hinata struggled to take her keys out of her pockets. Inch by inch, she raised her hand, the keys quivering in her grasp. Her muscles burned. At that moment, her gaze flicked down, and she almost dropped the keys and files all at once.
There was a small bouquet resting against her door.
Warmth spread from her chest to her neck to her cheeks.
Hinata fought a smile. She fought a sharp cry.
Her arms trembled, and she felt the first crushing wave of anxiety; her work, her neighbour, her conflicting feeling for him, and the small bouquet at her feet. She struggled, she fought, one after the other, each wave. Everything overwhelmed her. And she had to fight with her keys, her door and her work, and herself.
Hinata managed to open her door, and the moment it closed behind her everything crashed down. Paper slapped against the floor, and the corner of her eyes burnt, her vision swam. Loose sheets of paper had drifted away from the tight rubber bands around her files.
Hinata bit her lip, wiping her face with the back of her arm. The gesture alone burnt. Her arms still trembled. She eased the door open, only wide enough for her hand to pass through and picked up the bouquet.
There, bouquet in hand, she stood in the middle of the chaos of her work, hesitating, barely able to breathe. After what seemed like an eternity, she toed her shoes and her feet slipped in her slippers, her mind numb and treacherous.
She was exhausted.
She wanted to curl up in bed and forget about her day or her week. And her mind jumped ahead to a day that hasn't started, to a discussion her colleagues would start in front of her as if she wasn't there. Again, her mind wrapped around sharpening edges, and jumped again to the mess in front of her, to the fact that she didn't have a vase.
She didn't have a vase. The thought was an anchor, a useless, meaningless one.
It was so difficult to feel at ease with his flowers, when she had so little to offer, when the little she did have, she couldn't handle without it crashing down.
Weak. Weak. Weak.
Hinata stepped over the paperwork, the bouquet at her fingertips. Chewing on her bottom lip, she hesitated as to where to put it.
She had nothing.
She settled for a tall glass, panic rising. She filled the glass with tap water, always closing and reopening the tap and wondering if it was too little or too much.
She finally closed the tap, settling for a glass half-full.
The bouquet fitted perfectly, the stems' tips already snipped at an angle. Hinata didn't know the name of the flowers, but they were flagrant, perfect balls of small blue and purple flowers. As she tried to arrange them, she wondered if he had made the bouquet small on purpose before he assumed she wouldn't have a vase.
Hinata dropped her hands on the counter of the kitchen, breathing hard.
Her mind reeling, hovering between 'weak' and 'dumb', she carried the glass to the kitchen table before deciding against it. And it burned the back of her mind. It burned the back of her throat.
She set the glass on the coffee table of the living room, chewing on her bottom lip. The flowers looked ridiculous in the glass.
It was all wrong.
The back of her eyes burnt, her mind circling back to the memos on her work, their red ink bleeding through her.
Everything she did was always all wrong. And her mind circled back and back.
Later, her hair still damp from the shower, Hinata felt less agitated. She stared at the glass of flowers, indecisive, her fingers curling up, her nails digging into her palms. Then, she turned away from the flowers and kneeled down to rearrange her files. She carried them to her desk, her hand lingering on top of the pile, where the first memo was.
Quickly, Hinata retracted her hand before turning toward the glass door of the balcony. She moved mechanically to fill the watering can. Her mouth set, she opened the glass door and stepped on the balcony.
Watering her plants had become a routine. She had tried sticking to a schedule, but her current workload had disturbed everything.
"Sorry," she whispered to the potted plants.
Hinata sat on her heels, inspecting her plants, her fingers grazing the dried soil. She grimaced, her arms wrapping themselves around her, the water sloshing against the sides of the watering can. The moist air of the summer stuck to her hair and skin, uncomfortably pooling at the base of her beck.
She wiped at her forehead with her forearm before lifting the watering can to water her plants.
Before she could reach the second pot, the back of her neck prickled, and she lowered the watering can back to the ground, terrified. Her nose wrinkled with the smell of cigarette smoke.
Hinata slowly turned her head.
Yelping, she jumped back to her feet, when she caught a glimpse of Gaara sitting on his balcony with a cigarette pinched between his lips, frozen.
The paper screens had disappeared.
In her hurry to stand up, her knee bumped against the watering can and it thudded on the ground. Water spilled and splashed against her legs.
"Gaara-san!" Hinata cried out, mortified.
She bowed, her feet and leggings soaked through from the spilled watering can. Self-conscious and panic-stricken, she picked at the hem of her sweatshirt.
Gaara held up his cigarette, and his head appeared to float over the smoke. It cast pallid shadows over his cheekbones. He wore loose black clothes that made him look like a prowling predator cut in darkness.
"Does it bother you?"
Hinata bowed again, flushing.
"No," she stammered and tried hard not to cough.
His eyes glinted in the darkness as his pale fingers stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray behind him.
"You didn't need to do that," Hinata protested meekly.
She fought for each word, but they fell flat, barely audible. She wanted to run back inside.
"Why are you up so late?" Gaara asked.
"I just came back from work."
"Hn."
His stare didn't leave her. She forced her fingers to let go of the hem of her sweatshirt. She snapped them uselessly, they reached up to touch her neck, her forehead, her hair.
Gaara didn't say anything.
"It's been a long week," she said slowly, her fingers cold, her mind ablaze.
Hinata couldn't stop fidgeting under his stare, uncomfortable and overwhelmed.
"I see," Gaara said simply.
She couldn't focus on his expression. She couldn't read him.
"I should..." Hinata let the sentence dangle between them and pointed toward the still open glass door of her balcony. Her curtains billowed in and out through the door.
'Why is it so difficult?' she wondered, miserable, and shook her head.
"Thank you for the flowers," she added quickly and bent down to retrieve her watering can.
Gaara stood up and leaned over the rail. With his wrist relaxed over the rail and his fingers laced together, he observed her.
Hinata avoided his gaze, her face heated.
"You didn't need to... give me flowers," she said softly and squeezed her eyes shut.
Gaara tilted his head to the side.
"You didn't want them?"
"No," Hinata cried out, her eyes wide, then bit out her bottom lip. "That's not what I meant," she stammered, frozen, then bowed again: "I'm grateful." she added mutely.
"They are hydrangeas," Gaara explained. "I thought you would like their colour."
"I don't have a vase," she admitted, panicking.
His eyes gleamed, and he touched his tattoo, absent-mindedly.
"Hn. I don't either."
"Gaara-san..." Hinata licked her lips nervously. He had said it so easily: "I don't either", like an after-thought, like it didn't matter, and she wondered why it did matter to her. Why she obsessed over all the things she couldn't have?
She clenched her jaw.
"I've some more work to do, so I should go," she said weakly.
She couldn't voice anything else.
"Hinata," Gaara called after her and her whole body flushed.
She knew he came from the Wind Country and customs were different there, but the way he said her name without honourifics always made her heart pound.
"I rarely sleep, so you don't bother me if you work late and need anything."
She blushed harder, light-headed. She dug her nails in her palms. She couldn't faint now, of all times.
"Thank you," Hinata whispered, dazed, and hurried inside. She counted to ten, her back against the glass door, her heated face in her hands.
Then, she sunk to the ground when she remembered she never got to water her plants.
It didn't even occur to her that the paper screens were gone.
The clock on her computer displayed: 2:17 am.
Hinata still had another round of revisions, but her mind stretched, clouded, her temples hot. Mindlessly, she pushed up her glasses and typed out the name of a furniture shop on a whim. She scrolled up and down their home page.
She could own things; a vase, a console table, anything.
She could fill up the space, furnish her home and answer: "I have this or that."
She could do it.
She could do it. Shecoulddoit. SHECOULDDOIT.
The details of furniture blurred in front of her. She clicked in and out of descriptions, scrolling through photos, and always returning to the main page.
She picked a vase, then she hesitated. She went through the rest of the website, adding pieces of furniture, removing them, adding them again.
She bit her lips until she tasted blood, until she bought a console table and a vase without thinking. And still she wanted to cancel her order.
And still she hesitated and thought: it was all wrong, as always. It tore through her, iron-hot, the desire to change herself. Her mind howled.
The clock read 3:16 am.
She went out on the balcony to water her plants.
Over the weekend, Gaara entered the apartment building back from his morning jog. He wiped at his brow with the back of his hand, his heart still pounding. He checked his mailbox before crossing the lobby to the elevators.
Before he could press the button to call the elevator, Gaara frowned. Over the music blasting in his earphones, he could hear the buzzing of voices. He turned his head and ripped out one of his earbuds.
In front of the staircase, Hinata held her head low, her hands clasped in front of her. Next to her was a giant carton box leaning against the wall. Another of their neighbours was gesturing wildly and shouting: "You're blocking the staircase!"
"I'm sorry. It's only for a short while. My cousin will-" Hinata tried to say, but was immediately cut off by the older man.
"It has been over an hour!" he shouted.
She apologized and bowed.
"You can use the elevator, sir," she stammered, her eyes wide.
His face flushed with anger, the man stepped forward. Hinata's shoulders went up and she dropped her gaze.
"What did you say?" he said, low, with a threatening voice.
"She said you could use the elevator." Gaara said coldly from behind him. "The box obviously doesn't fit inside, but you do."
Hinata looked up, her face pale, but her lips were red where she had bitten her lip over and over. Her mouth stretched as if she meant to say something, but she stopped herself.
"Why are you defending her? She's been laughing at me for an hour! 'I'll move it soon!' Argh! Move it now, woman!"
Hinata lowered her head again, her hair falling across her face. She didn't move. She didn't say anything.
"If it bothers you that much, you should have offered to help her," Gaara added icily.
The older man stepped forward to threaten him, but Gaara met him mid-step. He glared at him and took another step forward. The man seemed to hesitate, now cornered.
"Why didn't you help her?" Gaara asked, low, his face inches from their neighbour's.
He stepped back again, uncomfortable, eyes widened.
"I'm 50! Agh!" The man waved them off, forcing a laugh to cover his wavering voice. He skirted around Gaara and called the elevator. "Your generation has no respect for elders." He clicked his tongue in disapproval, but only when he could slip inside the elevator.
Hinata bowed to Gaara, her face stony, her eyes on the floor.
Gaara tilted his head to the side, contemplating her, but he couldn't read her expression.
"I'll help you."
He moved toward the box, but she stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
"There's no need, my cousin will come soon," she murmured, her gaze still on the floor.
Gaara considered her again, and laughed silently.
"It's good that you're sticking it to him."
She flushed.
"I'm not," she stammered, her voice almost desperate."I'm not like that."
Gaara pressed the button to call the elevator, his chest still shaking from silent laughter.
"Yes, you are. You're keeping the box here for longer than necessary. I could have helped you."
Hinata's hands curled up in front of her. Again, her hair veiled her face.
"He annoyed me," she said low, and at first he wondered if she had said anything at all. Her fists were relaxed now, her fingers pulling at a thread on one of her sleeves. She looked small, but all of her echoed, loud, in her body's rigid posture.
Gaara entered the elevator. He looked back at her one last time, his expression almost ferocious.
"Knock on my door if your cousin doesn't show."
The elevator doors closed.
Later, at night, Gaara opened his glass door to step on his balcony, but froze when he heard the sound of chatter coming from Hinata's balcony. Firmly, he moved to close the slide the door shut.
"Are you seeing anyone?" a woman's voice asked, and she giggled. "Aww, you're both red now."
Gaara froze.
The skin over his tattoo prickled. He couldn't exactly explain what his relationship with Hinata was, but he felt vulnerable, ten feet from them, unseen. He had never seriously dated anyone. He always got overwhelmed with the notion of touching and loving someone else.
He wanted to try- something, anything- with Hinata, but he didn't know how.
He didn't know what came after removing the paper screens, giving her flowers and the short conversations from their respective balconies, and he was always terrified.
"Tenten, you shouldn't ask her that," a man's voice answered stiffly after a moment of silence. "It's impertinent."
"Oh, please," the woman named Tenten now laughed. "I bought new furniture when I started dating you too."
"It's nothing like that," Hinata cried out, just as the man stammered: "Tenten!"
"Fine!" Tenten giggled. "You should at least call us more often, Hina-chan. Neji won't say so, but he worries about you."
"There's no need to worry, Neji-niisan," Hinata said softly.
Gaara couldn't help, but think of her stony face as she stood in front of her box earlier. His fingers tightened around the door handle.
"Are you sure…" Neji cleared his throat, and Gaara heard him shift in his seat. "Are you sure you should stay so far from us?"
"I'm fine!" Hinata said quickly, her voice wobbling with anxiety.
"Oh, hush, she's a grown woman, Neji." Tenten said, and Gaara instantly recognized the hint of steel under her childish-sounding voice. Kankuro always sounded like that when he was close to losing his temper. "We aren't her parents. Hanabi sleeps over all the time. Did she tell you?"
"Yes, she said it was convenient for her exams." Hinata's meek voice perked up. "Thank you for taking care of her, Neji-niisan."
"Neji cooks for her," Tenten snorted. "That too is convenient."
"I cook for you too," Neji countered quietly.
"You're a chef, love. You cook for half of this city."
As quietly as he could, Gaara closed the glass door. Their voices and Tenten's laughter dissolved. He slipped a hand inside of his pocket, toying with his lighter.
He really needed a cigarette now.
Like so many times before, Hinata hesitated in front of his door. She wanted to thank him. She wanted to ask him about the hydrangeas: 'They're dying, what do I do?'
But, just as many times before, she didn't have the strength to.
She didn't have the strength to reach for him.
His head tilted back against his sofa, Gaara didn't move inside of his apartment. He counted her steps. His eyes on the ceiling, shrouded in darkness, he wondered how many more days he could go without one shameful cigarette when he was the one who said: 'Don't avoid me anymore, please.'
When he was the one who put the paper screens up to hide from her, only to remove them now that he didn't want to hide from her anymore.
He touched his tattoo.
Love.
The next day, Gaara was emptying the dishwasher when he heard a loud thud from next door. His eyes flickered to the wall he shared with Hinata. Slowly, he lowered the plate he was still holding on the counter, just as another crash made the wall shake.
Gaara walked out of the kitchen, his heart quickening.
He removed his slippers and slipped into his running shoes before leaving his apartment. In two steps, he was in front of her apartment.
His fist froze mid-air. At his side, his other hand also curled into a fist. He gulped, then knocked and waited.
The muscle of his jaw worked, his hands now firmly in his pockets. It took some time before he heard her walk to the door. She hiccuped and opened the door slightly. Her face loomed, flushed.
"Oh, Gaara-san, how are you?"
Hinata opened the door a bit wider, before reducing the space again. Her eyes widened, then flickered back. She meant to turn her head, but stopped herself through the motion.
"I heard loud-" Gaara stopped, his gaze shifting to the left hand holding the door. She held herself awkwardly, her right arm behind herself.
"You hurt yourself," he said flatly.
Their eyes locked, and she licked her lips, hesitating, caught between a shrug and the truth. His gaze burned through her.
"It's silly," Hinata said finally, lowering her gaze to the floor. "I bought a console table, and… I couldn't…"
She bit her lip.
"I'll help you," Gaara said simply.
For so long, it had been only him- loving only himself- taking care of himself and himself only. He wondered how it always came naturally with her: "I'll help you."
"I should be able to do this by myself, shouldn't I?" she asked softly, but moved out of the way to let him come in.
Gaara didn't reply, but he shook his head. He knew all too well how hard it could be to let someone in and help. "I need help." He had only said it a handful of times to his siblings. Perhaps that was what had drawn him to her in the first place; how he recognized her as someone who had only herself to rely on for so long.
Gaara took off his shoes and stepped inside her apartment. In the middle of the living room, there were planks of wood and half built up drawers. The coffee table had been pushed against the glass doors of the balcony. On it, the instructions were spread out under the weight of an empty white vase.
Hinata stood awkwardly, watching him look around her place. She blushed furiously, looking at the empty vase.
"I'll just clean up the wound," she said finally and ducked out of sight to go to the bathroom.
Gaara nodded slowly before stepping for the drawers and planks of wood. He looked at the instructions on the table. Hinata had highlighted the pieces needed on each step and crossed them off neatly once done. The corner of his lips curled up.
Soon, Hinata reappeared with a small bandage around her palm.
Gaara squatted down and reached for the pack of screws. Hinata kneeled next to him, watching him nervously.
"Do you think the colour is too much?" she blurted out.
Gaara frowned.
"Why should it matter what I think?" He pointed across from her. "Pass me the drawer."
"Hai," she said quickly and gave him the drawer. "I'm sorry… it's just… It's my first real piece of furniture." Biting her bottom lip, she waved at the under-furnished living room and kitchen. "I kept hesitating. I like lilac. I also liked the silver one. I wish I could have compared."
Gaara realigned the pieces, and knocked sharply on the wood so the bottom of the drawer would slide perfectly against the back piece.
"Why?" he asked.
Hinata blinked before repeating the question quietly to herself.
He raised his head to stare back at her.
"Why would you want to compare the colours?" Gaara clarified.
Hinata looked away, her brows knitted together in confusion.
"To see which one is the right one."
Gaara pointed to the other drawer, and she passed it to him, slowly, still deep in thoughts.
"Hn. It's furniture, it's not right or wrong. It either fits or not in the room."
She nodded slowly, her back straight, her hands clasped on her knees.
Gaara glanced at her, wondering if he had been too harsh by Firian standards. He still struggled with many aspects of their culture despite living in Konoha for almost a year now.
"You're right. I keep thinking that there is a right or wrong answer to everything, but this isn't school. This isn't a test."
Hinata's face was resolute now.
"Hn."
Gaara put the second drawer to the side, and Hinata passed him the next one.
"I cut myself on the rail, but I can still help!" she added quickly.
Hinata stared at him eagerly, her hands curled up into fists on her knees now.
Gaara nodded slowly, and she relaxed, a small embarrassed smile tugging at her lips.
"I like following instructions," he admitted quietly, and carefully assembled the drawer. "It's not demanding, and it's straightforward."
She blushed, as her eyes darted to the instructions she had annotated.
"I like that," he admitted and put the third drawer to the side. "It shows you've a well-organized brain."
Embarrassed, Hinata bowed her head, and quickly passed him the pieces for the last drawer. Their hands brushed, and she quickly pulled away, her skin already burning away, electrified by his touch and his words.
They built the rest of the console table, in comfortable silence, exchanging only pieces and tools.
Once the console was built, they stood awkwardly, staring at it to avoid looking at each other. Gaara leaned forward and touched it as if to test its stability. He pointed toward the wall facing her couch.
"I can help you move it there if you need..."
"No need," Hinata squeaked out, blushing furiously.
Gaara nodded to himself.
"Are you hungry?" he asked softly.
People often demanded things from him, a smile, a handshake, a comment. She was the first who seemed comfortable in silence. She didn't try to fill it. She didn't try to fill him.
Hinata widened her eyes. Her mouth rounded.
"Oh… It's getting late, I should have offered you… I've some… snacks and sake and-" she nervously carried on, cut-off sentences left hanging, as she made her way to the kitchen.
Gaara unclenched his jaw.
She opened her cupboard looking for glasses, speaking over her shoulder.
"Let me invite you," Gaara said, uneasy.
She froze.
"W-what?"
The cupboard closed in a soft thud, but her hand remained frozen mid-air.
She didn't know what to do.
He didn't know what to do.
Gaara looked over the kitchen island where he could see her from the living room. He looked at the console table. He felt trapped, and she wouldn't turn around. And his tattoo burnt under his fingers as he rubbed his forehead.
"You're not the only one who loses your nerves in front of a door unit," he managed to say, low.
"You heard me?" Hinata asked meekly and dropped quickly in a bow. "I apologize."
Gaara approached her, carefully, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He was boiling from the inside, but his skin felt moist and frozen. He stood awkwardly, his hip grazing the corner of the kitchen island.
"I'm not good…" he tried, and he tried again: "I'm not good with this sort of thing. That's why I left the flowers in front of your door, but I meant to ask." he looked at her, pleading. "Can I buy you dinner?"
"Now?" Hinata squeaked out, looked up at him, startled, before dropping her gaze back down.
His face stiffened, once more stoic.
"Hn. You have plans?"
"No!"
Hinata shook her head vigorously, taking a step forward. Her mouth worked. She stared hard at her kitchen tiles. She didn't take a second step.
"You can tell me no. I won't bother you anymore if you do," Gaara assured her, low.
"That's not it."
He stared back at her, patiently. She bit her lip, an arm in front of her. She couldn't cross the distance between them, even if she wanted to.
'Why would you like me?'
Hinata shook her head.
"Sometimes, it's hard knowing what are my thoughts and what are others'. Let me grab my purse. We can go to… wherever you want."
Gaara nodded once, then turned to her hallway. He grabbed his shoes.
"You changed your mind?" she faltered, hurt.
He blinked up at her.
"My wallet is at home. I'll be back."
At the restaurant, Hinata kept her hands pressed on her laps, to prevent herself from fidgeting. She had already replaced her chopsticks five times while Gaara was leafing through his menu. She didn't know what she expected, but Gaara had stridden in the restaurant, confidently, and asked for a private room like he was a regular here.
"You don't like it?" Gaara asked from behind his menu.
"No, I just..." Hinata bit her lip, her cheeks warming, when he looked up from his menu. "I didn't expect you to know this restaurant."
"Hn."
"My family comes here often," she admitted.
He pointed at the menu.
"You already know what you want, then?"
Caught off-guard, she reached for her glass of water, rather than admit that she always had the same thing.
"What do you do?" she asked instead with a small wavering voice.
"I'm a biologist. I study-"
"Plants!" Hinata cried out in surprise. She clasped her hands on her mouth, horrified by her reaction.
Gaara scratched his chest, laughing silently, before crossing his arms over his chest. He leaned back, his face oriented toward the door as it slid open over their gave their orders, and turned back toward each other, Hinata, meekly, Gaara, with an amused glint burning in his eyes.
"Botany is only a hobby of mine. I study parasites, mostly how they affect or interact with their hosts."
"I'm sorry," she murmured and bowed.
"I do spend a lot of time with plants."
"The hydrangeas... died," she admitted reluctantly.
"All cut flowers do."
"Of course." Hinata nodded, looking down at her hands.
"I'll give you a potted plant next time if you prefer them."
She sipped from her water again, unable to process the weight of his stare and the rising panic inside. Why was he still talking to her when she had embarrassed herself countless times in the last half-hour?
"What do you do?" Gaara asked smoothly.
Hinata glanced up. Her heart squeezed in her chest; he looked relaxed, untroubled, while she was a wreck.
The sliding door opened and the waitress brought them side dishes and a bottle of hot sake.
"I edit books," she said mutely, watching him, holding her breath, as he served her a glass of sake.
'Now, he'll be done. Now, he'll leave. I'm not as smart as him.'
"What kind of books?" he asked and picked with his chopsticks at the side dishes.
'I'm not as good as him.'
"Children's books," she said weakly, through blanching lips.
He stared at her, and there was nudge in her mind. And there was a tempest in her heart. She wouldn't blame him if he left, but she would blame herself.
'No. Stop.'
She should blame him if he left.
Her nails dug into her palms. Gaara was still looking at her.
"I should have noticed the books on your desk," he said simply.
The door slid open again, and Hinata startled, bracing herself as the waitress placed their dish in front of them.
"Earlier, when you said that you heard someone else's thoughts in your head… Whose is it?" Gaara asked.
Hinata looked up at him. Her face gleamed, stony, just as it had in the hallway when their neighbour was arguing with her. Gaara considered her more carefully. Her face looked almost vacant, her body tossed onto itself to take as little room as possible, but there was a fire there.
He thought of preys; how some of them played dead to be left alone.
"My father mostly," she said, low, and picked up her chopsticks.
Gaara nodded and picked up his own chopsticks.
"You should talk to your plants more," he said before starting to eat. "Words can be buried with words. Anything can be buried."
She lowered her chopsticks.
"You're nice."
Gaara stopped eating, frozen.
She flushed under his stare.
"Did I say something wrong?" she stammered and touched her face in a nervous gesture.
"No. Nothing wrong," he replied and continued eating.
Hinata ate, carefully watching him, as if he might vanished, and he did the same; watching her, as if she may take it back: 'You're nice'.
No one has ever told him he was nice before.
Yet, he had never felt as seen in his entire life.
At the end of the night, Gaara walked Hinata to her door.
"Good night, Hinata."
This time, she felt almost giddy when he said her name without honourifics. She licked her lips, nervously, fighting a smile, fighting herself.
"Good night, Gaara."
She bowed, her blush spreading from her neck to her cheeks. She had never said the name of a man without honourifics before.
He started to walk away.
"Wait," Hinata called out after him, and she could barely hear her voice above the pounding of her heart. "Can I… Can I kiss you?"
Gaara nodded sharply, watching her, steeling himself. He didn't move from where he stood. Hinata approached him before she could change her mind or lose her nerve. She stood on tip-toe and kissed his cheek.
"Thank you for dinner," she said low, feeling the heat radiating from his body.
She hurried back to her door, struggled with the lock, and stumbled in her apartment, all the while feeling his stare on her. She slid down against the door. She breathed fast and shallow, beating at her chest with her palm.
'Calm down. Calm down.'
She smiled.
She never thought her heart could be blunt and wild. Deafening.
The next day, Hinata returned home late, and there was a potted cactus in front of her door. She smiled. There was a page of instructions attached to the pot. In a couple of brief sentences, Gaara explained how and when to water the cactus, described ideal sun exposure and gave her a few tips for transplanting the plant after a few weeks if she wanted it to grow taller.
Hinata unlocked her door, one arm around the potted plant.
She removed her shoes and dropped her purse and workload in a corner of the hallway before transporting the plant to her kitchen table.
She touched her heated cheeks, still smiling, before she went to the bathroom to wash up. She only had one last round of editing before she needed to submit the final draft.
As she reemerged from the bathroom half an hour later, just as her cellphone rang.
She froze, all of her abruptly extinguished.
There was only one person who would call her after work.
Hinata reticently grabbed her phone from her purse. She stared at the caller ID and inhaled deeply, before accepting the call. Avoiding him would only make things worse.
"Hello, otou-san," she said in an even voice.
She knew he would make her repeat a 'proper greeting' if she stammered, or if her voice was too low. She had lost count of the number of times she had practiced inhaling sharply before saying: 'hello, otou-san.'
"Is it true?" her father replied, with clipped words.
Wildly, her eyes rolled over her living room, pausing on the glass door leading to her balcony before darting to her desk. From his tone of voice, she didn't know whether he was angry or not. She was usually prepared for all her interactions with her father.
"Well?" he prompted.
Hinata inhaled sharply, forcing the words out, one after the other: "What is true, otou-san?"
"You're dating the son of Sabaku Rasa."
Hinata blinked rapidly. She turned her head toward the wall she shared with Gaara. She bit her bottom lip.
"I'm not sure..."
She touched her lip, her skin growing colder.
"How do you mean you're unsure?" her father barked.
She touched her lips, her forehead, her neck, fidgeting too much.
"I didn't ask for his father's name," she said weakly.
"Speak properly! What's his name? Sabaku Gaara, yes?"
"Yes, but-" Hinata flushed, her phone digging in her ear, even if it trembled in her hand.
"Well, you may have been silly not making the connection, but you've finally done something right. Bring him home."
Her body grew rigid.
'You've finally done something right.'
"No."
It didn't cost her as much as she thought it would to tell him 'no', but it echoed within, bouncing back against each tongue. She felt her body stretched, growing tighter and tighter, until the pit of her stomach burnt enough to set her ablaze.
The realization jolted her upright: she was angry. She had never been angry with her father before.
She had felt abandoned, defeated, rejected, but never angry enough to tell him 'no'.
"Ah, yes, his schedule must be considered," her father now said. "Call me back with a date."
He hung up.
Hinata wiped at her face.
It was happening more and more often, that she would grow angry. Had she always been so loud, inside-out? How could there be so many little fires everywhere now when all she ever wanted was to be strong?
Hinata still felt possessed by her 'no' and her father's 'You've finally done something right' as she paced in front of his door unit. She shook her head, she stopped, then paced again for almost twenty minutes, before she turned, inhaled and knocked.
Gaara opened the door almost immediately. She felt her face burn as she realized he must have heard her.
She stepped back and bowed.
Gaara tilted his head to the side, considering her, before looking over her shoulder to the end of the hallway as if he was expecting someone there.
"What happened?" he asked when she wouldn't say anything.
"My father was informed that we've had dinner," Hinata replied, and stared down at her feet.
She didn't know how to arrange her chaotic thoughts into something coherent.
"Hn. He disapproves?"
She looked up at him, startled by the cool irony she heard in his voice.
"No."
"Why are you upset?"
'You've finally done something right.' After years of living in her younger sister's shadow and committing to changing herself, shouldn't she be thrilled that he was finally proud?
'No,' the word presented itself easily to her again.
"Can I come in?" Hinata asked, agitated.
Gaara nodded curtly and stepped back inside to let her enter.
"I'll make tea," he announced simply before walking to the kitchen.
Hinata shyly entered and removed her shoes.
"You can use the brown slippers. My sister usually uses them."
Hinata thanked him under her breath, intimidated by the notion that she was in his apartment for the first time, a man she may potentially be dating. This realization made her almost falter as she stepped inside.
The layout of his apartment mirrored hers.
Unlike hers, it was crowded and warm, with primarily dark furniture against pale accents. Potted plants and aquariums and terrariums rest spaced over wall shelves that lined his living room and dining room. She approached an aquarium above his buffet where she could see small glowing fish rotating in a coordinated circle.
"They are called neon tetra. They're from the Lightning Country," Gaara said from the kitchen. "A friend studied them."
Hinata yelped, caught in her snooping, before drawing back a chair to sit on. She pressed her hands to her laps.
"My father said I finally done something right in dating you," she said quickly and her nails dug in her palms. "He said I should bring you home."
His back tensed. He roughly opened a cupboard to retrieve two cups. Behind him the kettle whistled softly.
"I don't want to bring you home," she admitted, low.
Gaara turned to look at her.
"Not like this," she clarified, panic rising the more he stared. "If I do something right, it should be because I'm a good editor for a good publisher. Because I own my place. Because I'm…"
Kind? Weak.
Soft? Weak.
"Because I'm me," she finished weakly, shoulders dropping, and lowered her face. "Not because I'm... having dinner with you."
The kettle screamed, and Gaara unplugged it. He brought the teapot and the two cups to the kitchen table.
"I understand," Gaara said simply as he pushed a cup in front of her.
He sat in front of her and set a timer to two minutes. He placed it next to the teapot.
Hinata smiled, her eyes on the ticking timer.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He looked up at her.
"What for?"
Hinata laughed, uneasily, her hands already playing with the cup in front of her.
"Thank you for understanding."
He didn't reply at once, but the silence didn't intimidate her. When the timer rang, Gaara turned it off before he filled her, then his cup.
Hinata nodded her head in thanks, her cheeks warm.
"You never smother me."
Startled, she stared back at him.
"I don't talk a lot. I'm not particularly affectionate or open," Gaara stopped. His jaw stiffened, his lips set in a stern line. "But you never make demands from me," he continued, low, and his eyes burned through her. "You asked before kissing me. It's only right that I wouldn't make demands from you. It's only right that I would listen when you speak and try to understand you."
He gave her a small and brief smile.
Hinata wrapped her hands around her cup.
'My heart is loud, is yours?' she asked silently and blew the steam over her cup.
I might write a third part someday, but for now, I think I deserve my cookie and a short break, because this is 7k long. I have done my duty.
Hope you guys are all safe!
