Day 1
- Love at First Sight -
Candied apricot sits between them, plated on one of Mom's china that Sasuke likes the best — the one with the sparrows perched on branches. Their tail feathers stretch out like peacocks, creating a fan in the middle. The candies cover most of the design, which Sasuke thinks is a shame; so he watches Hinata's face, and when she swallows the candy she's spent delicate time chewing and enjoying, he's quick to grab another one and shove it into her small, pudgy fingers.
Sasuke thinks candied apricots are the most disgusting thing in the world.
Mom keeps a jar of them in the kitchen. A long time ago, Itachi had mistaken them for butterscotch and plopped one into his mouth, only to be very much surprised by the taste. He doesn't eat them, and nor does Sasuke, so he thinks it's a very stupid thing to keep such disgusting things in a jar in their kitchen.
But he knows why.
It's for the Hyuuga. This one, in particular.
Hyuuga Hinata must be a princess — or a god — or something. The moment she walks through those gates, holding her mother's hand, his clan stirs to life. His own mother dips to her knees, speaking quietly and gleefully to her. His father asks her father about her training, about her progress with her byakugan. He pays more attention to her eyes than Sasuke's, which is a maddening thing, if you ask him!
Itachi is not as bad, but when Sasuke sees his mother pop the lid off the apricot jar, Itachi always shoots him a look, reminding him silently to behave.
When the grown-ups talk about important things in Father's study, Sasuke is forced to stay in the bamboo forest with Hinata, watching her chew at her candies as he impatiently waits for the fan design on the china to be revealed. He stares off for a while at the sky, getting lost in the blue. When he regains his focus, he finds her hand stretched out, waiting for him to plop a candy into her tiny palm.
"What?" he asks, frowning. "Can't you get it yourself?"
Hinata's face turns a funny color, and she picks up a candy, rolling it between her fingers.
"What's y-your name again?" she asks.
Sasuke cannot believe the words he just heard. He thinks it's impossible for anyone to not know his name. He's Uchiha Sasuke! Son of Uchiha Fugaku and Uchiha Mikoto! Brother of the famous and really cool Uchiha Itachi! Everyone from Konoha to Suna to Iwa knows their names — his name!
"Sasuke," he begrudgingly mutters, crossing his arms.
Hinata does not plop the candy into her mouth, instead biting a piece off of it and chewing delicately. When she finishes, she almost holds up her hand, remembers, turns red, and picks up another one.
"You're U-Uchiha?"
He would be gobsmacked at her silly question if he weren't so achingly proud of the name. "That's right! Ain't it obvious?"
A small finger decorated in crystals of sugar lifts to tap under her right eye. "The flower," she says. "The r-red flower. Um, I-I've never seen it in your eyes."
"Flower?" His nose wrinkles. What a girly way to describe the most powerful dojutsu in the entire shinobi world! "It's a sharingan." His heart catches on something, skipping a beat, and Sasuke's pride slowly fizzles out as he sheepishly glares at the candies between them. "I haven't activated it yet."
"Oh," is all Hinata says.
"So what?" Doesn't she seem a bit too judgmental? Just because his clan bows to her feet when she approaches doesn't mean he will! "What about your byaku-whatever? I haven't heard good things about you either."
The half of uneaten apricot trembles and falls from her hand, rolling pathetically on the dirt pathway that loops through his family's bamboo garden. A small trail of ants are already on their way to investigate, and Sasuke lifts his feet to curl up on the bench they sit at. Gross.
"Oi," he says, "you're making a —"
She hiccups, and that's when he notices the fat tears dripping off her chin. A panicky feeling pounds at his chest. If Mom or Itachi came and saw he made her cry, he'd be in trouble for sure! Rolling his sleeve over his knuckles, Sasuke wipes at her face, smearing her tears into her cheeks and irritating her eyes even more. She sobs, then shifts, then quiets as he tries to dry her face, soaking his sleeve in the process.
"Y'know, you're supposed to talk back," he tells her. "That's the rules. When I say something mean, you say something mean back. You don't cry." When he pulls away, her face is all puffy and pink. Her eyes look more alien and strange, and her mouth is trembling, like she'll start crying again at any moment. He quickly grabs a candied apricot and pushes it against her mouth, which she eventually accepts, chewing slowly. "It's easy to talk back when it's me. An Uchiha with no sharingan is kinda pathetic. You can say that if you want."
She shakes her head, making sure to swallow before speaking. "I-I d-don't think you are."
His mouth cricks, and he shifts on the bench. "Thanks, I guess."
Hinata rubs the last bits of tears remaining in her eyes, then tries to smile. It's kind of pathetic looking, but Sasuke doesn't hate it.
"I'm Hinata," she says.
"I know." Then, after a moment, he adds, "I'm Sasuke."
He doesn't know why he says it again, but he feels like he should.
"Uchiha Sasuke?"
"Yeah." He smiles. "Good."
"I-It's okay if you don't have flower eyes." All hints of despair leave her face, and Hinata happily starts munching on another candy. The fan of tail feathers is starting to become more obvious. "You're still good."
It gets hard to swallow for a second. He touches his throat, unsure. He can still breathe fine, so it's not something he worries about. Sasuke watches the ants crawl around the dropped piece of apricot. Every so often, he hands Hinata another piece of candy, and she is always joyful to accept. Soon, the plate is empty, and he traces the design with his pointer finger, and Hinata is looking at his face, his eyes, searching.
...
Itachi comes to fetch them a while later. Sasuke keeps to himself that he'd like to stay a little longer in the bamboo garden. He just walks next to his brother, and Hinata walks next to him, carrying Mom's china with careful hands, taking every step with caution, avoiding cracks and bumps.
When the Hyuuga leave, he notices the flower pattern on her mother's kimono. He thinks about what she said, and his swallow gets thick again. He tugs at his brother's pant leg when the gate shuts, leaving only Uchiha inside.
"We need more apricots," he says. "The jar is running out of them."
For some reason, Itachi has a chilling, tragic smile. He humors him, taking him to the store before dinner.
When they fill the jar together that evening, Itachi tells him about a game he's come up with for tomorrow. It's kind of like a scavenger hunt — all around Konoha, in places far, far away from the Uchiha estate.
...
Uchiha Sasuke does not have to wait long for his sharingan to activate.
The corpse of his mother and the drawl of his brother, soaked in her blood, wakes something up in him.
Something that will not die for a long, long time; something that will keep him up, shaking, angry.
...
He rarely panics.
So he tells himself.
Adults say he does. Iruka has a notebook specifically for him, keeping tabs on him; Sasuke sees him scribbling things down when he thinks no one is looking. But, really, Uchiha Sasuke does not panic. He trains, he studies, he yearns and thirsts and hates and hungers and boils — and sometimes it gets so overwhelming that he has to knock the thoughts out of his head — and sometimes he has to scrape at his arms until they bleed so he remembers how deep his rage reaches inside of him — and sometimes he can't breathe because he thinks about his mother, his father, his damned brother —
But he does not panic. Not often.
But when he does (which is seldom), it's more annoying than anything.
They're studying dojutsus today.
When he sees illustrations of the sharingan, Sasuke remembers how those eyes stared straight into him, daring him to look back, to hate. He remembers the burn of his kekkei genkai activating, the rush of blood and lava-fused chakra to his optic nerves. An excruciating pain that left him feeble for far too long, and sometimes, when it's dark, he can feel how numb his eyes are, like the pain is still there.
Sasuke feels the start of something in his lungs. Iruka ends the lesson short, explaining that he's giving the class a break before they dive any deeper. Sasuke sees him pull out his little notebook, and he feels attention turn to him as some of the girls ogle at his side profile. It's hot and crowded, so Sasuke stands and leaves. He marches out of the room, out of the Academy, and squats between two outside water fountains, panting, gasping, trying to push through the pain in his chest.
When he hears the slide of sandals against the sandy dirt, he tries to stay quiet and still.
When he panics, it's annoying because everyone treats him like he's dying — or about to die. The girls are the worst. They touch his shoulders, his hair, his face — why do they do that!? Can't they see he just wants to —
Footfalls pause in front of him.
Her chakra is barely anything.
It does not burn like Itachi's. It does not consume like Itachi's.
He glares up at her, realizing it's Hinata — another girl.
Her eyes are still alien, staring out at things — at him — with a particular wideness that seems both observant and oblivious at the same time. She looks down at him, and he looks up at her, glaring, lungs burning, senses heightened to an overwhelming level. He can hear the blood in his ears. He can hear the earth moaning beneath him.
And — then she's gone.
He thinks he gets a glimpse of her byakugan, and then she leaves as quickly as she had come.
Alone, Sasuke rests against the wall, sweating and aching. There are muffled voices off to the distance. He thinks he hears his name being called, but no one finds him.
He's trapped in that state for ten minutes. He's able to breathe properly by the eighth minute; by the ninth, he's regained control of his limbs.
Before he leaves, he leans his hip against the button on the side of the fountain and throws water against his face. Shock zaps through his system, rebooting it, and he thinks he can act normal for the rest of the day.
Drying his face with the high collar of his shirt, Sasuke rounds the corner. He almost misses that flash of something unusual, but the plastic of the bottle catches sunlight in such a way that it blinks at him. He looks, and sitting on one of the benches that overlooks the grounds where they go to practice throwing kunai, is a bottle of lemon water. Unopened, seemingly.
Next to it is a pink packet of sugar with thin, ink letters sketched upon it: Sasuke.
He pockets the packet, distaste filling his mouth. Thankfully, it washes down relatively easily with the lemon water, and the tangy, sour taste is refreshing, cool, and leading his system to something calm — not peaceful, but something on the road to it. Something far away, but still a start.
When he enters the classroom, he analyzes faces, wondering if he can pinpoint who gave this to him based on expression alone. The girls blush and blink. The boys ignore him. Iruka offers a caring smile.
Nothing unusual.
In the front, Hinata sits.
She doesn't look at him when he passes by, and he's glad.
...
Really, he should have figured she was the one to give it to him.
It was painfully obvious. She was the one who walked in on him, after all!
But still, it doesn't click in Sasuke's head until the next day. When he arrives on the grounds of the Academy, he finds her at the vending machine off to the side. She pushes in two coins, presses a button, and the whole thing rumbles as a bottle of lemon water drops at the opening beneath. She takes it, pauses, plays with the cap of her bottle, then pushes in two more coins and pushes the same button.
When it's time for lunch, he leaves to buy bread from the cafeteria.
When he's back, a bottle of lemon water is on the corner of his desk with a packet of sugar, and Hinata is nowhere to be seen.
...
His teammates have got to be the worst of them all!
That Uzumaki idiot and the girl who never leaves him alone.
Sasuke thinks . . . .
If he could pick who'd he want on his team —
Well.
It didn't matter.
...
It's a scorching summer day as he and his teammates wait for Kakashi — who is a good fifteen minutes late, mind you. Naruto hasn't stopped complaining, and Sakura has not stopped complaining about his complaining. They wag their collars around and fan their faces, but Sasuke leans back against the half wall, unscrews the cap of his lemon water, and drinks.
Sometimes, Hinata leaves them on his front step.
This morning, he found the bottle and complimentary sugar packet, which has Good Luck scrawled on the front. Like always, he pushed the packet away before thumbing the cap. By this point, it's gotten to where his hand just fits to the bottle, and the ridged cap feels familiar to his fingertips.
The refreshing drink is the perfect thing for this kind of weather, and he does not miss the pointed look Naruto shoots him. "Oi. Bastard, stop being a hog and give me that!"
He doesn't know why —
Actually, that's a lie.
A possessive spell sinks its claws into his soul, and Sasuke knows exactly why.
Because Hinata gives everything else to Naruto. Her attention. Her dreams. Her inspiration.
But this — this is his.
"No," he drones, screwing the cap back on and shoving it into his pouch.
Naruto's face lights up, irritated. "Selfish bastard!"
"Naruto!" Sakura's fist drills into his shoulder. "Sasuke doesn't have to share — especially not with you!"
Naruto whines, glaring at Sasuke, like it's his fault he got in trouble. This sends Sakura on another rant, and she doesn't quiet down until Kakashi finally shows up.
...
He doesn't throw the pink packets away, though he should. Really. He'll never use them. He should just throw them out.
But he keeps them in a crystal jar, the only hint of decoration in his room. It sits on his side table by his bed, and with every gift from Hinata, he drops the packet into the jar and watches the collection grow.
Sometimes, when he has time, he goes through the packets and reads the messages she leaves.
Sometimes.
Not often.
Rarely, really.
...
72.
He counts them one day for the sake of curiosity. He dumps them on his floor and sections them off in groups of ten, and when he comes to the total, he's a little stunned.
72.
She's sent him 72 bottles of lemon water, and he has kept every single pink packet that comes with them.
And he's confused, sort of. He's got a sort of tight feeling, and he thinks he feels grateful. The quiet way Hyuuga Hinata keeps up with him — the subtle reminder he gets every time he gets a new one from her, telling him that he's not as alone that he thinks he is — or that he wants to be —
It's relieving, and it's tight.
And it's also aggravating.
He has better things to do than sitting here, counting useless packets.
His brother is still out there.
Revenge is still a phantom looming over his shoulders.
This isn't helping him.
...
Hinata does not pretend she doesn't know him when he approaches her. It's been a while since he's seen her. Though most of their past interactions have been passing looks and shared training days, Sasuke did take note when he began to see her less and less.
It wasn't a mystery as to why.
She was still recovering from the powerful blow her cousin sent into her chest.
He hadn't been there to witness it, but he'd heard stories about it from Naruto and Sakura. He knows Hyuuga Neji to be a cunning, powerful man far beyond the capabilities of his cousin. It was not surprise she lost —
But still . . . .
Did it really matter? She stood her ground. She fought back.
He thinks about that girl in the bamboo forest; the one he gave permission to be mean to him, to hurt him — and still, she refused.
He pushes that thought away.
That's not why he's here.
He searched her out for a reason, and now he's here. He does not pay much heed to the familiar drink in her hands or the empty, torn packet at her side. He definitely doesn't notice it.
Definitely.
"I don't like sweet things," he tells her. "I don't use the packets."
She has a pretty blush, but she doesn't look timid or meek. "Th-That makes sense," she whispers. "You never ate the candied apricot."
Adrenaline fills his veins. He wasn't expecting her to bring that up, to pull him back into those times where he still had a family, a brother who he could trust. His skin prickles, but he bites his lip and the nasty slew of words jumping on his tongue.
"Do you, u-um, want me to stop?" she asks.
This is where he's supposed to say yes. But he can't.
He can't.
"No," he says, eventually. "I just don't need the packets."
Hinata smiles like he said something overwhelmingly happy. Her eyes crinkle and kind of sparkle, which is weird, and then she leans over to her pack and pulls out an unopened bottle of lemon water.
"If you like this," she says, "you might like lemon tea. It's, um, n-not hard to make." She holds out the bottle, and he takes it, careful to avoid her fingers. Somehow, he feels like things will turn complicated and murky and weird if he touches her. "It helps with sleep, too."
She knows he's not sleeping well. Sasuke almost feels embarrassed.
He sees the packet in her hand, the one he supposes she meant to give him.
Her smile is a little guilty. "S-Sorry. I was planning to drop it off later today."
He huffs, holds his palm out, and she happily drops it into his hand. On the packet is her neat handwriting: Rest.
He feels, suddenly, very unalone. It is almost crippling. It almost kills him.
"Sasuke," she says.
He shoves it in his pocket and leaves.
When he's home, he digs it out and puts it with the rest of his collection.
73.
...
He wants to hold onto that feeling.
Is that bad?
He has a mission. Belonging will not help. Partnership will not help.
Friendship — that's useless.
But . . . .
But it makes things hurt a little less. The hurt helps fuel his anger, his determination, but it's also exhausting and horrible and painful.
When he's around his team — no matter how embarrassing it is to admit, no matter how pathetic it sounds, Sasuke feels like he belongs. Naruto is still an idiot. Sakura is still annoying. Kakashi still tries to fill a role Sasuke doesn't even want him to fill.
But —
But they're . . . .
And — Hinata, too.
She's a touch of warmth against his senses, never too close, never too far; hovering, she does not leave him alone. She is pouring sugar into her lemon water, and he watches her, sometimes. Her teammates stick to her sides. Her teacher is motherly and kind. She is like Kakashi: she fills a role, and Hinata lets her.
The packets in his jar pile up.
He's just over one-hundred when Itachi comes.
...
That sense of belonging — it's ripped away. Torn out of his chest. Pinned against the wall. Exposed, bleeding, hurting.
The cursed seal flares up when he thinks about it. It nips at his mind when he thinks about how his brother ignored him. He didn't look at him as an enemy, a worthy opponent; he kicked him to the side. He was nothing to his brother.
He's nothing.
...
Kakashi tells him the present is the only way to aid the past.
His family is dead. His brother is a murderer.
But his team — his peers — the annoying ones, the freaky ones — Hinata — they're here. In Konoha.
Alive.
And Kakashi is right (he always is): if they are gone, if he lets them slip through his fingers, Sasuke will truly have nothing.
But . . . he doesn't belong here.
His mother is stirring in her grave, still hurting. His father's ghost is huffing, disappointed.
His clan hungers for vengeance.
Sasuke hungers for revenge.
So he leaves.
...
That night, before leaving, he takes that filled jar with both hands. He doesn't take the packets out individually, counting them, remembering. He doesn't sink his fingers into the abyss, paper crinkling, sugar shifting around, ink words melting into his palm.
He lifts it up, over his head, and he aims for the wall.
He'll break it.
He's leaving. He doesn't need it.
He doesn't need her.
...
He doesn't realize how much he'll think about her until he's two years along with Orochimaru. He doesn't forget Konoha — parts of it, at least. He can't forget about his team, but that's because they're always chasing after him, searching for him, ready to drag him back. Sometimes, he can feel the powerful sting of Naruto's chakra in the air.
Hinata stays with him in different ways.
She's the smell of apricots in orchards. She's the sky on cloudless days.
He's picked up a habit he doesn't even connect to her until Kabuto calls him out about it, telling him to clean after himself. Lemon peels aren't exactly things he likes to mess with, after all. Sasuke's in the middle of scraping some of the tangy fruit from the piece of peeling in his grasp. The sour taste that vibrates through his mouth is so natural and familiar that he hadn't realized anything until just then.
She doesn't leave him, and he knows he can't push her away — even if he wants to.
So he doesn't.
He keeps the memory of her in the deepest part of his mind, storing it next to the songs his mother used to sing to him and the china decorated with birds and branches and fans.
The man with the ripped shingles that need to be fixed looks at Uchiha Sasuke like he's about to explode or something. The knowledge of Uchiha in Konoha has depleted greatly since the day of the massacre, and they're hardly anything more than a name in history books and a part of Konoha many want to forget. Nowadays, they're only on the tongues of civilians for two special occasions:
1) When parents tell stories to their children. These are not good stories, nor are they ever really accurate. They're myths and folktales, detailing how the Uchiha are dragons disguised as man: greedy, self-centered fire-breathers. And;
2) When the lone survivor, Uchiha Sasuke, is about.
Mr. Iriko watches the Uchiha nervously from his spot in the alleyway surrounding his home. The house has been in his family for over seven generations, and the idea of this beast working on his delicate, highly flammable shingles makes a whirlwind of dread and irritation storm in his gut. Mr. Iriko is getting up there in age, after all; he'd hate to pass into the afterlife, only to be shunned by his ancestors because he allowed an Uchiha of all people to work on his roof, subsequently bathing everything into a thick forest of flames.
Mrs. Iriko, when told of this development just that morning, had not been pleased at all. She smacked the snot out of him, shouting to the rattling windows that he was a spineless fool, and marched off. He suspects she went off to gossip and complain to her friends. "What an idiot!" she'll tell them. "The man can't even stand up to a Konoha traitor!"
His lungs clench. Mr. Iriko squints through the early morning sun. The silhouette of the Uchiha is bent over, working at one of the shingles. The old man sends a secret prayer to his ancestors, wishing for the man to slip and fall into the nearby dumpster. Really! How could he allow this to happen?
An Uchiha traitor!
Really!
Mr. Iriko tells himself that right when this is all over with, he's going straight to the Hokage, asking — no — DEMANDING an audience with him! He must be out of his mind, after all! Traitors should not be allowed to work on civilian roofs!
The shadowy form of Sasuke suddenly lands right in front of him.
Mr. Iriko screeches like an owl, arms flying out in weird angles that aren't at all significant attack positions.
Really, he looks like a possum about to feign death.
The Uchiha's mouth tips just slightly, mocking him. Damn traitor! What right does he have to mock me!?
"It's finished," Sasuke drawls.
An angry and definitely not scared flush comes to Mr. Iriko's face. "A-About time! What took you so long?"
"I'll accept my payment now."
Bah! As expected, the manners of traitors are zilch to none. In any case, Mr. Iriko yanks his wallet out the back pocket of his slacks, and he licks the end of his thumb before pulling out a few bills and several coins. Shoving it into the Uchiha's hands, he grumbles and turns away. Sweat stains the back of his shirt. He'll have to change before heading to the Hokage.
"Oi."
What an awful day. His wife will come home in a grumpy mood, he's sure. Why, of all people, did it have to be the Uchiha assigned to fix his roof?
"Old man. Oi."
Really, Konoha never should have brought him back to —
"Oi."
A strong hand drops onto his right shoulder, and a terrible chill racks through Mr. Iriko's body. He thinks he can smell fire. Will the Uchiha burn him alive? He can't! He hasn't prayed for forgiveness from his ancestors yet!
Sasuke side steps, halfway into his line of vision.
Mr. Iriko bites his trembling lips. Gods, have mercy!
"You gave me ¥300 too much."
Three coins are dropped into Mr. Iriko's hand, the Fire Daimyo's face carved into the shiny silver. Without another word, Uchiha Sasuke leaves, and Mr. Iriko has to fall into the nearest wall to keep himself from collapsing
...
After every mission he has, no matter how insignificant and boring it is, Uchiha Sasuke always comes to Room #304 in the Hokage Tower. He doesn't knock anymore. It comes in waves. He didn't knock when he was dragged back nine months ago, but that was out of pure spite. Then, after a while, he began to knock; he's stuck, after all, so there's really no need to be impolite about such trivial things. Then, again, he went back to not knocking — because he realizes there's no good reason to.
Nara Shikamaru is a smart enough man to know who and when someone is at his office's door, so Sasuke pushes his way inside without much thought. Shikamaru's desk is how it always is: messy in an almost tidy sort of way, where piles of paper seem organized and categorized and old takeout boxes sit in a perfect huddle on a side table. He looks as tired as he usually does, as well. When Sasuke enters, the Nara just grumbles and sits back in his chair, letting out a tired sigh.
"Well?"
Sasuke presents his earnings on the section of desk that is clean. Shikamaru doesn't open his eyes to count and make sure the amount is right. "It went fine."
"Any trouble?"
Sasuke recollects how Mr. Iriko's face was constantly shifting from intense frustration and false bravery to a sickening fear. This is the usual reaction he gets from civilians, so Sasuke shakes his head. "No."
Shikamaru manages to crack his eyes open, finally regarding the money on his desk. He pulls out a notebook that reminds Sasuke a lot of the one Iruka had in his Academy years. Shikamaru scribbles down the amount Sasuke received from his mission, and when the leather cover snaps shut, Sasuke gathers his money and secures it in his wallet.
"That's it for today," Shikamaru drawls.
Sasuke doesn't find it in himself to complain. He knows D-Rank missions are being eaten up by the fresh batch of Konoha genin at present, so there's not much on the table for him.
Still.
His pockets have been feeling extra light this week, and rent is due soon. It's not exactly a position Sasuke is thrilled to be in, and Shikamaru, he's sure, is well aware of this.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, more so in thought than irritation, Shikamaru says, "I'll talk to Lee. He might be able to get the 6th to agree to another C-Rank for you."
Everyone under the sun is aware of the 6th's fondness for Lee — though, Sasuke supposes, it should be obvious as to why. They are student and sensei, after all. They even share the same fashion sense and crazy work-out routine! Lee could ask for there to be two suns in the sky, and the Sixth would somehow find a way to make it happen.
In a life of D-Rank after D-Rank, Sasuke is close to considering C-Rank a blessing in disguise.
Content enough with Shikamaru's efforts, Sasuke turns to leave. His hand lifts to prompt the door open, but the handle is already turning down before he can touch it. When he finds Hyuuga Hinata on the other side of the door, eyes tilted up to meet his, twinkling in the faintest touches of surprise, Sasuke's . . . .
Well, shocked is not the word.
A jolt starts his body, throwing it into overdrive, and he locks his jaw shut out of habit.
Hinata smiles kindly — which is about as normal as Shikamaru's constant bouts of fatigue — but it still sends something strange and jittering through his ribcage. "Hello, Sasuke."
His chin ducks in a nod of acknowledgement as he passes by and leaves the office. If Hinata's bemused by his lack of response, she says nothing about it and turns right to Shikamaru. Sasuke hears Temari's name mentioned before he's out of earshot.
When he exits Hokage Tower, fresh air fills his lungs.
Sasuke trudges down the street, glowering. Any passing civilian shrieks at the horror of his dark expression, wondering if he's killed someone, if he's ruined someone's life for good.
All the while, he's irked at the betrayal of his body whenever Hyuuga Hinata is around.
Really!
One would think nine years is enough time for a crush to fade away.
...
That afternoon, he's scraping paint off Sai's patio for ¥10,000.
It's not as simple a job as one might think. The paint has been left to dry for days (sometimes weeks), so by the time Sasuke comes around to scrape it off, it's stuck to the wooden floorboards and railing, and his blade has to dig into the thin space between paint and floor to lift it up. Despite the tricky job, however, this is not a job worth ¥10,000. Not even ¥5,000. In fact, Sasuke should be going home after this job with little to nothing in his pockets.
But while most of Konoha is fearful of the man named Uchiha Sasuke, Sai is not.
He sets iced tea for them on the only metal side table that's not caked in paint, rolls up his own sleeves, and begins to help with the process of removing paint from the railing.
Sai's the kind to not really follow the norm. Out of naivety or morality, Sasuke's not sure, but the second Sasuke stepped foot into Konoha for the first time in years, Sai had no signs of fear, anger, hatred; nothing. He was just another man to him.
Maybe this is why Sasuke comes to scrape paint off Sai's porch every so often.
Maybe this is why he drinks his tea and takes his money without feeling pitied or used for the self-satisfaction of someone else.
...
Twenty minutes into nonstop scraping, Sai says, "Nausea."
Sasuke, believe it or not, is well enough on the path of being around Sai to not be spooked or stumped by statements like this. He just pushes the blade of his pocket knife under a particularly tricky bit of paint and manages to peel it from the floorboards, waiting for Sai to continue on his own terms.
And he does. "I've been trying to identify that look on your face. You're nauseous."
Sasuke does not miss the careful look Sai gives their glasses of tea.
"No," he says, shaking his head. "I'm fine."
Sai's face turns in the slightest bit of puzzlement, the dip of his brows just a bit off from normal. "No?" He leans his back against a section of railing that's been removed of paint. Arms crossed, Sai ponders to the scrapes of blade against durable wood. "Actually, that might make sense. Sakura explained to me once that there's an expression out there that shares similarities to nausea. Ehh. What was it again?"
As Sai rubs the handle end of his scraper against his temple, Sasuke scoops all the loose bits of paint he's removed and dumps them into a plastic bag hanging from a door handle.
"Was it excitement? No. Fear, maybe?"
Sai goes on to list many things ranging from wonder to sorrow to surprise, never seeming too confident in his guesses. He looks ready to grab one of his many books listing all the types of emotions people tend to experience at least once in their lives. In fact, he's on his way to pushing himself off the railing when he pauses, eyes widening.
"In love," he whispers. "That's it."
At that, Sai shoots him a curious look that causes Sasuke's intestines to squeeze into a tight ball.
"No," he manages. "I'm not."
Sai scratches the side of his jaw, not exactly looking committed to the conversation. Sasuke tries to hide his relief with a tired sigh and a stretch of his arm over his head. The porch is nearly finished. Soon, he can go home and deal with this supposed 'expression' alone, in the dark confort of his room. He can't have Kakashi catching on to it, after all; if Sai of all people can identify it, then Kakashi would be able to sniff it out halfway across the village.
Sai sweeps across the floor, picking up the glasses of tea, finishing his off while holding the other to Sasuke, which he finishes on his own. When they're done, Sai pushes his back into his door to bring the glasses to the kitchen sink.
"Have you eaten?" he asks. "Let's eat."
Sasuke stands and gives the unfinished floors a wary look. "I'm short on money."
"I'll pay."
And Sasuke accepts with a nod — because, as stated previously, Sai does not work on pity or self-satisfaction.
...
They have lunch at the place Akimichi Choji has started up — one of the only places in Konoha that will willingly serve Uchiha Sasuke. Sai orders sake, which Sasuke quietly thinks is too much for two in the afternoon; nevertheless, he still drinks it when it's poured out for him.
Two shots later, Sai rests his chin on the palm of his hand, watches the sake slide down the crystal walls of his glass, and muses, "What are you going to do about it?"
Sasuke shakes his head. "About what?"
"About being in love."
He should have known. When it comes to things like this, Sai is an eager student. He wouldn't let an opportunity to learn pass by. If Sasuke had to guess, he probably dragged him here to force him to stay, knowing Sasuke wasn't the kind of guy to say no to food and leave before he could even be served.
Damn.
He pushes his shoulders further into the cushioned booth behind him. This is not what he was expecting to come out of today, and he's not sure how to proceed.
Eventually, he murmurs, "I don't know."
Sai leans a little more over the table. "Who is it?" Sasuke's jaw clenches, which earns a stare from his comrade. "Was that insensitive to ask?"
"I'm not sure." He takes a look around, making sure no one is coming to fill their water or bring their food. "I just don't want to answer."
"Why so?"
"I like privacy."
Sai contemplates this, folding and unfolding his napkin between his hands. "I think I understand."
Surprisingly, that is not the answer Sasuke was expecting from Sai. He doesn't complain about it, of course. Not being nagged about something he has no vigor to talk about is a welcomed breath of fresh air for Sasuke, so he's not going to push for any other response. Still, this is a topic Sai not only has limited knowledge of, but also hungers to learn more about. 'I understand' does not fit at all.
Soon, they are served their lunch, and Sai mostly keeps to himself. He doesn't go out of his way to fill the silence, which Sasuke appreciates; but there is something strange and unnatural about this stretch of silence. It feels forced.
I wonder. Sasuke wipes his mouth with his napkin, taking an analytical look at Sai's plate. His fork twirls around the sides, playing with his food, picking at it. "Not hungry?"
Sai tips his head left and right, giving no clear answer.
"Sick?" Sasuke wonders. "Nauseous?"
Wide-eyed, Sai slowly drops his fork to hang over the side of his plate. He hit the target, and Sasuke can't help but feel bad for the guy. Poor bastard.
"It's not a fun feeling," he mutters, scraping the last of his meal from the bottom of his plate. He eats it, and then he washes it down with sake, drinking enough for his throat to burn. "And it's hard to get rid of."
Sai, pale as can be, looks sickly. "How long?"
The sake slides down, mixing into the churning, crashing waves in his stomach. "Almost a decade," he admits.
"Kami."
"Good luck." He pours both of them another shot.
Sai balances his glass between thumb and forefinger. "And you don't know what to do? After ten years?"
Sasuke drinks, and Sai eventually follows suit. Food is suddenly the last thing on their mind, and they drink and drink, ordering a second bottle that Choji recommends especially for two, lonely men dealing with nausea.
By the time they're done, it isn't even four in the afternoon yet, and Sasuke is tipsy. Sai folds a few bills under their glasses before sliding out of the booth. The flush of a buzz looks strange against his pale skin, and Sasuke lags behind, making sure the fool can walk properly before going his separate way.
He takes the long way home, hoping the exercise and fresh air and sunlight will help dull the edge of alcohol stabbing at his senses. No one gets close to him. The village shifts away as Sasuke slumps forward, one foot after the other, squinting through the harsh light. Kakashi's home comes in his line of sight quicker than he imagined, so Sasuke teeters on the sidewalk, slowing his steps, sucking down gallons of warm air that make his stomach flop like a struggling fish.
When he eventually enters, Kakashi is not home. He will be soon, however, so Sasuke climbs up the staircase in the back, finds his room a few doors down, and flops onto his bed. The frame creaks. Birds chatter outside his window.
Energy drained and head heavy, Sasuke falls into a gentle slumber. He's sure he'll be awakened by Kakashi within the next hour, so he does not fight the tug of exhaustion.
In the back of his head, he hopes Sai got home fine. He hopes he doesn't let it bother him.
He hopes he's lucky — or smart — or whatever. Maybe it won't take a decade for Sai to figure out what he wants.
...
"What are you going to do about it?"
Sitting on the low wall by the northern gate of Konoha, Sasuke thinks about this question. It's not so much that he has been avoiding such a thing, but his mind has been preoccupied by one thing or another for so long, so he hasn't allowed himself much time to contemplate it. First, it was revenge; then a different kind of vengeance; then — everything changed, and he wanted to see the world differently. He came back to Konoha changed, but still angry and bitter because those things aren't easy to just push aside and leave forgotten. For the past nine months, he's learned a new lifestyle. He was kicked off that untouchable throne and learned what it felt like to be nothing, to work tirelessly for a place to stay, for food, for shelter. He was forced on his knees, face in the mud, by the Hokage; months ago, he hated him for it.
Now, he's learned a life of humbleness, and he's thankful.
It takes a long, tough time for a man with his ego and spite to lower himself to this level. And all the while, he was aware that he was back and that she was here, but it's only now that Sasuke feels like he can truly stop and think about it — about this feeling he's kept hidden in his chest for so long.
It's just past dawn. The village stretches its arms and pops its knuckles, ready for another day.
He is there for a very particular reason, and as he waits, he ponders. He allows his thoughts to flow freely through his mind.
Hyuuga Hinata is someone he does not think he can have.
Naruto is a noteworthy obstacle that Sasuke knows he cannot compete with.
And while Sasuke has, indeed, been humbled, he still has the fiery drive that turns ideas and yearns into actions and results. He's not the kind to give up still.
But he's not a selfish bastard.
This yearn includes other people, and he has no right to get between them — especially after all this time, when he was gone all those years . . . .
So when he wonders — What am I going to do about this? — ultimately, he comes to the conclusion that it would be best to do nothing. To let these thoughts and feelings slide out of reach. To forget them. To move on. To not make a mess.
Yes.
He can do that.
Sasuke knows how to adapt. This will not be a hard thing to —
"Good . . . morning?"
When he pulls away from his ponderings, Sasuke finds that the very thing he was waiting for is standing before him. Hinata is clothed in her mission uniform, packed and ready. Her arms are tanned, muscles pronounced from years of hard training. It takes him a second too long to look away, searching for her teammates. Usually, they arrive together. He wasn't expecting her to be here alone.
"Morning," he murmurs.
"Do you have a mission as well, Sasuke?"
He shakes his head, hoping his silence portrays his unwillingness to say more on the subject. When she doesn't question him further, he's relieved she understands.
"Try to stay in as much as you can today," she says, eyes turned to the bright sky. "It's supposed to be the hottest day of the week."
His gaze is trained on her pack, which looks heavy. Did she pack enough water to stay hydrated for the day? Is she bringing sun block as well? Sasuke is careful to keep these wonders to himself.
"Oh!" Her hands clap together, and then Hinata opens her pack and pulls out a familiar sight that sends a sour, tangy taste along the corners of his mouth. Lemon water. She holds it out to him, smiling, and he eventually takes it. Afterwards, Hinata pulls out a pink sugar packet and a pen, crouching so that she can use her knee as a surface to write on. "I know you don't use this, but I thought — well, for old time's sake, at least."
Her grin is cheeky. Sasuke feels like he's a kid, trapped between water fountains, falling all over again. It's love at first sight. He's breathless and thirsty.
When she's done, Hinata plops the packet next to his knee. Ino and Tenten approach from the side, and she offers a quiet and kind farewell before she leaves to talk to them.
Stay Cool, the note on the packet reads.
He opens his water, rips the top of the packet, and pours in the contents. A mist of sugar filters to the bottom, so he swirls it around before bringing it to his mouth and taking a sip.
It's achingly sweet, but almost addictive.
That yearn comes back tenfold.
He knows — just moments ago, he had decided to give up on her.
But his mouth tastes like Hinata, and he doesn't think this is something he can just forget. It stayed with him when his parents were killed. It stayed with him when he left Konoha to get stronger with Orochimaru. It stayed with him for years — almost a decade. You can't just forget something like that. You can't just give up.
Soon, her teammates come, and they make their way to the gate, talking about this and that as Shino unfolds a map.
Ino and Tenten stay behind. Ino has a strange look, hands perched at her waist.
"Poor thing," she says.
Tenten shakes her head. "Not everyone's like you, Ino. Some of us don't need a boyfriend or girlfriend to be happy."
"That's not it. Didn't you see how lonely she was when we were talking?" Ino rubs the side of her face, looking frustrated. "First Naruto, now . . . ."
The second name is muffled by wind and the screech of the gates opening. Sasuke stands from the wall, keeping his chakra level low, and he takes a few steps closer to listen.
Tenten nods along to whatever Ino had said that he wasn't able to catch.
"Her luck isn't the greatest," she agrees.
"That poor girl has spent all of her life chasing," Ino states. "I think it's about time someone starts chasing her."
Adrenaline makes his heart race and his mouth turn dry. He downs more of the sugary lemon water, mind made up. With a burst of chakra to his feet, he runs through the gates before they're closed. He hears the guards shout his name, screaming to inform the Hokage that Uchiha Sasuke is on the run again. He ignores them.
Right now, he's chasing.
And when he finds her form among her teammates, his voice picks up without hesitation.
"Hinata!"
They all stop. Inuzuka gives him a weird look. Aburame quietly waits.
Hinata —
"Come back safely. I'll be waiting."
— looks absolutely thunderstruck.
"O . . . O-Okay . . . ."
With a determined nod, Sasuke turns on his heels and walks back through the gate, much to the shock of the guards.
He makes his way through the village, not at all aware of the strange looks he's getting from civilians and ninja alike. He's too busy making plans to meet with Sai to let him know that, after nearly a decade, Uchiha Sasuke has decided to chase after Hyuuga Hinata.