project: Fifty Days
disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
dedication: Dedicated to all my fans. To the new DeviantArt SasuHina fanclubs I've found, as well.
chapter: 19/5o
summary: "In fifty days, Uchiha Sasuke will be executed." For fifty days, she will visit him. For fifty days, he will fall steadily in love.
notes1:
Gosh, it takes me so long to actually write these chapters, it's unbelievable. There's a couple of things I have to say really quickly; the first of which is that Tag, for around a month, is going to be on hiatus. I'm going to be writing mostly for Fifty Days in that time — I want to get to at least chapter twenty-five before I start uploading more Tag chapters. I'll still be writing for it, though, just not uploading anything.
That being said, I'm going to start uploading the one-shot collection — which will be named Intangible, I think — at the beginning of May; I'll be aiming to update at least once each week, maybe more, and the chapter lengths will range. I'm going to put an explanation on my profile about that, so I'll stop chatting about that. And, last but not least, those of you who offered to take a look at some of my SasuHina ideas — I know it's taken me a while to get in contact with you, but I'll drop you a PM by the end of this week.
Thank you & enjoy this new chapter!
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Hinata didn't often stay awake for long enough to see the moon at night, but now she was watching it closely. Her body felt electric — she was alert, her hands pressed firmly in her lap, eyes wide and glassy; above her, the moon hung silently, staring back down at her, a single, shining orb. Bright and white, it lit the midnight sky — a sky stained black, dotted here and there with blinking stars. There was a cold, brisk wind blowing, but she didn't really feel it; she was still dressed in the clothes she had worn yesterday, and was basking in a pleasant warmth — a warmth she was certain would be shattered at the slightest of moments.
Absently, she glanced around her, taking in her surroundings — the walls were pure white, matching the floor and ceiling. Even the chair she was perched on was white; she had moved it away from the bed, into one of the corners — she hadn't wanted to startle her cousin when he finally woke up. She wanted to be there for him, yes, but she didn't deserve to sit by his side.
That seat was reserved for someone else.
She closed her eyes, pressing a hand against her forehead. The last time she had seen Neji so vulnerable, so pale, had been years ago, when they were younger — the Chunnin exams had ended, and she had been in and out of hospital herself. Even back then, she had never quite gotten used to the smell — the scent of metal and plastic, sweetened by the sickly stench of disinfectants. Her father had booked her a private room, but she had never quite gotten used to hearing the groans, the footsteps, the moans as she tried to sleep — she remembered an old man had stared at her, sat in his wheelchair, dressed in a pale green robe. He had been coughing, a terrible hacking sound that filled the night, making her toss and turn as she tried to sleep; then, one night, the coughing had simply stopped.
She didn't see the old man again.
No, the last time she had been to a hospital, she'd been visiting Neji. With a bitter smile, she remembered it was the very same mission she had thought of days earlier; the mission in which he had chased after Sasuke, and had very nearly died doing so. She remembered he had looked so frail, so sickly, that, despite the fact they hadn't been all that close, she had stayed awake all night, sat outside his room, waiting patiently for him to wake. She had fallen asleep long before then, but her cousin remembered it; he had told her so on occasion, smiling fondly at her and ruffling her hair.
Looking at him now, she thought he looked much the same as he had back then. Tucked beneath crisp white sheets, he looked smaller — not for the first time in her life, she realised her cousin could be broken. No matter how strong he seemed, it only took one person stronger than him to fully snap him — and there he lay, looking well and truly broken. His skin was pale, his dark hair framing his face and only making his features look whiter and whiter. He was sleeping peacefully, she would have said, had it not been for the fine beads of sweat glistening upon his forehead and the way his lips pulled downwards in a grimace.
She let out a little sigh.
She didn't like seeing her cousin vulnerable like this. It had hurt earlier, seeing her best friend bloodied and torn — Kiba had let out a whimper when the doctors had touched him, and that noise had made her feel sick to her stomach. He had slept fitfully, bandaged and bruised; Akamaru had stayed by his side and, sat beside Kiba's bed, the dog had been a little bit of comfort, of warmth and normality, before heading back to her cousin's room. Out of the three, Tenten had been the easiest for the doctor's to heal. While her ribs were cracked, and she had lost an amount of blood, it was a relatively simple procedure and, while it still hurt for her to move extensively, her ribs had been easily fixed back into place.
Now, Tenten was the one lying beside Neji's bed, fast asleep, half-sprawled across the bed in a position which couldn't be comfortable at all — she was clutching the blanket with one fist, her other hand placed lightly on top of Neji's. Her breathing was soft and steady as she slept, but her brow was furrowed ever so slightly.
Hinata sat where she was and watched them for a moment; the guilt that had overwhelmed her the day before was slowly beginning to ebb away. She still felt it, ever so slightly, creeping at her mind — but it had almost entirely vanished now. After taking Tenten and Kiba to the hospital, she had felt some sort of relief — after seeing Neji turn up an hour or so later, relief had washed over her in waves, and she'd felt almost giddy with happiness. The guilt had begun to fade away then — partly because she was certain her cousin would think her ridiculous for harbouring such feelings. Her head was clearer now.
But every time she thought of the letter, of his neat, cursive handwriting, and every time she saw how vulnerable and pale he was, guilt gripped at her heart with an iron hold.
Another little sigh left her lips, and she stood up, crossing over to the window. She opened them, leaning against the windowsill and staring out at the darkness — she heaved a heavy sigh this time, strands of dark hair billowing about her face as she did so. A cool breeze ruffled her jacket. She opened her mouth to sigh again, when a voice cut across her.
"Don't."
Hinata blinked, startled — she turned almost instantly, barely able to stop the smile from splitting across her face. She crossed the room so quickly it surprised even her, and threw her arms around her cousin, momentarily unaware of his cuts and bruises and bandages. He grimaced, but raised his free hand anyway, patting her back awkwardly. When she pulled away, his features were gentle but firm; his voice, in contrast, was startlingly weak — weary and a little bit sad. She knelt by his bed, one hand pressed against his forehead — it was clammy and hot. He brushed her hand away.
"Go home, Hinata."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he shushed her.
"You're tired," he murmured, this time ignoring her hand, as she brushed strands of hair from his face. "I'm tired. Neither of us should be awake right now, but with you stood breathing over my shoulder, I can't sleep."
He chuckled good-naturedly, teasing her before closing his eyes — she smiled awkwardly, sheepishly, and traced her fingers across his forehead, before letting her hand drop. That guilt threatened to overwhelm her again, and she felt tears prick at her eyes, red-hot and dangerous; she wiped them away before they could fall, before he opened his eyes and asked what was wrong. She didn't want to answer any questions right now. Absently, she wondered if maybe she should go home. Looking over at Tenten, she was certain Neji was in more than capable hands — at that thought, she felt a smirk tug at the corners of her lips, and she had to resist the urge to tease her cousin.
She realised he was looking at her suspiciously, an eyebrow raised — she flapped a hand at him, he smiled at her, and, as quickly as that, the guilt — the tears — the sadness…
It all disappeared.
Her cousin was back.
He was safe.
That, really, was all that mattered. There was no use in her brooding in the past, regretting her every action and wishing things had been different; she wasn't that sort of person, not anymore — or, at least, she tried not to be. So many people had taught her that. Naruto — he had always looked forwards, a smile plastered across his face because that was what he had to do. Neji — he had adjusted, he had changed his views, he had defied the idea of fate which had snared him once before.
And now her.
She stood up, a small smile flickering across her face; as she did so, she reached over, tucking Neji's hair behind his ear. He frowned up at her; for a moment, she was reminded of the Neji from before — from her childhood —, with his hair tucked behind his ears and a shadow of the pout he used to wear plastered across his face. She did giggle then, pressing her hand against her mouth. Neji eyed her suspiciously once again, "…what are you laughing at?"
"You," Hinata replied, before chuckling at his indignant expression. "I was just thinking about how young you look with your hair like that."
Instantly, his hand moved to his hair, almost self-consciously. It was such a human action, such a natural response, that, for a moment, Hinata felt a lump fly to her throat. She watched as he ruffled his hair, strands slipping back in front of his face — she couldn't help but admire briefly how smooth his hair always was. How neat it seemed.
She smiled.
Reaching over, she placed a light kiss against his forehead. "I'm think I'm going to take your advice — after all, there's no need for me to be here anymore."
She crossed the room, lingering in the doorway — nodding back at Tenten, she grinned.
"After all, it looks like you have your own guardian angel looking after you."
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Neji blinked after his cousin, an expression of confusion briefly settling over his face as he listened to her footsteps disappear down the hallway; then his gaze flickered across to Tenten, and his features softened. She was breathing lightly. She didn't look as pale as he'd last seen her — apart from a dark purple bruise on her forehead, she looked okay. Peaceful, at least. He was glad she was alright; absently, he thought it had all been worth it just to see her lying there, almost as good as new.
He sighed, ran his hand across his forehead, and said, "You should go home, too."
He might have imagined it, but he was certain she was smiling.
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Hinata wrapped her arms around her chest, gazing around as she walked through the silent streets of Konoha — it surprised her that she'd never truly walked around her home town at night. Everything was so quiet and so still, that she could stop and really look — the stars seemed all the brighter when she was staring at them on her own, and the wind seemed sad, whispering at her ear and tugging her hair. Childish, really. She shrugged a shoulder and continued walking, letting herself slip into her thoughts.
She was thinking of yesterday.
She'd been thinking about it for quite a while, really — it was always, aside from her actual cousin, the first thing on her thoughts. It had been so terrible; there had been a burning sense of loss, of guilt, and she remembered her heart had ached in her chest, thumping so frantically she was afraid it might burst. She remembered that she'd felt almost as though she were giving up, by turning and walking back to the hospital with Tenten and Kiba; she had felt as though she were stopping. She had thought Neji was dead.
This must be how he feels.
The thought was strange. For a moment, she was quite unsure of who she were thinking about — but, with a jolt, realisation overwhelmed her, and her eyes widened ever so slightly. Sasuke. Yesterday, she had, without truly meaning to, given up on Neji — she hadn't done it purposefully, but a small, nagging part of her mind had kept whispering, "What if he's dead?" and, despite her attempts to ignore it, she had begun to think as if he were dead. She'd been heartbroken — it had felt as if there were a pit in her stomach, and she were sinking slowly in on herself, the reality around her collapsing as despair overwhelmed her.
And then Neji had been found, and he'd been alive.
It had been like waking up from a dream. She saw his face, and saw that he was very much alive, even if he was beaten and bruised and broken — and as much as it hurt to see him in such a state, a feeling of elation had passed through her nonetheless. Because he was alive. And that pit, that despair, seemed to vanish entirely, resurfacing only occasionally. He was alive, though, and that was all that mattered.
That was something Sasuke had never gotten. When his parents had died, his entire world had collapsed, and there had been no way of waking up from that — they hadn't suddenly all sat up, laughed and smiled and said the whole thing was a joke. Unlike Neji, they had been truly dead. That pit she had briefly felt, for a few horrible, terrible moments — that pit was always there for Sasuke. She had begun to slightly understand it, and now she knew.
It had been awful.
Absently, she realised she was nearing her home. All of the windows were dark, bar two — the first of which was Hanabi's room, she thought. Her little sister had probably stayed up for a while, waiting for news of Neji's condition, and had no doubt fallen asleep with her light on — she'd never been able to stay up for too late, but made up for that by being able to wake up instantly. The moment Hinata put her foot through the door, her sister would be by her side, no doubt, hassling her for news of Neji.
The next light surprised her — it belonged to her father's study, which therefore probably meant her father was still awake. No one else ever went in his study. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in there, but she remembered being severely scolded afterwards; she must have been young, then. She wondered why he was awake; it was possible he was worried about Neji, that was true, but the idea had never really occurred to her. She supposed it was likely. She'd never really thought about Neji and Hiashi as being a nephew and an uncle — she had always seen them as equals.
Men, really.
Nephew made Neji sound like a little boy.
For some reason, she realised she was walking away from her house; skirting past one wall and continuing on around it, taking the long way back round. For a little while, she was unsure of where she was walking to — her feet just moved one after the other, and she was too busy gazing up at the stars to really care. She was lost, trapped, in her own thoughts. She recognised Naruto's flat — the lights were on, she thought, and he must have just been returning from his mission; he had, after all, been the one to return Neji to her, and she thought briefly about going inside and thanking him again.
Really, she was certain she'd thanked him enough — she'd stuttered and stammered it over and over again, tears glistening in her eyes, and, frankly, he'd looked a bit frightened. He'd held his hands out in defence, blinked, and then scratched the back of his neck, all the while chuckling sheepishly.
"It was no problem," he'd said. "He's my friend, after all — it was the least I could do."
She should have known, after all — he was Naruto, after all. There was no way he'd have said no — no way he'd have left without finding Neji. And she could see he was putting on a brave face, anyway — despite her joy at him having found Neji, he hadn't found someone even dearer to him, but he'd still bravely masked his sadness. Kakashi hadn't been found with Neji, nor with Tenten and Kiba — he hadn't been found anywhere near them. In fact, he hadn't been found at all.
He was presumed missing or worse.
She continued walking, arms still wrapped around her body; it was so dark, and she swore it had gotten colder. Perhaps, as her thoughts had gotten darker, so had the night around her — it was oddly poetic. It sounded beautiful to her, though, in a melancholy way. Her arms fell to her side, as she gazed around her, taking in her surroundings — she recognised it all. With a blink, she realised she was walking towards the prison — towards Sasuke. It was probably two o' clock, maybe a little bit later — she wondered if she'd even be able to get in to see him. She was almost there, however — it was worth a shot.
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For once in his life, Sasuke's dreams were peaceful.
Usually, he dreamt of nothing — nothing, really, or everything. Sometimes, his dreams were fitful, borderline nightmares, and he would toss and turn, skin pale as beads of sweat broke out upon his forehead. He'd see people with painted faces and bloody smiles — his brother stood in a pool of crimson, a sword gleaming white in the sunlight — and, sometimes, he would see his self. He was usually younger, around six or seven, and he was always cowering — afraid and weak and pathetic. He sometimes dreamt of Naruto, of Sakura, of Kakashi; they were always smiling. Watching him. Sometimes, they became smaller and smaller, and he could only see their backs. Sometimes, their faces were grey with death.
Recently, someone else had been disturbing his dreams — a figure he never quite caught sight of; she was female, he was certain of that. Dressed in a flowing white dress, she danced ahead of him — out of reach, never quite in sight. He couldn't distinguish any of her features, but he was quite certain she was beautiful — tall and willowy, with glossy dark hair that fell down her back like tendrils of ink.
He was dreaming of her now.
The surroundings were always different. Sometimes, he was stood within the centre of Konoha; he recognised the ramen stands and shops, the market hidden just out of view. He recognised a few of the faces, his memory making them timeless; they would always look the same to him as they had done when he was eleven. He hadn't seen them since. Sometimes, he was sat upon the rooftop of an old, unknown building — a building he remembered his brother describing to him once, when he was younger. He would sit on the rooftop and gaze down at the girl — woman, he corrected — below him.
Sometimes — such as his current dream —, he was in a beautiful forest; the leaves were emerald, such a wonderful shade of green they seemed to shine like jewels. He could hear birdsong, sickeningly sweet, in the branches above him — the sky was bright blue, the sun hot upon his back, and he could hear the sound of rushing water. It was a patch of forest he remembered greatly from his travels with Team Hebi; they'd stopped to rest there once, after coming across a waterfall. He remembered Karin, no shame whatsoever, had stripped down to her undergarments, jumping into the water before flinging those back at him as well — Suigetsu, never one to be outmatched, had followed suit. He'd sat on the bank with Juugo and shared conversation, watching as his other two teammates — begrudging friends, perhaps — argued with each other, splashing in the water.
It had been beautiful then, and it was all the more beautiful now. Now, he wasn't gazing at Karin's body, attempting to ignore the way the water glistened in the light off pale flesh — now, he was gazing at a dancing woman, elegant in every way, dress clinging to her body as she swayed in the water.
He always watched her.
He was transfixed.
It was a dream he was always pleased to have, and never really wished to wake from; it wasn't that she was particularly beautiful. Sasuke had never really been a womaniser; he'd never really looked at any kunoichi in a romantic light. They were either friends or associates. Never anything… more. It wasn't that he was naive to that notion; he'd had his fair share of crushes, the first being when he was much younger and he had seen his brother training with an older woman. Curly black hair tied back into a bun, he'd thought she was beautiful, as she threw her kunai with deadly precision — not quite as good as his brother, he remembered, but pretty good nonetheless. He'd grown up. When he was eleven, he'd met that woman again at the Chunnin exams; she'd been the sensei of another team then — her name was Kurenai, and she'd still been quite attractive then. So no, Sasuke wasn't one to shy away from attractive women — he attracted them quite often, he thought, thinking of Karin.
But this woman…
This mysterious, dancing woman…
She was attractive, yes, but it wasn't that which made him wish to dream of her. There was a certain familiarity about her — he knew who she was, he just knew it, and yet he never got close enough to see her. Instead, the thought just nagged at his mind, even after the dream ended.
He knew who she was.
Every time he had the dream, he felt as if he were one step closer to revealing her name — to grasping her shoulder, turning her, and staring straight at her face. He was certain he would recognise her. Almost as soon as the thought struck him, he felt himself take a step forwards; instantly, it was as if he were stood right in front of her, an arm outstretched. He could see her chest rise and fall as she danced, see the pale of her skin shine wet in the sunlight, smell the slight scent of lilac and mint—
"Sasuke."
And then she was gone.
And he was waking up.
He blinked blearily, as the person repeated his name again — softly, a whisper, as if they didn't really want to disturb him. He wanted to rub his eyes and stretch, but the bonds restraining him meant he couldn't move at all; instead, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and then gazed at his visitor.
"…Hinata," he raised an eyebrow.
This was surprising, he was willing to admit. Glancing about the room, he noticed the ANBU had already left — he wondered, briefly, what the time was. He was well aware of the fact that they slept; normally, they took it in turns. He'd seen them do it on occasion, but usually they timed their breaks to the same time he slept — and, usually, when he was asleep, it was late at night. Sometimes he found himself falling asleep not long after Hinata left, or perhaps an hour before she arrived. Her visits, really, were how he judged the time of day.
But now…
"What time is it?"
She raised an eyebrow. "About… three o' clock, maybe."
His brow furrowed, "How long have you been here for?"
She turned a pretty shade of pink then, obviously embarrassed. "I, ah… I arrived about t—twenty minutes ago. You looked so peaceful, I d—didn't want to wake you; and… and it was nice seeing you like that, I s—suppose. I just wanted to w—watch for a little while." She buried her head in her hands and let out a low groan. "That… that sounded so c—creepy, didn't it?"
He chuckled softly — the chuckles turned into a long yawn, and his eyes screwed up, brow wrinkling as his mouth widened. When he opened his eyes again, Hinata was bright red; tomato-red, he thought, and he grinned.
"Just a little, yeah."
She groaned again.
He let out another amused laugh, and then settled for just watching her; he felt he was at least owed a few moments of silence. Her clothes were wrinkled, ruffled, as if she'd slept in them — her hair hadn't been brushed, he thought; perhaps she'd tugged her fingers through the knotted strands briefly, but there were still visible tangles and kinks in otherwise smooth, dark hair. No doubt this was how she looked when she woke up each morning — stretching and yawning, he imagined, in a night dress of some sort. She looked as if she were the type to wear a night dress.
He blinked.
…why was he thinking of what she wore to sleep? It was as if his mind had sprung along some stepping stones and, midway along, he had slipped and fallen into the realm of the unknown. He blinked again, attempting to vanquish the thought. Instead, he traced the contours of her face with his eyes — she was becoming more and more familiar to him, to the point where he knew every curve, every dip, every line of her features. For some reason, something nagged at his mind then, but he banished it. He wasn't going to allow himself to be distracted.
He liked these periods of silence with her; they felt safe. They felt okay. He knew she was content with the silence as well, because she'd often look back at him, or gaze down at her feet, thinking of other things. At the moment, she was staring down at her feet.
"…what's with this," Sasuke asked, and if he'd had a hand to flap, he would have flapped it. "What's with the early visit?"
"I was—"
She fell silent.
He waited a moment for her to gather up her words; she looked as if she wanted to tell him something important, but she wasn't sure what. He would wait patiently for her to be ready, as he always did — there was no point in snapping at her. After all, she was visiting him out of the goodness of her heart — and no doubt out of some stupid secret promise to Naruto, or something equally as ridiculous —, and he didn't want her to have a change of mind.
Finally, she looked at him.
"Yesterday, a team of shinobi were sent out after my — my c—cousin, Neji," she began, staring fixedly down at her hands. "That's where I went running off to. They hadn't found him t—then, but I was worried anyway. I kept seeing all these… all these things, which just reminded me of h—him. And I…"
She sniffed.
"Anyway, I found his teammates — they w—were hurt, but… but okay. We got them to s—safety. For a while, I thought Neji was dead; I thought I'd never see him again, and it just… it hurt. It hurt so badly, I felt as if my w—world were splitting in two. And… And when he turned up, when they found him, I was so relieved, I burst into tears right then and there. I thought — I know it'll sound stupid, and silly, and ridiculous to you, but I thought I understood you, for a little while. When I thought Neji was gone forever, I thought I…"
Hinata trailed off. She looked apologetic, he thought; he blinked down at her, raising an eyebrow, and thought. She'd described it as if her world were splitting in two — it had never felt all that neat, all that clean, to him; not when he'd seen his parents lying in pools of their own blood. Not when he'd slain his own brother and passed out in the dirt beside him, their blood mingling in the pouring rain.
It had never felt that clean — it was controlled chaos.
But he understood why she was telling him — she thought she'd understood. She'd tasted a little of how he felt each and every day, and she was saying she'd thought she'd understood. Looking at her face, he knew she knew she'd never understand — it wasn't something a small taster could help a person comprehend. You couldn't try a little bit of the dinner to judge the whole meal — you had to eat it all, drink the red wine with it, finish your pudding and then dance your merry little way to Hell.
Then maybe you'd understand, he thought. Just maybe.
Still, he understood — she'd wanted to tell him, because she knew she would never understand; but she wanted to try. She was the type of person who always wanted to try; she was like Naruto, he thought. She had eyes like his. Determined to the point of stubbornness, but gentler. Less like a ox, he thought, and possibly just a goat — although he wasn't all that certain as to how stubborn a goat was.
He offered her a lopsided smile. "You think too much."
Just like that, her expression changed from apologetic anxiety to happiness; a grin split across her face, but he could see the slight bit of relief which shone in her eyes. She had thought he might not understand, that he might grow annoyed with her — then, almost as quickly as it appeared, the happiness flew from her face, and she bit her lip.
"What," he raised an eyebrow, "More news?"
She nodded slowly.
He felt a headache coming on — absently, he wished he were back in his dream, watching that beautiful girl — woman — dance. Still, he waited for her to continue, nodding his head once to urge her on.
"Kakashi's missing."
He wasn't entirely sure what to feel about that statement. It confused him — and, yet, something like worry grasped his heart, and his brow furrowed. The idea of Kakashi being missing — that was fundamentally wrong. The Kakashi he'd known had been too strong; he'd been a mentor, a guiding figure, and the fact that he'd failed miserably in his request to set Sasuke down the good guy path meant nothing. He'd still spent time with him, training with him — back then, he would have been able to say that, out of Team 7, he was the one who knew Kakashi best.
Now…
Well, he couldn't be sure.
"What do you mean missing?" He wasn't entirely sure why he asked the question, as he knew exactly what Hinata meant; his mind knew exactly what missing meant, in context with any shinobi, but, despite his rational, logical personality, he couldn't quite comprehend it.
"He… he was on the same mission as Neji," Hinata explained, pressing her index fingers together as she spoke, nervousness written across her features. "They were all p—pretty badly hurt. Kakashi, however… He — he wasn't found anywhere near the others; he wasn't found at all. He's still missing n—now, but nothing says he isn't alive. They're looking for him; the ANBU, I mean. They're… they're l—looking."
That could mean everything or it could mean nothing, depending on whether Kakashi was alive or not. If it were the latter, it would depend on the killer; did the killer plan on disposing of the body or ripping that stolen sharingan from his face? The idea of that happening was almost too much; it made him feel physically sick. He was certain, when he'd left Konoha, when he'd attacked Naruto, all those years ago, that he'd severed all ties with that life; with his old team.
Now Hinata was bringing them all back.
He should have seen it coming, he supposed. She was still so deeply involved with the life he'd left behind, and now she was becoming a deeper and deeper aspect of his current life. She was like a tree, planting her roots deep within him — it almost felt as if she were becoming a part of him, unlocking each and every one of his doors until there were nothing left to explore. He wondered, when that happened, how he would feel. What would happen? He abandoned the thought — it mattered very little, he decided, but he could feel it trapped at the back of his mind, waiting to resurface at any moment — and thought of Kakashi.
"Sasuke, are you… are you alright?"
He shrugged. "I'll be fine," he murmured, and then, more to himself than her, he said, "I'm no longer a part of that life, anyway. It doesn't concern me."
She opened her mouth to speak, but something in his eyes must have told her not to talk about it, because she closed it again instantly. She simply looked at him, the concern evident in her eyes — then, startling both him and her, she yawned widely, stretching and arching her back. He realised then that she looked quite tired; her eyes were too wide, as if she were forcing herself to stay alert, and there were bags beneath them.
"…you look like Hell," he stated.
She smiled wearily. "Thank you for that c—compliment."
"Seriously," he raised an eyebrow. "You ought to go home and sleep."
She stared at him then. Her eyes were abnormally pale, he decided — they looked like moonlight, wide and knowing. With her lips pursed together, she simply gazed at him; a minute passed, and then she sighed.
"I'll stay here for a moment longer."
"Do as you wish," he murmured, but he felt something like relief settle over him. He watched as she settled down more comfortably, relaxing in her chair; she pulled her feet up underneath her, curling up like a cat. He watched silently. She laid her head in her hands, closed her eyes for just a few moments, and didn't open them again; he blinked, raised an eyebrow. When her chest began to rise and fall slowly, evenly, and her breathing became soft, calm and collected, he felt himself chuckle.
She'd fallen asleep.
Watching her, he understood vaguely why she'd said it was nice watching him sleep. While he couldn't say the same for himself, there was something oddly reassuring about a person sleeping — about Hinata sleeping. Her face was so calm; it was as blank as a canvas, and yet so vivid. Every twitch of her brow, every small distant smile, and he could almost imagine he knew what she were thinking of. It was quite nice to watch, he wasn't going to lie; absently, he felt himself mirroring Hinata's words, wondering if he were a bit creepy. He decided that it didn't matter — that, either way, he didn't care.
Her hair spilled across her face. He felt the urge to reach out and touch it, to brush it away, but, in his bonds, he knew he couldn't. Instead, he simply tilted his head, gazing at her. When she shifted, he felt himself turn red — he felt as if he were intruding on a private moment. His cheeks were heating up something awful; he would have crossed his fingers to hope she wouldn't wake up then, and so he closed his eyes firmly. He didn't need to see her. If he couldn't see her, he wouldn't feel so… so forgiven.
So welcome.
It frightened him a little bit.
But, he thought, she had always frightened him a little bit — and that was his last thought, as he too fell into the depths of sleep and back into the world of the dancing, beautiful woman.
.
.
Hinata woke up before Sasuke. Her back hurt and her neck ached, but she arched and stretched nonetheless, blinking around her — the room was still so dim, and it didn't take her long to get used to the light. There was only one ANBU member stood in the room — the female one, she thought, wearing the mask of the bear. When Hinata shifted, so did the ANBU member, turning to look at her.
"…do you eat?" She asked, blinking — the question was one born of sleep depravity, she thought, and she resisted the urge to yawn again. She had, after all, stayed up all night — she wasn't one to do that; she enjoyed her sleep far too much.
"Occasionally," Bear-mask's voice sounded amused, "Although, I only dine on raw meat."
Hinata's eyes widened.
She was certain she'd never heard the ANBU speak before, let alone heard them joke.
"I'm joking," Bear-mask murmured, a chuckle escaping her lips. "And you, Hyuuga Hinata, are not where you are supposed to be. You ought to run home. Your father, undoubtedly, would be worried."
Hinata bit her lip, gazing first at the doorway and then at the sleeping Sasuke. She wanted to wish him a good morning; she wanted him to blink blearily at her, like he did the night before. He had looked so vulnerable then.
"He's not going to go anywhere," Bear-mask interrupted her thoughts. "Go and tell your father you're alive, little girl. He will be worried."
"Ah — ah, o—okay!"
With that, Hinata sprung from where she was sat, dusting herself down. She crossed the room, pausing to bow her thanks to Bear-mask; the other looked vaguely bemused behind her mask, but flapped a hand, gesturing her away. That was the only movement Hinata had seen her make, throughout the entire exchange. Then, lingering in the doorway, she turned and glanced back over her shoulder — she was certain she saw Sasuke's eyelids flicker, and she offered him a little grin.
"Good morning, Sasuke."
And, with that, she was gone.
.
.
Mayu waited a moment, listening to the girl's footsteps disappear, before facing forwards again. She peered at Sasuke from behind her mask, an eyebrow raised; when she'd found out the S-rank criminal she would have to guard was Uchiha Sasuke, she had taken the job instantly. She had known his brother; despite being a good few years older than him, he'd risen to ANBU almost instantly, while she had had to claw her way into a position. She had been intrigued to see how his brother had turned out.
Every single bit like Itachi, she thought. She'd heard Sasuke hated his brother — perhaps he hated him because they were so similar. Itachi had been a coward around women, too, despite his pretty face.
"You can open your eyes, now," she spoke.
Almost instantly, his eyelids flickered open and he fixed her with a stare. There was silence for a moment, and then he finally looked away, something like a sulk slipping across his features. "How did you know?"
"I've been watching," she replied. "You were awake over an hour ago."
"Yeah, I guess I was."
He closed his eyes then, ending the conversation. His brother had been like that too — a touch of rudeness, a smudge of arrogance, but it was all forgiven because… because he was Uchiha Itachi. Because this was Uchiha Sasuke. They were forgiven because they were people who just were forgiven; there was no other reason for it. So when Sasuke closed his eyes, ending the conversation, Mayu didn't protest — instead, she simply stared ahead. She would never tell Ibiki, but she was very much against the idea of Hinata visiting Sasuke.
Despite being ANBU, she was a fairytale sort of girl. A romantic at heart. While she'd killed as many women and children as she had men, there was nothing she liked better than to cuddle up with a book and smile, as they all lived happily ever after and the end. There was nothing she liked better than a brilliant, beautiful cliché; something to make the audience smile. Looking at Sasuke and Hinata, she thought it was cruel.
There could only be heartbreak and tragedy, and oh how she loathed unhappy endings.
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note2: I wrote this in a day. It's half past one in the morning. I have to wake up at six. Oh, damn it. D: