Day 11

- I Love You -

The first day of August is wet.

Like a kiss.

His . . . second kiss — but the one that matters the most, nonetheless!

Uchiha Sasuke wakes up to the taps of rain on his bedroom window. Droplets skitter across the rain like fingers, stirring him from slumber, and he looks over and almost expects Hinata to be there, knuckles against the glass, waiting for him to let her in.

She's the first thing he thinks about that morning.

It only makes sense.

Yesterday, he had kissed her.

That hadn't been the expected outcome of the day. He didn't have a mental checklist where right under 'Grab soup from the store' is 'Kiss Hinata in the rain'. He thought he'd spend most of his day and efforts on the mission Gai specifically asked him to take. He thought he wouldn't see Hinata until late at night; he'd go to her home after the mission, and she'd smell the bar on him and worry, and he'd bask in that worry a little bit. He liked it when she worried about him. It felt nice.

But, instead, she got stringed into that mission, and that damn Tanta drooled after her the whole time.

Fucking prick.

But, maybe, Sasuke was a bit of a prick, too.

Who kisses someone after a disaster of a mission like that? The second Hinata left that bar and shedded her kunoichi facade, she looked sick, and she swayed so badly that he thought she'd fall. He had planned to see her home. He had planned to check her arm and get her into bed before reporting to Shikamaru and going home for a long shower and a rest, himself. The situation called for comfort — he'd been pissed with how those two talked to her, about her, but he had planned to let it breeze away.

But he saw it — the hurt, the shame. He saw it in the bar, and he saw it outside of the bar. They made her feel ugly, and he couldn't stand it!

So he . . . kissed her.

And she had told him to. Not outright, but all the signs pointed to it. She tipped her head, she dared him with her eyes. She felt ugly, but she wanted him to convince her otherwise, and he did.

He kissed her yesterday, and Hinata kissed him back.

Her lips had been quivering, but not with fear. She was nervous, and maybe she was a little excited. He knows because he could taste it, because he could recognize it; the same emotions stirred in his gut at that exact same moment. Her fingers gripped his shirt, and her mouth was warm and cool at the same time, and she — and she kissed him back.

That means something, doesn't it?

...

After it all happened — after he kissed her, and they pulled away, and they sort of just stood in each other's shadows with the rain hitting their backs — he didn't get the chance to walk her home. He wished he did. He wished he had brought her to her front step, and when she'd search for her keys in a clumsy, shy sort of fashion, his heart would be stirred, and he'd lean in and kiss her again.

But Sasuke didn't walk her home. She whispered something about a good night, and she drifted off down the street, and Sasuke knew he wouldn't be seeing her for the rest of the day. He went to the Hokage's Tower, where he told Shikamaru every detail pertaining to the mission, and whenever he mentioned Hinata's name, the Nara's face had gotten more and more grave.

"She didn't want to do the report with you?"

That was a pointed question in all different directions. Shikamaru aimed to figure out Hinata's state of mind and what had happened after the mission. What was her emotional state? Was anything else said to her? Did Sasuke do anything to her?

. . . He did, but there was no way he was going to confess that, so he'd just made up a lie about her being tired that Shikamaru did not buy but did not press, either.

Good.

Knowing that guy, he'd probably figure it out on his own, anyway.

...

On that rainy morning, Sasuke is not bothered by the throbbing bites of phantom pains. Usually, they're a bearable annoyance in the morning that a shower and a short session of massages and stretches helped with, but Sasuke does not feel anything of the sort. He feels refreshed, too. When he showers, it's for the simple pleasures of cleanliness, and he takes his time drying his hair and pulling on clothes before ultimately coming down stairs to breakfast Kakashi has already prepared.

"You're in a good mood." These are the first words uttered by Kakashi as Sasuke comes to help set the table.

"It's a good day," is all he says.

Kakashi hums, but says nothing more as they sit and eat together, Sasuke eating just as much as he usually does, being careful not to lick clean his plate and make it look like he's starved (he is, but that's not the point). Afterwards, he takes the dishes to the sink and rinses them before sorting them into the dishwasher. This is a job Kakashi usually does, so he just watches from the dining room, sipping thoughtfully at his coffee.

Sasuke's mission is coming up. Shikamaru had informed him about another one before he left his office yesterday, and Sasuke, looking forward to the flood of money coming his way, agreed to it without a second thought. Already dressed for the outside work he'll be doing, Sasuke almost moves to fit on his shoes before he stops and asks Kakashi, "Do you have a pair of gloves?"

Kakashi snorts. "What's Gai got you doing? Weeding?"

"Yeah."

It meant to be a joke, and Kakashi's nose scrunches a bit before he disappears into his room to dig for a type of glove fit for weeding.

...

The spot for his mission is on the outskirts of Konoha, in a rickety neighborhood where houses are spread out with acres of fields and farms between them. This house in particular that he's meant to work at is a flimsy sort; rickety and loose, small like a shack. The only pretty thing about it is the garden of flowers hugging the foundation and the woodwork of the rocking chair on the porch.

Sasuke is not allowed a step onto the square porch that leads into the archway that makes the entryway.

The front door screeches like a summer cicada, high-pitched in the beginning, then groaning to a low, groggy moan before hitting the wall. Out comes the owner of the house, made of wrinkles and a nasty frown and beady, dark, sour eyes that peer at him through squint and under gray, thin, furrowed brows.

She hacks, then she spits, then she teeters over to her chair and falls back and rocks. The basket next to her chair is thrown to his feet.

"Get to it," she barks. "And take off your gloves. Don't dirty my basket, either!

Ah, one of these people.

Sasuke looks down at the weeds all around him. This will definitely take some time, and from how it looks, the old lady plans to watch him the whole time.

Standing around won't help his case, so Sasuke flaps the collar of his shirt, kneels down, takes off his glove to stuff it in his pocket, and gets to work.

Granny Kuu creaks on her bamboo rocking chair, breathing in as she swings back and hacking as she swings forward. The Traitor is sinking in mud puddles, ripping weeds from the earth, killing life like he's used to. She takes pleasure in watching his hand gather scratch and tear and scar as thorns pierce his skin. His blood drips down into the basket of corpses he carries with him as he goes from one patch of weeds to another. A nomad. She's sure he's used to it. She's certain he's reliving his days as the most sought-after traitor in the shinobi world.

There's an old gal by the East Gate that Kuu talks to, sometimes. When she gets the chance to see her, she'll tell her how Konoha's Mistake was on his hands and knees, doing peasant work. He was under her control. He bled because of her. If she told him to plant his face into the very mud he rolled in, he would have to — because he is nothing but a traitor he does Konoha's dirty work now.

Kuu makes him repent.

From her bamboo throne, she sucks on her toothpick between her teeth and watches that monster gather more weeds, more scars, as time passes by in slogging minutes.

...

She tells him he'd be better if he had two hands.

All traitors have is their pride, and she's bent on stomping it into the mud. Her foot aches to plant itself on his skull, digging his face into the earth — dirt and filth filling his mouth as he yells in agony as the only thing he has left is taken from him. Kuu leans forward as his eyes dart up to the porch, where she sits, observing like a cat would a dying mouse. She searches for that fire of anger, that fizzling line of ego that turns red and horrible in his eye. She waits for the spin of purple to glare into her uncaring soul.

It does not come.

The Traitor looks at himself, down at the stump of his missing arm, and hums.

"You're probably right," he says.

A sour arrow shoots across her tongue, and she nearly gags. "Of course I'm right! Who are you to decide if I am or not?"

He rips another weed from the ground and drops it into the basket next to him.

"I'm your weeder," he says. He doesn't even try to fight her.

Where is his pride!?

Kuu pushes her elbows against the arms of her chair, hoisting her weight onto her wobbly knees as she stands. With him crouched and her perched on her porch, she looms over him. The Traitor is small compared to her. He is nothing.

If he realizes this, he says nothing about it.

Instead, he looks past the weeds and finds the blooming bushes at his eye-level. "Hey, Grandma —"

"Don't call me that!" she spits.

". . . these are azaleas, aren't they?"

Mouth screwing into something twisted and a little confused, Kuu peers down at her pink azaleas. It doesn't seem right for a traitor to know the name of such flowers. Her mouth opens, preparing to shout anything she can think of — but the look on his face makes her realize such efforts would be futile.

Nothing is touching this traitor.

He is filthy, and he is forced down onto his knees, acting the role of a civilian. She shouts, and she belittles, and she acts superior on her chair, and all he does is — is weed — with that damn look on his face like he doesn't mind it at all. Like he's content! Like he's living the dream!

The blushing faces of her backstabbing azaleas tip to him, and he leans in. His mud-caked hand, covered in cuts and scrapes, barely brushes the leaves surrounding the petals, as if he understands how inferior he is and is careful to not destroy the beauty of the world around it.

"Grandma," he says, "you're taking good care of them."

Her toothpick snaps between her teeth, and she rolls the piece inside her mouth before chewing on the wood.

Embarrassed, she marches inside her home, leaving the traitor to his weeding.

...

Kuu's irritation is unparalleled to anything else in the world. Enemy ninjas could attack any moment. They could take the village hostage and ramsack every home and business, but when they come to her home, they'd see the vile look in her eye and flee Konoha without a moment's hesitation.

Traitors are not supposed to know flower names.

Traitors are not supposed to look at flowers that they shouldn't know the names of and be able to see the months of sweat and work old ladies put in to take care of them.

They're supposed to grovel, and they're supposed to spit fire, and they're supposed to act like the scum that they are.

This traitor is not doing that.

This traitor is pulling at her weeds like it's his greatest joy in life, and Kuu HATES it!

Traitors should not know happiness! Not this one! Definitely not this one! After what he's done and what he's started and what he's finished and all he's hurt and all he's destroyed — he does not deserve happiness, and MOST of all, he should KNOW that!

So —

So why is he . . . ?

Why does he not crawl around for the last centimeter of pride he has left?

When she looms over him, fully intending to belittle him, why does he not push back? Why does he stay on his knees, fine with looking small?

When she mocks his —

Or . . . well . . . .

Hell.

She . . . shouldn't have said anything about his arm.

A missing arm is nothing to mock, even if it's the missing arm of a traitor. Injury and tragedy does not discriminate. Her good son does not deserve a missing leg, and Uchiha Sasuke does not deserve a missing arm.

Shame overwhelms her anger, and she shakes her box of toothpicks until one drops into her open palm. Outside her window, she sees him work hard. He can't weed and hold his basket at the same time. He weeds, then wipes his hands on his slacks, then grabs the handle, shifts over, and goes back to weeding.

. . . Hell with it all.

Kuu goes into her storage closet, messes around for a bit, and when she can't find anything, she goes searching into her wardrobe next.

...

"Cover up your hand, already." When Kuu hobbles back onto her porch, she gets a good look at his scratched-up hand and hates the taste of bitterness rolling around in her mouth. Sucking on her toothpick, she watches the traitor pause, analyzing her, as if wondering if this is a trick. Then, eventually, he wipes his muddy hands clean and pulls out his glove, using his teeth to help pull it over his fingers and down his wrist. When he's done, he stares at her again, and Kuu huffs. "Stand, already."

So he does, and when she tells him to lift his arms, he does just that. He towers with his feet planted on the grassy ground, and even from her spot on the second step, she must balance on the ends of her toes to reach him. First, Kuu loops the scarf under the basket's handle; then, she ties the two ends into a knot at his left shoulder, barking for him to lean down in the process. Once she's done, the basket securely hangs at his hip, and she plops back down in her chair.

"There," she says. "Now you can do the job without having to carry that thing."

Kuu has had the pleasure of meeting Uzumaki Naruto. If this man was him, she'd imagine he'd boom in glee, hopping onto the porch to plant two kisses onto her wrinkly cheeks.

She does not expect this one to do such things.

But . . . Uchiha Sasuke does smile, and it makes the world seem silly.

There's an old gal by the East Gate that Kuu knows.

Maybe the next time they have tea together, she'll tell her about her weeder Uchiha Sasuke. He's got one arm, but he does the job well — and he's handsome when he smiles.

With the help of Granny Ku's scarf, Sasuke finishes his job in record speed, he likes to think. He finishes his report in record speed, too, since Shikamaru sees he's in a hurry and makes the whole ordeal short and sweet. With money in his pocket, Sasuke then sets out to find Hinata. The weather has cleared up considerably, with the sun now out and shining. It's humid, but Hinata's only a few houses away from Hokage's Tower, so it's not a walk Sasuke feels the need to complain about.

When he knocks on her door, the noise is muffled by the padding of the glove. He'd take it off, but his hand is covered in dried mud underneath, and he hasn't had the chance to wash it yet. Nevertheless, it should be loud enough to get her attention, so Sasuke steps back and waits.

And waits.

And . . . .

Is she not home?

Now that he's thinking about it, he can't sense her in there. Did he miss her?

Well, there's still plenty of time left in the day. She's probably somewhere out there, and knowing his luck, he'll probably stumble upon her one way or another.

...

Turns out, Konoha's a pretty big place.

For the next few hours, Sasuke wanders about the village, occasionally and 'accidentally' coming across a few spots he knows Hinata likes to visit. He doesn't see her at any of the spots or, for the matter, anywhere in Konoha. Did she have a mission? He doesn't remember her mentioning anything of the sort to him.

He keeps searching, even stopping by her house again, but he absolutely can't find her. He even spotted her teammates at one point in time, and she wasn't with them.

Where the hell is she?

Sweating and parched, Sasuke drags himself to Sai's place. When he opens his door, he tips his head.

"Something happen?"

Oh, he has no idea.

"Bring me a bucket with water, and I'll tell you."

...

Sai does exactly as told without question, and Sasuke bites the tip of his finger to drag the glove off before dunking his muddy hand into the cool water.

He tells Sai about yesterday, about the mission and Hinata and the kiss. Sai looks floored for a second, but actively listens up to the happenings of just a few minutes ago, when Sasuke spent most of the morning looking for her. When he's done, Sai thinks for a moment.

Then —

"Do you think that's normal?"

"What is?"

Sai's nose scrunches as the bucket of water Sasuke's using to wash his hand turns dark and murky. "Kissing someone, then avoiding them."

Sasuke bites down on his irritated groan. "She's not avoiding me."

Nodding, Sai asks, "Then what would you call it?"

Lifting his hand out of the water and wagging it in the air to dry it, Sasuke ponders. Not seeing him . . . not being in her normal spots . . . not being home when he's knocking on her door . . . . not being with her teammates . . . .

Kami, his realization cries in horror, she's avoiding us!

Suddenly, all of yesterday rushes back to him, but now in a different light. Everything's dark, and there's lightning and horror music. He has horns or something growing out of his skull, and Hinata looks at him like he's a monster.

Is — is that how she saw yesterday playing out?

Had he been pushy? Too forward?

Did she regret it?

Shit.

"She's avoiding me," he murmurs.

Sai, unsure how to help, bends down on the front step and dries Sasuke's hand with the end of his shirt. "My book says —" Sasuke gives him a look, and he shuts his mouth, thinks some more, and tries again. "There's a million reasons for avoiding someone."

"Yeah," Sasuke mutters, "like kissing them."

"Bad hair day," Sai offers.

"Being disgusted with them."

"Illness."

"Never wanting to see them again —"

"Period cramps."

Sasuke balks, then sighs, then gives a weak laugh. "Thanks."

Sai drags the bucket over to pour the water onto the grass. When he's done, he stands straight, wipes his forehead, and stares off at something in the distance. "Oh."

"What is it?"

"You know I live by the Hyuuga complex, right?"

Sasuke follows his gaze and finds Hinata exiting the gate, bowing her head in thanks to the guards and waving a hand at her sister before she continues to make her way down the street.

Oh.

Well, that's one place Sasuke forgot to look.

...

He, quite literally, appears out of nowhere in front of her.

If she saw him approaching her down the street, would she run? That's what Sasuke worried about, so he got rid of that option all together and body flickered in front of her.

The down side, of course, is that she's startled and jumps back, easing into an attack stance, realizing it's him, and slowly dropping it — but, well, at least she's not running away.

...

"I've been looking for you."

He wants her to know he's spent all morning thinking about her and most of it searching for her. Sasuke's got a bit of an annoyance with things like this. Civilians and strangers can hate him all they want. They can mock him and look down on him and fear him — but when it's a friend, that's when Sasuke cares, and that's when he gets petty.

She ought to know she's been the star in his mind ever since that kiss!

She's been the star far before that, but that kiss escalated everything by 200%! It's almost torturous. It's almost painful. And maybe she wasn't actively avoiding him — or maybe she was, and she was using the Hyuuga as an excuse — but that doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. He was looking for her — and she wasn't anywhere — and . . . .

And . . . .

And her face is more crimson than the word itself. It's redder than her years in the Academy and after, when she was a shy girl pining after Naruto. Sasuke takes some pride knowing that he's the cause of this shader that is brighter and grander than any flush Naruto has caused.

"I-I won't —"

Her stutter makes her eyes twist shut, dragging herself into a dark, isolated world. He watches as she counts her breaths, shoulders moving like tree branches on a slightly breezy evening.

She collects herself, opens her eyes to dare look at him once again, and tries once more.

"I won't run away," she says, "no matter . . . how embarrassed I am."

Her tone is kunoichi. Her voice is a ninja who has faced war.

Her face is a timid girl, but her voice is an avalanche, and Sasuke gets buried in the cold. It sends his body into shock, then into overdrive. He feels the ants under his shoes. He hears the soft trails of her words whirling in his ears.

Had he been frustrated moments ago?

Probably not.

He would remember such a thing.

As of right now, Sasuke is nothing but in love.

The same sunshine that collects onto her skin falls on his, and he swelters in the warmth, the humidity, the heat. It touches his ears. It rubs his cheeks. And Hinata looks at him like she's looking at herself. Her hand lifts to press her wrist against the back of her lips, but her smile is too brilliant to hide.

"That's good," he says. "I don't plan on running, either."

...

Hinata invites him over. Sasuke thinks he can see the imprints of his gloved fist against her front door, but she takes no heed of it, so he must be imagining things. The whole time, Hinata fluctuates between a sheepish bow to her head and strong, squared shoulders that fit her to be confident in her choices. They fall into the familiar routine of taking off their shoes and padding across the floor. Other times, they'd head to the kitchen to prepare food or sit in the living room to rest their feet — but not today.

Today, Sasuke doesn't know where to go, and Hinata doesn't know where to bring him — or maybe she does, but she's still gathering the courage to do so.

They kind of hover at the front of her home.

Hinata is jumpy. Her own breathing makes her flinch. She turns so he sees her profile and the way her fingers pick at each other.

"I don't . . . really know what to say," she whispers. "This doesn't happen much."

"What doesn't?"

"S . . . Someone having interest in me." She winces, now, and looks at him to see if he'd deny it — as if she expects him to. "Enough to kiss me, at least," she adds with a wheezy, nervous laugh. He'd like very much to confirm he's interested enough in her to like to kiss her for the rest of her days, but she continues. "Naruto, um, rejected me — and Kankuro said he saw me as a sister. But I guess you already know that, huh?"

He didn't know anything about Kankuro until a while ago. "I'm not them, Hinata."

Based off of how the crimson remains on her face, she knows that already. "I went to Suna to escape Konoha, and now I'm back to escape Suna. I didn't . . . feel like I belonged here. But you know that, too — um, because, um, you said all those things."

Her left shoulder dips, inviting him to follow her into her room.

A familiar sight beholds him there.

A glass vase with sugar packets inside.

She kept it?

He didn't think she would, but she did.

To his side, Hinata squares her shoulders again.

"That time, at the gate, when you said —"

"Come back safely." When he walks over, he sees those words in ink on the top packet in the jar. When he reaches in, he touches it, and he feels like he's linked to that boy from so long ago who held onto it like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Hinata stays behind. ". . . Yeah. Uhm, thank you."

He remembers them all.

"Try lemon tea. Remember to rest. Take breaks."

"U-Um . . . ."

"Good luck. Stay hydrated."

"You . . . still remember that?"

"You're not alone."

"Sasuke —"

"I love you." He turns his head, looks down at her stunned expression, and says it again. "I'm in love with you."

Her nervousness is like a fog in the bedroom, taking up the air. She's hazy, and her eyes flutter and fly and skip around. He can feel the heat radiating from her face.

"You're —" Hinata swallows, "telling the truth, right?"

Sasuke has a million things he could say, but all that comes out is, "I'm in love with you, Hinata."

She has the face of that girl on her front porch. He told her "Welcome home", and tears sprang to her eyes. Only Hinata doesn't cry this time.

She shifts, she bows her head, and she says, "Please take care of me."

. . . What?

Wait.

Did she —

"That's not a rejection," he says, mostly to himself, but Hinata hears him, and her blush takes over her entire body.

"It's not," she confirms.

Her face is forced to stay high, and her hands shake, but she does not take back her words, and he does not take back his.