utsus

Shen Qingqiu was not used to being touched.

He considered himself an observant person, though he might miss certain details here and there, like the countless different names of flowers populating this world. Maybe his memory wasn’t incredible, but he thought it decent enough. Ask him anything about a ghost or a demon and nine times out of ten he’d be able to discuss them backwards and forwards without hesitation. No sweat.

But maybe, Shen Qingqiu realized, maybe there were some things that he had never really noticed before having Luo Binghe as a lover.

Like how often he was touched, not only by Binghe, but by others. He’d never really noticed it before—a hand on his shoulder here, a playful poke in his side there. Sometimes when he walked among friends, he’d experience an innocent clap against his waist, there one moment and then gone the next. He’d never really paid attention to those things before. Those touches—they weren’t special. He felt them, but they weren’t lasting. And once it became more than clear that Luo Binghe had claimed him as his own, those touches came to a grounding halt.

When Binghe touched him, however… Shen Qingqiu shivered. He could feel the heat of his hand days after they left his waist, singed there like a curse mark, skin raised like a scar. It was difficult not to notice Binghe’s touches, firstly because there were so many of them, and secondly because they lingered. He found that he came to expect Binghe’s fingertips sliding over his nape in the mornings, his knuckles grazing almost gently over his jaw after a meal.

Binghe’s lips, light as butterfly’s wings, dancing over his temples.

“Sect Leader?”

“Oh; yes?” The disciples before him were giving him strange looks, concerned and just this side of suspicious. How many times had they called for him in his distracted state? He brought his fan up in front of his mouth, hiding his chagrined frown. Tension built upon his neck. When was the last time Binghe had touched him?

“How many laps must we run?” A young disciple asked, still looking irked.

“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu repeated. “Twenty, of course. Go, go.”

“Twenty,” someone grumbled lowly, just barely audible. “I swear his star pupil never had to run twenty when he was just a beginner.”

Shen Qingqiu said nothing, ignoring the comment as his little herd moved off to run their laps. Instead, he turned and headed up the mountain, thoughts bubbling aimlessly. His tailbone was sore, and he wondered where Binghe was.

Not long after he’d begun his ascent, he came across a familiar face, elegant and sun-kissed under the morning sun. Liu Qingge turned to him instantly, surprising Shen Qingqiu for a moment. He hadn’t expected to be noticed so soon, and hesitated before moving closer to his Sect Brother. Liu Qingge’s greeting wasn’t offered in words, only the slightest incline of his head, exposing the pale column of his throat.

“I didn’t expect to find you out here, Liu Qingge.” He glanced around them, taking in Liu Qingge’s quiet hum, and watched the trees on Quing Jing Peak flutter in the breeze. “I suppose I was distracted again. Wandering.”

“Again?” Liu Qingge asked, catching onto the word with muted curiosity. Shen Qingqiu brought his fan up before his mouth again, missing the way that Liu Qingge unconsciously shifted closer to him.

Never mind that, never mind.

“It’s nothing,” he said instead, opening and closing his fan just to have something to do with his hands. Liu Qingge stared at him curiously, a touch of worry curving his brow.

“Remain vigilant,” he said at last, quietly; after a brief but noticeable hesitation, he reached out and rested his hand against Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder. Surprised as he was, Shen Qingqiu found himself smiling, a tiny and muted thing, but it caught Liu Qingge’s eyes and held him captive.

Before Shen Qingqiu could think of a way to respond that wouldn’t embarrass either of them, he felt the air move around them. He watched Liu Qingge’s expression darken. The subtle pressure of someone’s hand wrapping around Shen Qingqiu’s waist came a moment before Shen Qingqiu realized that Luo Binghe was here.

“Shizun,” he greeted, whilst undoubtedly glaring over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder at Liu Qingge. The latter had leapt back as if burned the moment Binghe appeared, and when Shen Qingqiu looked closer there was a new bruise blossoming on his wrist. That was the same wrist, the same hand that had rested on his shoulder.

“You,” Liu Qingge sneered, acting as though his broken wrist was barely even a minor inconvenience. He didn’t hold it to his chest or treat it delicately. He just it fall to his side, glaring with open heat at the man behind Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu blinked in surprise, opening his mouth to scold his wayward disciple when he felt the hands around him grip him tighter, almost painfully so. He could feel the bulk of Binghe behind him, all jade and hard muscle. Heat rose over Shen Qingqiu’s nape, and the words died on his lips.

This, Shen Qingqiu told himself, was something he had noticed before. When they were around Liu Qingge, Luo Binghe’s possessive behavior seemed to triple, his mood darkening and his hands moving over Shen Qingqiu almost provocatively, gripping the fabric of his outer robes tightly. He rested his chin on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder, nuzzling against him for a moment before Shen Qingqiu woke up enough to swat at him with his fan. He allowed the assault and didn’t move away, his lips even turning in to press lightly against Shen Qingqiu’s throat, right below his ear.

Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks flared with heat, eyes dancing back to Liu Qingge and the enraged expression pulling all his features into even sharper edges.

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu scolded at last, voice low, bringing his hands up in an attempt to remove those secured around him. He found purchase on Binghe’s hands, but they refused to budge, even when spiritual power built up around them.

“I’ve been looking for Shizun,” Binghe said, his deep voice vibrating so close to Shen Qingqiu’s ear he felt himself swallowing, no longer able to meet Liu Qingge’s eyes. “This disciple is a little disappointed to find Shizun here, of all places.”

If Luo Binghe’s reaction to others touching Shen Qingqiu was an open flame, under control but still threatening, then his reaction to Liu Qingge being anywhere near his Shizun was an out-of-control fiery inferno overtaking mountainsides, burning and burning. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t understand it, not completely; he and his Peak Lord Liu Qingge weren’t what you’d call close, though he did consider them friends. And sure, when he’d self-destructed right in front of the both of them, Luo Binghe had spent five years preserving his Shizun’s body while Liu Qingge spent those same five years relentlessly trying to steal that body back.

Shen Qingqiu blinked. Well, he thought, when he put it like that, maybe there was something there worth burning up about, after all…

“I didn’t think you’d return so soon,” Shen Qingqiu said, trying to maintain his composure while still pinned in Binghe’s grasp. Liu Qingge sneered, shifting from his relaxed posture into one more aggressive, with the potential for action behind it. Shen Qingqiu felt Binghe’s lips curl against his cheek, and knew the smile held no true mirth. “Binghe, enough.”

“Shizun, let’s go now,” he said instead, and took a heavy step backwards, away from the Bai Zhan Peak Lord. Then, pretending to be quiet, he added, “I need you now.”

Liu Qingge’s eyes flickered over Binghe’s hands wrapped so egregiously around Shen Qingqiu’s waist, then jumped to the spot where his lips touched Shen Qingqiu’s cheek. Even as color rose faintly into his white cheeks, anger carved a sharp line across his mouth.

“You dare,” he sneered, his dominant, unbroken hand coming to the hilt of his sword as Shen Qingqiu held out his own hand, already between them but wanting to stop whatever was about to erupt despite his position. He needn’t have bothered, however. Within a breath, Luo Binghe shifted his hold until his left arm slid over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders, his right behind his knees, and pulled him up against the wealth of his muscled chest. Shen Qingqiu turned to Liu Qingge apologetically, only having enough time to squeeze out a rushed, “My apologies for your wrist—” before they disappeared from his view.

 ✧✧✧

 “Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu growled, smacking his forehead with his fan the moment they landed inside the bamboo house. “You can’t just go around breaking wrists like that! We are guests here.”

Binghe was nonchalant, gazing with muted fire at Shen Qingqiu. “He’ll heal.”

“That’s not the point,” Shen Qingqiu argued, smacking his fan against his own thigh. “It’s the principle of the matter. You can’t do things like that.”

“Sure, sure,” Binghe nodded carelessly, flapping his hand, almost as if putting his unbroken wrist on display. He had very, very sturdy wrists. “Whatever Shizun says.”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu argued, not quite understanding why he was so stuck on this. Binghe was right—a simple broken wrist would heal, and Liu Qingge had had far worse. It would hardly trouble him. But truly, it was the matter of the thing. And if he was being honest with himself, it was also because Shen Qingqiu felt uneasy with the reasoning behind the attack. “Not ‘whatever Shizun says.’ I mean it. Liu Qingge didn’t do anything to deserve that treatment.”

The moment he said Liu Qingge’s name, Binghe’s eyes snapped to him, molten and flaring with palpable heat. Shen Qingqiu could almost see the scarlet bubbling beneath the charcoal of his irises, fury and turmoil mixing up a storm. His voice was a slash of a sneer as he took a single step forward, his robes billowing for a moment behind him with the sudden advance.

“He did deserve it,” he said quietly, his voice growing with anger. “He’s lucky to still have that hand attached to his body, Shizun. This disciple was gracious, to only shatter his wrist.”

With every word, Binghe began to crowd him further into the room; for every step he took forward, Shen Qingqiu took two back. He felt his tailbone reach the hard surface of a table’s edge, and Luo Binghe’s hands moved to grasp the edges, his hips pressing purposefully against Shen Qingqiu’s until there was no mistaking his intention. And yet, even with the unfathomable depth of power permeating around him, frightening in its weight and mass, Shen Qingqiu felt his heart pounding in his chest. Arousal crawled down his spine, cresting over his hips, and he found his eyes falling to Binghe’s lips. He licked his own, a minute, idle gesture.

Binghe’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue and he smiled, those cruel lips lifting, digging his hips further forward.

“If I had it my way, anyone who dared to touch Shizun would have their hands ripped off from their bodies. Fingers, hands, wrists; why not their entire arm? Why not both? To teach them a proper lesson.”

Shen Qingqiu swallowed, barely finding his voice. “And what lesson is that, Binghe?”

The scarlet mark of demonic origin flared on Binghe’s forehead, and his eyes grew bright as hellfire as he moved in, his lips devouring at long last. He bit into Shen Qingqiu’s bottom lip, tasting his gasp and the trickle of blood that followed. He pulled a hairsbreadth away, just enough to be able to speak the words into Shen Qingqiu’s mouth: “That Shizun is mine.”

Binghe kissed sloppily, with no care for technique or time. He always kissed like it was his last chance, like he was desperate for it. Shen Qingqiu was always the one slowing them down, reminding him that they had time, that he wasn’t going to leave, that—

That he was his.

Despite the flare of demonic power and the crazed brightness of Binghe’s eyes, Shen Qingqiu brought his hands up to curl around his nape, pulling him closer, gasping against his lips. Binghe was the most powerful, but his mind was a hellscape of trauma and confusion. He didn’t know how to deal with his own fury, often letting it consume him; since admitting his feelings and receiving reciprocation from Shen Qingqiu, he’d allowed some of the fiery rage overflowing within him to transition into something else.

A different kind of heat.

And Shen Qingqiu welcomed it.

It’d been so long since he’d been kissed like this; Binghe spent a lot of time on the demon borders maintaining his domain. Shen Qingqiu spent a lot of time visiting his old stomping grounds, caring for disciples he probably didn’t have a right to, and seeing familiar faces. It felt like forever ago that Binghe had pulled him up against his chest, lifting his feet off the ground just to hold him against him, feeling all of him, and feeling like it still wasn’t enough.

He felt Binghe’s ragged breathing against his chest now, and it was impossible not to want to calm him down, to soothe. He ran his hands through his wild hair, taking turns between clutching and pulling and soothing. Binghe continued to kiss him as though he was burning, gasping at every breath, his tongue moving over Shen Qingqiu’s with purpose, with intent. Shen Qingqiu could feel the pressure of Binghe’s cock against him, rubbing listlessly as they moved together, and he wanted it.

He wanted it.

“Binghe,” he breathed, between Binghe coming up for air and diving back down to pull at Shen Qingqiu’s lips again. Binghe nodded against him, his voice already coming down from his previous ire as he whispered, “Yes, Shizun.”

He could hear all the responses Binghe had yet to say, but would undoubtedly say within the next few hours. Yes, Shizun. Anything Shizun, anything. Tell me. I’ll give you anything, everything. All for Shizun.

Binghe’s hands were already on Shen Qingqiu’s backside, but now he pulled him even higher and tighter against him, urging him silently, and Shen Qingqiu responded in kind: he wrapped his legs around Binghe’s waist and trembled when he felt the pressure of his erection underneath him.

“Yes,” Binghe groaned, feeling Shen Qingqiu tremble in his arms. Luo Binghe was so in tune with him after the first time that he paid embarrassingly close attention to Shen Qingqiu’s reactions whenever they became intimate, just in case. He was so familiar with Shen Qingqiu now that he could distinguish the type of trembling that came from fear and that which came from anticipation, and knowing it was the latter, Shen Qingqiu felt him thrust once against him almost helplessly.

He moved them across the room, holding Shen Qingqiu against him with one arm under him, his other holding his face up to receive his persistent kisses. His fingers dragged down his cheek until his thumb dipped into the corner of his lips, pulling, asking.

Flustered, Shen Qingqiu thought, Pulling at me like this—where’s this disciple’s sense of shame?!

Yet despite his silent protests, Shen Qingqiu answered easily enough, opening his mouth more to allow Binghe to lick into him as he so liked to do. He shuddered at the feeling, and he could feel Binghe smiling against him a moment later, nudging his nose playfully with his own, muttering endearingly.

He felt himself being lowered until the cushion of the bed under his tailbone held him, and the weight of Luo Binghe slid over him completely. He didn’t hesitate in moving between Shen Qingqiu’s legs, pushing them open to make room for himself. He was a big brute, making himself comfortable, despite the heated flush that spread from Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks down to his throat. He reached forward and Shen Qingqiu heard fabric ripping, felt his shoulder jerking slightly, and became surprised for two reasons.

The first was that it had taken Binghe this long to rip his robes off, an unusual display of restraint, and the second being that he had, at some point, closed his eyes.

He rectified the latter immediately and instantly felt equal parts longing and mortification curl through him as Luo Binghe sat up between his legs, towering over him, and disrobed while sliding his tongue over his lower lip. His eyes never left Shen Qingqiu for a second, heavy and barely blinking, a satisfied sovereign looking over his kingdom.

When Shen Qingqiu’s eyes managed to break away from that unwavering stare, they slid off the sharp edge of Binghe’s chin and trailed over the wealth of his finely muscled chest, the cords of his muscled abdomen, and landed on his straining cock, he felt dizzied panic.

Easy Mode!! He begged silently, calling for the system with desperation. I definitely have enough B points for this, I want to activate Easy Mode!! Shitty System!! Why aren’t you answering?? AaaaaaHHHHH!!

Silence was his only actual response, and by then, Binghe was already naked and leaning over him, lips coming to trail down his throat, sucking his way down to Shen Qingqiu’s exposed chest. He took his time sucking on each of Shen Qingqiu’s nipples until they were both hard and straining, too. He smiled against his defined pectoral muscle, glancing up to meet Shen Qingqiu’s eyes only to find them covered entirely with Shen Qingqiu’s arms. He was so embarrassed he could die—and it wasn’t like this was the first time!! Binghe was the type to devour, no matter the game, no matter the stage. If you were his enemy or his lover or at times, both, it didn’t matter: he would devour you!!

“Don’t hide,” Binghe said lowly, pouting as he reached up to pull Shen Qingqiu’s arms away from his flushed face. Because there were tears in his eyes, Shen Qingqiu looked off to the side in another attempt to hide. Tears built but didn’t yet fall, and these weren’t the kind that came from fear, and after a moment of study, Binghe understood and smiled cheekily. “Shizun.”

“Stop,” Shen Qingqiu gasped, and even though he deliberately used the tone Binghe knew was safe, the one that meant stop teasing and not the one that meant I’m scared, stop, he did just that.

He stopped. Completely, without hesitation. Shen Qingqiu felt him freeze over him, his every muscle strained in tension, a caged tiger itching to be released. Shen Qingqiu felt equal parts powerless and powerful; there was a monster on top of him, but that monster was his, and oh, maybe he loved him.

“Shizun,” Binghe whispered, and it was his turn to beg. His hands were still pinning Shen Qingqiu’s arms to the bed on either side of his temples, his hips resting in the cradle of Shen Qingqiu’s. Shen Qingqiu felt the tiniest bit of wetness seeping through what was left of his robes, right where their bodies met, and his breath shook out of him. He knew what Binghe wanted, of course he knew, but it was way too embarrassing!! He wasn’t going to, to—

“Shizun,” Binghe begged, lowering himself slightly, his lips grazing over Shen Qingqiu’s questioningly, so gently Shen Qingqiu’s heart fluttered. Just like that, he broke.

“Please,” he whispered, and Binghe moved. He ripped away all of Shen Qingqiu’s robes, inner and outer, and suddenly his hands were everywhere, heated and heavy and yet so, so gentle. He felt him shift his weight back slightly, onto his heels, and when those hands left his squirming body he looked back to Binghe and found him just staring, right there where Shen Qingqiu’s legs were wide open. Immediately, he tried to close them, but Binghe was still between them and even then, his hands spread wide over Shen Qingqiu’s creamy thighs and pushed until he could feel the slightest strain in Shen Qingqiu’s flexibility. He clicked his tongue absentmindedly, not even paying attention to Shen Qingqiu as he cried, “Luo Binghe!”

Don’t just stare, idiot!!

“Ah, Shizun,” Binghe murmured in lieu of an apology, “This disciple can’t help it.”

If there had been even a hint of amusement in that line, Shen Qingqiu would’ve poked him in his side, but when he looked up at Binghe and found nothing but an expression of total captivation, all he could do was cover his face again. He held his breath to try to push down the embarrassment that continued to crawl up his throat, and then gasped it all out when he felt the first touch of Binghe’s fingers at his entrance.

His eyes leapt down to try to see those fingers, slightly wet though Shen Qingqiu refused to guess with what—no option was safe for someone like him to consider without having another mortification meltdown—but all he could see was Binghe’s wrist, curled and gently moving as he rubbed over Shen Qingqiu’s most private place.

“Shizun is beautiful,” Binghe whispered, adjusting himself as he sat back on his calves, uncaring of his own erection, which was dark and straining against the unmatched tone of his abs. He paid it no mind at all, and instead glanced up as Shen Qingqiu’s cock twitched, growing steadily harder until it laid against his thigh, already leaking. Flames of heat tore down Shen Qingqiu’s throat as he heard Binghe’s next breath come out shakily, and he moved his dominant hand forward to trail his fingers up the length of him, before grasping him in his hand.

Shen Qingqiu bit his bottom lip so hard he reopened the bite wound Binghe had left him minutes before. He let the taste of blood distract him, throwing his head back once more so he didn’t have to watch the lewd scene of Binghe jacking him off with one hand, while his non-dominant hand gently slid one finger in and out of his ass with utmost care, never leaving the warmth of his body entirely.

When it did eventually vanish, and cold air pressed against him, making him shiver, he tilted his head down to see Binghe remove both of his hands from his body. He wrapped his right hand around his own cock—a monster’s monster!!—and gave himself a few clumsy, uncaring tugs. He watched Shen Qingqiu’s face, his mouth hanging open slightly, and Shen Qingqiu watched as pearls of white slipped from the head. Binghe brought his left hand up to his mouth and sucked on his own fingers for a moment before removing them and letting Shen Qingqiu see them coated in saliva. After those few tugs, Binghe released himself and brought his hand coated in his saliva to those pearls, spreading them across the tips of his pointer, middle, and ring finger, and Shen Qingqiu suddenly understood.

Not knowing exactly what to do for proper lubrication without their usual oil, but wanting to ensure his Shizun’s utmost comfort, he was using everything he had at his disposal. Shen Qingqiu bit back a moan that almost squeezed through his teeth, and watched as Binghe shifted again, getting himself comfortable, and brought those wet-slicked fingers to his hole. He’d opened him up with one finger for a short while, and now he added another, working two into him while his free hand came back to Shen Qingqiu’s cock and resumed his gentle, broken strokes.

He wasn’t good at this, but they’d had a lot of practice since the first time, and Binghe was as always an eager learner for Shen Qingqiu’s teachings. He was excited and diligent and what he lacked in finesse he made up for in passion. His rhythm was all off, driving Shen Qingqiu shakily up to a battered precipice only to drop him back off, but oh how it teased him, driving him mad until all he could think about was more.

His eyes danced between their bodies, Binghe’s arms, and landed on his big, beautiful cock and fuck but he wanted it. He refused to ask for it, to admit to it—he hadn’t forgotten that first time, and though he didn’t blame Binghe for it, he was the one who had to live with the firsthand memory of the pain. That experience made him cautious when he might instead want to be impatient and impulsive. His body opened for Binghe like a blooming flower, his moans slipping through the cracks of his teeth, every part of him begging without words.

Binghe added a third finger and Shen Qingqiu lost his breath entirely, before it sucked back into him like a sucker punch. He writhed, and Binghe pressed down on him, pinning him in place.

He wanted Binghe inside of him desperately, longed for it, needed it, but he knew better than to be impatient with this. Binghe was Binghe, after all, and though he had somehow become a homosexual in this rendering—in love with his shitty but redeemable Shizun, on top of it!—he had the golden cock of a harem novel protagonist that could split worlds, and Shen Qingqiu wasn’t about to experience that again until he was damned ready for it.

So he held the pleas back, locked them away, and prayed that Binghe would work faster, finger him harder, give him more. He didn’t realize that he’d started to say those things out loud until he felt Binghe’s lips against his jaw line, pressing aimlessly, barely meeting their mark in his distraction.

“Shizun,” Binghe begged, breathing hard. “Almost there. A little bit more.”

He thought: Yes, yes, you’re right Luo Binghe, my treasured disciple. A little bit more.

His thoughts didn’t match his words, and his traitorous lips began to shape the pleas he’d wanted to hold onto for a little longer.

“Please,” he gasped, barely able to catch enough air. His cock was so hard it hurt, and the wetness from before was leaking against him now, his precum dripping over Binghe’s hand, onto his stomach. “Luo Binghe, please.”

Binghe hesitated for only a second, his fingers stilling inside of him, before his voice—gutted and ragged and just as needy—bit out the words, “Whatever Shizun desires.”

His fingers slipped out and Luo Binghe shifted his weight forward, until his thighs pressed under Shen Qingqiu’s, their hips flush with one another. He took hold of his cock, unable to prevent himself from stroking it a few times, before he positioned it against Shen Qingqiu’s hole, wetness sliding against the rim. Shen Qingqiu could feel the tension in Binghe, the way he wanted to thrust, to rut, and it shook him to his core. He made him like this. For whatever reason Binghe chose him, claimed him, marked him as his own—he had made him like this.

Compared to his original fate, this—this was too good to be true, right? Absolutely a complete and total one-eighty.

“Shizun, tell me,” Binghe gritted through clenched teeth, his hands moving to find purchase on Shen Qingqiu’s hips, pinning him in place, ready to hold him still for his intrusion. “Tell me,” he said again, and Shen Qingqiu was beyond embarrassment, now. He misunderstood the message, actually, and didn’t realize that Binghe was asking for permission—he was so good, a good student, he’d learned so well and sought consent nearly every time they did this now; Shen Qingqiu should’ve understood, should’ve realized, but he was desperate and needy—Binghe had teased him for too long this time, and he’d longed for this for so, so long even before the teasing; so instead of telling Binghe that it was ok to fuck him, to make love to him, he took the risk of having the system claim he was OOC by saying this:

“Please, Binghe, Shizun wants you inside,” he begged, tears spilling over his cheeks, his body restless. Need didn’t drive him so totally beyond his character that he was brave enough to ask specifically for Binghe’s cock, but in Binghe’s expression he could see that he heard it anyways.

With a low groan that shook Shen Qingqiu to his bones, Binghe pushed inside of him in a single powerful stroke, his muscles tensed and frozen until he was sheathed completely inside of Shen Qingqiu.

Oh fuck, he thought wildly, oh fuck, yes, that’s it.

“S-shizun,” Binghe gasped, a question Shen Qingqiu already had an answer to.

With a moment’s hesitation as he reacquainted himself with Binghe’s size, he finally instructed, “Go ahead, move.”

Binghe didn’t have to be told twice. It seemed as though he had been just as pent up, if not even more so, because once he started he didn’t stop, not even to readjust, not even to give his muscles a break. There was something to be said for a harem novel protagonist’s stamina, after all. Shen Qingqiu took it all, still trying to keep his voice down until Binghe leaned over him, his hips still snapping, and whispered in his ear, teeth grazing his ear lobe.

“This disciple,” he gasped, breathless and lost to the wet hot grasp of being inside Shen Qingqiu, “H-has a request, for Shizun.”

What the fuck?! Shen Qingqiu thought erratically, wanting to focus on the words enough to laugh or even pay them proper attention, but he was being fucked too hard to focus, writhing under the power of Binghe’s every thrust. When Binghe continued to fuck into him but said nothing else, Shen Qingqiu forced out a single word in response; it was all he could come up with before he clenched his teeth shut again, even going so far as to press the back of one of his hands against his mouth.

“Speak.”

At last, Binghe’s relentless rutting paused, his cock fully sheathed inside of him, rubbing listlessly. His lips moved over Shen Qingqiu’s ear, the corner of his jaw, and he said, “Shizun, let your voice out.”

That was his request? Shen Qingqiu was going to scream. He was going to smack him over the head and then he was going to scream.

Before he could even pretend he had the control to respond to that in any productive way, Binghe rested his elbows beside Shen Qingqiu’s head and sat himself up slightly so he could see his face, his eyes heavy with arousal, sweat dripping from his forehead.

“Please,” he said, before his hips pulled back and he began thrusting again with new purpose, slow and deep at first and then faster, harder. He fucked into him so hard he could feel them shifting up the bed slightly, the hard surface of his bed dragging against his back beneath his torn robes. Binghe fucked him just the way he needed, and it was so, so good—he couldn’t even get words out, but Binghe looked desperate and needy and Shen Qingqiu had always been weak to this disciple.

Binghe snapped his hips roughly, hitting just the right spot, the head of his cock dragging over it, and Shen Qingqiu moaned. Binghe’s rhythm stuttered then strengthened, his eyes clenching shut tightly, and with that single moan, just his name breathily escaping from Shen Qingqiu’s throat, he came with a long, low groan of his own.

His hips stuttered to a stop, twitching every now and again, but he remained as deeply inside of Shen Qingqiu as he could be, his weight finally coming down from his elbows to rest on top of him. He breathed hard, and Shen Qingqiu shook beneath him, his own orgasm so close he’d almost tasted it, and thought to reach down and finish himself off with Binghe still inside of him, because that would be okay, too.

The moment his hand reached down, however, Binghe’s hand shot out to grasp his wrist, ever gentle. He pulled from the dregs of his strength and somehow found more—protagonist’s privileges—and kept Shen Qingqiu stuffed full of his softening cock while his own hand moved to cover Shen Qingqiu’s cock. He was so sensitive the mere touch was enough to make him arch under Binghe’s body, gasping his name again, pleading.

“Let me,” Binghe whispered, watching his face with heavy, adoring eyes filled with tenderness. He leaned forward and took Shen Qingqiu’s lips into his own, kissing him slowly, and if Shen Qingqiu wasn’t so lost to his own heat and encroaching orgasm, he would’ve been shocked at Binghe’s unheard of patience while kissing him. He’d never kissed him like this before, slowly, savoring him as if he truly had all the time in the world; deep, penetrating kisses. His tongue traced Shen Qingqiu’s lips and his hand moved over him devastatingly slowly, and Shen Qingqiu knew this time that he was truly being teased. He couldn’t believe that his treasured disciple had the nerve.

“Luo Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu growled, biting out his name and feeling the resounding movement of his low laughter above him, as Binghe’s hand fluttered over the head of his cock. “Ah!”

“Mm, Shizun,” Binghe returned, and rewarded him by tightening his grip, moving his hand faster. He shifted his hips, too, as if to remind him that he was still inside of him. As if Shen Qingqiu could forget. Not only could he not suddenly forget that Binghe’s huge cock was still inside of him, but he could still feel the heated liquid there, could feel it inside of him. He shivered and shook and Binghe’s hand moved with renewed purpose. If he wasn’t so wasted on love and lust and need, Shen Qingqiu would’ve admired his reserves. To still have the strength to jack him off after all that, he was truly—

Oh, fuck.

Back arching as the tingling in his stomach began to dance up behind his eyes, he felt his orgasm circling him and couldn’t help but to allow Binghe to continue to slowly devour his lips, turning his head to him, his eyes memorizing every inch of his Shizun’s face in shattered ecstasy. He was too lost to the feeling to contribute much to the kiss except an open and willing mouth, but Binghe didn’t seem to mind. He picked up his pace, his hand moving over Shen Qingqiu’s cock determinedly, squeezing at times, and at last his orgasm broke over him.

He arched up against Binghe, moaning his name into his mouth, letting him taste the syllables of it as he came over his hand, his stomach, up onto Binghe’s stomach too. As if every ounce of his strength left him, he fell back against the bed and panted for breath, as Binghe followed him down and moved from his lips to his chin, kissing and sucking lightly, never getting enough. His hunger, impossible to sate completely.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, so quietly, right against Shen Qingqiu’s jaw.

They laid together like that for several long moments before Shen Qingqiu started to get irritated, knowing that Binghe was deliberately remaining inside of him, despite no longer being hard. It was irritating, because there was no safe way to tell him to move, to get out, because that was embarrassing.

So instead he just pushed at his chest, speaking without words, and Binghe sighed but listened well. He slipped out of him but didn’t let him get too far, pulling him back against him, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Shen Qingqiu was too exhausted to complain, and newly humiliated by the wetness he could feel dripping out of him, onto his thighs, so he said nothing at all. If he said nothing, then maybe Binghe wouldn’t notice, and he could pretend it wasn’t happening, and that he didn’t kind of like it. A lot.

Clearing his throat, he pressed a little closer to Luo Binghe despite his thoughts, and placed his hands over Binghe’s on his stomach.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know if Binghe was still awake, several long moments later, when he finally found his voice.

He said, “Binghe, this master wasn’t wrong earlier. There’s no need for breaking wrists and the like.”

He felt Binghe stiffen behind him, still awake but silent as the night. Shen Qingqiu chewed on his bottom lip, so swollen from Binghe’s relentless attention, and now this.

Quietly, so quietly Binghe might not even hear the words, he said, “This master will always be yours. So, no more broken wrists.”

Uchiha Sasuke appreciated silence.

Whether this inclination was borne of his naturaldisposition or a lifetime of far too much chaos, it didn’t really matter. Itwas what is was, and Sasuke didn’t question it. He cultivated it, encouragedit, embodied it. Silence and stillness went hand-in-hand, and Sasuke was finewith that, too.

He became an untouchable lake upon whose surface nothingcould impact, a force of nature outside the realm of tangible understanding.The tattered leftovers of his soul stormed lowly under the surface, capturedwithin his frigid control, not even a single ripple marring the surface of hisstill waters. For years, he basked in the stillness. The silence, only everinterrupted by the low peals of thunder inside of him, and the icy depths ofhis repressed feelings.

He moved through life as a shadow, the village hidden in theleaves chattering around him incessantly, a never-ending stream of attentionhe’d never wanted. Even so many years after returning, still he caught his namein strangers’ mouths, their eyes trailing over him, equal parts suspicious andcurious. He paid them no mind. He did his duty and went on missions, both aloneand with the fractured remains of Team 7, and he returned to a home as empty ashe was.

He moved over the threshold of his home wordlessly, hisevery step silent, and slid the door shut behind him. The sun was alreadyinching towards the center of the sky, so bright he squinted. Hand tucked inhis pocket, Sasuke moved through the desolate compound he refused to leaveabandoned, and never moved his eyes from the central path leading out into therest of the village. Dark eyes steady, eyelids heavy, he slid the gate closedbehind him. There was no one around this part of the village, ever, and thatwasn’t surprising. The Uchiha compound was a ghost town, a burial ground, andmany believed it haunted. It was widely avoided. Sasuke was fine with that,too.

He valued his privacy, after all.

Not that he was doing anything that required privacy.Frowning, Sasuke tried not to think about the boredom he refused to admit tofeeling. Boredom was safe. Boredom was fine.

When he made it into the more populated areas of Konoha,people moved around him like he was magnetized. He barely noticed the wideberth everyone gave him anymore, trailing along at his own pace, hand stillstuffed in his pocket. It was only when he reached his destination—a rundownlittle shack that sold rare scrolls and weapons of surprisingly finequality—that he felt the tension in his facial muscles. He purposely relaxedhis scowl, eyebrows and lips freeing from strain. He pushed aside the strips ofmaterial hanging from the front entrance, bowing slightly when the owner calledout a greeting.

He moved towards the back corner of the shop, ignoring theway two patrons immediately left the establishment the moment they saw himenter. A few others merely cast curious looks his way as he moved past, and alesser number paid him no mind at all. He ducked under a barrage of shurikenhanging by thin strands of thread from the ceiling, glistening in the sunlightbeaming through the entrance. They were unusual in design, and Sasuke thoughtoffhandedly of the girl from his year who did her hair in little buns, and woredangling earrings.

Sasuke moved around a display of explosive scrolls—sealedwith personalized chakra locks—and stopped in his tracks. There was someone inhis corner.

He had yet to see anyone other than himself perusing thisparticular section of the shop, and he’d been here countless times. Outside ofsimple curiosity, there were a limited number of people in the village whocould actually make use of their optical chakra pathways. In fact, there were onlythree kinds of people who could make use of these texts: One lived in acompound much like his own, and certainly the Hyuuga had shelves upon shelvesof personalized tomes specific to their family bloodline limit. They would havenext to no need to visit any other library, especially one as trifling andnameless as this.

Another was he who wielded the Rinnegan. Which was Sasuke.And the last was he who wielded the Sharingan. Which was also Sasuke.

So why, then, was there a woman standing on tiptoe in thiscorner Sasuke had come to think of as his own? His eyes trailed up from herflexed calves, over the long fall of dark hair grazing her tailbone, and up toher outstretched hand, pale and delicate and desperately reaching for a tomeoverhead. Sasuke was not unobservant; he knew her.

Hyuuga Hinata—Hyuuga royalty. Heiress of her clan. Strongestliving Byakugan user.

Naruto’s girlfriend.

His chest felt tight, rigid; something that ached likelonging rippled outwards. Sasuke’s fist clenched, then released. Hinata’sfingertips weren’t even grazing the edge of the tome she longed for, and shehad no more height to add, having already moved to the tips of her toes. Herpulling motion stretched her jacket across her shoulders, dragging the materialup enough to offer a glimpse of skin just as smooth and pale as that of herexposed wrists. He could hear her saying something under her breath, though thewords were lost to him.

He wanted to turn around, walk back out of the shop; moveaway, head back towards his compound, the training grounds, the forest,anywhere but here. Far away, and quickly, and quietly, silently, so she wouldn’t know, wouldn’t realize—he fought withhimself over the cowardice of the feeling, refused to admit even to himself thatwhat he wanted to do was flee, likeprey, but instead found himself stationary, fixed and unmoving. His heartseemed the only part of him that moved, and oh,how it moved.

Still like prey,he thought, as she seemed to realize she had an audience and turned to glanceat him over her shoulder. Caught in herweb.

But it wasn’t fair to think her a predator when she had donenothing but exist, had never done anything so offensive or threatening but exist, right there in front of him—soclose he could reach out and trail his knuckles under the curtain of her hair,except that he couldn’t, because she wasn’t his; she had never been his and he’dalways thought himself untouchable but this, this inability to reach for her becauseof an invisible boundary was the unbearable truth of the term he hid beneath—

“Uchiha-san?”

Boundaries. Eventhe way she called to him added distance, until even the image of his hand inher hair faded away, too unbelievable to even exist in his mind. He could feelthe edges of his expression shifting, frustration at himself sharpening everyangle in his face. His eyes must have been pits of darkened flame, turbulentand sparking, and yet Hinata turned to him completely, unafraid and unguarded.This should have bothered him. It didbother him, only, not enough. Not nearly enough. Conflict arose within him, afamiliar warring feeling under his skin. Perhaps if he were someone else, withfar more freedom to feel, she would’ve been able to see the impact she had onhim.

But he had had a lifetime of practice in this. Locked insidehis heart with everything else he repressed, among the softness of prizedintimacy, the quiet whisper of secrets, and the memory of his mother’s smile,there was this: interest.

It was because of this interest, and the way that it piercedholes in his iron control, that he wanted her to be afraid. He wanted her toadd barrier after barrier between them, layers and labyrinths of defenses. Hewanted her to push him away, to use his surname and only look at him after he’dbeen the one to look first. He wanted her to protect herself against him.

Because for her, for some inexplicable reason he couldn’teven fathom, he felt.

A lifetime of repressing his emotions under the weight of anentire ocean of untouched apathy, and with a single look from her, his controlfractured. Ripples moved through him.

Blood on his hands, fractured friendships, distrust andincessant gossiping chatter about his life and the secrets strangers had noright to and the questioning almost apologetic expressions on Naruto’s andSakura’s faces whenever they looked at him—none of it stirred him. He was asfrigid and depthless as they thought him to be, still water with stormsunderneath. They could not touch him. At best they could feel the lightninginside of him. But they could not touch him.

But Hinata—

The first time he felt it, the jarring impact of someonebreaking through his emotional defenses, she had a bleeding child in her arms.She didn’t notice him at the time, not even when he moved to her side, not evenwhen it was his fingers that applied pressure to the wound in that child’sside. He remembered her hands, steady even while her voice shook. The maternalstrength in her eyes as she clutched that child close and shielded his frailbody with her own when an explosion nearby sent shrapnel spiking into her shoulders.Sasuke could still feel the impact against his own, and along the outer ridgeof his arm where he’d tried to shield her, too.

Hinata had not even hesitated, despite a cry of pain. Shedidn’t look at Sasuke, either, only used his hand to aid her as she pulled fromthe dregs of her chakra to heal a nameless, dying child in her arms. Heremembered the sudden rigidity in his chest, the palpable heaviness of a hearthe’d desperately tried to forget he had. He remembered the way it awakenedwithin him, and how the smell of singed flesh tore into him, proof of thetrails of blood that arose from the lines in her palms; an incredibly late anddaunting sign of chakra exhaustion. She never wavered, even as her chakrafaltered, breaking and sputtering. She never looked at him, but he remembered.

She became the jade that broke the surface.

He still felt it. Years later, the war behind them, thatchild breathing somewhere in the world because of her, and her heart someoneelse’s to hold. Her heart belonging to his best friend. 

It was unfathomable. He had never had a claim to her, notonce, not even when he was the child prodigy the entire village fawned over. Notwhen all her peers idolized him, put him on a pedestal he could only comecrashing down from. Not when he returned to the village a man that made otherstake notice, no longer boyish and misguided, but sharp-edged and confident.

No, he thought shakily, fighting to rein in his emotionseven more strictly. For Hinata, there had only ever been Naruto.

Sasuke took a step towards her, unable to do anything but bepulled into her orbit. Still, his expression hardened. He held his shoulders soharshly they strained, but he moved beyond her, ignoring her call. He reachedup and grasped the tome with ease, tearing it form the shelf. He could feel hereyes on him, and when he turned back to her he found uncomfortable solace inthe gentleness in her eyes. That he wanted that tenderness so much made it thatmuch more uncomfortable to see. He shoved the book towards her, fingertipsalready leaving the hard cover before she’d completely grasped it against herchest.

He was unbearably rude, his mother would be ashamed of hisbehavior, but the alternative was worse. He wanted to pull her in close, tosmile against her neck, laughing at her. He could imagine an alternativereality where he reached around her, hoisting her onto his shoulder, supportingher with his hand on her waist, lifting her to the tome. She wouldn’t have tostrain for it. She might even laugh, and how he longed to hear it. Naruto madeher laugh so easily, it wasn’t like he’d never heard it. He’d just never heardit because of him.

Sasuke flash-stepped out of the shop and didn’t stop movinguntil the front door of his home snapped shut behind him. His back pressed upagainst the wooden paneling, and he slammed the back of his head against it forgood measure. Get ahold of yourself,he berated, gritting his teeth. He closed his eyes and brought his hand to thehilt of kusanagi. The threads under his fingertips were a familiar sensation,bringing him back to the battlefield, where he could lose himself in memoriesof chaos he had control over. He understood himself well enough to know that itwasn’t psychologically or emotionally soundto find solace in the memory of taking lives.

But ever since his brother had murdered their family, theirentire clan, Sasuke had never really held himself to the same sane standard aseveryone else.

There were some things that a person just couldn’t come backfrom.

Sasuke pressed his head back against the door, gritted histeeth, and breathed through the memory of his own killing until his heartslowed, and slowed, and slowed.

He wondered if memories could ever be enough to get it tojust…stop.

Stop.

✧

“Wanna fight?” Naruto asked him cheekily, playfully bumpingagainst Sasuke’s shoulder. They were heading away from the Hokage tower afterreporting in, freshly returned from a joint mission. It had been months sincethe encounter in the weapon shack.

Sasuke ignored Naruto, tucking his hand in his pocket.Sakura had left them at the tower, insisting that she had business with someofficial who’d apparently skipped his rehabilitation session. Sasuke did notenvy him.

“What, really?” Naruto laughed, an added skip to his stepbeside Sasuke’s languid pace. “Since when do you not wanna spar?”

Sasuke cast him a snide look. “We’ve been back withinvillage limits for less than an hour.”

“Exactly!”

Sasuke shook his head. “Idiot.”

“Well, if you don’t wanna fight, what’re you gonna do?”

Sasuke said nothing, and Naruto sighed.

“Do you even have any hobbies, bastard?”

Sasuke paused to think about that for a moment, and when hecame up blank, he cast another scathing glance in Naruto’s direction. “Shutup,” he said, instead.

“You need to get a hobby. Or a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Apartner. A significant—”

“Shut up,” Sasukegritted out, jaw clenching.

“What? Blame Sakura-chan. Ever since she and Ino starteddating she really grilled me on the whole open-mindedthing. You can’t just assume,y’know?”

Sasuke didn’t mind that Naruto had completely missed thepoint and thought him irritated because he’d used gender-neutral terms ratherthan mentioning a significant otherin the first place. It was a subject Sasuke wanted nothing to do with. Narutoand Sakura had both grilled him enough times to understand that Sasuke was, asthey called it, picky. Selective,Sakura would say with diplomacy, trying to help him out a bit.

He hated discussing it, and they both knew it. If either ofthem ever learned the true reason why,he and Naruto would undoubtedly both lose their remaining arms. Glancing overat his closest friend, who had begun rambling, he wondered not for the firsttime how he would react if Sasuke was honest.

“I have nothing to go on, because you have hermittendencies, and love being difficult,”Naruto was saying, talking with his hand as they moved through the streets ofKonohas. Sasuke watched idly as people recognized them both, turning their eyesquickly from Sasuke to beam at Naruto. He interrupted himself several times toreturn greetings to passerby, meanwhile Sasuke kept his eyes forward andignored everyone like usual. He felt no inclination for false pretenses.

“So I’m really just floundering here, trying to come up withthings, but it’s not easy, y’know. Sakura-chan likes Ino, who’s loud andblond…”

Naruto’s rambling paused, and Sasuke could feel his gazemoving over him. He turned to find Naruto squinting up at him, suspicious.Sasuke could only dread what he was thinking, as he ran a hand through his ownblonde hair. Unashamed, Naruto didn’t even hesitate to ask:

“You into loud blondes?”

Sasuke’s lip curled, and Naruto immediately waved his hand,placating.

“Alright, alright. Definitely no loud blondes. Or blondes atall. Redheads? Dark hair? No hair?”

Sasuke wanted to punch him in the throat. He wanted him tostop asking. Subtle as he was, hepicked up his pace until Naruto had to jog a little to catch up. His pocketedhand fisted, and Sasuke refused to acknowledge a word Naruto said.

“Okay, maybe I’ll just go off of my own experiences…”

Sasuke almost cut him off just to snap at him, wondering howin Naruto’s mind he figured his own experiences would have any relation toSasuke’s personal tastes. Sometimes he could understand Naruto impeccably, andother times, he was completely flummoxed by his lack of logic.

But then he realized that in this particular case, Naruto’sdating experiences were actually directly and perfectly related to Sasuke’staste in significant others. He could feel the tension of a headache buildingbehind his temples.

“When did I realize I loved Hinata,” Naruto musedabsentmindedly, tapping his chin. Sasuke’s stomach dropped. “Well, I alwaysknew she was beautiful. Dark hair is best, after all. Don’t tell Sakura-chan Isaid that.”

For the briefest of moments, Sasuke closed his eyes. Theimage of his knuckles sliding under the curtain of Hinata’s hair flickered inhis mind, and his eyes snapped open to disperse it. He unconsciously shiftedaside to allow an elderly man to move seamlessly past him down the street, andturned to gaze at the hand reaching for Naruto’s arm a moment before it madecontact.

“Excuse me,” the man interrupted, bowing slightly. He wasall eyes for Naruto, pulling him aside to ask a few questions that Naruto immediatelyfocused in on. Sasuke kept walking. He took several paces ahead before he heardthe scuffing of feet on dirt, and turned to see an elderly woman a few stepsdown the nearest alley. Her trembling hands were reaching for her shoes, one ofwhich had slipped off of her heel, but she couldn’t quite reach from the angleshe had. Sasuke blinked at her, wondering where her caretaker was. Surely shewasn’t traveling through the streets alone if she couldn’t even manage to stayin her own shoes.

After several blank moments and no help arriving, Sasuketurned away from his path and approached her slowly. He was too quiet for herto notice him approaching, and when he was close enough that the edges of hisninsandals came into her view she gasped. Her eyes leapt up to him and fearfilled her blinking eyes, the weathered skin around them creasing as she shiedaway.

Sasuke pretended not to notice that she recognized him, andthat she was terrified. He could hear the chatter of Naruto and the man behindhim, still deep in discussion. He thought he heard a softer voice join them,but paid them no more attention as he crouched down, his right knee hitting thedirt, and reached for the heel of her shoe. The old woman’s hand came out in aflash, surprisingly quick for her age and stature, and attempted to bat hishand away. He allowed the contact, his wrist batted away, but he only broughtit back again and managed to secure her shoe completely on her foot before shecould prepare a second strike. Her ankles were so delicate he could havereached the fingers of his hand all the way around them.

He worried for a moment that the impact of her smack mayhave injured her—if her ankles were this frail, her wrists were probably evenmore so. However, when he studied her hands, he found them healthy, if stilltrembling slightly.

While he studied her hand and wrist for injury, she watchedin some semblance of awe as the Uchiha clan survivor knelt before her, slippingher dirty, sock-covered foot back into her slipper with his remaining hand.When it became clear he just wanted to help her, though he remained silent andicy all the while, she began to relax before his eyes. There was still aguardedness to her; she didn’t trust him completely, even as he lifted out hishand to gently grasp her wrist. He helped her to rise along with him, ignoringthe puff of dirt on his knee, the rocks still sticking into the fabric. Hesteadied the woman in front of him and then pulled away without a word, hischin dipping good-naturedly. Then he turned from her and headed out of thealley, with only a last trace of care concerning her well-being beforeforgetting about her entirely.

When he came out from the alley, Naruto and the man wereboth looking over some manuscript the man was holding. From Sasuke’s angle, itlooked like diagnostics of some sort. A weapon? No, that wasn’t right. Regardlessof what it was, why this man would bring it to Naruto, of all people, Sasukehad no idea. Before he could even begin to guess what the diagnostics were for,the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end, and he subconsciously glancedoverhead. He caught a flash of lavender, the trailing scent of something likevanilla and something sweet like fruit, and watched Naruto turn instantly togreet Hyuuga Hinata.

Naruto breathed her name in welcome, and she moved towardshim distractedly, dipping in to gently kiss his cheek as she turned over hisshoulder to look at Sasuke. His heart pounded, and he looked away. Narutomurmured something for her ears only, checking in with her, and Sasuke saw fromthe corner of his eyes how she nodded and soothed, reaching out to playfullytrail her fingers through the longer hair by Naruto’s ears. Naruto laughed, andturned from her to rejoin the conversation with the stranger and hismanuscript.

Sasuke could hear Naruto asking, “So as far as prostheticsgo, these are influenced by chakra? How?”

Sasuke stopped listening. He knew Naruto had been lookingfor a prosthetic replacement for the arm Sasuke had ripped off. Sasuke wasn’tin the market for replacements. He was fine with just the one, and besides, itwas a sort of penance, after all. He still had so much to atone for.

With Naruto distracted, Sasuke offered Hinata a single nodin greeting, the reminder of how rude he had been to her the last time they’dseen one another pushing him to be better-mannered. He thought of his mother,her scolding voice still pristine in his memory, and added a quiet, “Hello.”

His eyes moved away from her, but not before registering thesurprise that rose over her expression, lifting her brows. She smiled so softlyit hurt to look at her, and Sasuke made to take his leave, continuing on thepath he’d deviated from for that old lady.

Before he could take a single step, however, Hinata’s voicepinned him down.

“Uchiha-san,” she said, “It’s nice to see you again.”

Sasuke stood frozen for a moment, awkward in a rare bout ofuncertainty, before turning back to her with hardened eyes. He didn’t mean toscowl at her, though she didn’t seem to mind. There was something jovial to thegleam in her eyes, the curl in the corner of her lips. If he didn’t know anybetter, he would’ve guessed her amused. At him? For what?

He didn’t respond, and that didn’t seem to bother hereither. In fact, she took a step closer to him and butterflies threatened totake flight inside his gut. Was it really nice to see him again? Even after hewas so unquestioningly rude to her the last time? Did it really even matter?

He stretched his fingers, an idle gesture. Hinata moveduntil she was within reach, lowering her voice as she glanced over his shoulderwith a kind smile. The old lady from before moved past them with a polite nodof her head, of which Hinata returned with a bow Sasuke thought too deepconsidering her status and the circumstances. When the elder moved on, notsaying a word to him nor casting him a single glance, Sasuke felt an unknowntension fade from his nape, stringing his shoulders too tightly, like a bow.

Hinata turned to him with those soft, striking eyes, and itwas a different kind of tension that strung through him anew. She said, “Thatwas kind of you, you know.”

Sasuke stared at her lips for a moment before forcinghimself to look away, not acknowledging the statement at all. He felt heatbuilding in the shells of his ears. He had thought no one around when he helpedthat old lady; never would he have imagined that someone had been watching hisrandom act of kindness, and that that someone would turn out to be Hinata.

“Foolish,” he said at last, lifting his arm as if to cross itover his chest only to remember that he no longer could. He let his hand fallawkwardly back to his side. “She shouldn’t be traveling alone in hercondition.”

“Perhaps,” Hinata agreed, not without consideration. “Buteven the elderly deserve their agency.”

Sasuke shook his head, irritated with her impartiality, butnot truly invested enough in caring about that old woman’s health to discuss it.He looked back to Hinata and could see that she thought otherwise—no one everlooked at him with such kindness. He could tell with just a look that shethought him a better person than he was, with better intentions than he trulyhad. She caught him helping an old lady, and now she thought him kind. It wasmisplaced optimism, a fool’s hope he wanted to squander. He wasn’t what she thoughthim to be.

What he actually was, was this: a hardened criminal, a willfultraitor, a proven murderer, one of the most dangerous and lethal shinobi in theentire village system. People looked at him with mixed parts disdain andsuspicion, at times curiosity, occasionally envy or admiration, but there wasalways distrust. A curled lip here, a glare there. Sasuke had even had peoplespit at him before, calling him traitor to his face. And they had a right to.He’d given them that the moment he abandoned them and their safety for his owngain. He didn’t deny them their wrath; he knew what it was to have otherstrying to cage you, suppress you, control you. He wouldn’t. 

But that didn’t make him good.Hinata looked at him like he had a right to the second chance he’d been unethicallygifted; like he was still someone whocould be saved. Like he was someone who deserved to be saved.

Did she forget who it was that tore the arm off her beloved?

Sasuke’s lip curled, and he turned away from her and tookthose retreating steps at last. He couldn’t stand to look at her anymore, withhope so brazen in her eyes as she traced over his features. She had the wrongimpression of him, and though somewhere deep in his heart he wanted to be thatperson she saw, anger made him turn away, back to the shadows of who heactually was.

Maybe in another life, in another time, where she was hisand he was hers, maybe he was a better person because of her.

“Oi! Where’re you going, bastard?”

But reality always came crashing back into his life, oneloud blustering word at a time. Against his better judgment, Sasuke turned overhis shoulder to cast Naruto a snide glance and regretted it instantly. With hisarm slung over Hinata’s shoulders, Naruto was rushing towards Sasuke, intent oncatching up.  Sasuke didn’t even considerrunning; he’d already lost too much face in front of Hinata as it was.

When they sidled up alongside him, Sasuke’s eyes leapt tothe heat under Hinata’s cheeks, the color a side effect of the arm over hershoulders, he was sure. He swallowed, and looked away.

“That man has incredible designs, Sasuke. You should reallygive him a chance.”

This, too, was a discussion they’d had several times before.Naruto thought him ridiculous for refusing to commission a prosthetic arm. Heknew vaguely that Sasuke refused any prosthesis because of what he liked tocall, “some lame form of an apology,” but even knowing that he still continuedto push.

“He has different types that he offers—one of them is a claw. Can you believe it?”

Sasuke sighed, and between them Hinata laughed under herbreath. Before Naruto even turned to her, she said, “It’s your choice,Naruto-kun…but I would prefer something other than the claw, if I get a say.”

Naruto deflated instantly, but he laughed. “How cool wouldthat be though?”

“Idiot,” Sasuke muttered, and Naruto turned on him in aninstant. “Hey!”

The three of them continued to walk together, with Hinatamoving between them, holding onto Naruto’s hand over her shoulder. Sasukestared straight ahead as Naruto continued to discuss prosthesis options, highlightingwhat types seemed coolest, before seeming to remember something important.

“Speaking of types,” he prefaced, and Sasuke felt dread curlinside of him. He deliberately did not look at Hinata, staring even harder infront of him. Several people walking past blinked at him, startled by the crosslooks he cast their way. He even heard someone passing by ask their companion, “Man,who kicked his puppy?”

Immature as it was, Sasuke’s frown deepened. He was a catperson.

Naruto chattered on ceaselessly, stoking the fire of Sasuke’sirritation. “Don’t think I‘ve forgotten what we were talking about before! I’mgoing to get to the bottom of this, believe it. You will tell me what type of person you want to kiss!”

Sasuke’s temper overturned, spilling out in frigid blasts.

His voice was cold enough to burn, sheets of rapidlythinning ice Naruto so carelessly treaded upon. “And what business is it ofyours what kind of person I want to kiss, idiot?”

“I’m your best friend! Of course it’s my business.” Naruto’swords were matter of fact, with no sign of weakness and no intent to back down.Sasuke almost growled, his throat wanting to rumble with his displeasure, butwhen he turned to glare at Naruto he had to look over Hinata’s head to do so,and the wintry storm inside of him subdued.

“And besides,” Naruto continued blithely, uncaring for thedanger he could so clearly read in Sasuke’s eyes, just this side of bleeding intoscarlet. “You deserve to have someone who you can take care of, and who’ll takecare of you—”

Sasuke stopped walking, and it was easy to convert the suddenache in his chest into the rising anger he’d been pushing down. He couldn’tlook at Hinata and hear Naruto telling him he deserved those kinds of things, knowinghow badly he wanted them despite a lifetime of telling himself he didn’tdeserve them, and knowing he wanted them with her when she had never been his, and never would be.

He stared hard at Naruto, and his voice was cutting.

“I changed my mind,” he said, reaching over Hinata’sshoulder to press two fingertips to the ball of Naruto’s closest shoulder. “Iwant to fight.”

And before he could gather the etiquette to apologize to Hinatain some way, he transported himself and Naruto into the deep green of afamiliar training field.

She didn’t flinch when thunder rolled overhead, lightningcracking the sky open only long enough for her to glance up and see the fury ofthe clouds, each more swollen and tense than the next. She didn’t have anumbrella, because she’d been so focused on grabbing her keys and not being latefor the procedure that she hadn’t even thought to grab for anything else, leastof all the umbrella tucked innocently beside her front door, nearly begging tobe used.

Instead, she allowed the rain to wash over her, plasteringher hair against her neck and face. She lifted her fingers to rub under hereyes, certain that by now her mascara would be running under the onslaught. Shebounced from foot to foot with nervous energy as she waited for the crosswalkto alight, giving her the go ahead, trying to be patient as cars continue towhir past. A sleek little machine drove too close to the curb and Hinata’salready-soaked jeans took on an even heavier consistency with the added splashof water over her front side.

“Oh,” she gasped,sputtering. “Oh, gosh. Okay. That’s okay,” she muttered to herself, clutchingher bag even more tightly to her chest. She hoped that the bags she’d wrappedover her documents were holding up and she didn’t show up to the clinic withsodden paperwork. She bit her lip, attempting to prevent the welling flood offrustration from cresting onto her features. It wasn’t like she was going to belate for work, it was just a volunteering shift, but still. She had never been late before, rain or shine, and shedidn’t want to give the impression that she didn’t take Inuzuka-san’sprofession seriously.

Sure, she’d grown up with Inuzuka-san’s brother her entirelife and had always been treated well by her family, being that she waspractically an extension of it—but still.Hinata’s father had not raised her to disappoint, and as clan heiress she madeit a point to be as perfect as possible.

She didn’t feel perfect. She pushed her hair away from herflushed cheeks, dashing the moment the crosswalk cleared. She nearly slipped ina puddle on the other side of the road, just managing to catch herself. Somaybe she hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and maybe her wrists ached fromconstant tension and felt unsure without a pen between her fingers. She’d had aharried week at her office, trying to perfect panel after panel, reworking thesame soft curves over and over again to try to make them perfect. The fewmoments of sleep she’d managed to get had not soothed her—she found herselfthinking about her boards even in sleep. She often woke with her cheek on hertablet, heart already racing with the thoughts of oh, no, I hope I didn’t drool—did I even finish the illustration I wasworking on last night?—where was the file she needed for the meeting that sameafternoon, what was the blasted name—

Hinata swiveled out of an oncoming passerby with sleekelegance, more than used to being in the way, and continued on towards heroffice at a run. Her collarbones ached and there was a crick in her back thatshe was going to need to do something about, quickly. Maybe she could take upyoga again.

She turned another corner, heading swiftly down anotherblock through crowds of people smart enough to have brought their umbrellaswith them, and ignored the looks she received as she passed by. She did offer afew muted apologies when she had to dash by some of them, causing splashes ofwater at their ankles. Hinata moved through the crowds with relative ease,seamlessly navigating with her eyes set ahead, on the corner of the clinic justbarely appearing in sight.

Her vision seemed to tunnel, relief cascading through herjust as the rain fell over her, and she began to run in earnest. She was justso tired and it had been such a messy few days before this messiest of morningsbut she was almost there, almost tothe clinic where she could see an interesting procedure that she’d been lookingforward to for days; where she couldsnuggle the animals she cared for, those that were broken or alone or in need;where she could meet her next batch of foster kittens, who’d be returning homewith her and—shit, she thoughtsuddenly, missing one of her steps, stumbling. She’d forgotten her carriers,too. Distracted and frustrated and so damned tired, Hinata missed the way the lights ahead of her had long sinceturned, engines revving closer to her, and her back foot had already left thecurb.

Somewhere in-between the next strike of lightning that splitthe sky open and the following curl of thunder so powerful that it shook hervery bones, Hinata realized her mistake.

By then, it was far too late. She was already in the street,and as air sucked back into her throat, her lungs, a gasp of true fear, hereyes turned and there was thunder and lightning right in front of her,except—that wasn’t lightning at all, but headlights; not thunder, but engines, horns, bellowing, the screaming ofbrakes and then her screaming, too.

Lightning struck to her right, a flash of gold.

The impact took her from the side, sending her flying. Sheclosed her eyes and waited for the pain, the tearing and the shattering. Whenit came, it was surprising, unexpected—not the pain she knew to expect but anabrupt loss of breath at impact against something firm but squishy, and a firmpressure against the back of her skull. There was a quiet ache in her neck fromthe inertia of movement, so sudden and striking, but other than that…nothing.

Her hearing came back and she wondered—where had it gone,and when? There was the rain, heavy and all-encompassing, and a flash…there,the thunder, rolling. Engines nearby, making her shake, the wetness of theroads beneath their tires. Then, voices, everywhere.Voices all around her, over her, so close she could imagine the owners of thosevoices could reach out and touch her. She wondered why they didn’t—was she sobroken a thing? Was that why it didn’t hurt? Was it possible to be so beyondhelp that even the pain could reach her?

She was shaking, that much she could feel, and it was sostrange. Something under her shifted, and she became aware of the pressure atthe back of her skull, firm and unmoving. She could hear the quietest rhythm ofthunder, right there under her ear, just a breath of the real thing overhead.It pounded out a steady quickened beat that slowly, slowly began to temper. Shelatched onto it, hyper-focused and afraid, but slowly feeling herself soothagainst it.

She didn’t know how long it took before she was able toblink open her eyes, and she realized that the voices had hushed around her,though they remained ever present. She studied the material under her cheek,wondered at the pressure sliding carefully away from her skull, down to hernape, and looked up to see the most striking blue eyes staring down at her. Or,she thought, frowning, up at her? It took her a bit longer than she wascomfortable admitting to realize why she was so confused, and then why shewasn’t.

She was lying on a man, and he was holding her so carefullyshe was afraid that she truly might shatter. He was taller than she was,or…longer, since they were lying down. From her position on top of his chest hehad to look up at her, down the line of his body to meet her eyes. A dizzyingcase of multiple directions wrapped up in her mind.

She could feel the heat in her face as she blinked, herheart still racing, and the man beneath her studied her eyes for a long momentbefore the smallest of smiles curled over his lips. Charmed and dizzy, Hinatawatched the words form breathlessly.

“Hey, you alright? You feeling okay? Anything hurt?”

Later, when Hinata thought back on this moment with intensescrutiny, she would wonder how she could have missed him at all. The flash ofgolden lightning before the impact—she’d thought it was lightning, but it was him. Golden, she thought, and nearlyglowing. He was beautiful in a way that Hinata usually avoided, out of sheerintimidation. There were scars on his face, but there was nothing about himthat seemed hardened, or critical. He was lax beneath her, careful with how heheld her, his hands firm but gentle. The square of his jaw intrigued her, andshe must’ve hit her head a little or somethingbecause she was consumed with curiosity about that jaw when she should’ve beenleaping to her feet, apologetic and ashamed.

“I’m okay,” she whispered at last, finding her voice, andrealizing for the nth time that they had an audience. She glanced up and heatflared down to her throat. So many people, all of them staring, and she was still on top of him. She gasped, hertrue nature returning as the confusion and dizzying distraction began to fade.She lifted a hand against his chest, preparing to push herself off him, whenshe felt his muscles contract. He shifted them easily, a seamless rollingmovement that changed their position so that he was still cradling the nape ofher neck but now looming over her. 

He studied her face, eyes dropping to her lips when shegasped, and he laughed. Hinata feltso embarrassed she almost wished she haddied, but then she never would’ve felt the strength of this stranger’s bodyagainst hers, or seen the way his smile brightened his already enamoringexpression into something that could rival the beauty of a sunrise.

Before she could do anything like sputter or attempt to hideher face, the man blinked and lowered his head to her chest and Hinata froze. She felt the warmth of his cheekagainst her exposed collarbone, the shell of his ear cold in contrast. Heclosed his eyes and Hinata watched the onlookers grin, amused and only slightlyless confused than she was. Hinata, bewildered and thinking once more thatmaybe she had died, allowed thisstranger to lay his ear against her chest and listen to her heart hammer out anervous measure in her chest.

After several moments of study with the rain continuing topour down around them—though, thankfully, the cluster of onlookers with theirsmartly held umbrellas hindered much of it from falling in Hinata’s upturnedface—She licked her lips and found her voice.

“Um, excuse me,” she started, voice trembling. “What are youdoing?”

“Listening,” he said, as if this was the most natural thingin the world. As if the amused judgment of the onlookers around them and theuncertainty in Hinata’s high-pitched question didn’t bother him at all. He waseffortlessly unperturbed, and after a long moment she felt the fingers on hernape squeeze reassuringly before he lifted his head and smiled down at her,full force. She had to blink away the sudden stars in her eyes, watching himalmost wildly.

“It’s comforting, y’know?” He said, so unabashedly genuine.Hinata felt the presence of the onlookers fade away into the background, untilit felt like there was no one else in the world but her and this strangerleaning over her. Idly, she wondered if he knew he had this kind of effect onpeople—this kind of power. The way he looked at her made her feel unique,special; like he saw no one else, and that was okay, and that was right. Hinatagazed up at him and wondered if he knew how beautiful he was—not even infeatures, though there was that, too, but wholly, entirely in character. “Knowingit’s beating real strong in there.”

He had saved her life, hadn’t he?

She studied him, unable to look away, her embarrassmentfading as she counted the freckles in his irises, flakes of golden brownspeckled around his pupils. Treasures in the sea of his stare, temporarily hersfor collecting.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words barely making itthrough. She cleared her throat, frowning, and repeated herself. “Thank you.”

His smile was a reward, a second saving grace. He began toshift, and Hinata remembered all too suddenly that he had been on top of her.He shifted his weight to his left knee, pulling her up with him, though neitherof them stood. He helped to move her into a seated position, hands flutteringover her carefully, as though seeking injuries. His demeanor tilted ever soslightly, into something more professional. He began to ask her medicalquestions, enough so that Hinata realized that he was not only a stand out lifesaver today, but that he probably saved lives for a living.

“Are you a doctor?” She asked, as he ran his fingers overher ankle, checking for pain. The touch was not sexual, but Hinata felt it tothe tips of her toes anyways. His eyes jumped back to her, smiling andeffervescent.

“Nah,” he said carelessly, shrugging. “Not a doc, just aparamedic.”

“Not just,” Hinataemphasized, glancing up in surprise to see their crowd slowly dispersing nowthat it was clear there was no gruesome injury present. With their umbrellasgone, Hinata and the stranger who’d saved her quickly became soaked under theunerring onslaught of the rain once more. She noticed offhandedly that hedidn’t have an umbrella, either. Just a worn black coat over a rusted orangehoodie for protection against the rain, except he didn’t have the hood on,either.

Preoccupied, Hinata could hear sirens in the distance andexpected someone had called for emergency services, but she didn’t need them.She felt fine—amazing, even, under the callused touch of this stranger’sdiligent hands. “You saved my life.”

He said nothing to that, and she had the vague impressionthat she’d made him uncomfortable. She tried to meet his eyes,uncharacteristically brave in a moment of needing him to know exactly what hadhad done for her, and how much she appreciated it.

“You did, you know.” Her quiet voice carried, obscuredslightly under another peal of thunder. Yet, this kind stranger looked up andmet her eyes for a moment before a measure of happiness so great it crinkledthe sides of his eyes rose over his expression, and Hinata thought maybe shemight need those emergency services after all.

“Ah, well,” he side-stepped. “No big deal. I’m just gladyou’re alright! You have a strong heart there,” and he nodded to her chest, asthough she would’ve thought he meant anything else  in the world from his comment. At therealization that he’d been listening to it when she’d been nervously thinkingabout being under him, she ducked her head. Her bangs were too wet to hide herface as they usually did, but the gesture was comforting all the same.

“Where were you headed so fast, anyways?”

At that, everything came rushing back to her. How long hadthey been here? When she asked him breathlessly what time it was, she realizedthat barely any time had passed at all. The procedure was probably justbeginning, and Hinata was missing some of it, and that was disappointing, but.

Hinata looked up at her handsome savior—stranger, and shefelt the anxiety wane. She would not miss the procedure, but she’d almost died trying to get to it, so she figuredwalking in a few minutes late would be acceptable at the very least.

She pointed over his shoulder towards the clinic, saying, “Ivolunteer at Fang and Bone.”

The usual response to the clinic’s name was lost on Hinata’sstranger, which led her to believe that he’d been there before. Her assumptionwas proved correct when he shared an amused look with her and said,“Interesting name, huh? I brought a kitten there not too long back, poor littleguy.”

Something sparked in his eyes and amusement made hisfeatures even more open and friendly. He laughed a little under his breath.“Ironic enough, I found him in the middle of the street, too.”

Hinata felt heat all the way up into the tips of her ears,and her stranger laughed out loud at the put-upon look on her face.

“You saved his life too, then.”

“Hana-chan did, actually.” He said the veterinarian’s firstname so casually that Hinata’s expression went through a cycle of mourning—eyebrowsjumping up in surprise, eyes turning down in disappointment, lips curlingwryly. He watched her curiously, almost distracted when he added, “I justdumped him in her lap for fixing.”

“Ah, I see.” Hinata silently reprimanded herself for feelingso down at the realization that not only was this man so obviouslypartnered—who in their right mind would ever let him go?—but also because Hanawas an incredible person, an intelligent and efficient and dedicated worker.She was strong and confident and there wasn’t a thing in the world that couldstop her when she had her mind set on something. Of course she’d have goneafter this man who shone so brightly Hinata was certain that sunrises wouldpale in comparison.

“She’s quite incredible,” Hinata admitted, allowing a smallsmile to show. “I’ve volunteered there for quite some time, and I always learnnew things from her.”

The man hummed, eyes tracing over Hinata’s features for amoment.

“If you’ve been there for a long time, maybe you took careof the kitten I brought in.” He moved his hand from her nape—she’d forgottenthat he was helping brace her there—and rested his hand gently on her shoulder.“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? Can you stand?”

Surprised at the slight shift in topic, Hinata found herselfnodding silently. His fingers slid off her shoulder and down along her arm in aswift, unerring movement before he grasped her hand and helped to bring herback to her feet. He helped steady her even though she didn’t need the help;she felt completely healthy, if a little shaken. The cars just a few feet awayfrom them continued to race along the streets, and Hinata felt a novel sense ofdisquiet at the proximity. She figured she’d have to deal with that over thenext few months, or maybe even years, as the feeling seemed to have alreadyrooted quite deep.

“So,” her stranger said, clearing his throat a little.Hinata could see the lights attached to the sirens just over his shoulder,turning the corner a block down and headed in their direction. “What’s yourname?”

Blinking, Hinata heard the question as though through a tankof water, warbled and muddy. “I’m sorry?”

He reached a hand up to rub idly at the nape of his neck,displacing some of his hair there. A nervous habit, maybe? Hinata hadn’timagined this man could have a nervous bone in his body, and yet—

“Your name,” he reiterated, with more volume and confidence,unashamed to ask twice. “I don’t know your name.”

“Oh,” she breathed, “My name is Hyuuga Hinata.”

He smiled, cheekily reaching out as if to shake her hand. Hedidn’t react at all to her surname, and Hinata felt a curious, honest kind ofjoy at the fact.

“Uzumaki Naruto. It’s nice to meet you.”

Hinata felt as though they’d been transported into anotherdimension—as though time had bent, just slightly, and they were somewhere else.Sirens blared ever closer, and in another timeline, somewhere and some timeelse, maybe Naruto and Hinata were meeting in this same exact way, sans the sirensand the almost-manslaughter. Maybe they were meeting for the second time, orthe seventh. Sirens warbled. Maybe they were happy.

When their hands parted, the sirens cut off and theemergency vehicles parked behind Naruto, right on the curb. Naruto greeted themedics by name, and they seemed surprised but pleased to see him, bumping fistsand asking after him for a brief moment before coming to her, professionalismwinning out. They assessed her in just the same way Naruto had, but he didn’tsay anything to deter them. Instead, he stood back and reiterated something toone of the firefighters who’d arrived—a woman taller than Naruto by a head,with spiked blonde hair and shrewd eyes.

Hinata heard Naruto mention someone to the fire captain’sexasperation, and she watched as the tall woman crossed her arms. Even dressedin her turnouts, it was apparent that she was corded with muscle, her figure asimposing as it was threatening.

“He’s such a fucking sloth,” Hinata heard the woman sigh,almost affectionately.

“Please, you love him. Laziness and all.”

“Sure do,” she admitted easily, grinning. “They’re settingup a banquet in honor of him and his research at the end of the year. I’ll mailyou an invite. Don’t miss it, punk.”

“Cool!” Naruto exclaimed, tucking his hands in his pockets.He said something else as Hinata was distracted, answering a few last questionsbefore denying the need for a trip in the ambulance to the hospital.

“Alright, well then, take care miss.”

Hinata nodded, offering, “You as well. Thank you.”

As the firefighters began to amass back into theirrespectful vehicles, Naruto patted the striking woman on the arm and walkedaway from her, heading back to Hinata now that she wasn’t being askedprofessional and personal questions. All in all, they hadn’t done much morethan Naruto himself had done, but she understood protocol. He seemed to haveagreed, stepping back to let them do their things without distracting orinterfering.

Now that the big trucks wheezed off and down the road,merging seamlessly if not a little aggressively back into the traffic aroundthem, Hinata glanced back to find Naruto removing his coat. Lightning cutthrough the sky and split him into equal parts wonder, half shadowed and halfalight for the briefest of moments. Both sides, Hinata thought quietly, were amarvel.

As Naruto lifted his coat over his head and moved towardsher, Hinata finally understood what he was doing and sputtered.

“Oh, it’s okay, I don’t mind—”

“It’s dumping,” Naruto refuted, coming to stand so close toher she could feel the heat radiating off of him. He held his coat over theboth of them, though she noticed that one of his broad shoulders was beingneglected. Bolstering her courage, she stepped slightly closer until hershoulder touched his ribs, and the coat was able to be shifted back into place.Naruto’s left shoulder was saved.

Smiling at the thought, Hinata glanced up and realized thatNaruto was looking down at her, eyes soft, cheeks slightly pink.

“Well, I know you were in a hurry and all, but would youmind if I went with you to Fang and Bone?”

Fang and Bone! Howmany times was she going to be distracted enough to forget that was she late, and oh, Hana, and oh, Naruto and Hana. Her heart wentthrough a series of whiplash like motions in her chest, until Hinata justmanaged to nod and together she and Naruto safely crossed the street in thedownpour, their boots splashing along. They danced across another crosswalk andit was embarrassing how close she’d been, before disaster had struck. Disasterthat had been completely avoidable, had she been thinking clearly. She reallyneeded to get better sleep.

When they stopped outside the clinic, Hinata reached intoher pocket to get her key. She fitted it to the lock and pushed the door to theside room open, hesitating for a moment before holding it open completely andencouraging Naruto inside. He was probably more at home here than she was,considering his closeness with Hana. She studied him as he stepped inside,shaking off his coat and then slipping his arms back into it. It was oversized,probably used, and very old, but it was charming hanging off of his broadshoulders.

“Would you mind—hold on for one moment, please?”

“Sure,” he said glibly, glancing around at the interior,shivering a bit. He tucked his hands back into his pockets as she turned torace to the back room, surprised to find none of the lights on in the hallway.A niggling thought picked at her the further into the clinic she got, when shecouldn’t hear the usual hustle-bustle of patrons and their pets waiting to beseen. Maybe it was because she’d bypassed the front and gone straight the intobowels of the joint, intent on finding Hana as quickly as possible toapologize. She headed straight for the appropriate suite for the procedure, andturned the handle.

Locked.

Locked? Hinatastood there with her fingers curled around the cold handle for several momentsbefore, with an embarrassed flush, realization dawned on her. It was Sunday. Not Monday. The clinic wasclosed on Sundays, because the Inuzuka’s travelled north to visit their elders,some sort of weekly rite.

Hinata was kicking herself the entire walk back, wonderinghow on Earth she was going to explain this to Naruto and not look like the foolshe was. Of course after a string of messy days and an awful morning whereshe’d forgotten her keys, then forgotten an umbrella, then almost died—ofcourse the day would come to a close with one more disaster. She didn’t knowwhy she was surprised.

She turned back into the side room and found Naruto pickingat something on his jeans, right where she’d left him. Distracted suddenly bythe realization that he’d only really offered to walk her over here and hadnever claimed to want to spend any other time with her, she began to panic,feeling awful.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you in here, especiallybecause, well…they’re actually closed.” Sheepish, Hinata bowed her head alittle, gauging Naruto’s reaction through her eyelashes. He didn’t react much,and that made Hinata pause. If he was dating Hana, shouldn’t he have knownabout the Sunday rite?

Without thinking, Hinata found herself blurting the questionout, though not in so many words.

Instead, she asked, “Wait, didn’t Inuzuka-san tell you?”

Naruto’s eyebrows rose. “Hana-chan? Tell me what?”

“About Sundays…I mean, I don’t want to come off rude. Iapologize, I’m having a weird few days. But she’s your girlfriend, right? Sheisn’t shy or quiet about, well, most things, but especially Sunday rite.”

Naruto said nothing for several long moments, merely blinkingat her. He opened his mouth a few separate times, as if about to say something,before confusion wiped the words away.

At last, he seemed to ground himself.

Elegantly, he said, “Huh?”

Hinata frowned slightly, but before she could explain again Narutostuttered out a laugh, a confused bubble of surprise.

“What’s this about Sundays? And girlfriend? Oh no. No way! I mean there’s nothingwrong with her, I guess, but she’d kinda scary, y’know? And I only met her theone time with the kitten, and she threatened to cut my balls off because shethought he’d been mine, and just…no.”

It was Hinata’s turn to stare blankly at Naruto, blinking, ashe took a deep breath and continued on rambling.

“Sorry Hinata, I’m so confused, but what do you mean Sundayright? Like are you asking me if it’s Sunday? ‘it’s Sunday, right?’ Because itis. Sunday, I mean.”

Understanding was a garden blooming inside of Hinata, petalsupturned to the sunlight and absorbing all of Naruto’s confused ramblings andexplanations as though every tendril of his voice nourished the inherent joy inher. She laughed, shaking her head and stopping him before her hurt himself—or her,lest she fall down in a fit of laughter.

“I’m so sorry—I misunderstood—oh, how confusing that must’vebeen. I apologize, that was my bad.”

The latter sentiment was a phrase she’d learned from hersister, a trendier and more casual turn of phrase than Hinata was used tousing. She’d grown up with elegant pleasantries and no idle chatter, beforeHanabi was born. Since becoming an older sister, Hinata had learned that therewas much more to life than rules and strict politics of being. Long ago shemight’ve felt embarrassed, using such lingo. She could still see the scowls ofher elders. But then she thought of Hanabi’s smug expression, and she’d longsince grown used to being comfortable with similar simple, fun turns of phrase.

Naruto showed no judgment, only relief. He sighed, shoulderssagging, and laughed a little as he said, “Oh good, because wow, let me tellyou, I was lost.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, grinning, moving closer to himacross the room until she could lean against the island at her back. The coolcounter leeched some warmth from the small of her back, but she didn’t mind it.She could use a little cool-mindedness, right about then. “The way you refer toInuzuka-san…I assumed that you two were partners. Significant others.”

Hinata stumbled over the terms. She wasn’t old, just aboutto turn twenty-eight in a month or so, but she had a dismal dating history.Dismal, in that it was almost non-existent. She felt naïve and uncertain, didn’teven know what the kids were calling simple relationships these days. Girlfriendsand boyfriends, partners and lovers, significant others. She hadn’t a clue.

“Oh,” Naruto huffed, curious. “Nah, that ain’t it. It’s kindof a joke that I had when I met her, because she’d super easy to rile up. Shereally feels like a big sister when you meet her. I don’t really care for, uh,whaddya call it. Like proper respectful titling?”

Hinata looked at Naruto and wondered at what kind of personhe was, that he could so easily and carelessly disregard generations worth oftradition without a care in the world for backlash it might incur. She thoughtof her upbringing—nothing but traditionand strict rules and judgment, and it baffled her. She had to admit to herself,too, that his chaotic, carefree nature drew her in even more. She wanted toknow more about him, to understand why he didn’t care about traditions likethat, and why he felt so comfortable calling someone something personal, almostfamiliar. She wanted to know so much more about him, to get closer, to reachout—

“If you remember, I, uh,” he was saying, bringing that samehand back to the nape of his neck. “I called you by your first name, y’know.Just a bit ago, actually.”

Hinata’s thoughts froze, rewinding the metaphorical tapes,and Naruto wasn’t lying—he had calledher by her first name. She was shocked at how easy it had been, so casual she’dmissed it. Now that he’d remindedher, though, she felt heat pooling in her gut, rising over her throat to hernose and spreading out to her cheeks and ears. He’d said her name.

“Oh,” Hinata breathed.

Naruto laughed, “Yup.”

Hinata fidgeted in the brief silence that followed, slightlyawkward but in a strange way, a little charming, too. Naruto watched her with afondness she couldn’t ignore, and she wondered if she was looking to deeplyinto things or if he genuinely liked looking.

After a moment, Naruto pushed himself away from the counterhe’d been leaning on across from her, and stepped closer. Hinata’s heart nearlyseized up, then went into working overtime. He was cautious in his approach, asthough deliberately trying not to frighten her.

“Hey,” he said softly, defiantly shattering the silence aroundand between them. He reached out and Hinata felt the heat of his fingertipsbefore they even touched her skin, trailing across her cheekbone, tucking a wetstrand of hair behind her flushed ear. There was a tinge of redness to hischeeks, too, and Hinata wanted desperately to kiss him. She thought about it, too,but it felt too forward, to presumptuous, she’d only just met him. She wondered if he wanted to kiss her, too. “I know it’sbeen kinda a weird day and all, but, uh.”

“Wanna grab something to eat?” He asked, and Hinata feltbutterflies set aflutter.

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation, still feeling the heatfrom his touch even after his hand had returned to his side, and she saw him flexit, just once, as though the feeling of her skin had left a lasting impression.“I would love that.”

Naruto smiled, and after a moment of just gazing at eachother, curious and joyful, both, they moved together towards the door. Narutoshrugged out of his coat as they moved through the doorway, and Hinata’s smilewas pure, unadulterated delight. She imagined putting this moment down onpaper, sketching the lines of them together, her curves against his bulk,tucked under a torn, well-loved coat. How easy it would be, she thought as shefit the key to the lock and felt Naruto’s eyes on her nape, to turn to him,look up, and kiss the square of his jaw.

Maybe in another place, some other time, she thought lightheartedly,feeling wholly carefree for the first time in months. She turned back to Naruto, looked up into his remarkableeyes, the breathtaking sincerity of his smile, and stepped closer to him underthe protection of his coat.

Maybe, she thought happily—

She looked up into oceans of feeling, depthless andunreachable; the distance between them had never felt so vast. There wereoceans between them, and every grain of sand and every fragment of reef settledinto place by his hand.

“I understand,” Hinata said, at last. There was salt on herlips. This, however, was her doing.

She wished that she could leave it at that, just let it beeasy on herself this one time, in this inescapable moment of cruel realitycrashing around her—wished she could just let it go, walk away, head held high, genuine in her brokenness but notfalling to pieces…but. But her heart had never made things easy for her, not fora minute, not for a mile. It put distance between her and others then beggedher to close it. It taught her how to lock it away, a monster behind bars,instructed her on how to throw away the key. Then it looked through the cracks andit pounded out of the walls and it wanted,oh, how it wanted, and she could do nothing but to craft a new key, break downthose new walls, release it, set it free, hope that it might—

Naruto looked up to meet her eyes and Hinata was reminded ofhow it felt to be on the inside of those walls, looking so desperately out.

“I’m sorry, y’know,” he said, and she’d lost track of howmany times he’d apologized. It was the sincerity behind the words that hurt themost, even as she found her cracked lips quirking, the smallest of smiles—becausethat was so Naruto. To truly,genuinely wish that he could have loved her the way that she loved him, and toapologize, so decent, so honest, and to seem almost as though he felt as brokenas she was. Almost. “I tried—I tried to feel it, too. I wanted to—”

“Please,” Hinata whispered, and she had to close her eyes.Her heart ached, it ached, and shecouldn’t bear to hear Naruto try so desperately to find the words to wraparound the barren truth of the fact that he couldn’t love her even after trying. Truly, truly trying. He was toobeautiful there, in front of the trees, moonlight catching in the cobalt depthsof his eyes, wet with almost-tears. His heart was so pure, his emotions sovisceral. She was not surprised at his distress in the face of rejecting her.Not surprised, no.

It was just another ache. She could feel the way the airtrembled around him, how shaken up he was. There was almost a heat to him,radiating off and towards her, over the deep sea of distance he’d put betweenthem. The pool beside them was quiet, soft and melodic, barely moving under thewind’s musical fingers that danced over the surface. Hinata could sense theleaves that weren’t strong enough to hold on falling from the canopiesoverhead, and she counted them as they hit the ground, to be forgotten.

She opened her eyes and tasted new tears, new salt along herlips. Where Naruto was a crashing, volcanic ocean of distress before her she feltan unmoving, untouchable glacier. Arctic and still; she would shatter with theslightest pressure. Maybe they were too different after all, maybe they hadbeen all along. Naruto had always been loud;boisterous and brave and heroic, kind and strong and bright, so bright—and Hinata.

Maybe Hinata was just too quiet, too reticent, too much andtoo little and yet—not enough.

She didn’t know where exactly she didn’t measure up, onlythat she didn’t. And that…that wasenough.

She wished she could just let this go. She looked over atthe man she had loved for years, for years,and her heart began to beg once more. Silently, silently, and she couldn’t helpbut to lift a hand to her chest, over the skin behind which her heart pleaded.

Shh, she thought,silently gasping, feeling at a loss for air, for the calm she tried to use tosoothe her heart. Shh.

Maybe if this meant less, if her heart wasn’t bent onbreaking even more than it already had, well, then maybe she could have allowedthis to be easy. To express her understanding, he didn’t love her, to smile and apologize and maybe she couldjoke, make light of this, tell him it was okay and they’d just stay friends anddon’t worry and—he couldn’t love her.

She thought of the way he’d smiled at her when she hadgathered the courage to ask him to ramen, and how her confidence had flutteredfree from the confines of her chest when he had said yes. She thought of the way he used to hold her hand. His callusesagainst hers. She thought of the many times he’d saved her life, and thehandful where she had saved his. Shethought of the moment in the snow, when they were children, the scarf and herheart and the sound of it between them.

She looked at him now, moonlight scattered amongst thecanopy above them, and that same heart which he had so gently shattered momentsbefore still tried desperately to piece itself back together in his image.

She smiled, and she couldn’t help it. She said, “We could’vebeen something special, right?”

She considered the jagged step he took towards her a final consolation;a selfish, small victory she could nestle in against the pieces of herself she’dhave to learn how to pick up and put back together later. Naruto did not say aword, but something broke free from him, too, and that wasn’t nothing, either.

She acknowledged the space between them and took a stepbackwards, lifting one hand up to offer a gentle goodbye. Naruto couldn’t findthe words, of that she could see, but she was charmed by the effort, the wayhis lip trembled even as he stood tall. He shook his head, but he didn’t reachfor her, didn’t try to stop her from leaving.

She had never been so vulnerable, but she didn’t mind it.There would be no other time like this for her to be honest with him. Somethingabout that certainty made her brave, nearly fearless.

“I apologize if I ever made you uncomfortable,” and maybe hervoice shook, and she was embarrassed by it, but she was strong enough tocontinue through new trails of tears and a throat that no longer knew how toform words without jagged edges sticking out. “I don’t regret loving you. I’monly sorry that I may have wasted your time.”

“No, hey,” Naruto took another step toward her, and she knewit was unintentional but every movement he made to close the gap he’d laidbetween them made hope swell like pulses of her heartbeat within her chest. Heatedand dangerous. She shook her head and he stilled, frozen to the spot, souncharacteristically unsure of himself. She hated that she was the one who had causedthat uncertainty.

“It’s okay, really,” she said quietly, offering him one lastsmile, small though it might’ve been. It was all that she could muster, and itwas genuine. She turned from him, feeling the wind moving over her, the sharpweight of loneliness settling over her. “Thank you.”

With her back to him, she allowed her lips to form the shapeof his name, the barest of whispers.

“Naruto.”

And then she walked away with her head held high, and everystep away from Uzumaki Naruto was a new ache, a new pain, a new shard of hershattered heart falling to her feet.

She lifted her chin, hand still over her heart, tearstrailing over her cheeks.

And the wind and the loneliness followed close behind.