Hinata knew she held power in her body since she was fifteen years old.
At first it had frightened her, and she felt shame from the wolfish stares of older men. She covered her body in shapeless clothing, she learned to bind herself in ways to reduce the attention. She found only men around her. Training her, protecting her. Layering their views of modesty on her. There were no women to teach her. She didn't understand why her body had to be so different from theirs, or why her skin was viewed as something sinful, when theirs could be bare with no thought of consequence.
She had already been prone to fainting, but the bindings were tight, and she felt her health and abilities falter under the pressure. Eventually she was hospitalized, and they found the bindings cutting into her skin. The bruising was horrible, and they found both healed and fresh fractures on her ribs.
Her father, to her horror, had chastised her. How could he be empathetic? This was so far from anything he had ever experienced. He told her she was a stupid girl, and took her privacy away from her.
He sent a bunke woman to teach her to dress, and watch her to make sure she did not bind herself back into the hospital. This woman taught Hinata all she could do with the blessing of her curvaceous body.
She learned that modesty was like a sheath to a blade. Men were weak to their instincts, and they hated being weak, so they forced coverings on the bodies that tempted them.
Perhaps it was a good thing this had happened, because after the great war, Hinata had accepted that her lifelong love was unrequited. She had no choice but to move on, and for the first time she felt the need to rebel.
She had lost her cousin too, and her grief could have completely broken her… but she rose to meet it, and she blossomed into an adult in both body and mind. In honor of all she had lost.
The Hyūga heiress found new confidence in her body, started wearing form-fitting clothing and actually welcomed the appreciative and even surprised looks she received. She could feel the power she held with her beauty, but she did not abuse it, and she did not think herself better than others. That unspoken power made her feel strong in a way she hadn't known possible, and she was eager to test her limits. She learned how best to reject advances from prospective suitors. She found that so much of her hesitation was gone, and her clan began to see a leader in her.
Tsunade also saw promise in both her natural and hard-earned abilities, and recruited her for special missions. She learned the art of seduction, and how to get dangerous and strong men to drop their defenses so she could kill or capture them. Hinata excelled. She seemed so beautifully innocent, and men ate it up, to their demise.
Of course, her clan had no idea what her missions involved or they would have thrown a nasty fit, but she had worked hard. Her village regarded her well. If she weren't the Hyūga heiress, Tsunade would have recommended her for Anbu.
Hinata came to the realization that her long-held infatuation with love had helped her grow, but had also held her back from so many things.
But she never felt the pull of attraction like she did with Kakashi. She was twenty-three years old when they were paired together for a mission. It was the first time she had evaluated him with the eyes of a woman.
She could see past his aloof demeanor. She could see the traces of blood seeping through his clothing at times. Since the very first time they had been assigned together. She could see the way he moved gingerly when he thought she wasn't looking. She could see the self-hatred there. She knew because she had felt something very similar once. It hung around him like a thick cloud. Hinata could tell that others didn't see it, even though it was so evident. No, they didn't want to see it, not in a hero of the leaf.
He didn't know about her special skill set then, and though she rejected the thought of love, she couldn't deny that there was something about him that stole her attention.
So maybe she had purposefully let slip a flash of her skin here and there, to see if he would react. Her shirt would slide up ever so slightly, exposing a hint of her stomach. Or she would pull her hair to the side to expose her delicate neck. Perhaps her shirt would fall low enough to give a peek of cleavage. All very innocently, of course.
But he did not seem to be particularly fazed by her teases.
But then they had been cornered. Perhaps it was to throw off their pursuers, or perhaps it was so she wouldn't die with regrets, but she had grabbed him around the neck and kissed him. He put it together quickly and played along. It probably saved their lives, but he had changed after that. Her teases stole his attention. It was almost as though he had woken up from a long, numb dream. And for whatever reason they kept getting assigned missions together.
He started showing his interest and pushing flirtations her way. But she could still see the ginger movements of his body. Hinata wanted to feel anything other than unease, so she held him at an arm's length away, even though she could see his adoration of her grow.
So much had changed.
Her hands traced over the sore bite mark on her throat. Her feelings were strange. Perhaps it was a sense of calm pride. She wanted to wear this mark, always. She looked at the man dozing off next to her, hands still wrapped around her. His scars had all healed. There were no raw cuts adorning his beloved body, and she felt peace.
He had asked her to marry him for real. Hinata and Kakashi, man and wife. Not Ryō and Narumi.
What could she do but accept? She wanted him.
Her father was probably going to disown her. Though what was there to complain about? Kakashi was powerful, and had worldwide renown. Surely this would be a great match to the Hyūga patriarch.
Hinata started to imagine a future where she was happy. Free from the heavy chains of her clan. Free to explore this strange man's world. To accept his burdens. Perhaps it wasn't completely realistic, but she let herself fall into her fantasy.
She could see children. She never tasted something so palpable before. Reality would be nowhere close to the delusion, she knew. But she had never envisioned children of her own before.
Yes, she would marry him. Probably before they even returned to the village. Otherwise too many efforts could stand in their way. She was prepared to upset people.
They may even take her status as the next head of the Hyūga, something she had fought hard to be worthy of. She felt that somehow it would all be worth the loss, though she hoped it wouldn't come to that.
Kakashi didn't really want to die… not really. But he didn't know how to handle the painful and traumatic experiences that life had put him through. So he did risky things, because if he died by some reckless behavior, then it wasn't really him killing himself. Not like his father had. He abhorred suicide.
He was skilled, and lucky, so he never died. But the chaos in his head was brutal. He lived through years of washing unseen blood from his hands before the overwhelming feelings began to recede. He closed himself off and went numb, but he managed some surface level friendships. Guy never left him alone, and eventually he wore Kakashi down. He cracked through his icy exterior, and even though it was annoying, Kakashi felt fond of this man who never let him isolate himself completely.
He wore another mask as an adult. No longer was Kakashi volunteering for suicide missions. No longer was he purposely a jerk to keep people at bay. No. He was powerful now, and always smart. He had a few close calls, but the truly dangerous adversaries were few and far between. Boredom kills. He had grown used to that spark of adrenaline, and the feeling of actually being alive while fighting against all odds and escaping death. He missed feeling something more. People weren't nearly as worried for him anymore. He learned to fake a friendly and aloof demeanor. He hung out with his comrades, and started reading more. And sometimes he even had fleeting moments of enjoyment and happiness. They never lasted long enough. Always, they slipped back through his fingers.
The self-inflicted 'torture,' as Hinata had worded it, was a habit that he had developed within the last few years. It didn't start out as something particularly serious. He had cut himself while cleaning his blade, and somehow it made him feel as if he were present again. It gave him clarity and something tangible to focus on. The pain didn't really feel like pain for long. And then without thinking, he cut himself again. Never did he do it with the intention to die.
Perhaps it was just the right timing. Kakashi didn't think that this would ever be something that would feel compelled to do. Boy, was he wrong. It felt like an exhilarating secret that he couldn't tell anyone. And he started craving it. It was a bit shocking to him, in truth. He had always seen self-harm as something that only unstable young adults would do, and he was well past that phase of his life.
He made a plan. In true Kakashi-fashion. He made rules for himself. He stewed on these rules for weeks before he let himself draw the blade back to his skin again. The rules grounded him, and were in place so he wouldn't push too far. After all, he didn't really want to die.
So, he would only cut himself in places he could hide, and never near major veins or arteries. He never struggled with this and had few boundaries since he never outwardly presented any of his skin. Once he left ANBU, he had no reason to expose his arms, either.
Since he was the one in control, he cut himself the same on both sides. He aimed for symmetry. He tried to follow the curves of his body in a way that looked pleasing to him. He found that a shadow clone was very helpful with this. He learned that he liked scars. Liked the look and feel of them, and that they weren't received through trauma. Once he was happy with his designs, he would cut over the same areas. He limited his 'sessions' to once a week, If he could, but never while on missions. It was a compulsion. He looked forward to it.
It became his therapy, his own twisted form of 'self-care'. Something he was very much reliant on. But he didn't want to admit it. So he lied to himself and said it was training until he almost believed it. Every time he felt like he needed to push a little further, but he was in denial. He didn't think it was affecting him. There was nothing wrong with what he was doing.
But then he had been assigned with her. He would be lying if he said he really paid much attention to her at first. He was kind, of course. She was a very sweet person, so he tried to have a good relationship, however surface-level it was. He was a flatterer, after all. He didn't miss the subtle flash of skin here and there. If she were anyone else, he would have thought it intentional. But she was much too innocent and noble for that. He thought perhaps she just lacked awareness. He didn't mind the teases, but he didn't read into them either. Perhaps his eyes would unconsciously linger on her while she wasn't paying attention… She was a beautiful woman, and pleasing to look at, but honestly, he was the one that lacked awareness.
She was the one that kissed him first. He knew not to fight it, but somehow it set alarm bells ringing in his head.
That kiss had woken a fire in him. He had never in his life experienced such a burning feeling. Her hands had fluttered up his torso and around his neck, and the sensation was so visceral. It was as though something had shifted in him, and he didn't know yet just how much he would regret the experience. He never regained his composure, or his chilly detachment. His avoidant nature was smacked straight in the face, and he was knocked off balance. He thought he hid it well, but the Hokage saw right through him somehow.
He found himself sitting in his apartment alone, mulling every interaction over. Her name, he murmured over and over under his breath. Hinata. Again, and again. And he felt yearning grow. It was strong, and quick. He couldn't avoid it, so he found himself trying to fight it. He didn't know how to handle what he was feeling, so he tried to drown it out with the knife.
The knife wasn't enough, and Tsunade loved to kick people when they were down, so she assigned them together whenever she saw a chance. Maybe it was just because they worked very well together, but Kakashi suspected an ulterior motive behind the Hokage's smug face. She was enjoying watching him squirm. He hurt himself more severely when they were assigned together. He wanted to get it all out, and assert himself, perhaps even punish himself preemptively, knowing he was going to have lapses of self-control.
Hinata was soothing. At the same time, she made his expertly controlled visage falter, and it made him anxious. He found himself flirting with her, even when he didn't mean to. They were often undercover as a couple, so he found it easy, and almost natural to touch her. A slight brush of the hand, a gentle caress of her face. She certainly didn't seem to mind the attention. He was enamored.
The mood sometimes took them further, but she would never let it progress beyond kissing. She held her own reservations. Kakashi was thankful for this. He didn't know what he would do if they went further, even though he ached to experience it all with her. He didn't know how to explain the scars that were so thoughtfully placed along his body, and he was, above all, still terrified by what he was feeling.
He regretted. Her face had looked so pained when she stripped the shirt off of him. She looked uncertain and scared, because it was too obvious that every bloody cut was intentional, and she had seen it all. He didn't want her to feel those feelings because of him.
When he finally resolved himself, only then did he feel calm. He decided to follow through with what he was feeling. To let himself love. Perhaps it was at that moment when he realized that his actions did not just affect himself. He had compassion for her, and he loved her. He didn't want her to cry because of him. He didn't want her to live with the fear, anxiety and uncertainty that only comes from loving someone who hurts themselves. Never quite knowing if something would set him off, and living with an unsettling knot sitting in the back of her throat.
As he placed the ring on her finger that day, he understood what it was that he wanted. So, he swore to her, he was hers. He would stop harming himself. He told himself that she misunderstood his intentions. He didn't really want to die, and his actions always had purpose, but the excuses fell short even to his ears. Even so, she accepted his promise. He would die before letting her down.
He looked at the woman lying next to him. She was sound asleep, with a relaxed expression. He reached his hand out to slowly brush hair out of her face. His dark eyes were memorizing every detail, drinking them up greedily. He didn't miss the red bite mark on her neck. He felt a little guilty about that after the fact, but there was a twisted part of him that wanted it to leave a scar. He felt strangely conflicted. He wanted to show her off. He wanted the world to know that she was his, but at the same time, he wanted to keep it all to himself and not let anyone have any part of it. He didn't know what had possessed him to propose last night, but he felt a growing excitement consume him.
She had said yes.
