Day 13
- Secret Rendezvous -
Maybe it's a conceited thing to think, but Hinata's house feels more like a home when he's here. Not that he's ever been here without her, of course, but he can imagine it. An empty home has a distinct feel to it, like it's missing its windows or the back door. You stand in it, and you see the roof and the walls, so you know it's a house; but it doesn't feel like home.
Home has people.
Sasuke used to feel that unsettling jitter in his chest when he stood in the Uchiha estate after the massacre. He used to visit to remember what life was like, what a big brother used to be before he turned into a murderer. The estate was full of memories; but memories aren't people. They're dust, and they're ghosts, and you can make a house with dust and ghosts.
Sasuke is neither of those things.
He's flesh and blood, a traitor with a beating heart. As of right now, his heart is beating solely for Hyuuga Hinata, and it's as if she hears it, for every time her eyes catch his form, her face lights up, and she tucks her hair behind her ear, and Sasuke drinks in everything that she is — and that — that is what makes a home.
Sometimes, he thinks he's daydreaming.
Eight years ago, he never would have guessed he'd one day be in Hinata's home, enjoying the paints of pinks on her cheeks as she fumbles, embarrassed, but not enough to shoo him away. He had confessed to her, and he had kissed her, and she — well, she didn't reject him.
So what does that mean? This question has been haunting him, recently. A lack of a rejection doesn't automatically mean she accepted him, confession and kiss and love and all. She didn't say no, but she didn't say yes, either. So what are they, exactly? Are they dating?
Sasuke's unsure.
All he knows is that he wanted to kiss her badly when he walked her home, waiting on the porch for her as she unlocked her door. When she didn't immediately enter, his hopes had warmed the backs of his ears, and when she invited him inside, the desire to kiss her skyrocketed to an almost startling degree. Even now, with how her eyes drift to him every so often, the desire is present as ever, and Sasuke has to force himself into her armchair situated across the room from her to keep himself at bay. He promised himself he'd be patient. Kissing her won't help his case.
Hinata has warmed up to him since their reunion. She's aware of his feelings, and she doesn't pretend they don't exist, and she doesn't push him away. Even so, the walls are still so obviously up around her, probably glued in place thanks to the incidents with Naruto and Kankuro. He doubts those walls will come down any time soon.
He doesn't know much about her history with Naruto outside of what he shared with him, and he knows even less about Kankuro. But he doesn't need the full story to understand the nervousness she feels is partly due to them. Naruto has explained her mistrust of people was because of him, and Sasuke can see it. She might like to have people close, but she gets frightened, and she's always worried if she makes the wrong move, they'll leave her. When he asked her for lunch, she agreed only because she didn't want him to think badly of her — and that had hurt, momentarily. Do I give her that impression, he had wondered.
But it's not him.
Not really.
She fears abandonment, and that has nothing to do with his actions. She doesn't think ill of him; that became clear the second she invited him in, though he supposes it's always been obvious. In one way or another, she likes him, and she wants to trust him.
He'd do anything to show her she can.
He's not Naruto, and he's not Kankuro; he's not dust or ghosts. He's real, and she has him now. He's all hers.
There's no way she can get rid of him.
...
Despite his confidence, watching her fret about the living room makes him restless, and it's hard to stay still and calm in his seat, for both his sake and her own.
"Hinata." Sasuke tries to keep his voice gentle, but she still leaps several centimeters into the air, despite his best efforts. Her eyes are wide, full like moons, and words get tangled in his throat for a moment. "Maybe you should sit."
To be honest, he's scared she'll fall over if she stands on those shaky legs any longer.
"Oh," she pipes, "oh, yes." Her hand rests on the second, smaller armrest she has stationed on the opposite end of the coffee table. Her fingers slide over the cream fabric as she moves, as if to sit, but changes her mind last minute and stands straight again. "No! Oh, I can't. I have to —"
Without finishing her sentence, she scurries off into her room, and Sasuke listens to the rumble and rustle of things. Sasuke takes the moment of privacy to rest his head back against the chair, his hand wiping down his face.
Hell. Did he say he was confident before? Hinata has the strange ability to change that confidence into fluttering nervousness and giddy expectations. If she isn't the one to first fall over, and he sure will, and soon.
The ruckus smooths to a stop, and her shadow slides across the floorboards before she appears from the confines of her bedroom, a collection of books in her arms. She rests them on the coffee table, and Sasuke sits forward to look at them. There's about four of them, with scratchy title font and dark colors coloring in the forms of monsters and inescapable forests.
Horror books.
"I read these a lot," Hinata explains, situating herself by the cream chair, still not sitting. "They're, um, good. Enticing."
He knows only one of the titles, unfamiliar with the rest. Still, it's hard to not smile. Hyuuga Hinata: Horror Enjoyer. Who would have thunk?
"I don't know if you'll read them," she says, "and I don't expect to force you. But, well, I think reading at least one of them would be nice." Her right pointer finger lifts to draw an odd shape in the air, like she's trying to write something. "Stories connect people, you see. Um. At least, that's what I hear."
Sasuke lifts the top book from the pile, feeling the smooth, cool texture of the cover. It's well kept, but when he flips through the pages, he can see the creases where she rabbit-eared them to come back to, and he can see the bend of pages, used to her careful hands flipping through them. This is a beloved book she's read many times, he can tell, and now he's holding it in his hand. She's giving it to him. It's not her heart, but it's her smile, and he'll take it gladly and hold it close in his room, feeling the effects of her love on the pages.
"I'll read them," he tells her. "I'll read them all."
And he means it.
Her face is that pretty pink again, and there's a flash of teeth as she bites down on her lip. "You . . . can make a list, if you'd like," she says. "Books you like, foods you enjoy, hobbies — stuff like that."
There's a slight wobble to her voice, but she does not fade away. She's telling him she won't run away, and her words ring true now. She's putting in the effort to know him, for him to know her — and Sasuke's so in love with her that he thinks he'd give her anything she could ask of him at that moment.
"I will," he says. "I'll do that."
Hinata gives a small smile. "O-Okay."
"You too." He stands, cradling all the books against his chest. If these books really make her happy, then he wants them to be covered in Sasuke before he returns them to her. "Write a list, too."
Her lips bite together, and she nods. Though he'd like to stay longer, to go ahead and dive into one of these Hinata-loved books, he feels he should leave, if only to give her time to settle. He'll see her tomorrow, and the day after that — and hopefully for the rest of his days on this world.
...
Kakashi asks if he stopped by the library.
"No." He doesn't stop on his journey up the staircase to answer. "Hinata's."
Sasuke can imagine the look on Kakashi's face. He doesn't have to turn back to see. It's cunning and smug, and then he'll wait a beat until he calls up Iruka and the Hokage, telling them that Sasuke's advanced into another stage — whatever that means.
...
That night, Sasuke sits on the floor of his bedroom with the lamp light on. The carpet is thin and doesn't give much protection from the hardwood floor, but Sasuke sits with cups of water and dish soap placed around his knees, and with a rag, he works at the worn, old wood that makes the music box. There are plenty of crevices and nooks between the details in the wood that Sasuke struggles to reach. Sometimes, he has to carefully fit the rag over his nail to reach particularly tough spots on the lid.
This is his fourth time cleaning it.
With every round, it looks more and more well-kept and less and less ancient.
Sasuke thinks, one day, it will look like it hadn't been abandoned in a home.
He'll show Hinata it, soon. She might not recognize it at first, and he'll have to tell her "It's the music box you said reminded you of me." Then she'll remember, and she'll hold it in her hands like she'd hold his face, gentle and loving, full of awe.
On his knee is a notebook, flipped open with lined paper facing the ceiling.
Sasuke pauses to click his pen and scribble down Cleaning antiques down under the 'Hobbies" subtitle.
Truth be told, Sasuke's not sure if he has any noteworthy hobbies.
This has to count, right?
Surely.
...
When he's done, he pours the water into his sink and returns the glasses to the kitchen, and then Sasuke sits on his bed (much more comfortable than his floor) and begins one of Hinata's books she lent him.
He won't be long with it, he's sure.
Just a chapter or two.
It's late, and he's got a mission tomorrow, so just a few pages will suffice.
...
In the end, by Chapter 4, Sasuke looks at the lock and gawks that it's already one in the morning.
...
Granny Kuu's home looks a little different when you're sleep deprived. It's like when you look at a word on a page for so long that it starts to disappear. The house doesn't disappear, per se, but it sometimes loses its roof or the side windows, so Sasuke has to rub his eyes to get the house looking whole again.
Today, he has to work on mowing her lawn.
Ever since he first weeded her flowerbed, Sasuke's been asked to return to help around the garden by Kuu. He can't say he knows exactly why, but he does know that he'd been in an awfully good mood the day he first worked for her, so that perhaps had something to do with it.
Kuu is still an old croon, but she doesn't glare at him like he's filth anymore, and she asks questions and doesn't fake interest in his answers. When he mentioned how he'd have to find paint for the project he's working on, she'd nearly twisted her ankle with how quickly she hobbled in and out of her house to show off the collection of paints and paintbrushes she kept, specifying that these paints in particular were meant for antique woods.
Sasuke said he'd trade his pay for some of her paints.
In turn, Kuu snorted and spat. "Like hell. You ain't got paintin' hands. You're more likely to ruin the thing if ya ain't bein' watched."
Today, Kuu sits in her rocking chair with the music box in hand, squinting through the circular lenses of her specks as she carefully paints the lid.
Sasuke tries not to get too distracted.
If he doesn't pay attention, he might mow his foot off.
...
The mower is an old, clunky thing that reminds him of its owner. It doesn't turn right, and it sort of growls at him like it wants to chew his foot off. He's glad to be done with it and shove it back into the storage shed behind the house, and after shutting both doors behind him, Sasuke wipes his face, overlooks his hard work, and is satisfied.
Maybe he should put yard work as a hobby.
He doesn't mind it, after all.
His hand reaches up to search for a pen, but of course there isn't one around. Sasuke moves to the front, where Kuu sits the music box on a piece of paper towel, letting the paints dry in the sun. He asks for a pen, and she grumbles, but goes into her home to drag one out for him.
Sasuke sits on her front step, pulling out his notebook from his pack to lay against his knees. He can feel Kuu peering over his shoulder, looking at what he's writing down.
"You've got to be the most uninteresting boy I know," she remarks.
Sasuke gives her a look. "And you must know plenty, don't you, Grandma?"
"Who the hell writes 'mowing the lawn' as a hobby?"
"Traitors," he offers. "Dirty scum."
She huffs, and he can hear the toothpick she's got clicking against her teeth. Kuu wobbles back to sit on her chair, and it croaks like her, like the rest of the house.
"For therapy?"
Therapy? How did they go from hobbies to therapy? "Pardon?"
"Is that a therapy thing they do now?" she asks, scratching a roll of wrinkles under her left eye. "Not that it's much'a my concern. Old ladies like to nose around, get it?"
Sasuke finishes his scribbling before snapping the book shut, standing to hand the pen back.
"Not therapy," he says. "For —" What is Hinata, exactly? ". . . a friend."
Kuu hacks, nimble fingers slapping the jut of her knee, and a nasty-looking smile curls on her features. "Right," she croons. She takes the pen and taps it against the arm of her chair, leering at the notebook sandwiched under his arm. "Add better things to impress your friend, then, eh? Somethin' like — 'climbing the tallest mountains', or 'wrestling bears'."
He bites his laugh, taking the pen back to write exactly those things.
"What kind of person would want to be friends with you?" It meant to be pointed, but it doesn't come off that way. Kuu's face smooths out a bit, the wrinkles less jagged and rough.
Sasuke's not sure what to say, so he goes with sarcasm. "Right?" When he's done, he puts the notebook away and leans against the railing of the porch. "Someone who's lost their mind."
...
With his job done, Sasuke is fully allowed to leave.
He just doesn't.
He sits on the porch, listening to the creaks of the rocking chair, and they wait for the paints to dry.
Now that he's getting a good look at it, he's impressed with Kuu's handiwork. The paints are perfect, even lines, not smudged or bumpy. The colors are bright and distinguishable, but don't distract from the overall piece of the music box. With the bird now painted in shades of oranges and reds and scarlets, Sasuke sees it's a phoenix, and he wonders if that's Kuu's personal touch or the original design.
"Lovely piece," Kuu notes, rolling her toothpick from one corner of her mouth to the other. "Good shape 'n all."
Carefully, as to not ruin her work, Sasuke opens the lid to look inside. He's cleaned the tube and comb enough times to make a grown man cry, and now the metal shines in surprise to see him, and he admires the cool colors of painted water on the floor of the box.
"Know the song?" Kuu asks. Sasuke shakes his head. "It's an ol' folksong. Not from Konoha — though, hell, I wouldn't be able to tell you where. Been to a million places a million times."
"Traveler?" he asks.
Her shoulders lift. "Could say that. Daddy was a toolmaker. Same with my husband." Her eyes glint as she holds her toothpick between her fingers like it's a cigarette. "My son's famous here in Konoha. I'm sure all your ninja friends know him." Her pride makes her look ten years younger, and she grins to herself, eyes slowly sinking back to the music box, remembering. "It's a song about a phoenix born in a cave almost completely covered in water. Anyone who hears the song is said to be the kind to strive, to preserve."
Sasuke looks over at her, and she smirks.
"Fitting for a bear wrestler," she muses.
His heart cartwheels. Hinata had said it reminded her of him — the box, the song.
To strive, huh?
Suddenly, he really, really wants to see her.
"How long will this paint take?"
"Oi. Already bored with me? Lousy fucker."
...
Again, he rushes the report, and again, Shikamaru doesn't seem to mind. He even adds a snarky "Have fun with Hinata" before Sasuke's out the door.
He goes to her house, knocking on her door, careful to not drop the music box in the process. She doesn't answer, so he goes through the whole ordeal of searching the entire village — but then he remembers last time, so he goes to the Hyuuga estate. And, sure enough, through the flood of Hyuuga chakra, he senses hers, cool and warm at the same time. She is pastels against the night, a daisy growing in isolation.
There's the option to sit there and wait, but Sasuke doesn't know how long this will take; not that he's unwilling to wait days, weeks, years for her, but he finds his yearnings strong and his patience thin, so her goes to the east side of the wall, where there are no guards scouting, and hops over the wall.
Sometimes, his family would come visit the Hyuuga for one reason or another. Sasuke vaguely recalls how to get around, though his foggy memory hardly gives him any aid as he soon loses himself in the gardens, the smells of flowers and herbs puncturing his senses. He keeps his chakra level low and sneaks around corners after making sure no one is about, and he follows the touch of chakra that he hopes will lead him to her.
And it does.
Hinata sits out in the open with her sister, messing with the collar of her sister's collar, as if fixing it. There's a bowl of sliced pair between them, and Sasuke's momentarily lost in the memories of china and candied apricots and the Uchiha bamboo forest.
When her eyes find him, she blinks, then activates her byakugan, then gapes when finding he's actually there and she's not just seeing things. A quiet word sent to her sister, Hinata then stands and comes his way, eyes flying around to make sure no other Hyuuga is about.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, folding herself against a wall so they're both hidden from plain sight.
"I wanted to see you," he says.
"I won't be here much longer." That thought physically fades from her eyes when she finds the music box in his hand, colorful and almost new. Her fingers touch the lid, then lift to see if she smeared any of the paint; when her fingertips are bare, she traces the design of the phoenix. "Did you do this?"
"Some."
"It's beautiful, Sasuke."
He swallows, then brings out his notebook to flip it to the lists he's been working on. "I finished this, too."
Hinata takes it in both hands, eyes scanning his handwriting. Mirth brightens her face.
"Bear wrestling?" she laughs.
He smirks, tipping his head to look at the list with her. "I wanted to impress you."
Her body shifts just a tad so she's maybe a centimeter or two closer to her. Her body heat warms his side and relaxes the yearn in his chest that races around. "I like you the way that you are," she whispers.
She's doing it again — tempting him.
Stifling a groan, he rests his forehead on the crown of her head. "How long did you say this visit will take?"
Hinata presses his list against her chest, thinking. "I can wrap it up soon," she says. "Hanabi will understand."
"I'll be waiting," he promises.
"O-Okay."
And even still, for a minute longer, he stays there, and she stays there, and his hand brushes over her knuckles and traces the lines of her fingers before he finally leaves, jumping over the same wall and sitting himself outside of the complex, where he waits with a bounce in his leg and lava in his chest.