Chapter 2
Sasuke never paid much attention to new hires. In the fast-paced, high-pressure world of their architecture firm, faces blurred into one another, conversations were reduced to clipped efficiency. Deadlines dictated everything, and he neither had the time nor the inclination to invest in fleeting professional relationships.
So why was Hyuga Hinata different?
At first, Sasuke barely acknowledged her presence, only aware of her when their paths crossed during meetings or in passing. But her desk was near the breakroom, and every time he went to grab a coffee, he would walk past her. She was a quiet presence in his periphery.
But over time, their interactions grew, becoming more persistent.
It started with small incidents.
One afternoon in the breakroom, Sasuke casually mentioned to Shino that he needed the PDF of the Design Manual but he couldn't find it within the Network. A few hours later, it appeared in his inbox, attached to a brief message: "Heard you were looking for this. Hope it helps." No unnecessary words, no expectation of a reply.
And now, almost every morning after setting up his desk, Sasuke would find the coffee pot in the breakroom freshly brewed—always at the perfect temperature. At first, he dismissed it as coincidence, but the timing was too precise. He never caught anyone refilling it, but once, as he passed by her desk, he met Hinata's gaze—her lips curling into a small, knowing smile.
Then another morning, Sasuke walked into the breakroom to find Kiba leaning against the counter, arms crossed as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. The breakroom smelled different that day—not the usual burnt, stale aroma of store-bought coffee beans, but something richer and more floral.
Kiba stood by the counter, arms crossed, waiting. He glanced up and grinned. "Hinata brought specialty beans again. I'm brewing a fresh pot. You want some?"
Sasuke barely acknowledged him, his mind elsewhere. "She's weird," he muttered absently, more to himself than to Kiba.
Kiba blinked. "Who?"
"Hyuga."
Kiba's brow furrowed in confusion. "Because she brought specialty beans?"
Sasuke exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "She's too nice. It's disconcerting."
Kiba snorted, leaning back against the counter. "That's just Hinata being Hinata. She's nice to everyone."
"I don't get it," Sasuke muttered, gaze flickering toward her desk beyond the glass partition. She was typing away, completely oblivious to their conversation.
He had seen people be nice before—he had witnessed fake smiles, polite small talk, and obligated generosity. He understood ulterior motives, social expectations, power plays. But this? The way she was kind with no expectation of return, no sense of self-importance—it unsettled him.
Kiba smirked. "Maybe she likes you."
Sasuke shot him a sharp glare, but Kiba only grinned wider, clearly entertained.
"Relax, I'm kidding." He tilted his head, considering. "Probably. Not like that's anything new for you."
Sasuke didn't respond, his fingers tapping idly against his arm.
Kiba shrugged and grabbed the coffee pot, pouring two cups. He slid one toward Sasuke. "Look, if she's being nice to you, just let her be. Not everything has an ulterior motive, y'know?"
Sasuke took the cup but said nothing. As he passed by her desk, Hinata looked up at him—then at the cup in his hand. For the briefest moment, a small smile tugged at her lips, warm and genuine, before she quickly turned back to her screen.
Lunch breaks became a familiar occurrence. It began with Kiba noticing how Hinata always sat alone, quietly eating at the far end of the cafeteria. One day, he waved her over, offering the seat next to him with a toothy grin. She hesitated at first, but Kiba was persistent, and soon, it became routine—she would join them, and no one questioned it. They sat together, now more often than not, their conversations a mix of work complaints, inside jokes, and the occasional, surprising moment of sincerity. Sasuke and Shino were usually the quietest, but where Sasuke's silences were dismissive, meant to deter conversation, Shino's were observant, always absorbing everything before offering a dry remark. Kiba, on the other hand, filled every empty space with noise—dramatic storytelling, exaggerated complaints, and an endless stream of commentary that ranged from office gossip to unsolicited life advice.
Hinata wasn't the loudest, nor did she seek attention, but she had a way of fitting into the dynamic without ever disrupting it. She was the only one who genuinely listened to Kiba's rants, always nodding along with quiet amusement. She'd listen patiently as he vented about his love life—or the lack of it—a topic Kiba would never dare bring up with Sasuke or Shino, who either ignored or ridiculed him.
With Shino, her presence was met with quiet understanding. While others tuned out his monologues about insect migration patterns, Hinata listened with genuine curiosity, sometimes offering a thoughtful question or a small smile. It was a minor thing, but enough to draw him out, enough to make him engage just a little more than usual.
Her dynamic with Sasuke, however, was different, maybe even delicate. She was wary of his intensity, uncertain how to navigate the sharp edges of his personality. And Sasuke—always watchful, always guarded—kept her at arm's length. But she never demanded more from him than he was willing to give, never forced conversation when he wasn't in the mood. Her quiet presence wasn't intrusive, and for that, he tolerated her.
And yet, even on days without overtime, Hinata trailed along with them when they would grab dinner. At first, it was just a convenient way to unwind after a long day (or, in Kiba's case, a chance to unleash another round of grievances), but over time, it became something else—a habit.
Kiba was always the first to instigate these impromptu ramen runs or late-night barbecues. Shino acted like he merely tolerated them, but he never once declined an invitation. Sasuke, on the other hand, made sure to grumble about it every time—scowling when Kiba shoved him toward the exit, and sometimes, when no one was looking, he even covered the bill without a word.
These dinner runs had once been rare. Sasuke had always been the first to leave, the first to reject an invitation, the first to disappear without so much as a goodbye.
One night, after a particularly long dinner, Kiba leaned back in his chair, arms crossed with a smug grin. "Man, this has become quite a routine." he mused, nudging Shino with his elbow. "It was so difficult to get a hold of Sasuke before. But look at him, sitting here like it's normal. Have you gone soft, Uchiha?"
Sasuke scoffed, barely sparing him a glance. "Tch. You're imagining things."
The four of them had fallen into an easy routine—late-night ramen runs after long hours at the office, where casual conversation flowed as effortlessly as the steaming broth in their bowls. It was familiar, predictable. But one night, that rhythm broke.
Kiba, grinning like he'd won the lottery, announced he had scored a date. Shino mentioned a family obligation that he couldn't avoid. Sasuke barely reacted—until the realization hit him. The ramen run with the four of them... had just become a ramen run with two.
He and Hinata. Alone.
The thought barely had time to settle before they were already walking to their usual spot, side by side, yet somehow farther apart than ever. The air between them felt different—thicker, heavier. Sasuke had never really noticed how much space Kiba and Shino filled in their conversations until now, when the silence stretched longer than it should.
When they sat down, Hinata was the first to break it, her voice quieter than usual. "Um… should we still order the usual?"
Sasuke nodded. That seemed safe. Routine was safe.
The silence resumed, punctuated only by the sound of chopsticks clinking against bowls. He wasn't sure what to say. Small talk wasn't his forte, and Hinata… well, she wasn't exactly a chatterbox either. Normally, Kiba would be rambling about work, or Shino would drop some unexpectedly insightful remark that would spiral into a debate. Without them, the quiet settled awkwardly between Sasuke and Hinata, like an unwelcome third guest.
He stole a glance at her. She was focused on her food, but her fingers tapped absently against the table—nervous? Maybe. It wasn't like they never spoke, but there was always someone else around. A buffer. Now, it was just them, and Sasuke was beginning to realize how unprepared he was for it.
At first, they kept the conversation safe—work, mostly. A frustrating client, the latest round of endless revisions, the general exhaustion that came with their field. But as steam curled from their bowls and the first bites eased the weight of the day, the conversation took a turn.
"You always order the same thing," Hinata commented while stirring her soup.
Sasuke glanced at her bowl. "So do you."
A small, amused smile ghosted over her lips. "True. But… do you have a favorite food?"
He hesitated for a moment before answering. "Tomatoes."
Hinata blinked, surprised. "Tomatoes?"
He nodded. "I like them in almost anything."
Her eyes lit up in glee, and before she could stop herself, she exclaimed, "Oh! I'm growing tomatoes! On my balcony!"
Sasuke stared at her, momentarily caught off guard by her sudden enthusiasm. He wasn't used to seeing her so openly expressive. "You are?"
Hinata nodded, looking slightly embarrassed but pleased. "Yes. They're not quite ripe yet, but when they are, I'll bring you some."
Something unfamiliar stirred in his chest at her words. He wasn't sure what it was, only that the thought of her growing something and wanting to share it with him felt… unsettling.
Before he could think better of it, the words were already out:
"Why are you so nice to me?"
Hinata blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Sasuke exhaled sharply, as if annoyed with himself, but didn't back down. "You're always nice. To me. Specifically."
Hinata frowned slightly, placing her chopsticks on the table."I… I don't think that's true. I try to be kind to everyone."
"Yeah, but you go out of your way for me." He turned to face her fully now, eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "Why?"
Hinata blinked, genuinely puzzled. "I… don't think I do."
She said it so simply, so easily, that it made something in Sasuke bristle. As if she hadn't even thought about it before now. As if it wasn't something deliberate, something worth noting.
Her fingers traced absent patterns along the rim of her bowl. "It really isn't a bother for me, Uchiha-san," she added softly. "Does it—does it bother you?"
"I don't like it." Sasuke's voice was quieter now, but no less firm. "It feels like I'm indebted to you."
Hinata's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. "Indebted?"
Sasuke looked away, his grip tightening around his chopsticks. It wasn't that it bothered him, exactly. But it made no sense.
People weren't just kind without a reason. Kindness wasn't given freely.
Kiba's warmth always came with teasing, a balance of give and take. Shino's consideration was measured, logical—never more than necessary. But those made sense; they were his teammates, and he was their leader. Their dynamic had structure, built on expectations and shared purpose.
But Hinata? She had no reason and obligation to be nice to him.
He frowned, setting his chopsticks down. "I don't get it."
Hinata studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she sighed—a slow, deliberate exhale that softened the space between them.
She wasn't smiling anymore.
"You don't need to understand it," she murmured. "Just accept it."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The warmth of the ramen curled between them, steam rising and fading into the air.
Even after they parted ways, her words echoed—soft yet certain.
You don't need to understand it. Just accept it.
Sasuke wasn't sure why that unsettled him.
The next day, he almost forgot about it—until Hinata appeared before his desk, hesitant but determined.
"Uchiha-san."
Sasuke turned, catching sight of the small bento box she held in both hands. She stepped forward, cheeks tinged pink and extended it toward him.
"They ripened faster than I thought," she said, eyes flickering to his before dropping to the ground. "So… here."
He took the box, his fingers brushing against hers for just a moment. Inside, the cherry tomatoes were neatly arranged.
A strange warmth bloomed in his chest—unfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome.
Kiba, however, didn't miss a thing.
"Oi, Hinata," he groaned loudly, sniffing the air as if he could somehow detect the injustice of it. "What's that? You brought Sasuke tomatoes? Just Sasuke? What about me?"
Hinata flushed, clearly caught off guard. "Ah, I—" she hesitated, fingers tightening around the bento box. Then, flustered, she blurted out, "Do you like tomatoes, too, Kiba?"
Kiba reeled back as if personally offended. "That's not the point, Hinata! The point is, you're playing favorites."
"Given Sasuke's position as the Studio Head, your generosity seems… remarkably well-placed," Shino observed, adjusting his glasses.
Kiba shot him an incredulous look. "She's not even on our team, genius."
Meanwhile, Sasuke, completely ignoring their complaints, muttered, "Thank you," as he closed the lid of the box.
For a moment, the room went still.
Kiba and Shino both froze, slowly turning to Sasuke as if he had just declared his undying love instead of basic gratitude.
"You—" Kiba sputtered, pointing at him. "You just—you thanked her?"
"Fascinating," Shino remarked, his voice unreadable but his brow subtly raised. "I don't believe I've ever heard that from you before."
Hinata, on the other hand, was beaming. Not the soft, polite smiles she usually wore—but something brighter, more victorious.
She nodded once, as if checking something off an invisible list, then spun on her heel and practically skipped back to her desk.
Sasuke exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure what just happened. But somehow, it felt like he had lost.
So, naturally, he got competitive.
It wasn't just about returning the favor. It was about balance. Fairness. A structured response to an unstructured act of generosity. That was all.
Sasuke would deliberately look for small inconveniences and fix them for her without a word.
So when Hinata's tracing paper ran out one morning, by lunchtime, a fresh roll appeared at her desk. No fanfare, no explanation. Just there.
The next day, before Sasuke even arrived, a cup of coffee—dark, smooth, brewed exactly how he liked it—sat waiting for him.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Kiba, passing by, snickered. "You got an admirer or something?"
Sasuke ignored him and took a sip. Perfect temperature. Perfect balance.
Fine.
When dark clouds gathered outside, he didn't hesitate. As they wrapped up their meeting, he wordlessly handed his umbrella to Hinata, who had forgotten hers. She hesitated, but his expectant stare left no room for refusal. With a small nod, she accepted it.
The very next day, he found a sleek black umbrella tucked neatly into the side pocket of his bag. A note was attached to it.
It's sturdier than the one you lent me.
He stared at it, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.
She was relentless.
And so, the kindness war continued.
At team meetings, when the conversation would sweep past Hinata's contributions, Sasuke made a habit of redirecting the discussion.
"Hyuga, didn't you propose an alternative layout for this?" he said smoothly, as if it had just crossed his mind.
It was casual, effortless—but it ensured she was heard.
She thanked him afterward, a little too pleased. He should've seen it coming.
The very next day, Sasuke found himself ambushed in return.
"Well, Uchiha-san did suggest a more efficient way to structure the model," Hinata chimed in during a critique session, her tone perfectly neutral.
He shot her a look. She merely smiled—sweet, demure, and entirely smug.
Kiba was the first to crack.
"Okay, what is happening?" he blurted out, throwing his hands up as he watched yet another silent exchange between the two. "This—this is weird."
"Indeed," Shino mused, adjusting his glasses. "It seems we are witnessing a new, unexpected dynamic."
"It's freaky," Kiba corrected. "Why are they like this? They're, like, fighting but with—" he waved vaguely, "kindness."
Shino tilted his head. "Fascinating."
Kiba turned to Sasuke, narrowing his eyes. "And you," he jabbed a finger at him. "You don't do this for anyone else."
Sasuke didn't respond, flipping through a set of documents as if Kiba wasn't even speaking.
Kiba looked at Shino in exasperation. "Have you ever seen Sasuke pass anyone else a fresh roll of tracing paper? Or notice when someone runs out of stuff?"
"No," Shino answered thoughtfully. "I have not."
"Exactly!" Kiba pointed at Sasuke accusingly. "He's selectively nice! It's like he was possessed by the spirit of goodwill, but only for her."
At that, Sasuke finally looked up. "Do you want me to be nice to you, too?"
Kiba recoiled like he'd been struck. "What—NO. I just—you're freaking me out, man!"
Sasuke hummed in disinterest and returned to his work.
From across the table, Hinata took a slow sip of her tea.
And smiled.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This chapter explore how proximity plays a significant role in romance. Just like Sasuke's unsettling curiosity, that's how these things sometimes start.
It seems the concept of space is foreign to you
Like the tongue we speak, too thick. Too crass.
There's a whole length of a sofa,
But you're invading my space.
You're a new kind of specie.
Too nice, too kind.
Too thin of a line.
The base line set so low a bar
As I have only loved someone from afar.
It takes one touch to break me apart
Like an asteroid, it hits my heart.
Unfamiliar with this proximity.
Every gesture takes on new meaning.
An alien invasion in all parts of me
My heart, my mind, my sanity.
When you close the space between us
An entire galaxy forms
I want to explore your universe
Fall into your stratosphere
I can wish upon a million stars
To keep you in my orbit here