PART III

THE FIRST SNOW came. His grandmother would've taken it as a sign for a grand plan. He'd be called into her quarters and she'd begin by sternly saying: "Shino, you must—"

Her voice never left. It continued to reside in the dust accumulated in the corners, the cold blinds of her windows shuttered close.

As Shino accepted condolences from some attendees trickling into the dim grand hall for the funeral rites, he glanced over the patio to see if Hinata had arrived—probably with Ten Ten and Ino, Chouji, Lee, and the rest. He'd also appreciate Naruto coming over. He exchanged funeral formalities with the father of the family newly arrived, excused himself, and headed to the kitchen.

The pot was already bubbling. Shino drained the beans. He tied a knot on his back which kept his kimono sleeves bunched behind him and added precise measures of sugar to the beans. After pouring sweet water into the pot, he set it to boil once again and when it was finally time, Shino stirred, the red beans now seeming soft enough. With a taste, he closed his eyes, the natural sweetness of beans intensified, easily melting in his tongue. It was the creme a la creme, the perfect zenzai red bean soup base in precise measured proportions. And his mochi, lightly charred in the grill, giving of the faint enabling aroma of mocha. No sweets shop in Konoha sold zenzai quite like this. None with such care and attention to detail.

"Young master, she's arrived. She awaits in the receiving room."

Shino nodded at the servant. He red bean soup into bowls, topping it with grilled mochi. As he threaded through the dark hallway from the kitchen to the receiving room, he heard Naruto laugh in the courtyard and Sakura hissing at him for sneaking in snow down her nape.

Reaching in front of the doorway, Shino took in another deep breath, squared his shoulders tensely holding up the tray, and pushed the door aside.

Entering into the candlelight, each step brought him closer to Hinata's scrutiny. He was conscious of her bewildered gaze following his every move as he set the bowls in front of them, his bare, pocked arms exposed to her.

While it was simply dressing up like everybody else, he was revealing to her a dimension of himself he couldn't accept for a long time, the real person who loved her all those years. When he was done placing the spoons, he put the tray beside him.

Then their eyes met, truly met. It was the first time, he realized, truly seeing the healthy blush of her cheeks and the piercing quality of her irises. Touched by candlelight, they were like pools of liquid gold.

"You look good," she said. Shino scratched his forehead to hide his embarrassment. He wasn't used to this kind of compliment.

Hinata's smile was gentle and coaxing, meaning to say more but said less so as not to force things out. She reached out to give his bigger hands a squeeze. "I'm happy to see you're doing well."

"I'm fine. We all had it coming. It was only a matter of time. I'm more glad she finally got to rest."

Then silence ensued. She didn't let go of his hand, her gaze searching his eyes, making small discoveries as though his details were dear.

Nervous, "I made zenzai," he said and lazily put his elbow up to nestle his chin trying to play casual.

She carefully cupped the bowl with her hands. "No way, you made this?!" She beckoned the steam to her. "This smells so good. Are you a genius, Shino kun?"

He simpered darkly. "You just knew?"

She spooned a mouthful, tasted, and her eyes grew wide. "Amazing. You sure can do anything."

More snow started to fall, the cold wind making the candles shimmy. Shino, though, was unexpectedly comfortable. This fondness was meditation. Her chewing, her small pleased hums, the soft shadows of her fanning lashes… Is it possible to feel this much happiness watching someone eat?

"You're not eating?" she asked.

"I made this for you. Here, have mine." He pushed his bowl towards her.

"Really?" she said, at once aglow, then mellowed by customary modesty. Though her eager stare was more honest—"Oh, b-but, you don't have to… I-I'm not a glutton—"

As if he didn't know of her bottomless stomach. That part of her never seem to change. Amusement tugged a corner of his lips. She was cute that way.

"You're not," he said.

"But if you insist—"

"Yeah. Eat up."

She took up his offer and in her reserved manner resumed with smaller bites, her hair tucked behind her ear.

There was often this illusion that lunches in the office pantry were spent in a humble dining room with a dim yellow light over a low table, and it was just the two of them in the comfort of their own home in some secluded part of the village, maybe in the woods away from everybody else. The the normalcy of it made Shino feel it could go on forever. And now he caught the sweet pain of it, once again, falling deeper.

With her head bowed, Hinata started to cry. "I-I'm sorry. I-it was so good, Shino kun. I couldn't help it. Zenzai is one of those simple comfort foods with no perfect version. That's why it's my favorite… Yours is the best for me. I wish I could eat this forever."

"No perfect version, you say." Shino laughed inwardly at himself. "Wish I was convinced sooner."

Delicately, he lifted her gaze to him and wiped her tears. She stepped by his side and gave him a hug, resting her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arms on her sides and slightly leaned into her, holding her; and knew with certainty he belonged there. He embraced her tighter, closed his eyes, and resigned himself to the balmy scent of her hair.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said patting his back for comfort, crying the tears he'd never shed in front of anybody.

"Hinata…" he whispered, feeling sapped out of energy, perfectly warm and comforted. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

"We've been friends for a long time, and…"

"Nnn…"

"Actually, Hinata… I…"

He subtly pushed her away so they'd see eye to eye. In her eyes danced countless possibilities that he felt gravid with so much warmth and sadness, his cheeks burning with intensity. And it took a lot of nerves pulling at the back of his head not to cry in front of her.

"I think you should go after him," he said.

Hinata turned somberly silent.

"Why should I go after him? He doesn't even care about himself."

For a while it was only the howling of the wind through the partly opened sliding door that made a sound.

"Why, you ask?" Shino's finger idly tapped on the table. Stopped. "Because you're in love with him."

Hinata rested her head on the table, crystal eyes looking up at him. She was breathtakingly lovely, so lovely that he ached, overcome by the overwhelming sense to ran his fingers through her hair. He conceded to gently patting her head and she closed her eyes, yielding to his comfort.

"In love?" Her voice cracked a little, more tears spilling out. "How would you know? What would you know about falling in love, Shino kun?"

"Maybe a small thing or two."

"Liar," she lowly whispered, "You've never fallen in love. But maybe you will, in the future… That man only makes me cry. Do you know he's fatally sick? Yet he wasn't finding cure. Naruto and Sakura don't even know he's sick. He didn't want them to know. He's just waiting to die… Maybe he's already dead."

Then she broke; at once, so frail.

"R-right now, I-I hate him... S-sometimes I think I'm being punished for what I did to K-Kiba."

"Kiba wasn't your fault. You did him a favor, actually… You might say these things now but you hate giving up the most."

She shook her head. "I can't force that man to want to live."

"But you can be his reason," said Shino.

"Someone's reason… " She sat up wiping her face. His caressing hand slid off her head. "What an awful burden…" she said. "How can you sound so sure? Like you know it yourself."

Before he could answer, one of the panels slid open and his cousin Saya went in to serve tea. She bowed to Hinata, said a few pleasantries, and left.

Hinata watched Saya go out the door.

"She's very beautiful," she said. "She's the one, isn't she? Your fiance…"

The funeral rites went without a hitch. They threw his grandmother's ashes up the Hokage mountain, spreading it out towards the coast. Fireflies appeared that night and they seemed so beautiful as though guiding the ashes upwards, somewhere, some better place.

For the first time in a long, long time, he bawled inside his grandmother's room with his hands over his mouth, choking the sounds he made. And he wasn't entirely sure if he was crying because the room was now empty or the fact that he couldn't even stand beside Hinata till the ceremony lasted.

A few days before her twentieth birthday, Hinata decided to leave for Sand. Shino was surprised when he received her message to meet on the docks.

As it was nearing New Years, passengers and peddlers crowded the platform. Large cargoes were being brought into the ships anchored by the pier. Salt and icy particles made Shino's nose burn and people trying to get through the planks pushed up against each other, heating the air.

Hinata sighed, blowing a cloud out of her mouth, a sheen of sweat on her temples. "I guess this is it. I'm happy you could see me off. I had to lie a bit to my father to make it this far, so no family…" she said wistfully as she adjusted her backpack. But she sparked renewal, her eyes firm with vigor. Shino could see she was truly happy in spite of uncertainties.

He waved his hand as the crammed throng swept her in and he could no longer see her.

Take care.

The ship's whistle blew, the planks withdrawn, until the space between land and the ship became apparent.

"Shino kun!" she called from up the ship's deck. She waved both of her hands when he looked over. Shino remained statued. As the ship slowly moved away, the whistle grew bolder, and his heart raced.

"Hinata!" he shouted back, "I love you!"

People waving by the docks threw him odd looks. Hinata wore a blank expression at first and then brightly smiled.

She waved and said: "Thank you! I love you, too! Neji nii would've told me the sa—"

Her smile waned. Shino stayed rooted on the spot, expectant and bright with shame. When she called out to him again, he turned away, snuck his nose into the collar of his jacket, and groveled through knots of people, not wanting to see her look apologetic, until he could no longer hear her calling out his name, washed by the sound of the waves.