a / n: I wrote 10.5k words for you all guys!
Chapter 3: THE ONE WHO JUST EXISTED
Hinata felt her back being pushed on the wall, as Naruto's hardened body pressed on her softness. His lips locked with hers, his kiss was fervent, his tongue exploring her mouth with an almost desperate enthusiasm. Her body quivered when his calloused hand slid up from her silk covered stomach to her breasts, cupping them possessively.
The insistent pressure of his hardness against her thigh ignited a familiar warmth in her lower abdomen, this needs to stop now, the thoughts rushed in her head. The heated energy slithering up her spine was a natural and primal reaction to the advances being made but the heat in her core couldn't completely fog the sharp edges of her frustration budding in her mind.
She pressed a palm against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her touch. With a gentle but firm push, she created a sliver of space between them, her pale lavender eyes flickering away from the cerulean depths of his gaze, now wide with confusion.
Sliding past him, she made her way towards the bed, "I want to sleep, Naruto. I am tired," she simply stated, her voice laced with a weariness that went far beyond the physical. Turning away, she began to pull back the covers, creating a clear separation between them.
"Hinata-chan," Naruto moved towards her, holding her wrist to halt her. "Are you mad at me?"
"No," she commented. She lied. Years of pent-up exhaustion simmered beneath the surface; a silent scream trapped within her chest. But voicing it felt like an insurmountable task
He pulled her back against him, his arms encircling her waist in a familiar embrace. He rested his head on the crown of hers, "I know I promised to attend the orphanage with you and the kids that night, but...there was so much backlog. New ANBU division-"
Hinata stiffened in his arms. "Your absence was disappointing yet again, but not surprising, Naruto," Hinata interrupted, her voice stern, but muffled as she was pressed to his chest. Despite the physical intimacy, an emotional chasm opened between them.
Naruto flinched as if struck, the air crackling with the unspoken tension as his breath hitched. His arms, once wrapped possessively around Hinata's waist, slackened, and she pulled away, her gaze darting to his face.
The sight that greeted her was a stark contrast to the vibrant, exuberant Naruto she knew. Lines of fatigue etched themselves onto the corners of his eyes. The sun-kissed glow that usually graced his complexion had been replaced by a dull pallor, and the vibrant cerulean of his eyes were dimmed, the usual mischievous glint replaced by a heavy weariness that seemed to weigh down his entire being.
The moonlight filtering inside their room through thin curtains was enough illumination to show the worry and concern he carried in his downward turn of his lips, half-lidded sleep deprived eyes.
A pang of guilt, sharp and unexpected, pierced through Hinata's carefully constructed facade. Am I cruel? Hinata asked herself. His stare on her had a weight.
Her eyes burned, moist building up in her otherwise empty eyes.
"I am trying to be there..." he started, his voice was rough, "Hina-chan, being Hokage was my dream since I knew what a dream is. And I know...my family should be given priority too, but sometimes, it is just...I can't find the time, no matter how much I try."
Hinata saw her husband, who was truly one of the best human beings, yet one of the most disappointing husbands struggle with his explanation as his shoulders kept on slumping with each word escaping his chapped lips.
He was a hero to the village, a beacon of hope, yet here, in the quiet intimacy of their bedroom, he stood before her as a husband who had fallen short, a burden he clearly carried on his weary shoulders.
Hinata knew that the budding distance between them bothered him too, but he was too occupied to ever voice it out loud. He avoided confrontation, because he simply lacked the time to deal with it. Avoidance, it seemed, was his coping mechanism, a shield against the complexities of their strained relationship. Hers as well.
But Hinata was aware...it was not just his lack of time, it was his lack of courage to acknowledge that their connection, once vibrant and full of unspoken promises in the initial years of their marriage, had been fraying at the edges for years. And the reasons were far worse than the unavailability of his presence.
Hinata's eyes welled up, contrasting to the canvas-like face that she was carrying. Hinata had mastered the art of looking empty, devoid of any emotion, for the sake of hiding the tumultuous onslaught she had to weather every passing minute. She had perfected the stoic mask that tamed the raging and blazing hurt she shouldered.
But her carefully constructed facade of an emotionless and uncaring woman crumpled, the mask of hers fractured.
Her lilac tinted pale eyes always betrayed her, despite having the privilege of looking empty.
They were always filled.
Sometimes tears. Sometimes regrets. Sometimes guilt. Sometimes anger.
Sometimes love. Rarely love.
"Naruto..." she croaked. Now her voice betrayed.
"Yes." He caressed her cheek; his touch hesitant, a feather brushing against her cheek. Perhaps looking for the blush that she always used to carry for him in the past. In the past where Naruto had a place for her, and she could blindly trust that space.
"Are you in love with me?" she asked that dreadful question. The question was a shard of glass cutting through the fragile silence. It was the first time the unspoken doubt had dared to find voice, a desperate plea for the validation she craved.
Naruto's lips stretched into a smile, strained and unconvincing at the edges, like a sun struggling to pierce through a thick layer of clouds. "Of course, I love you," he assured, but the words rang hollow in the cavernous silence of the room.
Hinata reached for him, not to push away this time, but to seek a connection, a spark of something real amidst the growing chasm between them. She placed her hand over his heart, searching for a frantic rhythm, a telltale sign of the passion she yearned for, for Hinata only. But there was only a steady, metronomic beat, devoid of any acceleration for her. Nothing. She couldn't find a single beat that spiked and danced for her.
"I love you too," she confessed with tears sliding down her pale cheeks, which finally reddened. A faint blush crept up her neck, a testament to the love that still flickered within her, a love that seemed to be hers alone to bear.
But I am the only one loving you. She didn't say that. One day, I wouldn't have enough love to carry this relationship. She couldn't confess that. Perhaps, I am already at my limit. She minced the words which were yelling on top of her head, baring their fangs and clawing at her remaining sanity, scraping her flesh and skin to find an opening to be let out.
But Hinata caged them. She bit back the accusations, the pleas, the desperate cries for reciprocation.
Yet again. Perhaps because the agony of their rotten and decaying love was the last link to the connection they once cherished, and Hinata was unable to let it truly go. Longing for love must have turned to longing to feel love in anguish.
"Good night, Naruto." She tip-toed and planted a kiss on his cheek, wishing for his calming dreams. Her lips lingered longer than she willed on his cheek, for she knew that she wasn't going to have the luxury of wishing a good morning to her husband, as he'd vanished even before the first ray of sun could greet the world.
She pulled the blanket, and snuggled under them. Naruto's presence soon came on the bed, as the bed creaked with the weight. Hinata couldn't see his face, turned away as she was, but the absence of his touch spoke volumes.
No comforting arms wrapped around her, no tender kiss on her shoulder. Silence and darkness; heavy and suffocating, descended upon them, mirroring the growing distance that threatened to crumble the bed they lay upon, and perhaps, their fragile marriage along with it.
Sobs wracked her thin frame, muffled by the pillow. Her eyes squeezed shut, desperately seeking solace in the darkness. She tried to catch a breath to calm her palpitating heart in control.
Control, Hinata. She whispered to herself.
Calm down, Hinata. She tried to speak to her brain, pleading her mind.
It will be okay one day. She mumbled a hope to her wrenched heart, a desperate hope whispered into a void.
With her incessant struggling, hours had passed and the sky started to light up as the darkness and moonlight seemed to retreat back to their own caves and the first beam of sun illuminated the sky, brightening up the day and warming the leaves that rustled with the first gust of morning breeze.
Pale stripes of first silver of dawn were painted on the rumpled sheets, The sun woke up, so did the man beside her, who was once her sun too. Hinata lay motionless, with tear tracks glistening on cheeks, testament to the cries from the night she had endured.
Finally, a stirring beside her. Naruto stretched; the movement punctuated by the creaking of the mattress. He rose with a sigh, his bare feet padding softly across the cool wooden floor. Hinata squeezed her eyes shut, feigning sleep, a hollow ache settling in her chest. He came out, readied himself.
Hinata yearned to hold him from behind, pepper butterfly kisses on his strong back, bask in his warmth...but he wasn't her Naruto anymore. But the man who emerged from the steamy depths of the shower was a stranger, a pale imitation of the sun that used to illuminate her world. Hinata watched him from beneath the covers, her heart a leaden weight in her chest.
So, she remained snuggled on her bed, devoid of sleep and peace. Pulling the reins of her overflowing desires and aches.
The ghost of his kiss still lingered on her lips, as a memory that she planned to tuck away in the depths of her broken heart. The prints of his hand on her body left a mark, which she sought to fade under the harsh hot water in her shower.
A light slam of the room's door made her sit up on the bed, heaving a couple of deep sighs, can't pretend anymore, she winced as she leaned her head on the headboard of the bed, to guard herself against the wave of dizziness that hit her.
Her gasps turned to excessive panting, pain etched on her face and her body shivered despite being covered in a blanket. Her trembling palms gripped the sheets in a tight clutch which turned the knuckles white, as her mouth parted, seeking any remnant of air. Her chest felt heavier, her legs felt numb and protested when she wanted to lift them off the bed.
Her ragged breathing, tears stinging her eyes, each string of her soul being pulled harshly. Every morning! Every damn morning. You never learn, Hinata. She mentally chided herself.
Her breathing stabilised, she leaned forward and drew her knees to her chest and buried her face on the knees, broken sob escaped her lips. Some stray tears found a way to spill and taint her cheeks, but her mourns were voiceless. Hinata's pain didn't have a sound. Her heart shattered even more; at the thought of life, she was enduring; at the prospect of a future which was nothing but a barren landscape.
Every morning, she woke up, to an empty bed and felt like a failed woman. A part of her knew that her self-worth was never the issue, never the instigator, yet the wretched thoughts made her carry some perspectives that gnawed at her soul.
Her love had slipped through her fingers, like the grains of sand. Her love had wilted, the petals of her love crumbled under the heavy footsteps of her own husband.
You aren't enough. You aren't worthy. Those thoughts. Those wretched thoughts. Hinata lifted her head up and peered at the ceiling, she gulped the lump down her throat and forced her frail body to wake up as she stepped on the cold floor and pushed her frame off the bed. Her body shuddered with each step she took.
And the day begins. She muttered to herself. Another day of surviving life, instead of living.
Hinata just existed. Just the Like the water cascading down her body in the shower, washing away the faint traces of Naruto's touch, she felt insignificant, a forgotten whisper lost in the drain. Insignificant. Hinata felt she was a ghost of a woman she once was.
Perhaps her father was right during her early childhood training; Hinata, you are weak. You won't succeed. You won't make it out alive. You are inadequate. You are not enough! Perhaps, her father had predicted her future, Hinata kept on wondering about the past, blaming her lack of future on the present that was in shambles.
The hot water steamed the glass door and Hinata's finger made abstract patterns on the steamed glass, while the onslaught of the water burned her body, earning not a single wince.
For she had been burned, a long time ago and had been carrying the invisible scars of scalding life for almost a decade.
A flickering spike of strength jolted her, reminding her that her marriage was failing, but not because of her, also that her father was never right, because he never looked beyond her weakness to see the blooming strength she carried.
Wrapped in a damp towel, she moved to the window, the cool morning air a welcome contrast to the simmering turmoil within. Hinata leaned against the cool frame, her gaze drawn to the vibrant world outside. Tall trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling in a symphony of whispers. Flowers, bathed in the golden morning light, bloomed in a riot of colour, their delicate fragrance carried on the gentle breeze.
In that moment, a realization dawned on her. And she realized that her pain could be loud and the consequences of the pain could come to the light too. She had all the right to start living, instead of just existing.
Hinata wouldn't wilt in the shadow of a love that was fading. She was more than just Naruto's wife. She was a mother, unwavering in her devotion to her children. Her life, once defined by her relationship with Naruto, now stretched before her, a vast canvas filled with possibilities.
Choices, long dormant, stirred within her, whispering promises of a brighter future.
Perhaps, her happiness was waiting for her to come, somewhere far from here.
Wishful thinking. She thought as a doubt crossed her mind.
Rightful wishes. She countered herself. A smile, tired but resolute, touched her pink lips.
"Mommy!" The sound of her daughter's voice, a melody sweeter than any bird song, shattered the stillness. Hinata's trance was lifted, replaced by a surge of maternal love. There were clothes to change into, children to tend to – her beautiful blessings, a constant reminder of the strength and love that resided within her, no matter how many times Hinata had been broken in the last eight years, her children's beautiful smiles always pieced her back together.
And for them, she had to start living.
.
.
.
"Mira-chan, don't carry all the books at once," Hinata said, while arranging all the books on the top shelf. Mira-chan, a whirlwind of energy with two bouncing ponytails the colour of spun sunshine, teetered towards her, a precarious tower of books threatening to topple from her small hands. Hinata's smile widened as she saw the girl struggle, her own eyes crinkling at the corners.
She climbed down the ladder, "Mira-chan, slow down!" she called out, her voice laced with playful concern. The little girl giggled, her bright green eyes sparkling with mischief as the books wobbled precariously. Just before disaster struck, Hinata reached out, her fingers strong and sure, and relieved Mira of her burden.
Mira exclaimed, "Hinata-san..."
"Thank you!" Hinata chuckled, stacking the rescued books neatly on a small table in the corner. Reaching out, she gently pinched Mira's cheeks, the touch as light as a butterfly's kiss. "Boruto is setting the table with lots of snacks, you go and enjoy! I will clean up the place."
She scurried towards the doorway; the forgotten books forgotten in her eagerness to join the fun.
Volunteering at the orphanage had become Hinata's sanctuary, a refuge from the storm that raged within her own life. The Uchiha district, once a testament to a proud clan, had been reborn.
Now, it was a place of vibrant life, and the orphanage stood at its heart, a beacon of hope rising from the ashes of war. It was the first structure built in the tarnished ruins, a testament to Hinata's unwavering spirit, built during a time when she was still a Hyuga, not a Uzumaki.
In the aftermath of the war, children from all corners of the land had been orphaned, displaced, and in desperate need of a safe haven. Hinata, with nothing but her unwavering determination and financial resources, had poured her heart and soul into this project, finally receiving Naruto's approval to begin construction within the Uchiha district.
And now, even after years, the orphanage was a place where Hinata felt home. Warmth and sense of belonging soothed her heart with the vibrant giggles of children and their pure innocence.
Humming a soft melody, one she wasn't even aware of, she climbed a sturdy ladder secured to the wall. The shelves, laden with books, stretched towards the high ceiling. Hinata arranged the remaining books with practiced ease, her fingers brushing away dust that had settled on the wooden shelves. Every now and then, a forgotten bookmark would peek out from between the spines, a silent testament to a child's engrossed world.
A gentle breeze carried the sounds of the children playing outside, their joyous shrieks a symphony to her ears. Hinata's hair, long and unbound, whipped around her face as the wind danced through the open window.
With a soft groan, she attempted to tuck the stray strands behind her ear, a touch of regret for not tying it back earlier tugging at her. One hand braced herself against the ladder for support, the other was trying to tame the strands which were whipping her face.
Needing a hair tie, she carefully began to climb down the ladder, but panic surged through Hinata as her foot slipped on the precarious rung of the ladder.
With a startled cry, she lost her balance, the world tilting on a sickening axis. Just as she braced herself for the harsh impact of the floor, a strong arm materialized around her waist, arresting her descent.
Her breath hitched as she found herself suspended in mid-air, held captive in the embrace of a tall figure cloaked in black.
Instinct took over as Hinata's arms instinctively looped around the stranger's neck, seeking security amidst the sudden chaos. The press of his hardened muscles against her body sent a jolt through her, an unwelcome awareness that she was pressed to a stranger.
Her heart hammered in her chest, realization dawning upon her that her feet hadn't touched the floor so she was still in a man's arm and her head didn't hit the floor, so she hadn't fallen. Frantically, her eyes fluttered open, her shorter frame came eye to eye with a familiar pale face.
A name tumbled out of her mouth, sounding too foreign, "Uchiha-san."
A response came laced with quiet power, sounding even stranger, "Hyuga."
Then, just as abruptly as he had caught her, Sasuke lowered her to the floor. Hinata scrambled back, putting a healthy distance between them. Her throat constricted, a dry cough escaping her lips. She gulped, not knowing what to say, should I thank? She should have, but he was a strange man, he was a man beyond social niceties.
Yet, ingrained politeness and a flicker of respect for the legendary shinobi forced the words past her lips. "Thank you," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper, accompanied by a hesitant bow.
He grunted in response with a noncommittal "Hn."
Silence descended upon them. Just like it happened before.
Silence, thick and awkward, descended upon them, mirroring the lack of any encounters of their past, aside from the brief meeting last week. Hinata licked her lips, a taste of strangeness lingering in her mouth. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she forced herself to speak, her gaze flickering up to meet his onyx eyes. But Sasuke's attention was already elsewhere, his dark eyes scanning the room with an air of detachment.
"It has been a week since you have returned, how is Konoha treating you?" she asked, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
Sasuke's response, when it came, was delivered in a measured tone, each word sharp and precise like a well-honed blade. "Konoha doesn't offer much in the way of welcome," he stated, "Your husband does most of that. With excessive Ramen and yapping."
His only hand, pale against the black of his cloak, brushed along the spines of the books lining the lower shelf, a faint whisper of movement against the dusty silence.
The air hung heavy with an unspoken tension after Sasuke's curt reply. Hinata, still shaken from her fall, found herself grappling for words. The emptiness of his response echoed in the room, a hollow counterpoint to the excited chatter of children playing outside.
A gust of wind whistled through the open window, tugging at the loose strands of her midnight hair and which irritated her, so she brought her hair to one side. The same wind ruffled the raven bangs of the Uchiha patriarch too, momentarily revealing a flash of the purple eye he usually kept hidden beneath his dark cloak.
She began, "If you don't mind me asking-"
"If you believe that I can mind, then why are you asking?" His eyes stopped scanning the shelves, instead they turned to her, burning her under the heated weight of them. Black and Deep purple stared intensely at her, urging for an answer she hoped she had.
His curt retort made her stiffen on the spot by his dismissive tone, she managed to croak out, "Curiosity." Thanking the Gods for not making her stammer.
A sigh escaped her lips, a prelude to the infamous Uchiha treatment she was bracing for – a dismissive scowl and a sharp reprimand, the kind he usually bestowed upon the giggling girls who fawned over him. She didn't fawn over him, but she was sure that she annoyed him at the moment.
"Ask away," he stated, his pale face as blank as hers.
Hinata appreciated the air of emptiness he carried, a part of her could relate. His emptiness would have been entirely different chaos, but hers mirrored his, when she found her reflection twinkling in his black eye.
Taking a deep breath to steady her voice, she asked the question that had been burning on her tongue, "What brings you here...in the orphanage, I mean?" Folding her arms across her chest, she attempted to quell the tremor that ran through her frame.
Sasuke's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise flitting across his features. "Naruto has mentioned the orphanage constantly, and Sarada is fond of this place too," he stated, his voice betraying a hint of something akin to grudging respect. "I was...curious." He added the last word after a barely perceptible hesitation, as if admitting curiosity was a weakness.
Hinata bent down to pick up a book that had tumbled from the shelf in the chaos of her fall. As she brushed off the dust, she replied softly, "My children and Sarada-chan are the closest of friends. I've brought her here on many of my visits."
"You own the orphanage?" he questioned, a flicker of genuine interest breaching the surface of his usual stoicism.
Hinata shook her head, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I was simply involved in the rebuilding process. This place belongs to you, just like every other corner of this district."
"Hm, I heard about the Hyuga Heiress' involvement in the rebuilding of the Uchiha District. Ironic, isn't it?" He sounded amused.
A bitter tang touched Hinata's tongue. She couldn't stand by and let the misunderstanding fester. "Not the heiress anymore," she interjected, her voice laced with a quiet strength.
He paused at the sound of her interruption, turning his head slightly to cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder. "The Hokage's wife, then," he amended, his tone devoid of warmth. "From being one royalty to another, I suppose."
Royalty? Royalty The word scraped against her ears like fingernails on a chalkboard. Did he truly believe that being Naruto's wife automatically elevated her to some kind of privileged status?
Annoyance bubbled within her, a prickling sensation beneath her skin. Before she could retort with a scathing remark and make a fool of herself further, Sasuke's imposing figure vanished out the doorway with a blur of movement that left her breathless.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
She sank back against the ladder, the scent of old books and dust filling her nostrils, the only companions in the now silent room. The awkward encounter had left a trail of tangled emotions in its wake, no wonder we had never interacted before.
.
.
.
Steam swirled from the porcelain teapot, carrying the fragrant aroma of jasmine tea across the bustling kitchen. Hinata, her movements practiced and precise, carefully poured amber liquid into a pair of mismatched mugs. A tug on her grey skirt, followed by a series of insistent taps on her arm, shattered the calming ritual
"Mom!" Boruto's voice, a high-pitched whine, sliced through the air. His cerulean eyes, blazing with excitement, were fixated on his mother. Hinata winced, the delicate teacups poised precariously in her hands.
"Boruto," she cautioned, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation, "be careful! The tea is hot, and you're practically climbing me!"
Boruto, a whirlwind of blond hair and boundless energy, stuck his tongue out in a sheepish grin. "Okay, okay, sorry!" he chirped, his voice barely a squeak as he hopped back a safe distance. "But listen!"
With a sigh, Hinata set the teapot down on the wooden counter, the ceramic clinking softly against the worn surface. Her lower back ached from hours spent hunched over the stove, a dull throb that radiated with each movement. Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned back against the cool stone countertop, her brow furrowed.
"Alright, Boruto," she said, her voice firm yet patient. "What is it?"
Boruto's grin widened, stretching from ear to ear. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his entire body vibrating with barely contained excitement. "Sarada's dad is here!" he declared triumphantly, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis.
Hinata's shoulders slumped in a defeated sigh. She knew exactly where this conversation was headed. "And?" she prompted, bracing herself for the inevitable request.
Boruto's grin morphed into a determined smirk. He squared his shoulders, puffing himself up to appear bigger. "He's Dad's rival, right? I want to spar with him!" he declared, his voice brimming with a mix of awe and challenge.
Hinata stifled a chuckle, the sound escaping her lips like a startled whisper. "You want to spar with Uchiha-san?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.
Ruffling his spiky blond hair with a gentle hand, she added, "I wouldn't discourage improving your skills, Boruto, but it's important to choose your opponents wisely, based on your strengths."
Boruto scrunched up his nose, squinting at his mother. "Is he that good?"
Hinata shrugged, untying her apron from the back and putting it off, "As you said, he is your dad's one and only rival and best friend."
Boruto's fists clenched at his sides, a spark of determination igniting in his bright blue eyes. "Can he train me then?" he asked, his voice filled with hopeful anticipation.
Hinata shook her head, a flicker of doubt clouding her features. "Boruto," she said gently, "he just returned to Konoha. Can you promise me you won't pester him?"
While Sakura and Naruto had only spoken positively about Sasuke, Hinata had never formed her own opinion. She acknowledged the admiration bubbling within her son for this legendary figure.
But Boruto's enthusiastic personality was a stark contrast to Sasuke's known stoicism. Hinata worried that Boruto's new hero might disappoint him in the harsh reality of a potential encounter.
Boruto's bottom lip jutted out in a pout, a concession to his mother's request. "Fine," he mumbled, the enthusiasm dampened but not extinguished. "I won't annoy him."
He added a low whine, "But Konohamaru-sensei was gushing about how cool he is, and even Mitsuki's dad mentioned him, even Dad..." His voice trailed off, searching for the right words. "I was just...curious," he finished lamely.
Hinata almost rolled her eyes, everyone is curious today.
She picked up the tray, the ceramic cool against her fingertips. The aroma of freshly baked cookies and jasmine tea wafted from the platter, mingling with the scent of orange blossoms from a nearby vase. Hinata navigated towards the lounge area, a room adorned with mismatched furniture and colourful drawings plastered on the walls. Children of all ages, a boisterous mix of laughter and excited chatter, huddled together on the floor alongside the orphanage workers or beaming at the snacks being offered by Sarada. Boruto skipped along behind her, his blond hair bouncing with each energetic stride.
His voice, a high-pitched torrent of words, filled the air. "Sarada already started learning Chidori from her dad! And she's practicing Taijutsu with him too!" Boruto's enthusiasm was infectious, but Hinata couldn't help but detect a deeper yearning beneath his excited chatter.
A pang of sadness, sharp and unexpected, pierced her heart. She knew her son well, his emotions as transparent as the clear blue sky above. His admiration for Sasuke wasn't just about flashy techniques and powerful jutsu. It was about the image of a strong, capable adult – a fatherly figure Boruto desperately craved. He saw it in Shikamaru's calm leadership with Shikadai, Inojin's artistic confidence under Sai's tutelage, and now, Sarada's blossoming skills under the watchful eye of Sasuke.
Naruto, for all his efforts, had made time for Boruto and Himawari. He loved his children dearly, of that Hinata had no doubt. But his duties as Hokage often took precedence, leaving a trail of empty dinner tables, delayed picnics, and missed awards ceremonies. The chronic strings of excuses for forgotten birthday gifts were like a constant ache in their lives, a stark reminder of the hole Naruto's absence had gouged out of their family. Things were not enough for Boruto.
Naruto managed to push away his son and his wife. Himawari was the only one who had the strength to wait.
Hinata admired her daughter's unshakeable spirit, but Boruto wasn't cut from the same cloth. He had walked the same path as Himawari, initially filled with unwavering hero worship for Naruto. He too had spent countless nights on the porch, the chill seeping into his bones, waiting for a father who never showed.
He too had painstakingly crafted colourful cards that never were received on time, lost in the whirlwind of his father's duties. And Hinata had witnessed firsthand the toll it took on him, the way he withdrew, the outbursts that followed, a desperate cry for attention masked by childish rebellion.
Her baby wasn't a brat, never had been. His acting out was a coping mechanism, a way to deal with the disappointment and loneliness gnawing at him.
Now, Boruto was seeking validation in someone else, a different hero to fill the void in his life. Hinata couldn't bear to take away that one spark of joy, the glimmer of hope that flickered in his bright blue eyes.
With a sigh, she set the tray down on a low coffee table, the clatter momentarily silencing the chatter of the children.
A joyous cacophony erupted as the children, a kaleidoscope of bright clothes and boundless energy, descended upon the table. Tiny hands reached out, snatching warm cookies with gleeful fervour. Hinata's smile was as genuine as the summer sun as she ruffled the head of a giggling boy who lingered near her, crumbs clinging to his freckled cheeks.
"Uzumaki-san, I can't thank you enough for spending time with the kids," Mayuri-san, the House Mother, interjected, her voice laced with warm appreciation. She stood beside a weathered oak dresser, carefully collecting plates to distribute to the huddle of children clustered in a corner, their faces alight with the vibrant hues of creation as they painted at a low table.
Hinata dipped her head in a respectful bow. "It's no trouble at all, Mayuri-san," she replied, her voice soft yet firm. "I truly enjoy spending time with them."
Across the room, on a well-worn sofa, sat the orphanage staff. Among them was Sasuke, his figure shrouded in its customary cloak of black. He was turned towards Sarada, a hint of a smile softening the usual stoicism etched upon his features. A soft scoff escaped his lips as he watched Sarada swat playfully at Boruto, who sat beside her, a sheepish grin plastered on his face after accidentally knocking over a paint bottle, splattering vibrant crimson across Sarada's meticulously crafted artwork.
She crossed the room, the worn wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath her steps. The aroma of freshly baked cookies mingled with the scent of old books, paint boxes and worn furniture, creating a comforting atmosphere in the well-lit room.
As she approached the sofa, a steaming cup of tea held out in offering, she called out, "Uchiha-san."
Sasuke's gaze snapped towards her, the onyx depth of his eye meeting hers for a fleeting moment. A ghost of a smile, barely perceptible, flitted across her lips before vanishing as quickly as it appeared. He reached out to take the cup, his hand brushing against the plate as Hinata began to withdraw hers.
A young child, eyes wide with unrestrained joy, darted towards the table, oblivious to his surroundings. A gasp escaped Hinata's lips as the child almost collided with her, the momentum sending the teacup wobbling precariously.
In a blur of movement, Sasuke reacted instinctively. His hand, strong and calloused, swatted the tumbling cup before it could topple over with scalding liquid burning her, and also shooting out to grab Hinata's wrist to steady her frame.
His hand engulfed hers, the rough texture a stark contrast to the delicate warmth of her own. For a frozen moment, their hands remained entwined, his dark eyes locked on hers, an unreadable intensity burning within them, a twitch in his features jolted Hinata.
Her gaze darted down to their connected hands, where his grip, strong and protective moments ago, now loosened and vanished like smoke on the wind. But Hinata didn't miss the reddened skin of the back of his hand; he had the tea spilled on himself instead of her when he swatted the cup away from hers. Oh, no!
Across the room, Sarada's voice, laced with concern, cut through the tense silence.
"Papa, are you okay?" she called out, worry etching lines onto her young face as she rushed towards Sasuke.
Boruto followed suit; his voice fraught with apprehension. "Mom! You good?"
A guttural grunt was his response, "Hn." He nodded at his daughter. But Hinata couldn't miss the way his hand clenched and unclenched repeatedly, a silent battle against the sting of the hot tea that had spilled over.
"I am so sorry," Hinata blurted out, a wave of mortification washing over her. She bent down at the waist, her cerulean eyes scanning the table behind her. Relief flooded her as she spotted a box of tissues tucked into a wicker basket. Snatching a tissue, she offered it to Sasuke, her voice meek. "Here, let me help." Knowing that a one-armed man would have trouble applying any salve so she extended her hand, he gave her a dismissive look but she urged by pointing to his hand.
"It is nothing," he muttered in a low rumble.
Sarada, tugging at his cloak with a pleading glint in her wide eyes, chimed in, "Papa, let her help. She's a medic too." Her words, infused with childlike innocence, pierced through Sasuke's stoic facade.
With a resigned sigh, he conceded, offering her his hand. Hinata saw in that gesture a flicker of pride subdued, a concession made only for the sake of his daughter. After all, a shinobi of his calibre, one who wielded Fire and Lightning Jutsu with unparalleled mastery, wouldn't ordinarily flinch at a simple burn. Especially not an Uchiha, known for their pride.
Taking his hand in hers, Hinata felt a spark of apprehension. She meticulously cleaned the back of his hand. Then, drawing upon her skills as a former kunoichi known for her impressive medical affinity, she channelled her gentle purple chakra into his injured skin.
The soothing energy instantly reduced the redness and eased the spasming of his fingers, hoping to counteract the burn and prevent blistering.
Her fingers brushed against his knuckles, calloused and bearing the faint marks of past battles. With a touch as light as a butterfly's wings, she healed those tiny scars as well.
Sasuke's withdrawal from her touch was swift, a curt nod the only acknowledgement he offered. The young boy who had collided with Hinata, Natsu, approached them, his head bowed low and his face etched with remorse. Mayuri, his caretaker, stood beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder in a silent display of comfort.
"I'm so sorry, Uchiha-sama and Uzumaki-san," Natsu mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.
Hinata crouched down to his eye level and gently tilted his head up with a finger placed beneath his chin. "Natsu-san, it was simply an accident. There's nothing to apologize for." A playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she pinched his cheek. "Cheer up, okay?"
A hesitant smile stretched across Natsu's face, but his gaze soon wandered upwards, following an invisible line. Hinata followed his gaze to land on Sasuke's imposing figure. He stood tall and imposing, an aura of quiet power surrounding him.
With a raised eyebrow, Hinata sent Sasuke a silent message – a plea to offer some form of reassurance to the young boy. As if sensing her unspoken request, Sasuke uttered a gruff, "It's alright," his voice devoid of its usual harshness.
The simple phrase, delivered with a hint of forced softness, was enough to ease the tension in the room.
Mayuri whisked Natsu away, his tearful apologies fading into the background hum of the orphanage. Sarada materialized beside them, a fresh cup of tea cradled in her small hands. Her dark eyes, mirrors of her father's, held a hint of concern as she offered the steaming beverage to Sasuke.
He accepted it with a curt nod, a flicker of a smile gracing his lips for a fleeting moment before he settled back onto the worn leather sofa. He definitely was trying his hand at being a father.
Boruto was on-edge, lingering, dying to get a word out. His hand clawed the wood of the armrest of Sasuke's sofa.
But Sarada regarded her instead, cutting the silence, "Where is Himawari?"
Hinata was pushed out of the trance, tucking a loose strand behind her hair, she responded, "Himawari is in Hyuga compound; she has turned eight so her grandfather and aunt has begun training her Byakugan."
Sarada chimed, her eyes lit up, "Wow, that is amazing!"
Sasuke took a measured sip of his tea, "This one doesn't have Byakugan?" He cast a sidelong glance at Boruto, who stood rigidly near the armrest of the sofa, fidgeting with his clothes.
Boruto puffed out his chest in a show of defiance. "Nope! But that's okay! I'll beat my old man someday, even without it!" he declared, his voice brimming with childish confidence.
A gentle smile flickered onto Hinata's lips at the courage of Boruto, who was not as intimidated by the presence of Sasuke Uchiha, like many would. Even she herself was. Afterall, his presence carried power and control.
"Baka, Boruto!" Sarada huffed, her cheeks flushing pink. "How can you even think of beating Lord Seventh? That's...that's just silly!" she protested; her voice laced with indignation.
Boruto leaned back, a sly grin creeping across his face.
"Well," he began, dragging out the word for dramatic effect. Hinata shook her head, already anticipating his next move.
"Maybe by being trained by someone who already beat him!" he crowed; his voice laced with mischief. He punctuated his statement by wagging his eyebrows playfully at Sasuke, who remained impassive, his face a mask of indifference. Hinata couldn't decipher his emotions, his usual stoicism making it impossible to read him.
"By...Papa?" Sarada's jaw dropped open in surprise.
Boruto took a step closer to Sasuke, his small frame dwarfed by the Uchiha's towering figure even when sitting. Hinata felt a surge of protectiveness wash over her. She wanted to step in, to pull Boruto back, but a strange sense of anticipation held her back. Perhaps, just perhaps, this was an opportunity for Boruto, a chance to change the course of his life.
"So ... Sasuke," Boruto blurted out, his voice a touch higher than usual, "can you train me?"
Hinata nudged him gently in the shoulder, her voice laced with a hint of reprimand. "Boruto, where are your manners?" she chided, her brow furrowed in concern.
"What? But if he trains me, I can call him...Sasuke-sensei," he offered with a playful wink in Hinata's direction.
Before Hinata could twist his ear, Sasuke finally spoke, his voice devoid of its usual harshness, shocking her and his daughter, "Impress me, then I shall be your sensei."
"Impress you?" Boruto inched closer to him, his frame touching his knees.
Sasuke leaned forward, a predatory grace in his movements. He placed his empty teacup on the worn wooden table with a soft clank, "Naruto at your age was impressive to me. So, if you want to train with me to beat your father...show me potential," he raked his hand in his hair and pulled those raven locks back, revealing the flash of purple; his Rinnegan. Then, with a swift movement, his dark eye, usually black and serene, flared to life, the iris morphing into a fiery crimson. Sharingan. Hinata gasped at the interaction.
He grasped Boruto's chin, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the intensity of his gaze as he brought his face closer, "Right now, I see a brat. Naruto was a brat with potential. So ... show me you are worthy of being my student," he whispered, sternly, Hinata knew Boruto held his breath as he was overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of such power radiating from Sasuke.
Then he leaned back, bringing his bangs to cover the Rinnegan and his crimson eye turned to the dark abyss in a whir. A smirk danced on his lips while a challenge mounted his face.
Oh, Uchiha-san, you don't know my son. A thought crossed Hinata's mind, bringing a smile on her lips. And the next second, Boruto lived up to her expectations.
As if on cue, Boruto's face lit up, a grin splitting his features. His eyes, no longer hesitant, twinkled with a newfound determination. He punched the air with a triumphant cry, a surge of unbridled enthusiasm erupting from him.
"I'll learn the Rasengan!" he declared, his voice ringing clear and confident. "And I'll prove to you that I'm a student worthy of having, Sasuke...Sasuke-sensei!" He winked at Hinata, a single, mischievous glint in his eye.
Hinata sighed, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. She knew what this meant – relentless training sessions, boundless energy exploding from her son like a geyser. She rubbed her temples, a new pressure building in her already throbbing veins. But amidst the fatigue, a flicker of hope remained.
Perhaps, just perhaps, this unexpected turn of events might just be the turning point Boruto so desperately needed. A smile, genuine and heartfelt, spread across her face as Boruto skipped away, whooping about becoming stronger, his small form bouncing with renewed purpose.
"Papa, will you really take him as your pupil?" Sarada inquired what Hinata wanted to know.
Sasuke shrugged, his onyx eyes flitting towards Hinata for a fleeting moment before returning to their usual stoic gaze. "If he impresses me," he replied curtly.
"Uchiha-san-" Before Hinata could finish her word, she was interrupted.
A man, his face etched with the lines of a life spent caring for others, approached Sasuke. He appeared to be in his early forties, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed despite the constant demands of his job. "Uchiha-sama," the man greeted respectfully, catching Sasuke's attention. "I am Fujiwara, one of the house fathers here at the orphanage. I trust you enjoyed your stay here."
"Yes, you have got a good home for these kids," Sasuke acknowledged.
"Oh, Thank Kami! I have been worried," Fujiwara-san sighed in relief as he blurted. "We heard that you had closed down a shop, so the staff and we have been worried about your plans about the orphanage."
Sasuke's jaw clenched for a moment before he muttered, his voice a low growl, "That shop owner was exiled from the district for his abusive behaviour towards the children." His onyx gaze settled on the frail figure standing before him. With a curt gesture, he indicated the space beside him on the sofa. "What you have accomplished here at the orphanage is commendable. I have no intention of disrupting the lives of the residents of the district. Naruto manages the matters of the district mainly and I trust his judgement."
Hinata felt her chest bloom with pride, despite everything between them, Hinata had always been the prominent well-wisher of Naruto as the Hokage. He deserved to succeed. And he was, if he was being appreciated by his most complicated yet the strongest bond; Sasuke Uchiha.
"Thank you," Fujiwara-san sounded relieved.
"If you need anything...financially, for the kids or infrastructure or facilities related. I can always contribute." Sasuke offered, Hinata noticed the struggle in the way the Uchiha Patriarch managed to make his gruff tone sound somewhat sincere, and to not sound arrogant. He wasn't accustomed to offering help, and it seemed to grate on him slightly.
"Thankfully, we hold quarterly fundraisers that keep us well-supplied," Fujiwara replied, his voice regaining its composure. "The children have everything they need – clothes, food, and other amenities. Mayuri informed me that you already made a significant contribution today. That's more than enough, truly." His gaze softened with gratitude.
He pointed to Hinata, catching her off-guard, "And of course, Uzumaki-san has been a pillar of support for the orphanage for many years now. Her dedication has helped countless children become Genin, Chunin, or even successful civilians."
Hinata felt a blush creep up her cheeks, her heart pounding in her chest under the sudden spotlight. She had never sought recognition for her work here, and having it praised in front of the children made her feel incredibly self-conscious.
She mumbled a quick dismissal, her voice barely above a whisper. "No, no, Fujiwara-san! It was nothing at all."
Hinata fled to the kitchen, taking away the empty cups and plates. On her retreat, she could feel the burn and weight of gaze on her back. And she knew who it belonged to. His.
.
.
.
As the night had fallen upon them, the kids were being led to their rooms with muffled murmured protests. The once-vibrant playroom had surrendered to the encroaching night, the cacophony of children replaced by the soft murmur of Sarada's voice as she read from a well-worn book.
Nestled under a thick blanket on the sofa, Boruto's eyelids fluttered in a losing battle against sleep. His head bobbed precariously on Sarada's shoulder, his unruly blond hair tickling her cheek.
Hinata was helping around in cleaning the mess from the children's afternoon's artistic endeavours with a weary sigh. Her grey skirt had a few strokes of paint already mapped when she gathered the stray supplies off the floor.
With each stray brush and abandoned canvas she gathered, her muscles cried out in protest. The day's events swirled in her mind, a dizzying carousel of noise and colour. Her temples throbbed with a relentless headache, and each breath felt like a struggle against a tightened chest.
She heaved a sigh as her eyes scanned the lounge and saw it squeaky clean. Her shoulders slumped, and as the day was done and on the brink of its end, she needed a moment to feel herself.
Deciding fresh air might be the remedy she craved and since she needed to carry a sleepy Boruto back to their home, a moment to herself was a necessity. Hinata straightened, her joints protesting the movement. Reaching for the doorknob, she hesitated for a moment, her gaze sweeping over the now-peaceful scene. A tender smile graced her lips as she watched Sarada patiently adjust Boruto's head to rest more comfortably. With a final, steadying breath, she pushed open the door.
The night's chill slammed into her. Goosebumps erupted on her exposed arms as a gust of wind swirled around her, carrying the faint scent of honeysuckle from the nearby gardens. The porch lay deserted, the lone porch light casting a golden glow on the creaky wooden steps. Stepping off, Hinata scanned the cobblestone path that led away from the orphanage.
A dark figure, tall and imposing, caught her eye.
As she drew closer, she recognized the solitary figure of Sasuke Uchiha. He stood leaning against a weathered brick pillar that formed part of the orphanage's arched entrance. He leaned on the brick pillar of the archway entrance of the Orphanage. The twilight had swallowed the world in shades of indigo and violet, making him appear as a silhouette against the darkening sky.
A slender white cylinder, a cigarette, was nestled between his fingers and the unexpected focal point. With a practised movement, he brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut for a fleeting moment, drawing a long drag that sent a plume of smoke swirling upwards, curling into tendrils that danced in the chill air. The pungent aroma of woodsmoke, tinged with a bittersweet tang, hit Hinata's nose, momentarily smothering the familiar scents of cookies, paint, tea, and blossoming flowers that clung to the air.
His voice was sharp like a kunai, pierced through the tranquil night, "Hyuga, are you spying on me?"
Hinata froze, her steps halted just a few paces from him. He stood rigid, his back turned towards her, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse of the star-dusted sky. The only light came from a sliver of moon peeking through the canopy of trees, casting long, inky shadows across the cobblestone path.
"No." she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper that seemed to get lost in the rustling leaves.
"Hn." The dismissive response, yet again. Hinata huffed, a flicker of annoyance sparking within her.
Ignoring the sharp retort that threatened to escape her lips, she moved closer, drawn to his imposing figure like a moth to a flame. Coming to stand beside him, she stole a glance at his profile. The moonlight bathed his face in an ethereal glow, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline and the stoic set of his lips. His onyx eye, usually sharp and focused, seemed distant tonight, lost in the inky depths of the cosmos.
Her gaze fell upon the cigarette dangling from his fingers, the end of cigarette with its ember glowing a fiery orange in the quiet night. He took another deep inhale of the gut-wrenching smoke with a hiss again.
It was a gesture so ordinary, so human, that it sent a shiver down her spine. Here, shrouded in the fading light, he seemed less the stoic warrior and more a man burdened by unspoken thoughts.
"I didn't know you smoke," she commented.
As he released another swirl of smoke in the air, he croaked out a response, "You didn't know I existed."
She squared her shoulders and defiantly folded her arms across her chest and frowned, "That is not true. I always knew about you," she countered.
A noncommittal shrug was his only reply. "If you say so."
"Staying with Shikamaru-san these days?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of humour as she cast a sideways glance at the cigarette, the source of her discomfort.
A flicker of amusement crossed his features, a fleeting look that sent a jolt through Hinata. He wasn't oblivious to the effect the cigarette had on her.
With a sigh, he stubbed it out on his boot, the ember sizzling out with a final hiss. "You don't live in the wilderness for years without taking up bad habits," he grumbled, his voice gruff yet strangely thrilling.
Hinata couldn't help but steal another glance at him. His face, usually an unreadable mask, seemed etched with the lines of a life hard-lived. His eyes, the color of twilight itself, held a depth that hinted at untold stories and hidden battles.
Despite the aura of raw power and primal instincts that emanated from him, Hinata felt an unexpected sense of security standing beside him. Here, in the quiet of the night, beneath the vast expanse of stars, Sasuke Uchiha seemed less like a fearsome shinobi and more like a man seeking solace in the simple act of smoking.
Looking at the Uchiha before her, one could not accept that he was the same man who was once a world-wanted criminal, driven by his revenge and drunk in power. Now, he simply was one of the strongest shinobi who had a dominating presence, yet a serene melody around him.
He was a man sculpted from granite; his broad frame seemingly capable of withstanding any blow. Yet, despite the raw power that oozed out of him, there was a curious sense of peace that surrounded him, like the calming scent of a hydrangeas.
He looked like a man who could cut you in half, in a mere second, but now, he was beyond all of that. Above all of that.
Perhaps, that was the expression of true power.
As her gaze lingered, he stirred, his onyx eye snapping towards hers. Hinata, caught mid-scrutiny, flushed scarlet. Her shameless analysis felt suddenly intrusive, and she darted her gaze to the ground. A small pebble, dislodged by her nervous foot, skittered across the cobblestones with a sharp click, shattering the tense silence that had settled between them.
He complimented, "You are doing a good job here."
She looked up to meet his stare, dismissively she added, "I am doing nothing. Just spending time with these kids, bringing them some food...it is bare minimum."
"It is all an orphan yearns for," he remarked.
A brief silence yet again cloaked them.
"If Naruto and I had people like them," he pointed towards the brown building with warm lights illuminating the orphanage, "Perhaps we could have had a better childhood," he finished, a wishful shadow draped his features.
Hinata assured in a whisper, "But you both turned out well."
Sasuke shrugged; the movement barely perceptible beneath the weight of his cloak. "Konoha wasn't kind to its orphans," he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. "It's good to see things are changing, that there's a safe haven for those who have no one. Your visits, the food, the activities...it's everything a child who has nothing could ask for."
A tender smile graced Hinata's lips as she looped her hair into a low ponytail, securing it with a simple band which she wore on her wrist. "I do what I can," she admitted. "But it's the staff here who truly deserve the credit. They love these children fiercely, like their own."
He nodded, "Hn. I like that Sarada is involved in these activities." There was a wave of pride in the way he appreciated his daughter. She understood what he meant, one of the reasons why she involved Boruto and Himawari in these volunteering activities were to make them feel human.
Shinobi life tended to be too rough, Hinata wanted her children to see the realities of the life beyond a kunai and a jutsu. The shinobi life, with all its danger and glory, could be isolating and desensitizing. Hinata wanted her children to see the world through compassionate eyes.
Hinata inched closer to Sasuke, their shadows stretching long and stark across the cobblestones. She assured him, "She is really good kid."
He averted his gaze, his words were addressed to the air he breathed, "Sakura raised her well."
A flicker of something akin to guilt flickered across his features. As he should. Whenever she heard Ino taunting about Sasuke's absence to Sakura, prodding her to 'dump his ass', Hinata always felt fury rage within her, regarding his absence towards his family. A pain she was familiar with. A man's absence can be a gaping hole, a wound that always festered.
But Hinata didn't opt to ask. She barely knew the man.
"Uchiha-san," she called out.
He turned towards her; a single eyebrow raised in silent inquiry.
"About Boruto..." her voice tentative, "I know he can be a bit pushy and I won't mind if you don't-"
"Thirteen years, Hyuga..." he interrupted her, she paused and frowned at him, "Thirteen years have changed me. At least that is what I believe. But one thing has remained the same, I don't do things I don't want to do, no matter what. So, if I have given a chance to your son to prove to me and if he does, I will hold my end of the bargain."
She still wanted to offer him an exit, "If it is a bother-"
He sighed, he began with his gruff voice, "It is not like I have anything better to do. I am on extended leave from the mission roster. Only S-class or diplomatic missions. And in this time of peace, I bet there are any of those. Sakura is recently busy with a new wing in her hospital and Sarada is the only one with whom I spend time, followed by your husband. Your son wouldn't be a bother, I think...I'd like a student."
Hinata's heart swelled with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Oh. I hope he fulfills your standards." She smiled.
A small smirk crawled across his face, "If he is anything like his father, he will."
Hinata chuckled, "He is loud like him."
Sasuke mock-huffed, "Of course!" The corners of his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile.
Hinata felt the need to be grateful, "Thank you...for giving a chance to him."
Sasuke responded with a curt nod, his usual aversion to verbal pronouncements evident. He shifted his weight, his dark cloak rustling like dry leaves.
"Boruto isn't a bother, but your husband is." He squinted at her, a flicker of annoyance crossed his features, sharp as a kunai glinting in the moonlight. "Tell him to stop forcing me for Ramen. It has been a week, and I have eaten only Ramen because of him. I feel like a human broth pot! Educate him about the harms of it!"
Hinata couldn't help but let out a surprised giggle, a sound that tinkled like wind chimes in the quiet night. "Consider yourself lucky, Uchiha-san," she teased, a playful glint in her lilac-tinted eyes. "Lunch with the Hokage for a whole week? Even his wife doesn't get that kind of treatment." A pang of something akin to jealousy pricked at her, but she quickly quashed it.
He commented, "Are you a bad cook?" did he just make a joke at my expense, Hinata wondered as she noticed the amusement dancing in his eyes.
The playful smile vanished from her face like a snuffed candle flame. Her jaw clenched, a flicker of anger replacing the warmth from a moment ago. "I am a very accomplished cook, Uchiha-san," she stated curtly, her voice laced with a steely edge.
Not in a million years could Hinata have fathomed herself engaged in an easy-going, albeit awkward, conversation with the mighty Sasuke Uchiha.
"How would I know?" he countered with a nonchalant shrug, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a display of feigned indifference. He turned on his heel, his cloak billowing dramatically behind him as he started back towards the orphanage.
His blatant disregard for her culinary skills, something she took great pride in, stung. He hadn't even tried her cooking, and yet he dared to cast aspersions.
He paused at his way and turned around, raising his voice, "If you don't mind me asking-"
She bristled. "If you know that I'd mind your question then why are you asking?" she retorted back, quick enough to brace for the revenge for the afternoon.
The twitch in his jaw was visible, "Curiosity," he answered gravelly, knowing very well what Hinata meant and referred to.
"Ask away," she smirked.
Sasuke rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture she recognized with a startling awareness. It was a nervous tick, something she had seen countless times on Naruto. Could it be that the stoic, aloof Uchiha was actually flustered? The realization sent a wave of amusement washing over her.
"What is your name?" he asked, looking away.
Hinata choked on her own saliva, how does he not know the name of the woman he had been having a conversation with. Her mouth agape as she stared at him blank, hoping that the lilac in her eyes resembled the red of fury that was brewing within her.
Seething, she responded, "Hinata." Her name sounded sharp in her gritted tone.
He nodded curtly, "Goodbye, Hyuga," he bellowed, his voice regaining its usual strength as he turned and strode away.
Impossible. Sasuke Uchiha is impossible. She hissed and groaned. A sigh of frustration escaped her lips.
But...after a long time, Hinata breathed like she lived.
.
.
A/N:
So, this chapter was solely dedicated to show our heroine; Hinata! Her mental state, her thoughts, her motivations, her behaviour and her and her and her.
I love writing the adult version of Sasuke and Hinata so so much!
How do you like this? what do you think of their interactions?
how do you think they'll 'bond' ?