Daifuku Mochiin

Sasuke was always looking for something. He would spare no effort to get the perfect shot. She’d watched him once, crouched under the pale light of a vending machine, adjusting his lens like it was something holy.

But as the days of his suspension dragged on, none of that knowledge seemed to matter. Like the sun during Yukigakure's darkest days at the winter solstice, Sasuke was nowhere. His was the kind of absence that made you look to the sky even though you knew better. It was like watching the flames lapping at his dead body on Hringhorni once again. 

As with winter solstices in Yukigakure, she can only wait: long, tortuous, dreadful...

To wait was to grasp blindly at the unreachable, to feel with the heart for some semblance of a pearl in the dark. And with a hand held out, searching like a creature in the deepest ocean, one dissolved into nothing, forgetting she had ever been breathing. To wait was to dwindle by degrees until she became little more than a shadow, no better than a roadside fixture.

Today—today, she finally saw him. What joy it is when winter passes! Her sun, her breath returning: his naked body framed in the window, camera in hand. The slant of his shoulder, the undulation of his ribs, all familiar in a way that made her chest tighten. He caught her. Their eyes met—briefly—before he eased back into the velvet curtains. 

Hinata didn't know what to make of the emotions she felt. Where relief broke through, as through a mossy glass ceiling, with it came a fever that bloomed and burned slowly beneath her skin. She had yearned to comfort him, to fall to her knees and press his precious hands, with knuckles bruised and torn for violence, on her cheeks. 

The Baldur she remembered would have grieved over anything that pushed him to such extremes. Even when force was necessary, where he needed to hurt anyone if only to show what was at stake, he would have carried out what had to be done but with a heart heavy and mourning. 

But that god had died.

And the god that remained—this cold, distant man in the high tower—was no longer hers. 

He doesn't reside in Breidablik, nor does it seem likely that he'd ever recall or miss it. He doesn't need her comfort. He has someone else now. Someone who can so easily touch him, run her hands across the skin that once ached only for his Nanna, and kiss the lips that once spoke only her name.

Maybe she wanted to cry. 

Must she keep up with this farce for so long? 

“Hello? Hinata, you still there?” Hanabi’s voice had taken on a slight edge. It crackled faintly through the speaker, too sharp for the fog Hinata was wrapped in.

Hinata sighed, quiet and steady. “I hope you don’t refer to him as such in public. Father won’t let you hear the end of it.” 

Sapped, she slowly plopped down on the chair by her bedside, flicked on the lamp, and pulled a cushion onto her lap, smoothing its surface again and again, a graceful ritual in repetition, like the oden hawkers downtown, wiping their carts clean to open business for another evening. If she could keep her hands busy, maybe her heart would fall in line and she’d be able to show up for others like those tireless hawkers without completely losing her mind.

Hanabi snorted. “Oh, please. You don’t have to tell me. I haven’t lost my mind…” 

A pause: Hinata could hear Hanabi’s moment of hesitation. The dead air trembled.  

“I-I didn’t mean–I wasn’t referring to you, just to clear that up. As I was saying, Grandpa’s worried about you, all he mumbles about is your incoming debut.”

“I know,” said Hinata. “Mother called to tell me about it.”

“Well, he told me to tell you to quit that school and come home. Says it’s no better than what you’re offered here. His words, not mine...”

Home?

Where is home, exactly?

To Hinata, that would always be Breidablik in Asgard. 

But Breidablik doesn’t exist. Not anymore. And what is Asgard in this world but a mere word? A sequence of letters. A page in a book. A story man wrote to feel less alone.

Now, home meant Yukigakure: one living grandparent, a mother, a father, and one cheeky sister. Even so, she didn't miss family. Not in the way most girls her age might. 

“So,” Hanabi continued, a little quieter now, “when are you coming back?”

Hinata stared at her toes curled against the hard floor. “I don’t know, Hanabi,” she whispered. “I don’t know.”

She dragged her fingers through her hair. “To be honest... I don’t know what else to do. He doesn’t remember. I’ve tried everything. Nothing’s worked.”

Quietly, inevitably, the tears started to murk the view. With Hinata hunched forward slightly, their stubborn grip on her lower eyelids proved short-lived and powerless as they began to drop on the floor one by one. Between a puddle of rain and tears, who could tell the difference? Hinata painfully smiled to herself. 

“Have you tried calling out his name? ‘Baldurrr! It’s me! Ack!’'” Hanabi’s exaggerated flailing was practically audible through the receiver.

Hinata snorted and wiped her cheeks. “That’s ‘Lord Baldur’ to you, young miss,” she playfully corrected, when in fact, she was choking on tears that couldn't find an outlet. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. The last time I did, I fainted and Queen Hel showed up to me in a dream. She said I wasn’t allowed to, and that if I insisted, she’d take it as failing the test.”

“Right…” Hanabi trailed. “And who is this Queen Hel guy?”

“Queen Hel, ruler of the underworld. If you read the book I gave you, you’d know.”

“More schoolwork,” complained Hanabi. 

Hinata chuckled in response, swallowing back a second wave of tears. 

“I gotta go. You’re making sure you’re drinking your medicine?”

Hinata’s eyes flicked to the lower drawer of her nightstand where boxes of unopened prescription medicine lay untouched since she arrived in Konohagakure.

“Yeah.” Her breath faltered at the lie.

“And on time?”

“Mhm.”

“Didn’t sound like it to me,” Hanabi murmured. “Good if you’re doing it as you said. Also, one more thing…”

“What?”

“How sure are you that he’s the guy you’re looking for? What if… he’s not your guy? Right? How could you be so sure after seeing his face in some magazine? Is he really worth all this trouble?”

“I’m certain it’s him, Hanabi.”

Silence again. This time from the other end.

Hanabi sighed. “If you sound that serious, who am I to say anything? Just… if they start bullying you ‘cause you weird them out, pack your bags and go home. I won’t let anyone mess with my big sister. Or better: tell them who’s daughter you are. That oughta shut them up.”

The next school day came. Sasuke’s suspension was supposedly over, but he didn’t show. The first period passed in a blur, but somewhere during Classic Literature class, the teacher touched on the tale of Orihime and Hikoboshi, star-crossed lovers who meet only once a year, crossing the heavens on a bow bridge of magpie wings.

With hands cupping her face, absorbed in the pictures projected during the lecture, Hinata couldn’t help but envy the fictional pair. However far apart Orihime and Hikoboshi were, their hearts remained bound; they waited faithfully, each on their side of the Milky Way. But her heart waited alone. And even if the magpies, or the gentle mourning doves she fed every day, lent her their wings so she could cross over, there would be no one waiting for her on the other side.

When the lunch bell rang, Hinata bought her usual vegetarian deluxe bento and a bottle of barley tea from the cafeteria. Tucking a small bag of birdseed into her blazer pocket, she made her way toward Omni Glow Hall.

She paused along at the sight of full golden ginkgo trees lined up in a hefty row, sunlight filtered through bright yellow leaves, casting dappled warmth that stirred something gentle in her chest; there were no such trees in Yukigakure. If she were to half-close her eyes, leaving a bare millimeter opening—just enough to blur the rest of the world—they reminded her of the golden trees in Breidablik: like polished gems, their glimmering spade-shaped leaves reflected and radiated brightness, never once shedding to make room for winter. 

This unexpected discovery gladdened her heart, and yet, already, yellow leaves carpeted the path in quiet decay; she would be sad to see this spectacle go.

When she arrived at the rooftop, she froze.

He was there.

“We have”—Sasuke glanced at his phone—“about twenty minutes left before the next period.” His eyes dropped briefly to the bento in her hand, then to the unopened bottle of tea. “You haven’t had lunch yet?”

Her mouth was dry, her throat paralyzed to let out so much as a croak. 

He’d come once before, early and unannounced, to snap a photo. She hadn’t dared hope he would return.

“I’ll be quick then.” 

He stepped toward her. 

The sky was overcast, but as he moved, a shaft of sunlight broke through, spilling over as the clouds scattered to give way. As though he commanded light itself still, the sky turned searing and bright. Before Hinata could look away to shield her eyes, Sasuke stood before her, casting a shadow wide enough to eclipse her completely.

She couldn’t help but take a step back. Every inch of space Sasuke shortened between them made her lose composure. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst, climbing up her throat. The thunderous echoes deafened her eardrums. The air around them seemed thinner, heavy with something more than the humidity of an incoming rain. 

“Join me at the Photography Club,” he said. 

It wasn't a request.

“B-but Neji?” she stammered, blushing under the gravity of his gaze.

“Keep it a secret from him. He doesn’t need to know. Just work with me until we finish the Inuwashi. What you’ll be is a secret member: I’ll pay you for your time—generously.”

Then his voice dropped lower. Softer. Dangerous.

“And if that’s not enough…”

He stepped closer. Hinata instinctively backed up only to meet the door behind her. 

He leaned down to her ear. She gasped. 

With a voice barely whispered, he said: “I’ll be your Baldur, too... So long as my girlfriend doesn’t know.”

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Norse Myth terms:

Baldur - (Balder, Bladr in some spellings) in Norse mythology, the son of the chief god Odin and his wife Frigg. Beautiful and just, he was the favourite of the gods. Most legends about him concern his death. Icelandic stories tell how the gods amused themselves by throwing objects at him, knowing that he was immune from harm. The blind god Höd, deceived by the evil Loki, killed Balder by hurling mistletoe, the only thing that could hurt him. After Balder's funeral, the giantess Thökk, probably Loki in disguise, refused to weep the tears that would release Balder from death.

Nanna - Baldur's wife.

Breidablik - the home of Balder. The word Breiðablik has been variously translated as 'broad sheen', 'Broad gleam', 'Broad-gleaming' or 'the far-shining one', It's described as the fairest of all dwellings and a place free of anything "unclean," such as strife or bloodshed, reflecting Baldr's own nature as a god of light and goodness

Hringhorni - Baldur's ship. The Norse myths describe this ship as the greatest and most beautiful of all ships; it also serves as Baldur's funeral pyre.