Chapter Text
Everyone thinks that her power is in her eyes.
They’re not entirely wrong; there is power in her eyes, Byakugan bright, depthless and piercing. She can see things no one else in the world outside of the strongest in her clan can see, can focus on a bee’s dedicated honey-gathering nearly twenty kilometers into the distance with perfect clarity. With only one obscured weak spot in her vision, it follows that those around her might pinpoint the source of her power in her lavender gaze.
Those that know her better think her power is in her hands.
They’re not entirely wrong, either. Her hands are weapons, chakra-scalpel sharp and quicker than a hurricane’s winds. Her wrists, smooth and flexible, allow her an increased range of motion that not even Neji could reciprocate. Her fingers only fray in battle; before she can heal them, sew the tissues of them back together with the very same energy in her palms. Her hands are powerful, but they just aren’t the source.
No one ever really expects her heart.
But they learn.
✧
After Pain laid waste to her village, leaving nothing but craters in his wake, the people of Konoha came together. Despair clung to the air, acidic and dark and destructive, leeching away at those left behind by their deceased loved ones, who died too early to be brought back.
Despair is strong. It’s hardy. It fights and it fights and it takes until there’s nothing left to take, and then it moves on to someone else, somewhere else. It doesn’t give up, it doesn’t back down. It could very well have been the final nail in the coffin, the first and last successful destroyer of the Village Hidden in the Leaves.
Except that something stronger resided in Konoha, something bright and soft and overwhelmingly good that lived in the heart of someone who knew how to wield it like a weapon.
Despair didn’t stand a chance against Uzumaki Naruto.
Brighter than a sunrise and just as welcoming, Naruto rose up from the ashes and set the village back into motion, pouring into it an endless devotion unlike anything anyone had ever seen, or felt, or known.
His smile was the wistful beads of dew on blades of grass too early in the morning, when only those who’d lived more than half of their lives were awake to treasure them. His laughter was the breeze they could no longer hear whispering through the trees, cascading over their skin like a soothing caress, a wordless promise.
His actions, as he picked the people of Konoha back up and set them on their feet; as he pushed his hands into the dirt beneath him and set the seeds of the new first trees of Konoha into the ground; as he spread his hands over the blueprints he’d helped request to be made, showing the first signs of buildings that dreamt of piercing the clouds; as his hands fell lightly onto the shoulders of his brothers and sisters of the Hidden Leaf, encouraging them to fight, to fight, to fight and never give up; his hands.
His hands.
His eyes.
Under his watch, Konoha rebuilt itself, repopulated with trees, lush vegetation, buildings, businesses and shops, wires and technology uprooted and upgraded. Under his watch, Konoha became something beautiful again, and thrived.
Hyuuga Hinata knows, now, that everyone can finally see what she’s seen all along—that Naruto’s heart is the strongest part of him, stronger even than his hands that can wield spinning blades of pulsing chakra, hands that can bruise and break and which never give up. That his heart has always been the key, and every single person who has ever come into contact with Naruto has been an unknowing lock, waiting to be set free.
That Naruto has always, always been the kind of person one should admire.
Because he is strong, in the only way that matters.
In heart.
That’s where their story begins. Of course it is.
Her heart recognized his from the very beginning.
✧
Haruno Sakura throws a mean punch. This is, quite drastically, the greatest understatement of the century. Hinata rubs the ribs Sakura had just helped her heal from the cracked frail things they’d been just minutes before, wincing. Sparring with Sakura is always many things—fun, surprising, and never, ever boring.
It is also exhausting, and terrifying, and usually in the top five best things to happen to Hinata every week.
She glances over to where Sakura examines a scroll and scoots closer to the shelf to let a fellow customer walk past. The shop they’re in smells of incense and parcel, with delicate wind chimes dangling from the ceiling. They turn slowly, quietly, their music barely audible in the slight breeze coming in from the front door. Sakura doesn’t take her eyes from the scroll in her hands when she asks, “What’re your plans for today?”
“I wonder,” Hinata begins, humming lightly. She runs her fingers, still slightly frayed and still healing from their sparring, over the crystal-smooth handle of an intricate kunai hanging from the ceiling just in front of her.
At that, Sakura glances over her shoulder, tucking the scroll decidedly into her hand basket.
“What about this week? Any plans?”
Hinata casts a curious smile in Sakura’s direction, tucking her hair behind her ear. She sighs, lifting a hand to tick off her fingers.
“Many. Tomorrow I’m gardening with Shino; we’ve been testing new medicinal ointments from our own unique blends. Once we have something worthwhile, I’ll call you over, Sakura-san.”
“Please do.” Sakura nods, and they shuffle into another isle, this one lined with protective gear and what seem to be old, dusty tomes. The sun spills in through the shop like a golden haze, illuminating every flickering particle of dust that rises from the old tomes into something wispy and enchanting. Sakura sniffs, and sneezes as delicately as a lion’s roar.
“Friday I’m sparring with Kiba and Akamaru. I have a few shifts I will be covering at Ino’s shop this weekend, and dinner plans with Chouji and the rest of my team.”
“Quite the social butterfly,” Sakura smiles, and there’s nothing mocking in her tone, just simple admiration. Her smile is beautiful, genuine and bright, and it reflects on Hinata’s face, too. “Don’t forget you also have a dinner date with me, this weekend. My feelings will be hurt if you forget about me.”
“How could I forget?” Hinata laughs, eyes crinkling at the sides. She turns to the shelf and purses her lips, reading a few titles over her head until one in particular catches her eyes. Standing on the tips of her toes, she reaches up for it and feels the dust on the cover smudge under her fingertip. It’s heavier than she’d thought, the spine creaking when she opens it.
There’s a moment of silence between the two of them, long and comfortable while Hinata reads the first few pages of a chapter on sealing jutsu and Sakura digs through a sale bin of used kunai. Sakura is the one to break the silence, hesitantly, carefully, her voice poised for just the right tone; it makes Hinata stiffen instantly, because she knows that expression, and she knows what’s coming. It’s not the reason she flinches, not really, she’s used to talking with Sakura about Naruto. It’s the reminder, every time the subject is broached, that Sakura is careful with her—that Sakura is so kind; gentle enough to handle even the topic of Naruto with caution so as to ensure Hinata’s continued contentment.
She hates that she stiffens, because she knows Sakura misreads it, and also because she’s tired of being surprised that people care about her so much. She has grown enough in confidence to know that much.
“So,” Sakura begins, scuffing the toe of her boot across the floor in a careless arc, still searching the sale bins. “Anything new with Naruto?”
Hinata makes sure that Sakura can see the softening of her expression, fond and doting, and the placid slope of her own smile. “Ah, Sakura-san. You would know better than I.”
Sakura deflates at once, visibly, and the scowl that overtakes her striking features reminds Hinata of the last time she’d seen Naruto and Sakura spar with each other. It had not ended well. Trees had been involved. And, ultimately, hospital care.
“Idiot,” Sakura grumbles, cursing Naruto. Hinata sighs, lips still curled around a grin. “He’s so clueless.”
“This isn’t an excuse,” Hinata starts, tucking the tome in her hands up under her arm, deciding to purchase it. “But he is kind of busy, as of late.”
Sakura bounces to her full height and stretches her legs, loosening the tension in her knees caused by crouching. She casts narrowed eyes at Hinata, obviously making sure that Hinata is being honest about not making excuses for him. Hinata lets her look, has maybe even grown to encourage it. She may love the man, more than anything, but she won’t make excuses for him. Not when it’s serious.
Sakura bobs her head in assent, and comes close enough to drag a single fingertip down the spine of the tome tucked under Hinata’s arm. She pulls it away with a frown of disgust, scoffing at the dust. Hinata merely shakes her head, gesturing towards the storeowner at the front. Sakura shrugs and leads the way with a hand basket filled to the brim with used kunai and a few scrolls. Hinata catches sight of the word genjutsu and smiles, knowing that Naruto’s next sparring match with Sakura is going to be a good one.
Not that there are ever really any bad ones. Sakura had gotten into the habit of challenging multiple people to spar with her at once, a hobby of sorts. Hinata knows better than that, though. She knows that Sakura still carries the weight of Naruto and Sasuke leaving her behind in the village, of Kakashi largely ignoring her training, of having to pick herself up and get her feet solidly underneath her all on her own.
It may have been the best thing to ever happen to her, though certainly also the most painful.
Hinata does not know what it feels like to be abandoned by one’s teammates, not anything so painful as that. But she does know what it feels like to be continuously underestimated and disregarded, to be put down for not being the best, and by the very people who are supposed to love her most.
And she, too, had sought training from more than just her team after news of Sasuke leaving the village had spread. Not because she’d been alone, or necessarily in need of it, but because she had wanted it. Rock Lee’s taijutsu training is still one of her favorites, probably, definitely because of how encouraging he is even as he leads her through grueling training regimen after training regimen. Shoji matches with Shikamaru are possibly even more grueling, just with less bruises and more headaches and frustration.
Sometimes, if she’s lucky, Shikaku will agree to play her. It isn’t actually luck, though, not really. It’s resourcefulness; the man has indeterminate routines, and she trained herself to learn them, just to be able to play him. His intelligence is stunning, his battlefield awareness shell-shockingly diverse. She has yet to beat him, but she’s come close to beating Shikamaru, once, and they’d praised her for that.
And she’d learned early on that they don’t duel out unwarranted praise.
This routine is what eventually led to Hinata sparring with Sakura and Naruto, among several others of their year and even above it, on a bi-weekly basis. She’d never admit it to her friends, but her favorite sparring sessions are in the early mornings before even the birds are awake.
In those moments, she and Hanabi teach themselves how to be sisters of battle together. The re-learn each other outside of the clan’s expectations, and they laugh while they strike.
“A steal,” Sakura claims as they leave the shop, jostling her knapsack of kunai playfully. “I am literally the best bargain shopper there is. Am I not?”
“You certainly have a knack,” Hinata allows, grinning. Sakura purses her lips around a smile, obviously smug. In one quick motion, she flicks her hair out of her face and says; “Listen, you should ask Naruto on one of your dinner dates. He’d totally go, without question!”
Hinata doesn’t falter in her step, but she does feel her chest tighten impossibly, a heaviness settling between her ribs. Her expression clouds, her head swaying in a way that’s just this side of forlorn.
“I don’t know if I can,” she admits. “I already confessed. It’s his move now, right?”
“Wrong!” Sakura bursts, raising a petulant finger into the air. “You have to be persistent with that idiot, Hinata. He’s clueless. You could probably kiss him smack on the lips and he’d think you tripped into it or something.”
Hinata’s cheeks tint pink simply at the thought of kissing Naruto, and then spill red when she thinks of doing even more than just kissing. She lifts a hand to her cheek and casts an amused, embarrassed laugh in Sakura’s direction. Sakura’s grin stretches her cheeks, and she snorts out a laugh of her own.
“People think you’re so pure,” she starts, shaking her head. “But seriously, you should ask him. It doesn’t even have to be a date thing. We’re all friends, we can go to dinner together and it’ll be fun!”
“Do you think,” Hinata starts, before hesitating. She straightens her shoulders, confidence rekindled in seconds. “Do you think the others will want to get together, too?”
“What, like a big dinner party? That’s a great idea!”
“Right?” Hinata agrees.
Sakura playfully strokes her chin and just barely avoids running into a group of Genin sprinting past them, further down the street. Hinata recognizes a few of them from one of Shino’s classes, and waves when they call out to her over their shoulders.
“Hoodlums,” Sakura sniffs, but there’s amusement in her eyes and fondness in the tilt of her lips.
“So, when should we have the dinner?” Hinata asks, frowning. She thinks of the odds of getting everyone together at one time and how dismal the reality of it seems. There certainly won’t be full attendance, not with the surplus of missions handed out lately. In fact, the more Hinata thinks about it, the more unlikely it seems that they’ll be able to finagle everyone’s schedules to get them together for a single night. Sakura seems to sense her mounting disappointment, though, and moves closer to her, one hand falling lightly on her shoulder.
“It’s okay if not everyone can make it. I know for a fact that I will be free the weekend after this coming one. I can ask Naruto tomorrow when I see him. Who else should we invite?”
“Everyone?” Hinata squeaks, laughing a little. “I mean it. Why don’t we invite everyone we can think of and just see who all can make it?”
“Hm,” Sakura hums. “Definitely foolhardy enough to work. Alright.”
Sakura hefts her sack of kunai further up her shoulder and pounds her fist into her palm, effectively in the zone.
“Here’s the game plan. I’ll ask my team, you ask yours, then just ask anyone if you see them. Aim it for next weekend, any day.”
Hinata’s nod is meaningful, approving.
“Kurenai-sensei is on mission until next Friday,” Hinata smiles, thinking about her teacher with a fondness that’s nearly palpable. “But she never misses a dinner party.”
“Kakashi-sensei always misses dinner parties. He’s so antisocial.”
Hinata snorts, moving courteously out of a woman’s way as she carries far too many sacks of flour into her shop. “Maybe,” she allows, “but he’s also Hokage. Not much time for dinner parties, I think.”
“Whatever.” Sakura sniffs; examining her painted nails, scratched and destroyed from her excessive use of her fists. Hinata wonders why she even bothers to paint them at all. Personal preference, maybe. “He’d never make it on time, anyways.”
That makes Hinata laugh. There’s not a single shinobi in Konoha above Genin level that doesn’t know about Hatake Kakashi’s infamous inability to arrive to anything on time, ever. Hinata is fairly certain he hadn’t even been on time to his own admittance ceremony.
“I’ll contact Genma-san,” Hinata adds, contemplative. She glances overhead and studies the softness of the slow-moving clouds, traveling listlessly across the autumn sky. “He comes into Ino’s shop often. I’m certain I’ll run into him when I cover some of her shifts.”
“Mm,” Sakura agrees cheerily, with an added bounce in her step. Hinata can’t help but mirror her; she, too, feels light and happy thinking about the impending dinner party. She can’t remember a time when her generation had gotten together and ever had a bad time, she truly can’t. Sure, some of them got into fights, some blood might’ve been spilt, and Rock Lee may have been tricked into running laps around Konoha to prove himself a couple times, but other than that?
Seamless, good fun amongst friends with lethal abilities.
“We don’t really have a reason for a party,” she sighs, pursing her lips. The words are empty, though. She’s radiating excitement at the mere prospect, and when she glances over to her side and sees Sakura’s resulting grin, quick and lethal, she knows she feels the same.
“We don’t need one.”
Hinata wonders if maybe, just maybe, she’s going to regret this decision.
✧
The next two weeks pass slowly. Agonizingly so.
Hinata is kept busy, however, with all of her different scheduled appointments with her friends, and even a few unscheduled—she’d caught Shikaku on a good evening, yet again, and couldn’t resist the temptation to try to defeat him. She’d lost in minutes. Twice.
She is always a good sport about it, of course, but the frustration can’t help but bleed into the present, making her focus nearly lethal. Shikaku doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, it amuses him. Shikamaru is usually as bored as ever, if he’s there, and though he doesn’t say it outright, she knows he can’t stand to watch her make what he deems to be foolish moves, and usually ends up making an excuse to leave.
By the time the morning before the dinner party rolls around, Hinata knows of at least eleven people that are definitely coming, and three that are not. Rock Lee and Gai-sensei are on an extended covert mission, rumored to be taking place in Kirigakure, and aren’t expected to return for several weeks, and Temari is already back in Suna with her brothers.
When Hinata had ventured over to Shikamaru’s place to ask him along, his father had answered the door. After greeting him with a measured amount of surprise to see him there, she’d inquired about Shikamaru. Shikaku explained that he had some classified business to attend to in Suna, and after a moment’s hesitation on his doorstep, Hinata extended the invitation to Shikaku.
“I’d love it if you came,” she tells him, utterly genuine. She watches his resulting smile unfurl with open warmth, and remembers his quiet laughter the last time they’d played and she’d thought she had him on the ropes. It’s clear, even to Hinata, that the man has a soft spot a mile wide for her, one he apparently doesn’t mind showcasing. Even still, he shakes his head with a huff, leaning bodily against the doorframe with arms crossed over his chest.
“Not my style, really.” He says, blinking down at her. “But thank you for the invite.”
“Ah, of course. Enjoy your weekend!” she backs away from the porch with a low bow, utterly respectful. Just as she turns to head out of the compound, Shikaku clears his throat, calling back her attention.
“Naruto,” he starts, before wavering to chew listlessly on his lip. Hinata’s heart suddenly feels like a bastion firing in her chest, the surprise making her falter in her step. “Is he gonna be there?”
“I’m,” Hinata stumbles over her words, just a bit, just enough to broadcast her surprise. “I’m actually not certain, Nara-san.”
Hinata wonders if, for some strange reason she can’t quite understand, Naruto’s presence at the party would incite Shikaku to want to attend. So as to not be rude, even while totally confused, she diffidently offers, “I can ask Sakura-san and let you know beforehand? If you’d like.”
“Oh no, no,” Shikaku straightens, shaking his head and waving a hand as he pulls away from the doorframe. “Don’t bother. Too troublesome.”
“Ah,” Hinata responds quietly, bobbing her head in acceptance. The breeze turns the tails of her hair over her shoulder, the deeply saturated strands long enough to extend out in front of her. She tucks some of them back behind her left ear, a nervous gesture, and Shikaku sighs.
“Just, if that guy is there? Be careful, okay? You’re a good kid.”
Hinata frowns, confused. She still feels slightly embarrassed, even now, especially now, when she doesn’t understand something Nara Shikaku says. She knows that it’s not really her fault; he finds conversations so troublesome he usually doesn’t speak in anything but a disjointed manner, but still. It somehow feels like a deficiency on her end, simply because he’s so intelligent.
“Naruto-kun would never hurt me.”
“What a drag,” Shikaku sighs to himself, the words barely substantial enough to even be heard. He runs a hand through his hair, then, in a more discernable tone, he says, “Sometimes even good people don’t know they’re harming someone, is all I’m saying. So just, take care of yourself, kid.”
Hinata studies his expression, pinched in inward frustration, eyes still heavy and tired. She can hear movement behind him, knows without having to guess that his wife is in the kitchen preparing lunch with loud curses when things don’t necessarily go her way. Hinata’s lips curl into the smallest of smiles, despite her confusion. She nods her head, bows slightly once more.
“Thank you,” she says. “I will.”
When she heads through the massive gates leading out of the Nara Compound, she somehow feels lighter than she had before, as if Shikaku’s strange concerns had released some tension in her. Still a bit confused, she heads determinedly back to her apartment, wanting to get ready.
It’s not that she’s going to dress much differently; she’ll still be wearing her shinobi gear, her normal outfit, her weapons included. But the prospect of a party, of many of their friends coming together for laughter and story-telling and good times, makes her want to do something different. A painted lip, maybe, or a ponytail. Something different.
Hinata wanders through the already-busy streets of Konoha, calling out quiet greetings when she recognizes someone, or is recognized by others. She makes her way past Ino’s shop, poking her head in and reminding Ino of what time the party starts with a obvious cheer, laughing when Ino pantomimes the kind of dancing she plans on doing later that night. She goes out on a limb and asks for suggestions on how to change up her look, just slightly, and receives a healthy amount of advice from someone who knows beauty tips, and a flower to join her on her way back home.
Hinata’s fingers twist gently around the stem of the yellow camellia in her hand, twirling it slowly with a jittery smile. She feels anticipatory for no reason other than having an event to attend, even if it is just something silly amongst friends. Her nerves feel aflame, her cheeks flushed, her hands shaking.
✧
Hinata decides to leave her lips un-painted, though she does apply a generous amount of balm to keep them from chapping. The weather is at a point where it’s colder now than it is hot, with autumn fast bleeding into the icy chill of winter. She does, however, tie her hair up into a high tail, blushing slightly in the mirror when she sees how open this leaves her face. She fidgets with her bangs for a moment, tugging lightly on them with her fingertips, when she hears Tenten at her door.
Hinata had stumbled across Tenten a few days prior at one of her favorite training grounds, freshly returned from a solo mission. She’d been looking all over the village for the other girl for days beforehand, unknowing of her absence.
Ever since her cousin had sacrificed his life to protect her in the war against Pain, she’d kept in close contact with Tenten. Even when it was difficult, when Tenten just couldn’t handle the reminder of his death, and the way Hinata looks so much like him, a constant, living reminder of his absence. But when Tenten had needed someone desperately, Hinata had made sure to be there. It was the least she could do, and not even close to the amount of things she wanted to do for Tenten, but it was a safe middle ground for the both of them.
It took them a long time to get comfortable with each other, but Hinata knew from the times she’d shared closely with Neji that Tenten didn’t just warm up to anyone. She’s a fighter, through and through, even when it comes to friendships.
Hinata admires her strength more than most.
They’d decided to arrive to the party together, though Hinata was still a little concerned about being fashionably late. Tenten insisted that she’d be ready sort of close to the time of the party, and that if Hinata wanted she could go on ahead, but Hinata didn’t want that. So she’d waited. And now, thirty minutes after the official start-time, Tenten is finally at her door. Hinata abandons her bathroom mirror without a second thought, slipping into her sandals and greeting Tenten brightly.
“Ready!” Tenten exclaims, hands knuckled on her hips and stance wide. She raises a brow at Hinata’s hair, nodding approvingly. Hinata catches the tail end of Ko, her warden of sorts, as he moves around the corner. He must’ve been the one to let Tenten into the compound, and was polite enough to leave them to their devices once he’d delivered her to Hinata’s doorstep.
Hinata and Tenten fall into stride beside each other and head for the bar Sakura had suggested; some place a few blocks off from Ichiraku Ramen. Hinata is certain that this, more than anything else, would entice Naruto to attend the party no matter his possible commitments. Hinata feels overcome with affection for Sakura, and the sly way she’s able to maneuver people to accommodate herself and her loved ones.
Tenten chats her ear off, talking mostly with her hands as they head towards the place. It’s that time of the evening when the sun is just barely visible, tucked in the crests of distant mountains, the sky an overturned bucket of wasted sunrise hues, darkly saturated with the passage of time. There’s more of a chill to the night than Hinata had expected; she shrugs further into her jacket and laughs freely at a retelling of Tenten’s mission and the ridiculous man she’d encountered along the way.
“He was plastered,” Tenten goes on, wrinkles appearing by her eyes as she laughs around the words. Hinata looks up at her and beams, taking in the story and feeling overtly affectionate, as she always does whenever Tenten shares something as personal as this with her.
“Well, if you smacked him through the wall of a house, then he was literally plastered.” Hinata adds, cheeks heating without her awareness at her silly joke. Tenten laughs so hard she smacks her palm against her own thigh, pointing at Hinata and saying, “Exactly!”
She’s still laughing by the time they make it to the place, a dingy but well-structured building big enough to house a small army. Hinata gapes at the sheer size of it, wondering how she’d never recognized it before. With a quick glance around her, she realizes they’re in an area quite unfamiliar to her; it’s a section of Konoha that’s still being built, and on land that had not previously been built upon before Pain’s attack.
They step through the doors with polite greetings to the hosts at the front, and almost immediately Kiba catches sight of them and rallies all of the troops to hoot and holler at their arrival.
“Finally,” he groans as they make their way over to the massive row of tables aligned along the wall, all of which are overtaken by shinobi of her generation. She even sees a few older jounin; that’s definitely Shiranui Genma in the corner already guzzling down a drink, and she catches a quick glance of Yamato over by the bar. Sakura is already on the dance floor with Sai, Chouji, and Shino, of all people. Sai seems to be attempting to paint while shuffling his feet, and Chouji passionately pumps his fist to the beat as Sakura skirts around him gracefully, perfectly in rhythm. Shino stands near Sai, bobbing his head with hands tucked in his pockets.
Hinata knows him well enough to read the tiny stretch of his exposed face, to see that he’s enjoying himself, that he’s most certainly smiling. He nods his head in her direction, a greeting she lifts a hand to return, beaming. Kiba sidles up next to her and gives her a sloppy hug from the side, careless and quick. She doesn’t even have time to fully wrap an arm around him before he’s bumping knuckles with Tenten, then conspiratorially shielding his mouth to tell them, “Akamaru is under the third table on our right. Don’t look that way, the bartenders are already onto us.”
Hinata frowns. “He’s a ninken. They should allow him entrance.”
Tenten laughs, shaking her head. “He’s still a fluffy, furry, allergy-inducing puppy, though.”
“Puppy?” Ino’s voice suddenly appears behind them, amused. “Akamaru is bigger than all four of us put together.”
When her presence is noted, the same round of hoots and hollers draws to an uproar, and Genma sits to attention so quick he spills beer on himself. Ino merely flips her hair over her shoulder at the ruckus, one hand finding Hinata’s shoulder and squeezing lightly.
“Love the hair,” she whispers, just loud enough to be heard over the pounding music and the low thrum of constant conversation. Hinata runs her fingers through the long tail of her hair self-consciously and thanks her, smiling so wide she isn’t certain the corners of her lips will ever come back down. Ino threads her way over to Sakura and announces her presence by slapping her on the butt before giving Sai a peck on the cheek. She hugs Chouji as far around his middle as she can reach, nestling into his chest as he laughs and returns the embrace. Hinata watches her hesitate, then lift a hand to greet Shino with only the slightest of delays.
The interaction, the awkwardness of it, floods Hinata with amusement. Ino moves on and is clearly perturbed with the encounter, but Hinata watches Shino’s face, his body language, and knows he’s content. Kiba ushers both Tenten and Hinata over to the corner where Akamaru can just barely be seen under the largest table tucked against the wall, and asks what drinks he can get for them. Hinata immediately shakes her head, as Tenten orders something that sounds especially dangerous, even for shinobi. Kiba squints at Hinata for a moment, asks, “You sure?”
Hinata thinks on it, for just a moment, and catches sight of the thriving dancers and her friends all locked in conversations of their own. Everyone is having such a good time, loose and content to not have to worry about much for the night. It’s obvious that they’re all still on alert, they can’t not be, but they don’t let it stop them from having fun.
Feeling energized and just this side of on-edge, Hinata meets Kiba’s eyes.
“Something light?” she poses, knowing that Kiba will understand. He bares his teeth, lifting his hand with pointer and thumb touching.
“Got it!”
Hinata finds herself on her own for only a moment before some older jounin approach her, seamlessly inviting her into their conversation. She’d been alone for less than a minute, but it’d been enough to note that a certain village hero is not present, at least not yet.
Hinata doesn’t let herself feel crestfallen; she straightens her shoulders and participates in the conversation, trying not to play with her hair too much in response to overly fried nerves. She catches sight of Sakura heading past, towards the bar where someone with conspicuously white hair and who looks suspiciously like one honorable Hokage is seated, and nods her head when Sakura mouths, you okay?
The only jounin that Hinata is familiar with in her circle is Namiashi Raido, most often seen alongside Genma. He’s rather quiet compared to the four others, but Hinata likes the gentle air of him.
By the time Kiba comes back with her drink, a martini with a lemon peel twisted around the rim that he promises is barely even alcoholic at all, she’s glad for the distraction. The jounin had fallen into a circuit of semi-inside jokes that, while confusing, were still humorous. She certainly doesn’t mind excusing herself, though, to let them continue with their fun without hindering them by needing explanations.
She wanders over and finds Sakura returned from the bar and chatting with Ino and Genma about elemental jutsu conspiracy theories, of all things. She settles herself on the free barstool across from Genma and listens as he and Ino argue about whether or not some odd infamous nukenin had more than two elemental chakras.
Sakura turns to her with a roll of her eyes. “They’ve been like this the entire time Ino’s been here. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they hate each other.”
“Right here, forehead. I’m right here.”
“I know you can hear me,” Sakura retorts, taking a delicate sip of her drink. “I just don’t care.”
Ino flips her hair so that the tail end of it smacks Sakura on the shoulder, with just enough of a whip-like force to leave a sting behind. Sakura hisses, patting the area.
“Such a baby,” Ino jibes, turning back to Genma. “Are you for real? He did not have more than three elemental chakras. You know who has more than three elemental chakras? Fuckin’ nobody.”
Hinata interrupts, voice low but insistent. “What about Hokage-sama?”
Ino flaps her hand at the same time that Sakura purses her lips and shrugs her shoulders.
“He doesn’t count. Copy-cat.”
“How does that not count?” Genma demands, slamming a hand on the table. “He definitely has more than three! So what if he copied them, he can still do them.”
“Doesn’t,” Ino sings threateningly, “count.”
Genma shakes his head, staring at her in disgust. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet you still love me.”
“Who knows why.”
Ino gives him an affronted look; one hand perched against her chest.
“I do,” she says, matter of fact. “Because I’m wonderful.”
“Wonderful?” Genma snorts. “Wonderful at what? Being a baby?”
“At everything, really. Most especially mind-sifting. Why don’t I take a little look?”
Ino leans towards him, pretends like she’s going to apply her jutsu, then sits back with a click of her tongue.
“Ooh, sorry, I forgot. Won’t be able to find a thing in there, will I?”
Sakura chokes, bringing a clenched fist up to her lips to cough into. She casts wide, amused eyes at Hinata, who discreetly rubs at her mouth to hide a smile of her own.
“Damn,” Sakura whispers, shaking her head. Ino beams behind her, utterly self-satisfied. Genma looks positively affronted, and maybe like he wants to throw a punch but is worried about the outcome of his safety. Instead of following that tragic path, he turns to Hinata and points a thumb at Ino.
“I don’t know how you’re friends with her. You’re so sweet, and she’s so…”
“Wonderful,” Ino and Sakura both say at the same time, before bursting into laughter. Both of their cheeks are pink with mirth, their smiles nearly as sharp-edged as their eyes. In the most drab of tones, Genma says, “…Yeah.”
“And anyways,” Ino straightens, still laughing a little. “What are you trying to do? Hinata wants nothing to do with you. Don’t give her those pathetic puppy eyes, her heart is taken.”
Hinata doesn’t deny it, doesn’t respond much at all but to take a prolonged sip of her drink. Sakura nods beside her, swaying a little in her seat. She could sober herself up in an instant, with her level of medical jutsu, but Hinata supposes that even Sakura, the renowned workaholic, likes to kick back and relax sometimes. For many shinobi, alcohol becomes a crutch.
For Haruno Sakura, it’s a temporary vacation.
“Yeah?” Genma says, brows hitched high. Something in his voice brings Hinata back into the conversation, her eyes tracing the air between Genma and her two friends with curiosity. “She looks free as a breeze to me!”
“You interested?” Ino asks, and suddenly her tone is deeper, more severe. Sakura’s eyes light like fires and she starts tapping the fingers of her free hand against the table, a persistent thud-thud-thud-thud that Hinata can hear even over the pounding of the music. Hinata watches the way the question and that sudden change in tone makes Genma visibly squirm in his seat and almost smiles. Almost.
Genma glances Hinata’s way, shaking his head in a way that reads as apologetic.
“It’s okay,” she laughs, saving him when he seemed to be floundering deeper and deeper in a tide he no longer had control over. Ino casts her a depreciating look, but it’s brief and there isn’t much steel to it.
Genma swallows, heavily, and then he says, “not me.”
Their table falls to silence, as much as can be allotted in a bar filled to bursting with people talking and laughing and dancing, with music blaring overhead, the clinking of glasses, and the thudding of heels on hardwood flooring. Ino leans threateningly into Genma’s personal space, her smile saccharine sweet. Sakura reinforces her from behind, cornering Genma in the lines of her body language, every bit of her severe. Her lips part to show far too many teeth.
Hinata, for all her part in this, simply blinks at them in wonder, before settling her gaze on the shift in Genma’s throat as he swallows.
“Genma-kun,” Ino sings, “you’re holding out on us?”
“You have such a nice voice, Genma-kun,” Sakura adds, swirling her drink in what can only be deemed an ominous gesture. Only Haruno Sakura could make glass swirling look threatening. “Let’s hear it sing.”
Hinata’s heart pounds in her ears, or maybe it’s the bass, or the thundering steps of dancing feet on the floor, she isn’t entirely certain. Somewhere near the front room there’s a commotion, louder than any they’d heard prior, but Hinata, Sakura, and Ino are all too focused on Genma to even budge enough to glance in that direction. Regardless of what’s happening, or who had just walked into the place, it is clear that Ino and Sakura intend to get every bit of Genma’s secrets out in the air between them. Hinata isn’t even certain they won’t pull out weapons, or even worse, their fists.
She can’t say that she’s completely disconnected from them, either. Her curiosity over his words has something strange and new and not entirely bad stirring in her stomach, giving her chills. She’s certain that he’s implying that he knows of someone that is interested in her, but what she isn’t certain of is who. She can’t think of a single person that stands out as trying to gain her attention any more so than usual.
“A secret is a secret for a reason,” Genma stalls, pushing away slightly from the table. The movement isn’t retreat in its complete form, but it’s unquestionably defensive. Ino’s hand moves and Hinata knows without having to look under the table that she’s placed it carefully on his thigh. Genma licks his dry lips.
“We love secrets,” Sakura says. “We can totally keep secrets, right Ino?”
“Totally,” Ino promises, smoothing a fingertip around the rim of her glass. Unlike Hinata and Sakura, the liquid in her drink is not transparent; it’s honey-amber deep and looks just as thick, like something that would burn a hot trail all the way through to her stomach. Hinata reminds herself to never get on Yamanaka Ino’s bad side, ever.
“Hinata?” Sakura asks, and Hinata realizes every occupant at their little table is looking at her. Ino and Sakura look expectant, sneering like predators. Genma looks as though he regrets eating lunch, or breakfast, or anything at all today. Hinata gives him an amused look, but one with steel behind it all the same.
“I’m naturally reticent.” She admits, which isn’t news. But then she glances up at him from under her eyelashes and her voice has mirth mixed into every syllable.
“But I am a little curious.”
Genma punctuates her statement by letting his forehead drop to the table with a smack, uncaring of the mark it’s sure to leave behind. Ino sips at her drink, pinky up, and snorts.
“Drama queen, much?”
“What do you want from me?” Genma groans into the table, rolling his head back and forth as though in agony. Hinata has to agree with Ino, he is rather dramatic. But then she thinks, maybe that’s why they go so well together. Hinata lifts her drink again, not really to take a drink but to have something cold to press against her lips. She mouths at the rim of her glass for a moment, ignoring the still boisterous chaos happening behind her. There are what Hinata believes to be welcomes being called, but they’re drowned out by the music.
Sakura responds to Genma’s plea immediately, no holds barred.
“I want names.”
“I want faces to those names,” Ino chimes in.
Genma looks like he’s swallowed something sour. “I can give you faces,” he wheezes, clearly trying to find a loophole. Hinata admires his attempt, but even she knows that he can probably do better than this. Then again, it’s a lot of pressure to have not only interrogator extraordinaire Yamanaka Ino hounding you, but the Godaime Hokage’s own apprentice, too? Truly, Hinata thinks sympathetically, he never stood a chance.
Ino taps a finger against her chin, the nail of which is painted a pretty shade of rose. Her tone is contemplative, and just this side of explicitly smug.
“Actually, I can probably put faces to the names anyways.”
If possible, Genma deflates even further. Sakura, known for being as impatient as her mentor, twitches. Hinata doesn’t have enough time to warn him before Sakura’s foot bursts forward and clocks him in the shin under the table, sending him sitting upright with a howl.
“Nice.” Ino admits proudly.
“Effective.” Sakura counters, smirking. Hinata can’t help but laugh a little, even when it means that she incurs Genma’s wrathful stare.
“I’m definitely reporting this to them. They think you’re a sweetheart! I thought you were a sweetheart! You’re just a quiet cutthroat.” He glances at Ino and Sakura, blandly sipping from their drinks, as if this conversation doesn’t interest them in the slightest. “Still better than loudmouths, though.”
“Would you like me to introduce my foot to your other shin?” Sakura asks, genuinely inquiring. Genma scowls, bringing his injured shin up and holding his leg tucked against him.
“No, thanks.”
“Tick tock,” Ino sighs, suddenly turning the full force of her sea green stare on him. He squirms like a bacterium on a microscope slide, and spills right off the edge.
“Okay, alright.” He exhales through his teeth, eyes clenched shut. “Izumo…comes to mind.”
“Izumo?” Ino sits up, pulling herself away from Genma ever so slightly. “Kamizuki Izumo?”
Genma opens his eyes to glare at her, hesitantly letting his leg return back under the table. He glances distrustfully at Sakura, but she only shrugs. “You know him?”
“Yeah,” Ino nods, glancing over to gauge Hinata’s expression. She’s honestly so surprised by the news that she doesn’t even know what her friends might be seeing. She puts a face to the name and pictures Izumo, quiet and responsible, expressing an interest in her. It’s difficult to imagine, mostly because he’s never really approached her outside of his duties, which, did those even count?
“He’s old.” Sakura suddenly grunts, clearly disapproving. She flicks her eyes over to Hinata to gauge her reaction, though. Hinata knows that she has her best interests in mind, and only wants what’s best for her. And maybe she’s a little biased in wanting Hinata to get together with Naruto because they’re all so close. Naruto is practically her brother, and Hinata is one of her dearest friends, after all.
But Hinata knows, with that single glance, that if she expressed interest in Kamizuki Izumo, Sakura would support her. She’d interrogate the life right out of the guy, most definitely, but her heart would be in the right place. Hinata knows that both Ino and Sakura just want her to be happy, regardless of the who or the how that makes it so.
“He’s not that old.” Ino and Genma both grumble simultaneously. They catch each other’s eyes with sudden amusement, a silent inside joke playing between them. Then, in the blink of an eye, she’s right back to business. “Who else?”
Genma’s eye twitches. “I’m not really familiar with either of them, but one of them is a newly appointed jounin. Dusty hair, fair complexion. Really pretty guy.”
Ino raises an eyebrow and Genma scowls it back down. “And the other?”
“Not really familiar with him at all,” Genma begins, stroking his chin. It seems that now that he’s talking, he doesn’t feel that same remorse for giving up his comrades in the name of love. His words spill over like a cascade, smooth and uninterrupted. “He’s a seasoned chuunin, about to take the jounin exam. I think he has black hair?”
“That really narrows it down,” Sakura remarks sassily, rolling her eyes. She tips back in her seat, balancing on the back legs of her barstool. Hinata might be wrong, but she seems abruptly, genuinely disinterested with the conversation. She watches her glance over her shoulder, eyes searching indolently through the crowd, sifting up and over people until something suddenly catches her eye and holds it. Her lips lift into a sincere smile, her eyes bright as stars, but before Hinata can ask her about the change, she gets distracted again by the secrets Genma continues to spill.
“Sora!” he snaps his fingers, punctuating his realization. Even the air around him feels smug, Hinata thinks, as her mind races around the revealed name. “His name is Sora. Some migrant from who knows where. Let me tell you something; he ain’t good enough for you. Sassy little shit with a lot of attitude. Pretty, though.”
“Is every guy you meet pretty?” Ino snarls into her drink, taking a generous swig. Sakura suddenly lets her barstool slam back onto all of its legs and is up and out of her seat the next instant, heading for the entrance. Hinata spares a moment to wonder who she sees that has her so energized before her mind starts racing around newly revealed names, three actual people that apparently want to get to know her better. It seems unreal to her, in all truthfulness; she can’t remember the last time she had ever realized someone liked her.
A few boys had complimented her hair, and many other kids asked her about her eyes, but that didn’t really seem like anything substantial. A girl two years her senior, beautiful and confident and gentler than anything Hinata had ever known, had asked her on a couple of dates before. Mei, Hinata remembers. They’d remained friends after Hinata eventually admitted to having feelings for someone else, and then Mei had gone to war. Hinata had not heard from her since, and some part of her, aching and cold, tells her she won’t. She just won’t.
After that, the only person who stands out had been a chuunin boy, just after she’d advanced to chuunin rank, the one who had complimented her fighting technique after seeing her spar for the first time. He’d been funny, and kind, but Hinata had been overwhelmingly focused on growing stronger—strong enough to be worthy of protecting her loved ones. She can’t remember what ever happened to him; he’d had dusty hair, and he had definitely been pretty.
Her thoughts whirl through her mind, tangling and snagging at the edges. Three people seeking her attention? At once?
“What?” Genma grunts, slurping at his beer. “There’s a lot of pretty guys here, sue me.”
“Maybe I should go find one then, huh?”
“Hey, hey, simmer down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Why? You love it so much when we’re alone.”
Ino looks at Hinata, in a pointed, glaringly plain gesture. “Yeah, when we’re alone.”
Genma simply shakes his head, sending another apologetic look Hinata’s way. He turns back to Ino and says, “You’re a riot, you know that?”
“Of course.” She responds icily, finishing off her drink. “I need another drink.”
“I thought mine was the tongue you wanted to loosen tonight?”
“About that,” Ino agrees, nodding her head. She’s back on the trail that quick, like a bloodhound, and Genma sighs in defeat once more. “Where can I find these guys? I have to make sure they’re not sleazebags.”
She turns to Hinata and points playfully at Genma. “Can never be too careful!”
“Rude,” Genma chirps, but seems rather unaffected by the implication, as if he’s both used to it and just generally unbothered by being indirectly called a sleazebag. “And damn, Ino, I don’t know. I don’t make it my business to track down Hinata’s suitors every day of my life, okay?”
Ino simply stares at him, blinking slowly. Genma’s next sigh sounds more like the air is being forced out of him than gently, voluntarily expelled. Hinata has half a mind to be genuinely worried.
“Okay, I just so happen to know that the dusty-haired guy spends a lot of his time at the east training grounds.”
Ino’s eyes light up at the exact moment that Hinata’s widen, her lips parting ever so slightly. Ino glances at her, understanding snapping electric between them, and then her eyes slide past her and lock onto something in the distance that seems to fire her up even more.
Ino speaks the words they already recognize out loud, her eyes never leaving the spot over Hinata’s shoulder. They flutter until she’s looking through her eyelashes, sultry and secretive, Ino at her most mischievous.
“That’s right behind the Hyuuga compound.”
“Yup.” Genma nods, unaware of Ino’s sudden shift in interest.
“What.” Ino inhales, rejuvenated with the conversation. Hinata thinks to look over her shoulder, curious at what could hold her gaze like that, but Ino directs her next questions at her, locking her into the conversation. “Have you noticed anyone, Hinata? Sandy-haired? Pretty?”
“No?” Hinata answers, backtracking through her memories to see if anyone fits that bill. “I don’t think so?”
Ino flaps a hand at her, abruptly dismissive. Her expression settles, and she pauses long enough to concern Hinata. Then, with a deliberate air about her, she adds in a voice too loud to just be for Hinata, “You probably weren’t paying attention anyways. Too much on your mind besides pretty boys that want to kiss you, right?”
Sputtering, both at the change in volume and the abrupt mention of kissing—thinking about people wanting to get to know her is one thing, but outright admitting that they might want to kiss and hold her? An entirely other thing, one that she is not quite prepared for. She feels blood rush over her cheeks and up into her ears, and even though she’d felt self-conscious about her ponytail earlier, she’s never been happier for it than now. The air inside the bar is hot, swelling with bodies and voices, but the movement passes the slightest of breezes over her bare neck, cooling her down.
She opens her mouth to respond, to deny, anything really to persuade Ino off of this particular trail when a deeper voice moves over hers.
“Pretty boys want to kiss Hinata?” Naruto asks, coming into view just over Hinata’s shoulder. If she had thought her cheeks were hot before, then they are alive in flame, now. She can even feel the nape of her neck heating, for heaven’s sake.
Naruto’s voice cuts through the music with ease, deep and inquisitive, hinting at some emotion Hinata’s already muddled thoughts can’t quite grasp, but still manage to find surprising, coming from him. Sakura stands just over his shoulder, making eyes at Ino, and Hinata knows she should be watching the two of them because clearly they know something she doesn’t, but she can’t take her eyes off of Naruto. He looks impossibly tall standing over her, his hair in its usual state of disarray, longer than he usually wears it.
He brings a hand up to her back and smiles down at her in greeting, just that easily, his voice a shadow of a breath against her ear. “Hey, Hinata.”
She has to take an active moment to breathe, to get her heart to stop banging against the drums of her ribs, all of which seem to be reflecting the beat throughout her entire body. The feeling of being on-edge returns, her nervousness bubbling up inside of her in waves. She manages a greeting that shows no hint of her anxiety, which is both surprising and gratifying. “Hey, Naruto-kun.”
“Kinda late to the party, don’t you think?” Genma asks, directing the comment at Naruto with a tip of his head. The words and his expression are friendly, though, and Hinata isn’t sure if it’s because he’s glad Naruto’s here or because he has another secret tucked behind that devious mask of his.
“Super late,” Ino adds, scooting her chair over closer to Genma so that Sakura can situate her newly stolen barstool in her old spot. She gestures at her old seat and Naruto plops into it without question, his knee sliding against Hinata’s thigh.
“Maybe,” Naruto allows, laughing. He runs his fingers through his hair, just above his neck, and when he laughs little lines appear on the sides of his eyes. Hinata tries to remind her heart that it should be beating about seventy-five beats per minute, and nothing too much higher, but it continues to set a grueling pace and won’t back down. “But I’m here now, right? And apparently just in time for something interesting.”
And then he looks at Hinata, as if she has any clue what’s even happening right now. Her thoughts are still caught back on the look on Sakura’s otherwise bored face when she’d glanced towards the front room; the uproar that some commotion had caused by the front door; the way Ino’s eyes had locked on what had clearly been an approaching Naruto, with words delivered specifically within his earshot. Schemers, Hinata thinks with equal parts exasperation and affection, glancing between the two of them.
It’s obvious now that Naruto’s entrance had been the source of chaos, and even more obvious that Sakura and Ino had been waiting for this moment all night. What isn’t obvious, however, is what Naruto expects Hinata to say about this kissing matter. She’d been the victim of this attack! She has no idea where to start.
“Well,” she stammers, “I’m not really certain—Genma-san was explaining something that, well,” she lets the music drown out her words, nervously trapped in Naruto’s gaze.
“Huh?”
Genma comes to her rescue this time, taking pity on her. “Our Hyuuga heiress has suitors.”
Naruto studies Hinata’s expression for a brief moment, lips pursed. He turns back to Genma with a questioning brow, asking, “Suitors?”
“Geez, Naruto.” Sakura groans, smacking him in the arm and ignoring his surprised exclamation. “Suitors, you know? People that like her.”
Naruto pauses, mulling this over.
“Okay,” he finally says. “But who wouldn’t like Hinata?”
Hinata can almost literally feel her temperature rising, wants desperately to blame it on the increasing population of bodies inside the bar, with dancers getting closer and closer to them. The truth of the matter is that she is simply, woefully embarrassed. She clenches her fist into the material of her pants, clinging to keep her anchored.
Sakura’s eye twitches. “Admirers, Naruto.”
“People that are interested in her,” Ino adds crossly, less used to having to deal directly with Naruto’s sporadically obtuse nature than Sakura is. It gives her the rare position of having even less patience than Sakura, which is a feat in and of itself. Hinata flexes her fist and glances at Naruto’s profile, the strong edge of his jaw, the creased lines of the kyūbi’s whiskers carved into his skin.
He casts his eyes back over to her for just a moment, and she startles, but he’s already looking back at Ino.
“So people that want to marry her.”
Ino rolls her eyes. “Trite, but I guess if that’s the only way for you to understand it. Then yeah, people who want to marry her.”
After a pause that Hinata has no idea how to interpret, Naruto nods his head, slow enough that it’s clear his mind is working through several different processes.
“Well, they’re smart.” He finally says, lips curling into a grin as he turns over his shoulder and uses the full force of his smile on her. It’s like he’s literally trying to knock her off her feet, or in this case, off of her barstool. She blinks at the radiance of him; even here in the muted lighting and smoky air, he shines brighter than anything. “Hinata is awesome.”
“Ah,” Hinata gasps, a tiny inaudible sound that only she hears. She doesn’t know what to say, or if she should say anything at all. Sakura saves her from trying, though, when she smacks Naruto again.
“You’re such an idiot.” She growls, lifting her hand threateningly as if to strike his bicep again. He holds his hands up defensively, whining.
“Sakura-chan, come on! No abuse while we’re at a party!”
“Might knock some sense into him,” Ino chimes in, lips pursed musingly. Naruto gives her a long-suffering look and Genma just seems pleased to have Ino’s and Sakura’s wrath aimed anywhere other than him.
“Hinata is awesome,” Sakura snaps, and Hinata can almost literally see her struggle to not spill the beans. She mouths the words thank you around Naruto’s shoulders, smiling gently when Sakura sighs but relents with an accepting nod.
Hinata feels the nerves that had been stringing her body up so tensely start to dissipate, now that the conversation seems to have the freedom to move somewhere besides her potential suitors. She knows better than to hope for either Ino or Sakura to change the topic of conversation, and she’s fairly certain that Genma will remain under the radar for fear of coming under attack again. Her only hope is that Naruto will change the subject himself, otherwise she might have to give it a try; she isn’t certain what she should bring up instead, though, and before she can grasp anything concrete, her chance passes her by.
“So,” Naruto says, clearing his throat, all-casual. “Who are these ‘suitors?’”
Hinata watches a cascade of reactions in her friends as though in slow motion. Sakura’s entire expression brightens like a sunrise over an open plain, her eyebrows bordering on touching her hairline, her lips pulled open to show teeth. Ino’s eyes narrow on Naruto in the same way a bird of prey spies a mouse in a field, her lips curling around a bloodthirsty sneer. Genma, decidedly silent and under the radar, raises his brows and glances immediately to gauge Hinata’s expression before jumping back to Naruto with a new, measured look of consideration.
And Hinata? She does her very best to not let anyone see the way her hands shake, or the fluttering of her pulse in her neck. She suddenly misses the comfort of her hair, a protective veil around her throat and face, as familiar to her as the jacket she rarely leaves at home. She knows they can see her flushed face, her high cheekbones stained like satin rose, bleeding down to the nape of her neck, but she soldiers through it and pretends like she isn’t bothered.
The road to strength isn’t always paved with utter authenticity; sometimes faking it until one makes it actually proves the quickest and most efficient route.
“I’m so glad you asked, Naruto.” Ino’s voice has the feel of a trap in it, but Hinata can’t even imagine what kind of bait she’s got in mind, or what kind of game she’s decided to play. She wonders, then, if Ino plays shogi with Shikamaru and Shikaku, and if she’s ever beat either of them.
“We were just discussing this before you came in,” Sakura adds, gesturing to Genma. Naruto’s eyes jump to him, curious and surprisingly focused. In this lighting, the deep ocean blue of them is transformed into something ruddy and cavernous, like treasure hidden at the bottom of the sea, gleaming golden only in direct light.
Hinata watches anxiously as Genma opens his mouth, far, far too easily for someone who’d been so hesitant earlier, and she decides that she literally cannot bear sitting here while her friends and the man she’s in love with discuss the possibility of other men being interested in her. She has her limits.
So, before Genma even has a full sentence out, Hinata slips off of her barstool and gestures to Ino’s drink. “I’ll get you another,” she says, and prays to the high heavens that Ino lets her go peacefully.
There’s a moment, brief but loaded, where Hinata thinks she won’t, but then she’s nodding, beaming up at her.
“You’re so polite, Hinata! Way cooler than Genma. Maybe I should ask you out.”
Hinata blinks in surprise, even while she knows that Ino’s words had undoubtedly been a joke. She watches Genma’s shoulders stiffen, though, and the lines of Naruto’s back cut deep, an incredibly severe posture for someone usually so loosely held.
“Silly,” she chides lowly, before gently clearing her throat. “Can I get anyone else anything?”
Naruto doesn’t turn to look at her, not even when Sakura prods him, asking if he wants a drink. He simply shakes his head distractedly, eyes never moving from Genma. Hinata accepts Sakura’s request for another drink and immediately spins on her heel, cutting through the crowd of dancers and heading for the bar. She thinks maybe she, too, could benefit from a drink.
The strained lines of her anxiety-riddled body nearly beg for a chemical downer, after all.
✧
Hinata does not end up getting herself another drink, mostly because she truly doesn’t care for the taste, and it takes her ages to feel the effects, anyways. Instead, she hangs out by the bar for far longer than she should, finding conversation with Yamato at first, who then seems to attract the attention of none other than the Hokage himself.
Kakashi looks haggard, with bags under his cheerily bright eyes and shoulders dropped with an excess of tension. The space around his Sharingan eye is angry and almost as red as the iris itself, as if it had recently been used. It’s surprising, too, that he has it uncovered. It’s possible that he’s exhausted enough that he feels he needs it open and uncovered for an immediate offensive hand, or that he simply cannot see well enough with his current amount of rest, to only have one eye open. Either way, Hinata aches for him.
She reaches out without a thought of hesitation, resting her hand against his forearm, allowing the heat of her healing chakra to penetrate through his skin. He doesn’t question it, which is more surprising than if he’d attacked her outright—this is Kakashi, after all. He is undoubtedly one of the least touchy people in the entire village, but even still, he doesn’t shy away from hers.
It’s actually so surprising that Hinata can do nothing against the urge to ask him about it, so she does, without hesitation.
“You didn’t even flinch, Hokage-sama.”
“Wanna know a secret?” he says, instead of answering her implication. He cups his hand around his masked mouth, ushering her closer so he can speak lowly in her ear. “Tonight? I’m not Hokage-sama. I’m just Kakashi.”
Hinata smiles, amused. “Understood, Hatake-san.”
“Such a polite young lady.” Kakashi sighs, nodding his head. “Hatake-san it is, then.”
The subject falls, and Hinata thinks that it’s been thoroughly dismissed. Kakashi, on the other hand, chooses to answer it only after imbibing half of his drink, running a thumb across the wetness on his exposed upper lip.
“I have it on good authority,” he begins, sounding a curious mixture of amused and sincere. “Really good authority, actually, that you are a respectable person.”
Hinata gives him a gap of silence, waiting for the rest of his explanation and receiving nothing in return. When it becomes clear that he doesn’t intend to elaborate any more on his own, she steps in again, hesitant.
“Thank you?” she smiles, a shaky, unsure little thing that makes Kakashi blink. “That means a lot, Hok—Hatake-san.”
“Ah,” he says, waving a hand. “Not really what I was going for.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Hinata admits, ducking her head low. She glances through the crowd and catches sight of Naruto’s shock of blond hair, and sees the way he’s leaning towards Genma in a way that, had it been anyone else, she might’ve suspected to be threatening. Sakura and Ino are neither of them a good indicator of what is taking place, either; both of them simply appear pleased.
“Foolish of me, really,” Kakashi admits, drawing her attention back to him. “To trust so easily.”
And just like that, she understands. Trust. For some reason, even though he has rarely been paired with her on missions or even seen her in action with his own eyes, Hatake Kakashi trusts her. It’s strange, and slightly harrowing to think about. What had she done to inspire such loyalty in such an incredibly powerful man? On the spot, she can think of nothing in recent memory that may have sparked the Hokage’s interest, and even further back, before he was ever Hokage, she had never done anything reputable enough to be trusted like this.
He is certainly not wrong; it is foolish to trust her so easily, regardless of what kind of authorities he has behind the scenes telling him otherwise.
Frowning, she says, “Hatake-san. Trusting the word of your comrades is one thing, an admirable thing, but in a position of power such as yours, there can never be too much certainty in the stock of comrades. You’re responsible for the entire village. I could have killed you.”
Kakashi’s eyes crinkle at her and she can see the outline of his smile through his mask.
“Yes, yes,” he agrees cheerily, and Hinata relaxes even more in his presence, happy to know that she’d successfully gotten her words across. It feels good to know, with certainty, that he has grasped her exact meaning. At least, that’s what she thinks initially, until he adds just as merrily, “You certainly pass.”
“Pass?” she wonders aloud, brows dipping in confusion. Kakashi nods his head, either oblivious or uncaring of her confusion—most likely the latter, with him—and glances over her shoulder towards the table where his students are seated.
“Ah,” he says again. “They know. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“They know?” Hinata echoes, turning to follow his stare and finding both Naruto and Sakura glaring over at them. Perhaps if her eyesight had been any less incredible, she would’ve thought they were glaring at both she and Kakashi, but it’s apparent that the latter is receiving the full force of it.
“Oh dear,” he chirps, sounding anything but threatened, as she thinks he should have. “Time to head out, then. I do not have the energy for little ones right now.”
Yamato, relatively silent and content to rest his lips in what appears to be a bottomless pit of beer up until this point, snorts from behind him.
“About time, sempai. You need sleep.”
“True,” Kakashi agrees, standing up and hunching over in a way that seems anything but comfortable. He catches the concerned look in Hinata’s eyes and winks at her. “I’m staying under the radar.”
“Failing,” Yamato pipes in, tone bland. “Failing to stay under the radar. I don’t think you even managed to get under the radar at all, actually.”
Kakashi ignores him, lifting a hand to wave at Hinata.
“See you around, Hinata-chan.”
“Goodnight,” she responds quietly, still a little confused.
Yamato grumbles something indiscernible under his breath and says goodbye to her as well. They head towards the door when Kakashi pauses just behind him with a barely audible “Oh,” and turns over his shoulder one last time. “I almost forgot. Words of wisdom and all that, right Tenzou?”
Yamato lets his weight rest on his hip, arms crossing peevishly over his chest.
He says, “Sempai, to be honest, you’re kind of the worst.”
“Right,” Kakashi says, ignoring him again to turn back to Hinata. “Patience is all good and well, but sometimes people need a push. Right?”
Hinata truly hasn’t a clue in the world what he means, but the man is swaying on his feet and his eyelids look so heavy they’re liable to slip shut without his permission any second now, so she nods her head and says, “Ah.”
“Ah.” Kakashi echoes, beaming at her. “What a great kouhai. Tenzou, I’m trading you for Hinata-chan. She learns so quickly.”
“Sempai, you don’t even know what day it is.” He rolls his eyes, then turns to Hinata. “No offense.”
“None taken.” She replies easily. Tenzou slips an arm around Kakashi’s back and yelps when Kakashi elbows him in the side, saying, “I’m tired, not an invalid!”
“Just walk, sempai.”
“You are so not cute.”
“I would have to disagree.”
“What did I tell you about wood puns?”
“…That they would not work. For any purpose I may need them.”
“I’m firing you first thing tomorrow.”
“You can’t fire a kouhai, any more than I can fire a sempai.”
“Why would you want to fire me? I’m Hokage. I’m top of the metaphorical wooden totem pole.”
Their voices fizzle out, become vague and unclear as they head further away from her. She watches them go together, bickering and swaying, and feels utterly charmed. Their banter had been a sort of soothing balm on the tension riddling her body; she feels loose again, ready to enjoy her night and not get hung up on things like people maybe possibly being interested in her, or the word suitors, or the way Naruto had touched her first thing upon seeing her.
Definitely ready to not get hung up on any of those things.
Definitely.