Aoi - #2C2F4B
Mondays aren't ideal days for Sasuke.
Nor are Tuesdays or Wednesdays, because those days are when he has to log that heavy textbook around. It makes the front part of his backpack stick out, and on the train, he has to constantly look out for people in fear he'll whack them with it. It hurts his back, and it hurts his shoulders, and honestly, it's nothing but annoying.
With the advancement of technology, Sasuke hears physical textbooks might begin to decrease. Itachi tells him more books and texts will be available online, which means less paper usage and more access to studies from all over the world. A revelation, he calls it. The turn of the century.
Sasuke waits for the day.
If it means no more aching back and overly large backpack, he doesn't care what has to be done for that future.
But it's a far away prophecy, and his first class starts at 10:30 today. He finishes his water, throws the plastic bottle into recycling, and grabs his keys from the table. It's just after eight in the morning. The radio on the side of his table had that pretty-voiced meteorologist predicting clear skies and warming temperature as the months slug into summer. Sasuke doesn't listen to her much — not because she's bad at her job or speaks through her nose in an annoying manner, but because he usually sleeps in when she's on at this early an hour. His university is a few stations down, but hopping on the train cuts what would usually be a two to three-hour walk into twenty-five minutes, if even that.
Today, however, Naruto proposed for their usual group to arrive early for a study session.
The approach of the end of the semester is making him nervous. From what Sasuke understands, the idiot's grades haven't been that good.
Dumbass, he thinks. If you're so bad at studying, why go to college?
Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Sasuke puts on his sneakers, adjusts his backpack, and steps out into the cool morning.
To his surprise (which is a lie — because, in a way, he sort of expected her to be out here — as if it were fate or something), Hinata is in the process of locking her door. She beams when she spots him, waving shyly.
"Ohayou, Uchiha-san."
"Mornin'." God, she's chipper. Does she go to bed at eight or something to get all that energy at this time of day? Frowning, Sasuke eyes her backpack. Baby blue. How typical. "You go to uni?"
Her blank eyes remind him he's talking to a non-speaker.
He pats his own backpack, then gestures to hers. There are keychains hanging from her front pouch. Sailor Moon. Stars. A globe with North America facing outward. It's still hard to believe that she's a foreigner. Her name is pure Japanese. Her haircut is popular amongst the girls their age — thick, straight-cut bangs and long, dark hair. Her voice is soft, and the way she holds herself isn't what he expects from an American. They're always stubborn and loud in the movies. Big-shouldered. They stand tall and confident, but this girl folds into herself, conscious of the space she takes up. Even the keychains hanging from her backpack remind him of his classmates.
As she ponders his meaning, she pats her own backpack, mimicking his action.
"School?" she asks in English.
Somehow, that word has slept in the back of his brain, only now popping awake in memory.
"School," he repeats. What a weird word. Scuh-oohl. But when you spell it, it reads s-chuh-ool. Sasuke would like to meet the person who invented that English word school. 'Why did you spell it that way?' he'd ask. 'To confuse us Japanese who are forced to learn your language in our s-chuh-ools?'
"Uchiha-san school?" Hinata pipes.
He shrugs his shoulders, aloof, not sure how to respond. Is she asking if he goes to college? The backpack should make that obvious. With a tired wave and a farewell nod, he goes along his way. He passes the bike racks, wondering which is hers. There's a bright blue one with a basket on the front. It almost matches her backpack.
He takes the street that leads, eventually, to the rail station. A heat rash forms on the back of his neck, irritating the skin, and he gets the inclination to turn around. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Hinata going down the other street. No bike. Just herself and her baby blue backpack, key chains swinging behind her.
There aren't any universities that way.
There aren't any universities anywhere around here. Businesses and apartments, sure, and elementary through high schools — but not colleges. Not universities.
Is she lost?
He puffs. Sasuke really isn't sure how long she's been here, but if she goes to a university, she should at least know how to get there.
It's not my problem.
That's how it's always been — not his problem, not his time to fret about it. Don't mess around in other people's business, Sasuke. Focus on yourself.
She's old enough.
She can figure it out.
But . . . .
And it's really that but that's the most annoying thing — the thing that stops him from turning around and carrying on his way. He watches that baby blue get smaller and smaller, and with a tight stomach, he tsks and goes after her.
...
"Hyuuga-san."
It takes her a moment, but she stops and looks up at him. Wide, pale eyes. Pretty.
Blue eyes and green eyes, he's seen. Americans have the ability to have the most striking of blue eyes. Almost unimaginably blue. Gray eyes. Hazel.
But these are different. He's never seen eyes like hers before.
Is it common where she's from?
"School." English feels weird on his tongue. He directs a hand in the direction she's walking. "Is that where your school is?"
She follows his arm, confused. "School?"
Ugh. This is getting him nowhere. Sasuke drops his bag on the sidewalk, pulling out his massive textbook. There's a sticker on the back that reminds him of what library it belongs to and when to return it. He taps it. "What school do you go to?"
Hinata does the same, pulling out one of her own books.
It's the same. The same, massive maths book.
And on the back, it's the same sticker informing her to return it to the same library.
They . . . go to the same university.
Sasuke blinks, bewildered. Hinata looks between their books, unsure what to think.
They go to the same university. So why —
"Do you have a bike?" Her flickering gaze makes him think outside the box, putting his hands forward like he's holding the handles of a bike. "Bike?"
She shakes her head.
"Train?" He puts one hand up, as if holding an overhead pole.
That familiar pink touches her face, which is all the answer he needs. No. She doesn't take the train.
With the bike, it's because she doesn't own one; but the train is a different story.
She doesn't know how.
An exasperated hand wipes down the side of his face. The tip of her nose is more red than the rest of her face. Sasuke remembers something his mother used to tell him. She worked overseas before she met his father. Apparently, independence is the most important thing to Americans. Moving out after school. Living alone. Paying your own bills. Not relying on family help — that was their passage into adulthood, she'd say. Buying their first car. Fixing their first leak.
To not be able to do something as simple as riding a train on their own must be . . . a damaging thing to an American.
Especially a shy one, he notes. A shy, strange American.
Picking up his backpack and sliding his arms through loops, he takes the book from her hands and puts it in that baby blue front pouch, zipping it up.
"Come on." How did she do it again? That motion to follow. Like scooping air. Fanning the face. He does that, encouraging her to come along. "I'll show you."
And, after a moment of hesitation, she follows.
...
The station is packed around this time of day. Full of students heading to school and adults rushing to their jobs. It's easy to lose someone in this kind of crowd — especially the small ones. It would be different if she was noticeable. Pink-dyed hair, maybe, or neon green lipstick. But Hinata blends in, and Sasuke has to slow down to make sure she's keeping up with him.
"Hyuuga-san," he calls. "Give me your hand."
He holds his out, and with a curious looks, she drops her smaller one in his palm.
It's . . . really small. And her nails are squared at the ends.
Someone knocks into his back, shoving him out of his musings, and he makes her grab his backpack so she can stay behind him. They make their way to the gates, and as he's pulling his pass out of his wallet, he realizes Hinata wouldn't have one. Damn. He maneuvers out of the way, and they take a breather by the ticket booths.
"Do you have any money on you?" he asks. "Yen?"
She seems to know that word, for she brings out her own wallet. A plain, foldable black one. Almost exactly like his.
The ticket booths have signs in both Japanese and English. A clean-faced lady stands behind a thin, glass sheet, and people pass her money through a hole in the bottom so she can hand them tickets. Together, Hinata and Sasuke look at the prices. He points out what station they'll be getting off of, and Hinata begins to count her yen for the right amount.
The line dwindles quickly, and Sasuke steps up to the booth as Hinata balances her wallet and money in her hands.
"A one-way to [x] station," he says.
"Of course." The woman's kind face makes the tension in Hinata's shoulders release. "Are you a student, ma'am?"
Sasuke speaks for her. "Yes. She doesn't speak Japanese."
"You're a kind boyfriend to help her with this." Before Sasuke can correct her, the lady continues. "Does she have her Student ID?"
Sasuke turns and flashes his own to Hinata. Understanding, she brings hers out, and he slides it through the hole. The lady jots down a few things, and then she prints the ticket.
"Because she's a student, she gets a discount."
Hinata hands the money, and Sasuke separates the correct amount to give to the lady. With the rest of the money and the ticket, he holds it out for her, which she takes with a confused pinch to her brows.
"Discount," he tells her, next handing Hinata her Student ID. "Because you're a student."
Hinata only smiles, probably not understanding anything. She bows to the lady and says her practiced, much-loved words. "Arigatou gozaimasu."
"Kawaiiii," the woman beams. "Take care of her, Boyfriend-san."
Sasuke turns away and rubs at the heated streak along the bridge of his nose. Nosy woman.
...
They pass through the gates, and Sasuke makes sure Hinata has her ticket kept safely.
"You need it when we get off," he tells her, turning the ticket around so she can read the English instructions on the back. "Look."
They get to where the train comes in and wait behind the yellow line. Hinata studies the people around her, admiring briefcases and suits and different kinds of school uniforms. The ticket line cut some time off, so they have to wait a while for the next train. Naruto and them are probably wondering where the hell he is.
I'm making her get a pass next time, he thinks, frowning. It's a good thing we're leaving early.
When the train does pass, he grabs the elbow of her blouses sleeve, bending over so she can hear him.
"Watch," he says. "We wait first, then get on."
The doors open, and passengers beeline out of them, flooding onto the floor. On both sides of the open doors, in both Japanese and English, it says: Please Wait Your Turn. Passengers Off First! Hinata nods to herself, and when the last of the people exiting get through, the waiting crowd makes their way inside. A flash of bright pink catches Sasuke's eye, and he turns to see the Women-Only cart.
Should Hyuuga-san go there? he wonders for a moment, only to just as quickly bat the idea away. With no understanding of anything, putting her in a cart he can't join her in would only cause her confusion and panic. He'll just have to stick close by and keep an eye out.
They shuffle in, huddling around a metal pole. Both of Hinata's hands grip it for dear life, and Sasuke hangs one hand against it. Over the doors is a map of all the stations the train stops out. He taps her shoulder and nods up for her to look at it.
"We're three stations away," he says, holding up three fingers.
To his utter surprise, Hinata lets go of the pole to hold his hand, laughing. His spine buzzes like cicada wings — he thinks his vertebrae might be singing, too. She holds up three fingers like he does — thumb, pointer, middle — then does it in the American manner — pointer, middle, ring. Her thumb holds down her pinky, and Sasuke thinks it's uncomfortable, first, then cute.
She's so entertained by the smallest of things.
It's . . . cute.
The doors shut, and the train juts forward. Holding onto nothing, Hinata gasps and falls into him, and his loose grip on the pole turns white-knuckled to keep them both from falling over. The crown of her head is against his chin, and he can smell her shampoo. Citrus.
Kami-sama, he groans inwardly. Why are you doing this to me?
...
At the next station, they move a few steps closer to the seats to leave more room for the people coming on. Hinata tugs his jacket and directs her gaze as the blue seats around the doors. They stand out from the normal gray of the other seats, and she's definitely wondering why they're different.
"Priority seats," he tells her. "Look."
There's a sign that depicts priority passengers. The elderly. Pregnant women. Injured or handicapped. Her face shines in awe, then softens in preparation as the doors slink shut once again.
...
Finally, they reach their stop.
When they get through the gates, Sasuke feels like he can finally breathe. It's an easy walk to campus, and Hinata's head is flying everywhere, making note of landmarks so that, one day, she'll be able to make this journey on her own with no hiccups.
"This is where I'll take my leave," he tells her. "Go to your class."
He pats her backpack, turns, and lifts a hand in a lazy wave.
Somehow, he feels the baby blue in his palm.
What a weird feeling.
Shiro - #F9F6EE
They don't get much studying done, as expected. 10:30 rolls around before they know it, and Naruto demands Sasuke makes some time for him the coming weekend because of his lateness. They plod their way to class, arguing about it. It's not like Sasuke's weekends are free for him to laze around and do shit all. He bartends most weekend nights, and Naruto's inability to study will take away the patience he needs for the job.
"Just a few hours," Naruto insists. "You owe me! Seriously."
They go up a set of stairs and slide into an aisle of seating where they usually take notes for class. The podium where Professor Sarutobi Kurenai stands is in the center of the room on the lowest level, but her mic lets all students hear her clearly. Pulling out his textbook and notes, Sasuke glares at Naruto.
"A few hours is six for you," he drones. "You get distracted and fuck around with my Game Boy."
"I won't this time! Honest. Come onnnn!"
"Stop begging. It's pathetic."
"My life is on the line here, Sas—"
"U-Um. Uchiha-san?"
They both stop, turn, and see Hinata standing there, wide-eyed as ever, their images reflected in her white, strange, almost milky eyes.
"Hyuuga-san?" Naruto gasps.
What is she— Sasuke looks to the back desks, where a few other students sit. There slouches Hinata's backpack, the front pouch unzipped.
She's in the same class of them.
And he never noticed. Of course not. She's behind him, and during lecture, Sasuke doesn't pay attention to the others. Naruto is the only face he knows.
And — and just a week ago, he didn't know a Hyuuga Hinata existed.
Naruto reaches across the desk, patting the wood. Sit here, his gesture tells her, and her gaze turns to Sasuke, wondering if it's okay. He did, after all, leave her. He had good reason to, but she didn't know that.
. . . Fine. He waves his hand, and she grabs her stuff before joining them.
"Good morning, Hyuuga-san." Naruto's English is nasally, but it's better than whatever Sasuke can come up with, so he has no room to speak.
"O-Ohayou."
Sasuke wants to smack his forehead into the table.
...
Lecture starts.
It's hard to focus.
The faint scent of citrus bugs his nose, and the more Kurenai speaks, the more strange it all is for Sasuke.
Why is a girl who barely speaks any Japanese going to university?
She won't be able to understand the lectures. Won't be able to take notes. Can't join clubs or read the posters for events. Can't even get help from a tutor.
The pink eraser of a pencil jabs into his ribs, and Sasuke has the mind to nail the bastard in the jaw.
"Look," Naruto whispers. "Look at her."
He's been looking at her all day. When you think about it, it's almost creepy how much he's been looking at her since this morning. He might be able to draw her face without even looking at her at this point.
Which he won't.
Because he has no desire to.
Rolling his eyes, Sasuke peers down his nose.
Hinata is hunched over her notebook. The equations on the chalkboard are printed in thin graphite, and with a studious purse to her lips, Hinata works them with ease. The motion of her hand is smooth, and she figures the answer out like it's nothing while the professor is still in the middle of explaining the process.
That's . . . surprising.
"A genius," Naruto whispers.
And Sasuke is close to agreeing with him.
...
The sky is dark, and Sasuke's just leaving the bathroom from a much-needed shower when the well-known scratches of Hamlet's paws echo in the entryway. He opens the door and produces a bag of treats he'd gotten from the store. As Hamlet crunches down, tail curled with delight, Sasuke takes the piece of paper from his collar and unrolls it.
Uchiha-san,
I would be happy to have dinner with you tonight. As thanks.
- H
Leftover rice and chicken sits in the fridge, but his stomach hungers for something different tonight.
Traitor, he mutters to his appetite.
...
The knob is unlocked to Hinata's apartment.
He opens it slowly, much to Hamlet's impatience. The cat slips through the small opening, and Sasuke slowly follows.
"Pardon the intrusion."
Hinata peeks her head around the corner. A tan apron is tied around her, and a dart of attraction hits Sasuke in the gut.
"Hm?" she hums. "Ooh . . . Ojawma?"
"Ojama shimasu," he repeats slowly.
"Oja . . . ma."
"You don't have to say it back."
Hinata comes closer, grinning, and shows off the black slippers waiting for him. He toes off his sneakers.
She really did get them.
"For Uchiha-san," she says in Japanese, probably practiced for this exact moment.
"Thank you very much."
He slips into them. They're a bit small, and his heels sort of stick out, but the fact she got them is enough. Still, her feet pad bare on the floor, and Sasuke chooses to ignore that, at least.
The translating book sits on the tall dining table by the small kitchen where Hinata prepares her food. He smells salmon, and he wonders how she's preparing it. Days ago, he had a glimpse of the place, but being inside, in the middle of it, is vastly different. Like a different world. An alternate reality. A forgotten Walkman with orange, puffy headphones are left on the coffee table by the sofa, and there are flower stickers decorating the light switches. He feels nosy, observing everything, so he flips through the book until something catches his eye.
"Hyuuga-san."
Hinata wipes her hands, comes over, and looks at the words he's pointing out.
"Ojama shimasu," she murmurs.
"You say this when you enter someone's home," he tells her, even though she can't understand.
The end of her apron tickles his knee, and he swallows, looks away, and spreads his fingers on the white paper.
...
She sets two plates down, and Sasuke is, once again, struck by the difference between cultures.
That's right. Americans have their own plates and their own sides.
He doesn't mention anything about it, but when she sets the silverware — that's when he notices.
No chopsticks.
There's grilled salmon and green peppers and white rice, but no chopsticks.
Hinata's halfway in her chair when she looks over, finds his eye, and blushes. Caught again. Standing, she pulls something out of a drawer, and then places a set of metal chopsticks in front of both of them. Some guilt burns his throat. He knows how to use western silverware, and it doesn't matter how one eats as long as the food is enjoyed.
How his mother would be lecturing him if she were here.
"I'm sorry," he mutters.
Hinata smiles, shyly puts her hands together, and says, "Itadakimasu."
A small bit of amusement lifts his mouth, and he presses his palms together to join her. "Thanks for the meal."
...
Hinata tries her best to use her chopsticks. Her fingers are too close to the end, and whenever she tries to pick up a piece of rice or salmon, she's unable to put down enough force to clamp down on the food and prevent it from slipping. Sasuke watches with amusement for a while, but when he realizes he's halfway through his meal before she can get more than three bites in, he stands and comes to her side.
"Your hand needs to pull back." He moves it for her. "And this finger should be here."
His hand wraps around hers, and together, they grab a piece of salmon and bring it to her mouth. Hinata leans in, gobbles it, and smiles when the flavor fills her mouth.
He's about to help her again, but the sight of their hands together stirs him, and he pulls away, almost burned.
"Stop playing around," he mutters. "Eat your food."
He sits, and she's able to grab a bit of sticky rice with less difficulty.
Her eyes and the rice are almost the same shade of white.
He stares into them longer than appropriate, and Sasuke has to force his gaze down to eat the rest of dinner.