Hinata leaned her head back on his chest slightly. She was still far too weak to stand for a prolonged period, and doing this task alone would be tiring, but she could help but smile at his lack of knowledge.
"I am not doing it right at all, am I?" Sasuke asked.
Hinata giggled.
They were tucked into the counter, Hinata encased in Sasuke's chest and arms, and she was guiding him in kneading dough, and yes, he was doing it wrong, and they were making a mess.
"Follow my hands." Hinata had her hand over his, guiding him, but he was making big puffs of flour go everywhere. She was sure she had it in her hair.
He slipped his hands back, setting them on her hips and barring his nose in her shoulder. "I'll buy you cinnamon rolls."
"I'm trying to make the ones you said I made for you." She giggled, and suddenly they were falling.
His arms curled around her tightly as they hit the floor, and she started to laugh as she hit his chest. "There's flour on the floor!"
She continued giggled as her husband scooped her up and set her on the flour-dusted counter. "What do you think?" He grinned.
She wiped the flour off his nose. "I think you should let me handle the dough-making in the future."
His smile only widened, and she pulled his face closer.
He didn't hesitate to take her lips, her finger tightened on the edges of his hair, and she felt something she had noticed before. Sasuke was genuinely attracted to her, so much so that he hadn't even thought when she moved toward him.
Hinata gasped for air pulling back. That's when she realized her mistake. She stared at him. He stared at her.
"I… didn't mean." He detached from her quickly and retreated back till his back hit the sink roughly.
"No, I … I did it." She admitted she hadn't thought about it. She just felt like she should. She felt tears. She was hurting him again. She shouldn't have.
"Hinata?" Sasuke asked, wiping her cheek though he only made a paste with her tears and the flour. "I don't mind. I miss you, and I won't reject you. I still want you every day, but I know I can't because I don't have that kind of permission anymore."
Hinata's heart clenched harder. He missed his wife, but she was right here. Why couldn't she just remember who she was before? "I'm sorry."
"Don't." He leaned down a little to give her a light, gentle kiss through her tears.
She responded with the same gentleness, but only more tears came at the pain she could feel through it.
"I think we need a bath." She let herself let out a sob-giggle.
"Your hair is nearly white." She giggled, wiping her tears, but she, too, just caked paste on her face.
"Yeah." He ruffled it to make a rain of flour come down. "And I need to clean the kitchen..." She giggled again. "Bath and I go get take out then?"
There were stories he was going to keep to himself. Sasuke would tease her about their previous intimacy. Still, he was never going to make her uncomfortable, honestly telling her about what happened on their wedding night or any night after that.
He would love her to know how truly attracted to her he was. Every piece of her. Sometimes it felt wrong knowing all of her when she had not yet again given him that permission.
He had made sure every inch of skin was loved, kissed, felt under his hands, and he knew what would make her squirm and what made her giggle. He would keep it all locked inside and only let out the steam with light kisses to her covered shoulder while she read. Her skin wasn't really what made him want her. It was the warm looks, the care she put into everything, the careful movement, her laugh. He needed to stop thinking about it.
It was hard when she would look at him with sleepy eyes and tousled hair not to attack her adorable face.
Sasuke sighed in frustration. He would wait until the end of time because he didn't need sex, no matter the frustration. He needed her.
"I hate this thing," Sasuke grumbled at her wheelchair.
"Sakura-chan said I won't need it much longer." She noted.
"I'd rather just carry you around town." He puffed.
She giggled. "I don't think so." Today they were going to go to town together. They had prepared themselves for the inevitable, she sat her little notebook in her lap for current reference, but she still didn't know everything. She would have to be careful about judging the situation.
Most people gave them the same looks Sasuke had described in his stories, disapproving or simply uninterested, and she was okay with that. However, the looks she didn't like was the sad looks she was getting like she was a broken hostage.
They were approached by a few 'friends.' Mostly, it was people she knew asking her how she was doing while ignoring Sasuke entirely. He just leaned on the back of the chair and looked uninterested, she tried to be kind or include him, but he barely said anything when she did. She respected the wish to be detached.
She tried to keep a smile on, but she was getting annoyed with the two ways people spoke to her. Either like she was made of glass and would handle any news and that they would 'tell her when she was better' or again like she was a hostage.
By the time they had gotten what they had needed, she was done with social interaction for a good week. She didn't want to see any more uncomfortable faces of people she remembered being kind. She buried her face into Sasuke's shoulder on the couch rather than reading the book he had got out. She understood why he had wanted to waste away in the house those years ago. Having everyone treat you a certain way like that was annoying and harassing.
"No more outings for a few days?" He asked with a smirk.
"No, more people." She whimpered.
His wife liked to hear about all the furniture that she made. She was intensely interested in his perspective on her work. Though mostly, he could only remember how cute she was hungover, trying to put something together or with paint on her nose, or when she stumbled her finger and let out a rare curse.
She lit up a little with every detail.
It was an odd experience explaining to someone their work. Sasuke hadn't much other than menial jobs like sanding and painting. He was sure he did some of those wrong. He purposely showed her any nicks in the wood he had caused. She merely giggled at his frustration. He had no problem having her laugh at his blunders. Just as long as she was laughing
Sasuke hummed at his sleeping wife, her hair falling out of its braid, her mouth slightly open, her loosely curled hand pressed to it. He remembered mornings like this with simply less clothing. Though her hair would have been everywhere, and her lips would be bruised, he got the same feeling.
Sasuke leaned down to kiss her shoulder and re-curl himself around her under the covers.
Though it was not at the top of his list, he hoped someday he would get to see her like that again. Covered in nothing more than love bites over old battle scars and sensitive patches of skin, hair tangled in all directions, looking at him with slightly played up frustration and clear attraction.
He would trade her comfort for his sexual frustration any day, but it didn't keep him from thinking about the way she made him feel, even just looking at her in the morning.
Sasuke heard his new wife squeak from the other room, followed by a loud crash and laughter. He wasn't sure if he should be concerned or not. He made his way from the living room into the bathroom to find her clothes soaked and covered in bubbles. "I think we need to get this fixed by someone who knows what they are doing." She giggled at the old washing machine that they had collected from another property in the compound.
"You're not going to just let me buy a new one?" He groaned, helping her up.
"I'm not giving up on it." She giggled as she effectively pulled him down into the suds lining the floor rather than being pulled up.
"Well, now we both need a bath."
After their 'honeymoon,' Hinata still had missions, which left him with a lot of time on his hands between times she was home. There was only so much housework he could honestly do, and he knew if she knew that he spent all of his time training, she would be upset. So he took a leaf out of her book and developed hobbies.
Was he good at any of them? No.
Were they at all productive? No.
Did they make her giggle to watch him try? Yes.
Did that make it worth it? Yes.
Sasuke tried cooking. Obviously, he failed. He tried gardening, but he couldn't tell them apart.
He tried poetry, which was quite possibly the thing she laughed the hardest at. He couldn't rhyme or make anything that sounded anything other than angst and foreboding.
He tried artwork. NO.
Sasuke annoyingly settled for research. He found that it was the least irritating because he could pass hours learning about something. He spent so much time in the Hokage building's library while she was gone, it became normal for those who knew her to briefly ask him when she would be back when they saw him there.
The biggest issue with this hobby was that people knew where to find him when they wanted him, specifically annoying blonds who still wanted him to go on missions. He promised his wife that he would keep out of trouble, so he largely ignored him or picked up the books he was allowed to remove from the building and leave.
Hinata always looked so proud when she came back with questions about what he had done. After missions, she would bathe and then sit in the living room curled around her knees, listening to him talk until her thick hair was nearly dry.
Hinata smiled and yawned but never interrupted more than to ask a question. The bookshelf in the living room became full of books she would bring back from missions for him to discover new topics.
Hinata looked at the bookshelf. She really hadn't thought about its contents or even acknowledged it much, mostly because the books weren't something she would read. All the books she would be interested in were in the bedroom. She glanced over the spines while her husband watched her. They were all bearly related, some on history, anthropology, blood limits, species, seals, different techniques, and on and on.
"I've read all of those," Sasuke explained. "Except the one you had in your bag when you got back." She watched him as he pointed to the book sitting on top of the bookshelf untouched by the dust.
"Why not?" Hinata wondered.
"I read them when you go away. So I'm happy if I never have to read it." He said, honestly running a hand through the back of his head, sending his messy hair in all directions.
She didn't know if to be touched or sad.
Hinata had that feeling a lot. What he told her about their time together was touching. He truly cared, and from what she could tell, she had to, but it was all soured by the fact she could only know what he told her, she couldn't recall any of it, and it made him sad.