FIRST ARC: CHAPTER 8: CURIOSITY & HIS PINE SCENT
Hinata shoved the door open with trembling hands, her crimson dress shimmering under the soft light yet irritating her skin like a thousand tiny needles. Her coat dangled loosely over her forearm, half-forgotten. Each ragged sniffle echoed in the vast emptiness of the night, a sound swallowed by the looming silence that stretched between them. Naruto trailed behind her, his steps hesitant, barely more than whispers against the wooden floors. He kept calling her name, soft and pleading, but she pressed forward, not once glancing back until they stood within the cold confines of their home.
The door slammed shut behind them with a deafening thud, cutting through the heavy stillness like a blade. It was a sound that left no room for escape—forcing them into the confrontation they both knew was inevitable.
"Hinata-chan, I am sorry!" Naruto's voice cracked as he surged forward, grasping her slender wrist with his rough hand, and pulling her back toward him. Her fragile form shuddered against his, but she refused to meet his gaze, her tear-streaked face turned away, her sobs wracking her body.
"Y-You kissed h-her!" Her voice was a broken whisper, thick with disbelief, pain etched into every inch of her exhausted features. Her eyes, swollen and red from crying, glistened with unshed tears. Her lips quivered uncontrollably.
Naruto's grip tightened, his voice desperate as he rushed out an explanation, "She was drunk! I didn't—" He stumbled over his words, struggling to find something, anything, to ease the weight of her hurt. "I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't push her away!" Hinata cut in, her voice sharper now, though her face was still drawn with fatigue. Her eyes were now ablaze with anger, an unfamiliar fire kindling behind the sadness. She slammed against his chest with both palms, her hands trembling as she shoved him back.
"She was drunk and she just came on to me…I was frozen!" Naruto stumbled slightly, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he ran a hand through his tousled hair in frustration. "I didn't kiss her back!"
Hinata let out a humourless laugh, wiping furiously at the wet trails on her cheeks. "But you didn't move, either," she retorted.
"I was shocked!" His jaw clenched tightly, an unfamiliar fury flickering in his eyes, one Hinata had never seen before.
"For the first time… I'm disappointed in you, Naruto," Hinata whispered, her voice trembling, but louder this time. It was a sentence that hung in the air between them like a sword. "I wasn't drunk—I saw everything."
Naruto let out an exasperated grunt, "What everything?"
Hinata complained, tears blurring her vision, her heart thrumming in her chest with an anticipation of the worst to come, "You were dancing with her all the time!"
Naruto's jaw dropped and he blinked, "Hinata…she was exhausted about Sasuke's absence and dealing with Sarada alone, I wanted her to cheer her up!"
Hinata's voice wavered, but she squared her shoulders, forcing strength into her posture even as her heart threatened to collapse under the weight of her sadness. "By ignoring your wife?"
Naruto looked at her, bewildered, his face pale with guilt. "Hinata-chan… why are you doubting me? We have a child together. We're about to have another…" His eyes fell to her rounded belly, where her hand instinctively rested, cradling the life growing inside her.
Her breath hitched, and she tightened her grip on her abdomen as if the motion could protect her heart as well. "I wasn't doubting you before this, Naruto. But I'm human too… I'm allowed to feel hurt when I see my husband kissing another woman." Her voice faltered.
"Hinata-chan, I love you! We'll be a bigger family in six months! Do you think I'd do something like this willingly?" Naruto approached her, softness marring the stress lines of his face. His hand snaked around her waist while she squirmed to deny his touch, he pulled her and pressed his head on the crown of her head, tucking her face under his chin. "I understand you are angry. But she is just my best friend. I can't leave her, but I promise there is nothing more than that! I am your husband." His hand rubbed her lower back, and his body's heat began to calm her down.
She went silent, her words were a jumbled mess in her head. A part of her wanted to shut him off, tear him apart with her bubbling anger which felt foreign to her but the other part of her, the sane part, wanted to embrace him back and appreciate the apology and reassurance. But somehow, she ended up doing neither. She remained limp in his embrace until he backed off and lifted her chin to make her face him.
"Do you forgive me?" Naruto's frown deepened, his eyes searched hers with worry, his mouth was parted and hot breaths fanned her face.
Hinata continued to fall deeper in the depths of blue of his eyes, the gold of his skin, the scent of cherry blossoms from his jacket — her body shivered as a tremor slithered up her spine and a small twinge of pain throbbed in her neck. "Naruto-kun," she gulped, breathing heavily amidst the onslaught of sobs threatening from the back of her throat. "If you earn the forgiveness, you will get it."
"Hina—" Naruto gasped, his palm cupping her cheek and a part of her betrayed her and leaned onto his touch, the primal needs ignited with flame hotter than her anger.
But the sensible part called out to her, holding her upright, "If anything of this sort happens again, you will lose me." She inhaled sharply.
"Hina-chan, we have Boruto…we will have another child, are you going to let this affect our family?"
"You are doing it, Naruto. You!" she interrupted, her voice colder now, her finger jabbing at his chest.
"But—"
"Last few months, I have noticed your absence," she revealed.
"I am with Kakashi, training to take the position of Hokage from next year…you know that—"
"Just with Kakashi?" Hinata's question perplexed him, but she knew he understood what she implied.
He croaked out after a beat of silence, gaped at her, stunned, "Huh?"
Hinata masked the grievance from her pale face, hoping to convey that her resolve steeled and couldn't waver, "I am not blind, always remember this! I might prioritize Boruto over myself, but I always know, I will always know!"
"I just have lunch time with Sakura-chan…because she has been really depressed about that bastard." Naruto's voice pitched higher with indignation, as if his truth clashed with hers, "I am trying to get Sasuke to return!"
"I have said what I said!" Hinata bit her lip, hoping her resolve didn't falter. "It is on you to take care of this relationship now."
Naruto's fists clenched at his sides, there was stiffness in his muscles twitching on his face, "Hina-chan, this is our first fight, how can you—"
Hinata continued, "If I don't call this out right now—"
"It won't happen again! We were both drunk!" Naruto shook his head, his voice was blaring but grim, devoid of any emotion, any promise.
"You will lose me," Hinata's sharp tone surprised Naruto, her words stung him, and his eyes widened at her. "And if you still don't understand…then one day, I will have no choice but to lose you." She gasped, almost on the verge of breaking, under the warm lights of their hallway, their two trembling figures had their shadows mapped on the encroaching walls. "Don't drive me to that point, Naruto-kun."
With that, she rubbed her belly with her quivering hands, wishing that the child inside her didn't hear the noise of her heart crumbling. With that, she turned away, her legs heavy as she trudged up the stairs. Each step was a reminder of the emotional chasm forming between them, her heart breaking with every slam of her feet against the wooden floor. Behind her, Naruto stood motionless, his quiet grumbling lost in the silence of their home.
.
The memory surged through Hinata's mind, freezing her mid-motion as she stood at the kitchen counter, where just days ago, Sasuke Uchiha had cornered her with an unsettling question: "Were you angry at yourself or him?" His voice had been a low, deliberate murmur, but the intensity behind those words sent a shiver through her even now. His onyx eye bore into hers, a deep, probing gaze that seemed to strip her bare, searching for answers she hadn't yet discovered within herself.
His intrusion into her space had been suffocating, looming over her like a dark shadow, and she recalled how her body had stiffened, her mind fogging, her senses numbing under the weight of his presence. Her hands trembled slightly as she remembered standing there, her gaze stubbornly fixed on the floor, resisting the pull of his question. She had forced herself to keep her eyes lowered, refusing to meet his, fearing the flood of emotions that would spill if she did.
But Sasuke had not been deterred. He had taken a step closer, the soft rustle of his cloak a forewarning of his silent advance, each footfall bringing him deeper into her personal space. Forward…towards her.
His pale face had bared no clue of his turmoil, however, his words were enough of a revelation for her to know that, unlike Hinata, he couldn't blame her partner, he felt inadequate himself. Hinata could have expressed that she too felt insufficient for her partner, except when she lashed out at Naruto on that godforsaken night; at that moment she had felt complete, utterly enough, because Naruto hadn't made her feel small before that.
It was that night, that moment in the bar, that kiss shared between her husband and his best friend— which began all, which changed the trajectory of her life, which started the wrath of insecurity on Hinata. Since that night, Hinata began craving love and attention but felt unable to beg for it, leading to her complete shutdown with each passing year.
She remembered the intensity pooling in the sole visible eye of Sasuke, who was looking perturbed by Hinata's averted gaze. Hinata's hand unwittingly grazed the smooth skin under her chin, where his long and slender finger tucked and tilted her face to meet his. Her breath hitched as his every action sharpened her mind.
Hinata's body shuddered at the memory, the way his pine scent engulfed her senses and made it hard to breathe, the way he leaned down and his smoky breath ghosted over her face as he spoke— Sasuke Uchiha had no qualms of etiquette of space, he was known to simply conquer. His thick and heavy presence was a force that took her breath away, rendered her speechless, and scraped her wounds…with his cruel efficiency.
His stoic facade remained for the days to come when he quietly sat on her table and had breakfast or lunch or dinner, with his kid and hers. The shared silence was a relief, as both of them didn't intend to know more about each other anymore. Or so she thought.
Hinata stood at the kitchen counter, her knuckles white as she gripped its edge, trying to steady her breath. The world was waking, but her mind was still tethered to memories she couldn't shake.
Knock.
That familiar knock.
Familiar and subtle, it pulled her out of the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. She straightened, inhaling deeply to push away the tension coiled tight within her chest.
Sauntering towards the door, she knew who was behind it.
He always used to announce his presence by flinging the metallic door-knocker attached to their gate once; a light slam of metal hitting the wood, a silence trailing after that. Familiar.
She reached for the door, the wood groaning softly as it swung open, breaking the stillness that always seemed to accompany him.
His dark eye lifted and he held her in a trance for a moment, her legs were caged as if a rope of fire seared her flesh. She swallowed hard and composed herself, her voice steady despite the thrum of her heart. "Come in."
He didn't offer any words of greeting, merely strode past her, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. The air in the small house seemed to shift with his presence— thickening, growing more weighted.
Hinata returned to the kitchen, her fingers shaking slightly as she resumed her task of chopping vegetables. She felt his presence trail behind her, like an inescapable shadow. Present but harmless.
She stood behind the stove counter, her eyes flitting between the melting butter on the pan and the vegetables splayed before her on the cutting board.
"Where are the kids?" she asked, her eyes lowered and focused on the carrots being chopped. She knew he had taken up a familiar spot, leaning against the doorframe, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture casual, though the weight of his gaze on her was anything but.
He said flatly, "Went with Orochimaru's son for…toasted buns."
"Ah, that's why Boruto wanted to train before breakfast!" she mumbled to herself, lifting her gaze to meet his, "Hima as well?"
"Yes, with Sai's son." He rubbed the back of his neck with a muted groan.
"Oh…didn't Sarada want to have a miso bowl for lunch?" She mused to herself, "Will you bring her at lunchtime?"
He stated, "If she wants to."
Their conversation trailed off into nothingness, leaving only the sounds of the kitchen—oil sizzling in the pan, the rhythmic thud of the knife on the chopping board, and the occasional caw from a crow outside the window. Every so often, Hinata found herself glancing at him, only to find him staring back, as though he was watching for something, waiting for something in her to break.
Her heart would stutter each time their eyes met. Time crept along, each second passing by slower than the previous one.
Stop looking at me. She hoped she could say it out loud. His gaze was suffocating, heavy with unspoken things, and she was not accustomed to bearing such scrutiny. His eyes—those powerful, legendary eyes—felt too much, saw too much. They were worlds away from her, and yet here he was, with them on her. They were above her, they shouldn't have been on her.
His attention on her was soul-crushing, she cut the silence as she cracked an egg over a butter-toasted bread in the pan, "I tell the kids to avoid food from outside…" she began, hoping that her motherly worries for her kids resonated with his fatherly duties. She surreptitiously drew a shaky breath.
"Aren't you a Ramen chain smoker?" he was clenching and unclenching his hand, his eyes finally left her and focused on his pale hand.
"It was a long time ago, and just once or twice where I overindulged," she chuckled, "I eat it in moderation now."
He scoffed, "Your husband doesn't."
Her fingers stilled for a brief moment, "He associates memories with Ramen," she said, taking out the bread slices from the pan.
Sasuke commented, his voice sharp but plain and amused, "If I wasn't here, he would probably be feeding Ramen to me as a breakfast."
"Do you want to go?" She cocked her head, lifting her eyebrow at him.
His face lit with a smirk, "No," he replied. His presence became overbearing as he stepped inside the kitchen, crossing the boundary of the door. His eyes flicked over the kitchen, taking in the cozy, lived-in space—the stacked boxes, the children's drawings pinned to the refrigerator.
His attention lingered for a moment, before he casually commented, "You cook well, Hyuga."
Her empty expression morphed into a twisted one, flushed by a tinge of red on her cheeks, "I know," she muttered to hide the fluttering burning evident on her cheeks.
The humour gleamed in his eye, a rare sight, his smirk deepened into a low chuckle, deep and rumbling from his chest, "Arrogant much?"
His stoic mask faded for a moment, which made her drop the empty cloak from her expression as well; they both stood unguarded for each other, "Says you?" she teased back, and a fleeting smile danced on his lips at the response.
His feet moved towards her, but she didn't move away, stood perched near the counter with a fresh-smelling egg toast steaming on the plate. He steadily circled around the counter.
"Are you calling me arrogant, Hyuga?" With his gravelly tone, a half-hidden smile and raised eyebrows—Sasuke Uchiha looked human, approachable, simply a man. A simple man. Not a distant figure of power, not a God, merely a man. Her pulse raced unbidden, and a sudden chill wafted in the air, gliding over her skin.
Everything inside her seized up at his questioning eyes, she responded and dipped her head, turning towards the stove, "Naruto says that." His steps behind her echoed, but instead of retreating, his footsteps grew closer to her, soft yet deliberate.
She could feel him behind her, his presence a tangible heat. His presence behind her made her hold her breath for a moment, the heat emanating from his body coiled around her being, crawled beneath her skin.
His voice was low, a murmur that brushed the nape of her neck, making the fine hairs stand on end. "Don't get to know me through his eyes."
She stilled, her fingers curled into fists at the edge of the counter, "So…you are not arrogant, noted." She didn't turn around to face him, fearing that their last conversation would resurface between them and break the new beginnings which were far more comfortable than discussing a kiss between their respective partners.
He stepped forward, brushing against her side as he moved to stand beside her. The light bump of their arms sent a jolt through her body, making her recoil slightly as if his mere touch had scalded her. The warmth radiating from his frame was palpable, almost unnerving in its proximity.
He didn't seem to notice her discomfort. His eyes scanned the countertop with that same unreadable expression, and without asking, his hand reached out to pluck an Egg-toasted slice of bread from the plate. He took a slow, measured bite, as though testing it.
Hinata managed to create a space between them, shifting away, "Boruto doesn't listen at all. My father never allowed me to eat out easily when I was genin—"
Sasuke paused mid-bite, a faint flicker of irritation crossing his features. His gaze swept over her with a faint hint of judgment. "They're kids. It's part of their childhood."
She breathed, staring at him as though seeing him in a new light. "Wow." Her eyes widened at him. She turned off the stove and twisted her body towards him, crossing her hand on her chest.
He arched an eyebrow at her, with a little shake of his head — indicating a lingering question.
"I mean…" she cleared her throat, "You aren't rigid," she confessed to her transgressions of assuming about him.
He heaved a sigh, rolling his eye, "You thought that I'd be like Hiashi or Fugaku?"
"Not exactly," she blurted out immediately, biting her lip. "But…to some extent," she admitted, her voice faltering.
He leaned in then, the subtle scent of pine and smoke invading her senses as his face drew near hers. She could see the delicate fringe of his lashes casting shadows over his sharp cheekbones.
His hair, dark and soft, fell messily over his single eye, and she found herself unable to look away from the hardened lines of his face that twitched ever so slightly as he spoke, "Glad to shock you, Hyuga."
She met his gaze, her heart thudding as she realized just how close they were. The lines on his face were too raw, too human, and for a fleeting moment, he looked so simple — her exposure to Sasuke Uchiha in a casual setting, was always mind-boggling. Everyone glorified him; but there he stood before her, leaning down to her eye level and looking like a man who was complicated in the simplest way.
"I didn't have a childhood," he added, his voice dipping into something quieter, more honest. His dark eye held hers, deep and hollow, yet filled with something unspoken. "My child deserves one."
Something inside her cracked. A dull ache bloomed in her chest at the weight of his admission. Her heart dropped.
She tucked a loose strand behind her ear, lowering her eyes, "You just made me feel like a bad mother and a bad person, Uchiha-san."
She turned towards the counter, gathered the cooled-down pan from the stove and moved to the side towards the sink, forgetting her breakfast which was partially devoured by the man she hosted now and then. Sasuke, perhaps sensing the shift, straightened as she passed by him.
Before she turned on the knob and the noise of water dripping could faintly occupy, he remarked, "You are good at this, way better than I am."
She mumbled as the water splashed on the pan, her hand squeezing the sponge with washing liquid as scrubbed the pan, "I hope so."
Unbeknownst to her, some darker thoughts about her motherly expertise stirred within her, masking her face with an instant solemn shade. Unwelcomed insecurities lingered like shadows around her, muffled in the clatter of dishes. Was she hard on her kids?
He cleared his throat beside her, cutting the remaining slice left in the plate, leaving another half of the slice for her, how generous. "Do you need a hand, Hyuga?" he asked casually, gulping down another bite of her breakfast, his eye squinted at the pile of unwashed dishes piling in the sink.
"No, thank you." Her eyes crinkled at the corners when her lips pulled into a smile.
"Well," he said while wiping his butter-glazed lips from the back of his hand, "I have only one hand, I can't be much help anyway." He shrugged, his cloak almost obscured the fleeting raise of his shoulder. A comical look draped over his face at his own comment, a slight lift of his lips from the corners for a brief moment. His dark eyes were lit up by the slanted sunlight filtering through the window and casting a shadow over his pale skin, making him strikingly bright.
And with that, the thoughts of motherhood got tucked in the corner of her head for another time, without him, and she covered her mouth with her soapy hand to muffle a giggle, her voice airy, "You are not funny, Uchiha-san."
He turned, the dark cloak billowing around him as he made his way toward the door, his back to her now. His presence seemed to slip away, dissolving into the shadows of her home.
But before he crossed the threshold of the kitchen, his voice drifted back to her, a quiet but clear remark that hung in the air like a whisper of wind, amusing her. "I know, Hyuga."
And without another word, no thanks, nothing, he left. The pine and musky scent still lingered, the corners of her house embraced the memory of his presence.
.
.
.
A few days later, the Uzumaki residence had beaming giggles echoing off its walls.
The afternoon sun poured into the room, casting a warm glow on the art supplies that littered the carpeted floor. Brushes, tubs of paints and canvases were spread out, and the papery smell of paint was hanging in the air. Himawari and Sarada sat cross-legged, dipping their brushes into the small tubs of paints and mapping the strokes of bursts of colour on the canvas. Blue, purple, white and pink.
Sasuke sat on the sofa, peering down at the children discussing the colour of their flower, Hinata's eyes followed the calm serenity unfolding in her living room. Her fingers deftly worked on the soft yarn, knitting a lavender-coloured scarf. A flash of memory of her red scarf for her husband barged into her mind but the soft giggles and chaotic swirl of paint on the faces of two kids in front of her kept her mind distracted from drowning in a stinging part of her past.
Hinata's eyes rested on Sasuke as he sat on the sofa opposite her, sipping his green tea. The steam curled around his face, adding a fleeting softness to his sharp features, though his gaze remained fixed on Sarada and Himawari. His eyes followed every brushstroke they made, his posture rigid yet quietly attentive.
"Papa, you fill in this white space, come on!" Sarada waved her paintbrush at Sasuke and encouraged him.
Sasuke leaned back slightly, setting the delicate teacup on the side table with a faint clink. "I don't paint."
"You can fight with one hand, but running away from painting?" Sarada's pout deepened, her frown an almost perfect mirror of his own.
"Yes please join us, Uncle Sasuke!" Himawari beamed.
A low sigh escaped his lips, and for a moment, Sasuke seemed to weigh his options. But as Sarada's eyes sparkled with mischievous anticipation and Himawari's infectious smile spread wider, he gave in, crouching down beside them with reluctant grace. He dipped his brush into a jar of deep blue paint, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked the bristles across the canvas with surprising delicacy.
His slender fingers, pale against the vivid colours, moved with an unexpected precision, the brush gliding smoothly along the edges. The rigid energy slipped from his aura and his attention was drawn to the work he was doing with squinted eyes and parted lips. Hinata, sitting quietly, paused her knitting to watch the scene unfold, biting back a soft chuckle. It was a sight she would always be amused by—the stoic Uchiha, seated on the floor, knees bent and shoulders hunched, immersing himself in the world of paint with the same intensity he brought to everything else.
The sunlight filtering through the window bathed him in a soft, golden glow, accentuating the taut lines of his face as he worked, lost in the task.
But the silence and calmness was short-lived.
Sarada exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance with Himawari, and before Hinata could even set her knitting aside, the girls pounced. Sarada's fingers, slick with red paint, streaked across Sasuke's cheek, while Himawari's hands, dipped in yellow, playfully marked his hand.
The brush slipped from Sasuke's fingers, smudging blue across the canvas as he blinked in surprise. "What—"
"Papa, we're painting, of course!" Sarada giggled, climbing onto his lap and smearing red across his stained face. Her hands cradled his cheeks, turning his pale skin into a chaotic canvas of vibrant colours. He unintendedly wiped his hand across his cheek, smearing the paint further instead of cleaning it.
Before either girl could react, Sasuke swiped the paint across Sarada's nose, leaving a bright blue streak. Her eyes widened in mock shock. "Dad!"
Sarada, refusing to be outdone, grabbed her brush and flicked a bit of paint in Sasuke's direction again, landing on his cloak. Sasuke gave her a narrowed look, but his expression remained light.
The laughter and competition began, mess on the floor and hand prints on the carpet and table which Hinata chose to ignore because the air of contentment and infectious joy brought a surge of pleasure within Hinata. It had been so long since her home echoed with the boundless energy.
"You are so cool, Uncle Sasuke," Himawari chimed, bouncing beside Sarada who was still attempting to land a hit on her father but he had stood up, with his soft gaze on the kids.
"Papa is the true artist," Sarada grinned.
"Hn," Sasuke shrugged and flicked both of the kid's foreheads, exiting the living room.
Hinata rose from the couch, carefully folding her knitting and placing it aside, her soft footsteps following Sasuke into the dining hall. She found him by the shelves, his hand still attempting to wipe away the paint from his face—only succeeding in spreading the colours further.
A light snicker escaped her lips, drawing his attention.
He turned, his dark eyes meeting hers, and Hinata couldn't help but take in the sight of him. His once-pristine face was now a swirl of red and blue, and even the strands of his dark hair were streaked with paint, glowing faintly under the dangling warm lights.
"You are ruining it more," she smiled.
"I need a tissue," he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly in frustration.
"Let me help you," Hinata smiled, moving toward the shelf behind him. She pulled out a soft towel and extended her hand towards him; her palm open and expectant. His dark gaze flickered from her hand to her face, as though debating whether to accept the offer.
"You already have paint on your hand…" her words trailed.
He gasped and nodded. She grabbed his wrist, his skin was warm and slightly dry. She began wiping the paint off his hand, the soft material of the towel grazed the lines on his palm and then her attention moved to the back of his hand, the moist paint was easily wiped off but for the dried splatters, she had to put pressure on his skin, scrubbing away the stubborn marks.
"You can leave your cloak in the washer, I will—"
He denied the offer, his voice was low but kind, "It is fine."
Once satisfied, Hinata let go of his hand. He flexed his fingers, inspecting the now-clean skin with a small, thoughtful hum. He glanced at her briefly, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them, before he let his arm fall to his side.
"Um...that..." she said, her voice a soft murmur, pointing to the smudges of paint marring his face. "May I?" she asked, holding a clean towel.
Once her words tumbled out, sanity kicked in and she realized that she shouldn't have offered, she just mindlessly asked, she bit her lip and looked away from his frowning eyes. Don't intrude in his space, Hinata. But she only wanted to be kind. Embarrassment burned her cheeks.
He hummed, his guttural voice breaking the loud silence in the hall, "Hm."
Hinata's head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. His brow quirked and his dark eyes looked vacant. She heaved a sigh and stepped into his space, tip-toeing to reach his towering figure. Her hand quivered for a moment before she pressed the towel on his cheek, wiping away the remnants of a playful moment.
Her toes ached and her feet flattened on the ground, she huffed and then resumed her gentle patting on his cheek by tip-toeing again, the paint dribbled down to his neck, on his prominent vein there, she avoided his eyes and held his jaw with her free hand and cradled his warm skin under her soft touch.
Her hand seemed too small as she cupped his face and tilted, wiping the red paint sliding under his jaw as if his skin was sliced open and he was bleeding.
As she leaned in closer, eyes trained on each little spot of paint on his face, his scent overpowered her own and even dampened the crisp smell of paint, her feet trembled and she again couldn't stand on her toes as the strain pulled her muscles in the calves.
She turned red, even though there was no paint tainting her cheeks.
Before she could embarrassingly try again, he silently dipped his head, leaning closer to her without a word. The simple act saved her from the awkwardness of straining on her toes.
Now, with his face level to hers, he was closer than ever—even more than that time when he cornered her in the kitchen. She was certain he could see every freckle on her face, every minute imperfection. That made her stomach drop. She let out a shaky breath and continued to clean the paint.
His neck and cheek were spotless, just a little red and blue under his eyes, her hand quivered and restrained, she had never thought that she'd ever be that close to a Uchiha's precious eyes. Hyuga abhorred anyone touching their eyes.
Respecting the weight of his lineage as well, she withdrew her hand, but before she could fully pull away, his firm grip caught her wrist in an iron-clad grasp. His freshly cleaned fingers were still faintly scented with paint and pine.
His smokey breath ghosted over her lips, "Finish what you started, Hyuga." His tone was almost gravelly.
Her eyes flickered up to meet his, where she found an intensity simmering there. He wasn't asking for permission. He was commanding it.
She swallowed her hesitation and nodded as his firm hold slipped from her wrist. She folded the corner of the towel and gently brushed under his eyes. She was unaware that her breath was hitched because when she noticed the raven black eye turned blood red, her loud gasp startled her own trance and she yelped, stumbling back, losing the momentum of her body but before she could fall and hit the floor, his hand snaked around her waist and held her upright.
She breathed, mouth agape, "Your…sharingan."
He didn't pull back, staying at eye level with her, his head angled just slightly downward, bearing the weight of Sharingan, "Sorry," he muttered, "Scared?" His voice was darkly rasp.
She whispered, "Surprised."
To witness a phenomenon like Sharingan up close was a mesmerizing experience, any revulsion she might have felt towards herself came later after the damage because her finger inadvertently traced the under-eye skin and she felt his skin twitch under her gentle whisper of a touch.
"Does it hurt?"
Consumed by her curiosity, she inquired, mind fogged by the intense crimson and the black tomoes, she regretted the moment her fascination forced her to invade his boundary.
She almost snatched her hand away from his face but he answered, "No."
She nodded at him, the air around them turned warmer, and their breathing was steady and mingled, mint and smoke, following each other's rhythm.
Before revulsion could hit again her with a force and jolt her awake from the budding proximity, his other statement added fuel to the fire burning around them and kept the flame flickering, "Mangekyo hurts."
She nodded, the pad of her index finger still lightly pressed on the corner of his eye, enamoured by the beauty, "Studying about it through books isn't as…thrilling as looking at this," she confessed, her pale eyes devouring the eye that her family considered a curse.
But as she peered in the crimson depths, she only felt the intense power emanating from it. Time passed either like an eternity or a mere second as she embraced all the depths of red and black.
Her fingers tingled because of the contact with his skin, the multitude of emotions crossing over her face. Warmth and chill coursed through her as the red seemed to pull her in. Her stomach clenched with the excitement of finally witnessing what she never thought she would.
He gruffly added, "So Hyugas are after the secrets of Sharingan, huh?"
Hinata pulled her hand back but was unable to step back as his arm was still looped around her waist. A frown danced on her forehead, and his offence seared her Hyuga pride, she countered, "No! That was a brief part of my heiress training!"
He darkly chuckled, the voice so deep that it reverberated. "What do you know about Mangekyou, Hyuga-hime?" He tilted his head, a small smirk tugged on the corner of his lips.
"N-nothing," her resolve betrayed her as she stuttered, the power in his eye began to affect her as if she was in a Genjutsu where it was just him and her because the chatter of children from the living room quietened suddenly, the ticking of the clock that echoed in silence was non-existence and her breathing faltered, with each inhale, she could only smell woody and pine. "Only that it gets triggered by something painful," she finished as she caught her breath.
A shadow draped over his face, the red from the paint still left its shade which darkened, his features contorted with a twinge of pain. Hinata's lungs felt like they were squeezed as she was agape, breathless at the sight of the basic Sharingan turning to a complicated pattern in his eye. How. It was beyond her comprehension, how one eye could hold that with finesse and precision.
She blinked, and realization dawned upon her that his eye must have hurt, "Ah…you said that it pains you—"
He interjected, "You looked curious."
Her eyes revelled in the opportunity. Hyuga household had had multiple conspiracies about the Sharingan or the revolutionized Mangekyo; nothing was ever good, always about the curse of hatred fueling the power. But now as she took in the star-shaped outline in his eye, with pointy petals, encasing a triangular pattern which looked familiar to a shuriken, she was entranced by the complexity. It was definitely hypnotic, she could feel herself get lost in the minor details without realizing that she was getting closer and that her fingers were around his eye again, brushing on his skin.
The striking blend of red and white was inviting, her pale eyes drank in every detail. "It is…" she felt her words tumble back, unable to spill.
"Ugly? Horrifying? Dangerous?" Sasuke's smirk dropped, with a measured tone, he asked.
"Majestic," she breathed, "Beautiful." With the last trace of her finger on his under eye, she pulled back her hand, hoping that he didn't feel offended by her touch.
You definitely offended him, Hinata. Her mind chided her, all she wanted to tell the voice in her head was that the damage was done, and her sanity was too late.
Sasuke straightened finally, the momentary closeness gone. His arm slipped away from her waist as he stretched his neck, cracking it slightly as if the strain of leaning down for so long had taken its toll.
"If you knew how we get these, you'd never call it—"
She stepped back, bringing the much-needed distance between them, so his scent could stop engulfing her senses and she could breathe, "Some beautiful things come out of pain." She swallowed hard, trying to compose herself.
His back was pressed against the shelves behind him, "Pain that destroys you isn't worth it, Hyuga."
Her eyes fell to her feet, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmured, fingers twisting the edges of her tunic nervously. "I was just…"
He uttered, "Curious."
She nodded, eyes shut and still lowered. She wrestled with her emotions, her breath shaky.
His resonating voice boomed, "Now I am curious, Hyuga." Her head snapped up, her mouth parted but he continued before she could ask, "It is your turn to satisfy my…curiosity." His low voice thundered in the air, but before she had any reaction, he began to walk towards her.
One step.
Another step.
Pine.
Wood.
Smoke.
Panic kicked within her, she stepped back.
Her pulse quickened, the air thickened around them, and the walls closed in on them.
She swallowed a lump and watched him approach her like a panther—clad in black, eyes red and purple and a pale face shaded faint scarlet. An amused smirk played on his lips, his jaw tensed as she backed away.
Vexation was unguarded on his face, flames licked her insides at the sound of his grunt, his hand shot to grab her by the wrist, pulling her towards him leaving an inch of distance between them, "Don't be greedy, Hyuga."
"Huh," she almost yelped.
Squirming to get out of his grasp, but his hold was an unyielding cage. She angled her face up to him, he didn't lean down for her that time to her eye level but loomed over her, his gaze unwavering. She struggled to think clearly under the pressing weight of his dark lingering gaze.
"Show yourself to me too, Hyuga," he commanded. "Or did you seriously think you could get anything out of me without any price," he smirked.
She blinked, gasping softly, "My eyes…they are not s-special, they are ghostly—"
"Don't make me repeat myself, Hinata." His voice sounded darker, her name had never sounded as heavy as it did in his deep and silky tone.
She felt his fingers tightening around her wrist, his thumb was pressing on her pulse point. Warm. Rough.
She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a sharp breath before her eyes fluttered open and the veins around them protruded, the sheen in her pale eyes gleamed brighter, and her eyes saw him—The chakra pathways with stable energy flowing inside him, the intricate veins around his eye, the blood swirling thicker around his Mangekyo.
The power within her Byakugan flowed in waves and unlike his Sharingan, hers weren't flames. They were calm waters, precise but silent, deadly yet soft. His crimson eye darted on each lineament of her face, his coarse hand slipped from her wrist and was now tracing one of the veins that extended till her eyebrow, she bit her lip to stifle a whimper, his touch stung. But it was warm.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his curiosity sparked.
"Veins…they hurt," she replied. He pulled his hand back as if he was burned.
He muttered under his breath while backing away from her, "Pure."
"Uh—"
He narrowed his eyes, "Elegant even. Not pale…lilac."
Her Byakugan retreated, in place of veins that his fingers traced, and her pale skin emerged. Her body shook with a chill running up her spine, she hissed unwittingly. Her mouth suddenly felt dry as if she tasted sand.
His observation of the faint shade in her eyes fazed her, she was unaware of his genuine curiosity because she thought it was just a game to get back at her for indulging in the Sharingan.
She uttered, picking up the stained towel from the floor which she never realized was dropped, "Not as strong as yours."
"My power is tainted with horrors and pain," he said as he shoved his hand in his pocket, the stoicism masked his unguarded features, hiding the frown and the little smirk. "Would you want it despite that?"
She confessed, "I don't know." Would she be willingly take on the agony of a Sharingan? Her mind was silent.
He unhooked his cloak, and it slipped off his towering frame with one swift tug from him, he carried it on his forearm, the black shirt stretched on his taut frame, with one sleeve empty, "I wouldn't want that for someone like you."
She looked up at him through her eyelashes, her head ducked, "Someone weak?"
"Pure." He stared at her like he could see right through her, "Someone who has something pure shouldn't even be near…this." He pointed to his eye which swirled into an endless pool of black.
A pang in her chest clawed at her, all those times when the Hyuga household had gossiped about the Uchihas being the scum played in her head briefly, enough times to feel the indignation fill her, "You are still pure, Uchiha-san," she wanted to reassure. No one deserved to feel otherwise, not even the ex-avenger.
"Your definition of purity is flawed, Hyuga-hime," he snickered dryly, void of any humour.
Before she could argue, Sarada burst into the room, her voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. "Papa, can I stay here?"
"No, we will leave—"
"But you and Mom are going on a date! I'll be bored at home!" Sarada whined, her small face scrunched up in protest.
Date. Yeah, normal couples did that. Her heart thrashed at her ribcage with a shooting pain that embraced her for a moment before she regained her composure. "She can stay here, you can pick her up after your…dinner," she regarded Sasuke who looked perturbed. Why.
"I don't want to impose—"
Hinata smiled, shaking her head, "I love having Sarada around, also Boruto will return for the dinner…the kids will enjoy."
He nodded, slipping past her, and moving towards the door after patting Sarada's head.
.
.
After Sasuke left, her existence was wrapped in the shroud of stillness. The kids decided to retire to bed for a quick rest before dinner and Boruto's boundless wave of energy. Hinata was standing before the window, her eyes fixated on the inky sky stretched before them. Her mind reeled about her actions from a few hours ago; ineffable emotions enveloped her, striking a chord within her brain which berated her for seeking curiosity about the things out of bounds for her.
Beyond her reach.
Beyond her right.
Before her spiralling thoughts could carry her further, strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her into a familiar warmth. The scent of sandalwood mingled with a subtle trace of cherry blossoms filled her senses, grounding her.
"Hinata-chan," Naruto's deep voice murmured against her ear, his breath hot as he nuzzled the delicate curve of her neck. His body pressed firmly against her back.
"Naruto," she squeaked in surprise.
He responded by pressing a gentle kiss on her shoulder, the heat of his lips searing through the thin fabric of her shirt. "I'm home," he whispered, turning her around to face him. His forehead rested against hers, and she felt the warmth of his breath, tinged with a familiar spice, wash over her. "I'm sorry I've been gone. But I've set this weekend aside—just for us."
Hinata felt his hand roam on the small of her back, his fingers mapping out the softness of her flesh over her shirt and she flinched, which was unnoticed. "I missed you."
"Boruto and Himawari missed you too," she muttered, her eyes shut for a brief moment to quieten the thoughts that were causing outrage in her mind— the thoughts of how if he had missed her, he would have been there for her all the time or at least most of the time.
That thought remained lodged in her throat, unspoken but suffocating her nonetheless.
His voice was jubilant, "We will have fun!"
"We have Sarada with us tonight." She pulled herself away from his hold. She turned around and then drew the curtains closed.
Naruto asked, unbuttoning his jacket, "Oh, Sasuke too?"
Under the filtering moonlight, she could see a tense tremor on his jaw when she said, "No, he is on his…date."
"Oh," he mumbled.
She could feel the change in his breathing as he flopped on the couch, his posture suddenly awkward, his usual ease gone.
She chuckled to herself with a bitter aftertaste as the dilemmas and torrent of thoughts and realities swept over her.
"What's funny?" he asked, a grin tugging at his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Nothing," she said, the word coming out sharper than she intended.
She couldn't find the energy to explain how the pedestal she had placed him on all those years ago had crumbled beneath the weight of reality. She was no longer the girl who looked up to him like he was the sun. She was no longer grounded, no longer tethered to that dream.
"Feels good to be back," His words were uttered with a lingering smile, his averted gaze filled with guilt she knew he carried. But untethered by any attachments which throbbed at the back of her mind, she simply nodded with no affirmations or reassurances.
"How was your day, Hina?"
"Eventful." A memory flashed before her— her curiosity, his majestic eye, his pine scent, his scrutinizing stare at her pure eyes. She had managed to see a Uchiha's eyes—a myth from her childhood, a legend from her teenage and a reality in her adulthood.
"Hey!" Naruto snapped his fingers in front of her, "Hina, where are you?" he rubbed the back of his neck and laughed.
She revealed, her expression smoothened but her mask cracked and a flicker of glee resonated in the small smile threatening to erupt, "I saw his Mangekyo."
"You what?" Naruto froze, his posture rigid, the lazy slouch gone as he leaned forward, his eyes wide with shock. He moved to the edge of his seat, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together.
"Uchiha-san's Mangekyo."
"I know it would be his, but how and why and…like…what?" he sputtered, his waning patience evident.
"I was just curious." She laughed at the absurdity of it.
Naruto's jaw went slack, his breath catching as he stared at her in disbelief. He seemed to be struggling to process her words, his bright blue eyes locked on hers, waiting for more. But there was nothing more to say. She leaned back, resting her hands in her lap, her heart still racing.
"Well," Naruto mused after a long pause, leaning back with a slow exhale. "I guess that bastard's getting along with the village after all." He grinned, "Maybe he's here to stay this time."
Her breath quickened, "Friends?"
"You are friends, right? That bastard never showed me his eyes…doesn't even let me get close!" he whined and let out a light chuckle.
Friends? Are we, Uchiha-san? She wondered, a bolt of electricity ran through her body, sizzling her blood rushing in her veins. Their proximity allowed them to revel in each other's revered eyes, and for someone belonging to the Dōjutsu bloodline— it was an unusually profound thing; to bare themselves to each other, the intimacy crackling with thrill.
Hinata absentmindedly rubbed her thigh, a studious expression on her face, the familiar flames of curiosity lapped at her insides as she stared at nothingness. Her fingers twitched with the compulsion to claw at her skirt, the confusion erupted due to Naruto's questions being palpable around her.
She admitted the anomaly, "Yes…perhaps, we are friends." The thought of being friends with Sasuke Uchiha was enthralling.
.
.
.
Sasuke chewed silently on the garnish of tomatoes, their tartness bursting on his tongue as his gaze drifted across the opulent restaurant. The gleaming hall stretched before him, bathed in the soft golden glow of sconces, casting delicate shadows on the circular tables that dotted the room.
Each table was a perfect portrait of luxury, adorned with polished vases brimming with fresh flowers, and flickering candles casting a soft, warm halo over the patrons. A low hum of conversation mingled with the clink of crystal glasses and the soft melody drifting from the live band tucked in the corner. Yet, despite the sensory overload, the chaos around him faded into white noise, barely registering in his mind.
A familiar and gripping scent followed him, creeping up on his neck and forearm's bare skin. Lavender.
The shiver shot through him, making him revel in the familiarity of the scent, his eyes blinked dazed as he felt sucked in by the sweet smell with a tinge of woodsy scent reminding him of the entrancement when he bared his Sharingan in front of the wide lilac-tinted pearly eyes. That scent brought an exhilarating thrill pounding in his chest, sending a tremor down his limbs.
His heart thudded once, twice, before the sound of his name cut through the haze
"Sasuke…"
His trance shattered.
He blinked repeatedly, momentarily disoriented, he then cleared his throat and straightened his posture on the wide chair, "Yes."
"I…I wanted us to have…this date…dinner, I mean…" Green eyes fluttered, staring at him intently, "I wanted to apologise about our argument." Her voice was tentative.
"I was at fault, Sakura," he reminded her.
Her thumb circled the rim of her cup as she muttered with her strength subdued, "We were both at fault."
"Perhaps. But I had it coming." He shrugged. A small sigh escaped him, his hand absently resting on the cool surface of the table.
Sakura's cold hand shot up and rested on his, her thumb grazing the vein protruding at the back of his hand, "No, of course not—"
Sasuke's tone clipped, "I am not perfect, Sakura. Don't think of me as one."
"Are we good, now?" She meekly asked, her red-clad body sank on the chair, and the curled pink strands hid the blush on her cheeks and her eyes flitted downwards.
Sasuke nodded, it was not like he could defy what was written for him. Nothing seemed significant anyway—sleeping and waking up, crashing into a monotonous embrace of a life he didn't want to live.
Sakura's glee brightened her, made her sit up straight and put her elbows on the table, and her chin propped on her entwined hands. "So…you can restart by complimenting me, I made some efforts." She cocked her head to the side, her wavy hair flowing to her left and revealing glinting studs in her ear. Her eyes froze on him, expectant.
The eyes with golden shadow over her lids, complimenting the green of her eyes.
Exhaling heavily, he relished in the agony of a moment when his powers failed. Complimenting people.
He managed a hollow response, "You look lovely."
"At least…you tried." She giggled, "Naruto is very creative with compliments."
Sasuke body stirred at the comparison, "Do you imply that I learned from that loser?"
"No, it is fine. I like that you are stingy with praises," Sasuke swatted her hand in the air, dismissing the idea that roiled his insides, "It makes me feel special when you rarely do it."
"You always look lovely, everyone already tells you that so I don't feel the need to tell you—"
Sakura pouted before she folded her arms on her chest and lectured him, "I don't care what others say! I care about my husband's opinion about me, and they are special to me."
"Sorry, you really do look nice," Sasuke could feel the surging frustration in her posture; to diffuse it, he fell into the same ditch from which he had escaped.
A vibrant smile lit her face as she took his hand in hers, lifting it to peck the back of his hand. Sasuke's jaw twitched as her lips brushed against his skin. Staggering giddiness coursed through her, evident by the way her nose lightly nuzzled her palm, whispering into his skin, "You look handsome too, Sasuke-kun."
"Thanks," he pulled his hand back, raking it in his dark locks from the front to the back, rubbing the neck lightly before his touch fizzled out.
"How is village life for you," she questioned digging into her portion of steak sizzling before her.
Sasuke didn't need to think twice to say, "Fine. Nothing extraordinary."
"I am sorry," she looked up, her gaze holding his captive, "I have been busy with the new wing in the hospital with no time for you…if I handle this project well, I can be the chief of the hospital—"
Sasuke seethed, "Don't apologize because you chose yourself. Your dreams matter, I appreciate that you are following them relentlessly." His eyes softened, but the rough edge in his voice stayed, "I enjoy Sarada's company."
Sakura licked the spoon's back with a deliberate slowness when she asked, "What do you do besides playing and training with Sarada? I am glad she is warming up to you."
"After hanging out with Sarada, I train Boruto daily now, I often spar with Naruto during his 'nap breaks' or he drags me to one of his meetings. I and Sarada often have meals at Hinata's."
"You visit Hinata for food?" She almost squealed, the boil in her voice tapered off, leaving behind a screeching whisper.
"Yes…she cooks, I eat."
Sakura clamped her hand over her mouth, "Sasuke!" she hissed, "Did you ask her before you began your routine?"
"Uh…" Sasuke faltered which led to Sakura pursing her thin lips at him, disappointment urged beneath the surface. "I think we are…friends."
Her incredulous gaze lingered on him, but she merely shook her head, exasperated.
Sakura stifled her giggle, "Sasuke-kun," her voice light as a feather, "She is Hinata, she would even serve Madara if he came to her doorstep."
Sasuke huffed, he could feel the heat slithering up his nape, "Did you just compare me to Madara?"
His name was honeyed in her voice as she gasped, "No, Sasuke-kun." She leaned forward to brush her knuckles on his cheek, and he stiffened. Her coarse medic-nin hands were cold, and a memory of another tender touch lingered around his eyes—he was pulled out of his bewitched state as his wife said, "I was just surprised that you are opening up and making friends…it is good!" She smiled brightly.
"Through Boruto's training sessions…we had a few interactions, also while you are busy, Sarada likes spending time with Boruto and Himawari—"
"I understand Sasuke…you both are quite a pair though," she mused.
His mouth set in a hard line, "I am not that bad…I don't bother her." I don't bother, I am only curious.
"I don't mean any harm," her lips were pulled into a smile, "I can understand though…you both are quiet people—"
He divulged, reminiscing all the interactions where his "She is a stress ball, trying to hide that she is fretting about something. She wears a mask of indifference but is always on the verge of losing."
"Don't speak like that!" Sakura chided, with a lopsided grin.
Sasuke huffed and massaged his temples, "It is a fact."
"Do you want me to learn cooking from her?" Sakura sheepishly asked, head lowered.
"What?" he winced, his blank stare boring into his wife who chewed on her bottom lip while expecting an answer from him.
"I mean…you seem to like her cooking—" she averted her gaze, blinking at the lights overhead.
Sasuke's jaw clenched, "No! You are busy already." He assessed the rigid line of her body and lowly explained, hoping to quell whatever was budding in her, "Everyone has a different life, Sakura. Naruto is the Hokage, you are the senior medic, Hinata deals with the orphanage and volunteering at the hospital, and I am…well, me! We have different roles to fill, you are doing enough!"
She hummed, her cheeks tinting pink, "Yes, I understand. Thank you." She reached out to hold his hand again, her fingers tracing the veins of the back of his hand, he glanced down at her hand hovering over his but with a sharp breath, he diverted his attention towards Sakura, "But let me know if you need me to do—"
"You know it, Sakura! You know I don't like people changing themselves for me!" he almost growled, something deep within him quacked.
"I just want to make you happy," she picked up his palm and pressed kisses on his fingers.
He sucked on his teeth, jaw tight. The sensation of her lips on his skin bristled him. The nervous twitch in his neck pulsed, "Don't change yourself for anyone."
"What if you don't like—"
"Still!" he gruffly exclaimed, "Your entirety shouldn't depend on what someone likes! You are your own person, Sakura! Don't sacrifice that!"
She whispered, "Is it a sacrifice if I am willing—"
He sneered, "Don't!" He yanked his hand away from hers and squinted at her, untamed fury crackled behind his eyes.
"Fine, don't be pissed." She nodded. She picked up a spoonful of soup and relished it, "Sarada is worried about her chunin exams," she revealed.
The fury simmering in the depths of his stomach fizzled out as he declared, "She will make it! I know it."
She leaned forward, her lips quivering as she confessed, "I love you, Sasuke-kun." She bit the inside of her cheek and her leg bounced under the table.
His body flinched as his eyes fell on her, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and his mind raced in a thousand different directions at once. "All of a sudden?" he questioned, wondering about the millionth time— why do you believe that you love me?— He knew if he had asked what he intended to, the world would have fallen over his head.
"It's just…" she sighed, "Your annoyed face reminded me of Sasuke-kun from our Genin days…so I think I fell in love with you, all over again." She tittered and palmed both of her crimson cheeks, to subdue the hot red creeping on her skin.
"I wasn't good back then, Sakura," he reminded her.
Sakura peered at him, her hands slipped off from her cheeks, her chest rose and fell with heavy gasps, and her expressions closed up. Annoyance creased her forehead, "You have always been perfect to me, Sasuke-kun."
Why? How?
Lie!
He began, narrowing his eyes and rubbing his temple, his voice rough and snappish, "I was far from—"
She slammed the napkin on the plate, "Just accept the compliment, Sasuke! Accept my affections!"
He gave in, knowing that there was no world where Sakura could see past her mold of Sasuke Uchiha, no matter what, "Okay, fine. I am perfect, Sakura."
I am not perfect. I am not a God. I am merely a human! His mind growled, repeatedly asserting. But it was to no avail because no one wanted to give him a chance to be simply human.
Flawed. Imperfect. Lost.
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A/N: REVIEWS AND FAVS ARE APPRECIATED.
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