#hinatema

Hinata was shy, anxious, she’d been taught from an early agethat her feelings didn’t matter, she could be angry at her situation, sad, resentful,hopeless, none of it made any difference. She was still the failed heir andalways would be, why bother fighting, when it was so much easier to just meeklyaccept her fate? She would always stumble on her words anyway, stutter andchoke until the only thing she ever managed to communicate was panic.

She’d had enough heartbreak, so she decided after the firstnight her father sent her to bed without eating, that she would never speak herfeelings again, even when they burned at her from the inside out with howstrongly she felt them, even when she felt the painful urge to reach out to hersister, her classmates, because maybe thistime she would be accepted as she was, maybe this time she could find those words that would make themunderstand… no, it was better to hold her emotions inside, better to be safe andisolated, than mocked and rejected.

Every day she cowered from the world around her crushed herspirit further and further, at least until she found a team of her own, whocared just as much as she did.

Temari had learned quickly that the voice was a weapon, onethat could quickly and devastatingly be turned against you if you used it recklessly.She had spent so much of her childhood in fear – of her father, her brother, ofthe village itself – yet she knew that if she ever let that slip, she would be ended.

Most emotions were easy enough to hide, her anger andbitterness at a world bent on taking everything she held dear neatly masked theanxiety of her worth, the guilt as she made her first kills, the pain at seeingher brother slip further and further into madness, the dread that kept herawake at night, the terror that she might someday lose the one person she let closeenough to see her weakness. If the whole world saw her as the deadly,confident, wrathful daughter of the Kazekage, among the most prized shinobi ofher village, then maybe she would start to believe it herself, shed those peskyfeelings that still plagued her.

If she hadn’t had Kankuro beside her at every step, shemight very well have succeeded.

As two people with difficulties telling anyone how theyfelt, their tentative relationship had been one of learning and frustration; atthemselves more than each other, their own inability to open themselves up to rejection,or admit that they cared.

And they cared, somuch. Hinata loved how strong and determined Temari was, how deeply she lovedher family, the way she laughed at her clumsy jokes and the way she would alwayspress chapped lips to her forehead before moving to her mouth. Temari admiredher girlfriend’s kind nature, how quick she was to assist those in need, evenstrangers, how intelligent and patient she was, the way fingers would massageher neck when she was stressed, the sparkle in her eyes when she saw an openingin their spars.

And yet, saying those three, simple words was animpossibility.

Words were difficult, painful… but, through theirrelationship, they’d found other ways to communicate.

Hinata spoke with gentle touch and meaningful silence,Temari revealed herself through actions and trust and, as they gradually learnedto speak each other’s language, they’d create new ways to show their feelings alltheir own. Butterfly kisses against a cheek meant ‘you’re so cute’, a shortsigh followed by a giggle meant ‘I hate when you’re right’, the still-hot teanext to the bed upon waking up meant ‘I’m thinking of you’, a turned back inthe middle of a battle meant ‘you have this’, long, unbroken stares when thenight had fallen and the air grew cold and all the world shrank down to justthem, melded together and breathing each other’s air meant ‘only you, always’.

And, when the words failed to come, a soft touch against theforehead meant ‘I love you’.