Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They’re five hours deep into the thrilling job of filing when she pulls away from the manilla folder trapped between her hands and says, “I’m moving out.”

Itachi takes this information in carefully. He assesses the form of Hinata Hyuuga from across the small, oval table they’re stationed at, surrounded by painted oak shelves full of the very files they’ve been asked to organize. There are no signs of stress in her posture; the line from neck to shoulder to fingertip is clear of any irked angle or tense muscle spasms. Her eyes are dim and tired, but he would deduce that more so had to do with the hours of reading she’s been doing all day. From what he can tell, this is not a last-minute thing she’s come up with after a horrible experience with her family that she has gotten around to telling him, so Itachi is sure she’s been thinking long and hard about this.

Clicking his pen, Itachi scribbles a name and date on the front of his own folder before standing and walking over to the shelf behind her. “When?”

“Next week.” Her head follows him. “In six days.”

“You already found a place?”

Her silence stretches out. Itachi pushes the folder between two files before turning to her, finding she’s back to flipping through the manilla folder.

“Yeah,” she says, voice soft and low in an almost purposeful sense. “East side, in the Azabu district.”

Realization is a curling sensation against his spine that makes him feel like a kid. He knows the place she speaks of well — simply because that’s where the Uchiha estate and the police force office are located. It is no coincidence she just happens to be moving there, and Itachi cannot fight the grin off his face as his hands slide over the back of the chair next to her, pulling it back so that he may sit.

“ Hmm,” he hums, “that’s awfully close.”

She looks up, eyes pointed, then softening, and her hand isn’t fast enough to reach her mouth before a laugh escapes her.

“The apartments are nice there.”

“You’re getting an apartment?”

“No.” Hinata matches his grin. “But they are nice.”

Snorting, he swipes the folder from under her palms, glancing through the pages before pulling out his pen once more and scribbling dates and names on the front. “I cannot imagine your clan being pleased with you living by the Uchiha.”

“It’s not like I’m your next-door neighbor. I’ll be . . . say, a five-minute walk away.”

“Well, that makes all the difference.”

She slaps his arm playfully, and he nudges her chair with his foot before standing to file the folder in the correct spot on the shelves. There’s still a mighty pile they still have to go through towering in the middle of the oval table, and Itachi wonders if they’ll be able to get through it all tonight. He checks his watch, sees it’s far beyond dinnertime, and pats the back of Hinata’s chair, startling her from grabbing another file from the pile.

“We should get going,” he tells her.

Her eyes hover over the pile. “We still have plenty left.”

He leans his hip against the side of the table and crosses his arms, peering down at the tower of folders, yellowing documents, and clipped paperwork. “How many do you wager?”

Hinata’s eyes lag, taking in everything. “Eighty.”

“My guess is eighty-one.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Cheat.”

“If you’re closer, we stay all night and finish up like good, little ninjas.”

Hands already pulling half of the stack over, Hinata asks, “And if you’re closer?”

“You’re joining me for dinner.”

The smile she’s trying to fight off is giddy and a little intrigued by his offer. He likes to think the only reason she doesn’t go ahead and give in is because Hyuugas have an inane desire to win, to conquer, to be on top. But then again, Uchihas are known for their egos, so perhaps he’s the one playing into the stereotype.

With a nod, Hinata agrees to the terms, and they both start counting their half of the pile. He double-checks his, and she triple-checks hers before they’re satisfied with their findings.

“Thirty-nine,” Hinata says.

Itachi leans his chin in his palm. “Forty-two.”

Her eyes shift between a dazed sort of look and something a little more concentrated and focused. She doesn’t accuse him of cheating because he wouldn’t, and she knew he wouldn’t. Instead, her hands rest on her own stack, and she stares up at him, as if searching him.

“Exactly eighty-one,” she murmurs. “And we both know you don’t do coincidences, Itachi.”

He simply smiles and stands, walking over to the only door of the Archives, where their coats hang on the wall hanger to the left. He pulls his own before taking Hinata’s beige and puffy jacket off the silver hook and carrying it to the table. She’s yet to stand, instead gathering both halves of the stack into a straight pile that will wait for them to be sorted in the morning.

“How did you know?’ she asks.

He holds out her jacket. “I’ll tell you over dinner.”

His tone is a tad cheeky, which Hinata picks up with ease. Her arms lag in the air, fumbling through her coat’s sleeves, and by the time she’s done, her breathing is a little rugged, like she’d run an entire kilometer without stop or pacing.

“Maybe it’s good that you won,” she says. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

“Trying to get out of dinner with me, Ms. Hyuuga?” Despite his teasing words, his hand lifts to her forehead, palm kissing the skin. She felt warm, but they had both been huddled up in this room for a while, so it wasn’t something that set alarms in his mind.

“Never.”

She stands, wobbles a bit on her feet, and joins him at his side.

Chapter Text

The Archives are a tiny room in the basement of the Hokage Tower. They have to walk up a flight of stairs and traverse a few complex hallway systems before they make their way through the main doorway that leads them out into the cold, February evening, and by then, Hinata is panting, neck slightly damp with sweat.

Itachi’s concern goes from three to nine in that instant, and all thoughts of dinner leave his head.

“You look pale,” he says. And she did. Perhaps it was the lighting in the Archives, but she didn’t look nearly as ghostly down there.

They pass through the gate, lifting their hands in farewell to guards and other employees leaving for the night. Hinata keeps a polite face until they’ve turned the corner to a more secluded street, and then her whole body seems to crumble into itself. Itachi catches her shoulder and helps her to a bench, where they sit shoulder-to-shoulder.

“It wasn’t this bad an hour ago,” she says. “It only started when I stood and started moving around.”

He watches the light puffs of breath leaving her mouth. “I’m sure the cold is not helping. Let’s get you home.”

Thankfully, the Hyuuga are closer to the Hokage Tower than the Uchiha are; or perhaps that’s not as good a thing as Itachi wants to believe it is. Frankly, he’d much rather her come to his home, where he can examine her symptoms more closely. He kept this to himself, of course; knowing that she plans to be moving to his neighborhood in a week has made him a lot more selfish and a lot less patient.

After she collects herself, they both stand, and Hinata wraps one arm around his as they make their way down the street. The moon is orange that night, hanging over the mountain range, and the wind is biting and cold.

“Sorry about dinner,” she whispers.

Itachi pulls his arm from hers to fix the collar of her coat, pushing it closer to her jaw to keep the wind from touching the sensitive skin of her face and neck. When he’s done, he takes her hand, instead, covering it with his own and warming it up.

“Another time,” he reassures.

Her smile is tired but genuine. “How did you know there were eighty-one files, Itachi?”

Her curiosity makes the night seem warm, and despite himself, Itachi pulls his own collar away, letting the cold wind slip in and cool his skin. “Lord Hokage gave us three-hundred files today. We went through two-hundred nineteen. It was basic subtraction.”

“You counted all the files we went through.” It wasn’t a question. It was like this was something she expected for him to do.

“Who knows,” he muses.

“What for?” she pushes.

They take a road lined with trees. In April, the entire street is filled with cherry blossoms, like they are a flood. Itachi remembers coming here with Hinata last year, and the year before that — and the many years before that. He wonders idly if he’ll have the chance to bring her this year. Somehow, he feels it will be different this time — or maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“That’s where that toy maker always puts her stall.” Hinata nods to a little nook between buildings. “Remember? You bought Sasuke a cat one time. When he was ten.”

The memory blooms in his mind. It had been a clay cat, and on its head were painted sakura petals. Sasuke had held it close to his chest, careful not to break it as they walked through the crowd. Hinata hadn’t even asked to hold it, as if she knew how important it was to Sasuke; she had just stayed at his side, peeking at his hands every now and then to get a glimpse of the toy.

“I remember,” Itachi says.

They turn onto a stretch of road that will eventually lead them to the Hyuuga gates.

After a while, Hinata tries again. “Did you count the files because you already planned to make that bet?”

“That makes it sound unfair from the start.”

She doesn’t push farther. Her eyes are closed, and she lets him lead her. Her complete trust is in him as she walks, blind, down the street. Her fingers press into his palm, and he squeezes back, telling her he’ll keep her safe, keep her on the right path. She can trust him.

It’s a quiet night that they can’t help but enjoy. They listen to their own footfalls and how they sound together. They listen to wind rustling through bare tree branches and the low buzz of overhead street lamps. It sounds like a musical. It sounds like everything is being composed just for them.

When the Hyuuga gate comes into his line of sight, Itachi touches her shoulder, making her stop. Her eyes peek open and watch him shuffle off his jacket, hanging it over her shoulders. It’s drastically big on her, reaching her ankles, and he snorts at the sight of her.

“You'll get cold,” she says with a frown.

“You’re sick,” he counters with a grin.

Her attention turns to her clan’s estate, and she understands immediately. “ Itachi. ”

He steps back, liking the sight of his family’s crest draped down her back. “You’ll be moving into our neighborhood soon. You’re practically Uchiha now.”

Her laugh brings pink to her cheeks, and she shakes her head and shoos him away before walking the rest of the way to the gate. Itachi almost has the mind to follow her, if only to see the reaction of the Hyuuga when their own passes through, cloaked in Uchiha fans. He stops himself from doing so, of course.

He’ll see their reaction tomorrow, after all.

Chapter Text

Her room is nearly empty, save from the stacks of boxes by her closet. All that’s left is flimsy, white curtains, a side table, and (of course) the bed she’s currently laying on. Itachi thinks the room looks way too Hyuuga when all the Hinata is stripped bare of it, but he keeps this to himself as he peers down at her sweaty face and bloodshot eyes.

“Flu, huh?”

Her bangs are stuck to her forehead, and when she speaks, it sounds hoarse and awful. “Are you okay?”

His tongue kisses the backs of his teeth as he tugs at her quilt. “Worry about yourself.”

The disposable mask he’s wearing is perhaps a size too small, and he has to adjust it and pinch it over the bridge of his nose. With him, he brought a plastic bag full of things his mother demanded he bring when he told her Hinata came down with a bug. He had to dig through magazines and a neti pot and bandages — she insisted on these, even though he told her time and time again that Hinata didn’t have an open wound or a broken arm — in order to find the thermometer at the bottom.

“Who told you I had the flu?” she asks.

Now he’s searching for the disinfectant wipes and water bottle he also brought. “Your cousin. I don’t think he’ll be allowing you to be walking around any time soon.” He gives her empty room an exaggerated look. “Especially not for the move.”

Her sigh is exasperated, trailing off into an exhausted groan at the end. “I’m moving.”

Her firm answer makes him smile. “You’re also sick.”

“You’re right.” With glassy eyes and chapped lips and an obvious, sickly complexion, Hinata grins at him. “How have I not noticed before?”

Cheeky thing. Still, his heart sort of stops for a second. It takes a short breather in his chest, and he flicks the side of her jaw to get that look off her face. It doesn’t; really, her grin just gets bigger, and she wheezes a laugh as she turns her head to the side.

“Be serious, Hinata.”

“I am,” she says. “Really. I don’t think I can stand to live here much longer.”

He doesn’t have to inquire further to understand. Ever since he stepped foot into the Hyuuga complex not three minutes ago, he’s felt the collective weight of several pairs of byakugan eyes following his every move through walls and paper doors. It’s not something he’s unused to, of course; in fact, he can put a name to most eyes if he thinks hard enough. The one that pushes daggers into the back of his skull is Neji, usually, and the one that every so often turns to analyze Hinata belongs to Ko. Hanabi’s byakugan tends to stray on certain areas of his body, and sometimes he has to give the corner of the room a knowing look to ward off her searching gaze for a while.

“They care,” he says, because he knows they do, and so does she, even if it gets on her nerves sometimes.

“Yes.” Her own gaze turns to that corner of the room. Her own byakugan does not activate, but she knows as well as he does who is spying on them. “You care, too, but at least you’re not watching me through the walls.”

Finding the disinfectant wipes, Itachi takes a moment to focus on cleaning the end of the thermometer. When he’s done, he washes it with water and says, “You’re right. I’m the poor guy who came to aid you back to health. Tongue up.”

Hinata does as she’s told, and he sticks the thermometer under her tongue and watches the numbers climb.

There’s a light rap at the window, but Itachi knows exactly who it is by the heat of his chakra. He meets his baby brother’s gaze through the glass and shakes his head, but Sasuke ignores his warning and pushes the pane up, allowing him to lean forward and look down at Hinata’s sorry state.

“Damn,” he mutters, “you look like shit.”

She gives him a look, not saying anything due to the thermometer still hanging from her mouth. Sasuke tries to crawl in, but Itachi half-stands to put a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have a mask.”

“Didn’t realize I would have two moms today,” Sasuke bites back.

Ignoring his jab, Itachi turns back to Hinata just as her thermometer starts to beep. He pulls it from her mouth, reads the temperature, and is pleased.

She watches him from the bed. “Will I live, Doctor?”

“You’re a lucky woman, Ms. Hyuuga. Not many people your age survive this bug.”

She laughs, wheezes, falls into a coughing fit, then groans into her pillow.

Sasuke pulls a small bottle from his pocket and shakes it in the air. “You forgot the medicine. Other Mom made me run all the way over to bring it.”

“You had to run all the way from the other side of the village?” Itachi takes the bottle and pops the lid open with the side of his thumb. “How will you survive?”

“Barely.” Sasuke looks back down at Hinata. “Ne. I heard we’re going to be neighbors soon.”

Itachi pretends he doesn’t feel her gaze on his face as he reads the back of the bottle, searching through the information to find out how many tablets he should give her.

“Itachi told you?” she asks Sasuke.

His little brother snorts. “Mom practically forced it out of him. He came home in a good mood. Obviously, something had to be up.”

He sees Hinata smile in the corner of his eye. “He won a bet last night and got to leave early.”

“And you let him?” Sasuke sighs and rests his chin on the back of his wrist. “You’re a bad influence, Big Brother.”

“Lock me up while you have the chance.” He grabs Hinata’s hand, turns it so that her palm faces the ceiling, and plops two pills in her grasp. Then he hands her the bottle of water. “Take two every four hours.”

“What? You’re her mom, too?” Sasuke balks.

“Thank you, Itachi.” Hinata takes the pills, drinks a good amount of water, and smiles up at Sasuke. “You too. Thanks for bringing the medicine.”

Sasuke has an Uchiha look that is common and everyday for Itachi: a nonchalant stare matched with a pursed line that is neither smile nor frown. He looks upon the world like it is just ordinary, like he sees it everyday. That is how he looks down at Hinata, no twinge of anything beyond simple observation — the act of simply gazing at something and not finding anything revolutionary about it.

Itachi is not envious, but he does wonder how he can be the only Uchiha to not have that expression when Hinata is around. Maybe he already knows why. He probably does. It’s the matter of manifesting that reason into something tangible that’s a tad difficult.

“Don’t thank me,” Sasuke says, “I was forced by a demon.”

Itachi smirks at his brother. “I’m telling Mom you called her that.”

Sasuke’s face turns as pale as Hinata’s, and he pushes away from the open window. “Get better, Hyuuga. I’m off!”

He disappears just like that, and Itachi can feel all those spying, Hyuuga eyes fall back onto him.

“What will we do about the filing?” The heavy lull to her eyes shows him that Hinata is fighting off sleep, and he smiles at her strength.

“ I’ll be taking care of it,” he says, pulling her quilt over her arms and up to her neck, “while you rest and get better.” She doesn’t seem exactly pleased with that answer, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand why. “I won’t finish it all. We’ll work on finishing it when you’re healthy again.”

Her smile is pleased, and he feels warm. If he were naive, he’d wonder if he’d caught her bug.

“And after the filing?” she asks. “What will you do?”

His head tips a bit. “I’ll go to the station, I suppose.”

Her eyelids droop. Her battle is getting difficult. “You have a busy day.”

The tailend of those words droop like her eyes, and he thinks he hears a lonely echo in her tone. Itachi presses his hand against her forehead, and hot and cool mix, affecting the other. Her skin cools down, and his fingers tingle as heat seeps into them. Hinata finally closes her eyes, and almost inaudibly, she whispers, “Don’t leave yet.”

So he sits on her mattress and watches how sleep makes the hills of her face smooth and gentle. When ten minutes pass and a dream takes her to a different world, Itachi slips out of the room through the window, closing it behind him. He walks to the Hokage Tower with one hand in the pocket of his jacket; the other hangs out, still warm from feverish skin, his joints rattling with excitement.

Chapter Text

Four days later, from the back room of the military police station, Itachi hears the rough drone of his brother followed by the light, fluttering greeting of Hinata. Their chakras are water and fire melding together, becoming steam and boiling water and the hiss of something almost silent in the air. Hinata has a way of cooling down Uchihas. Most Uchihas.

“Good to see you’re not dead,” he hears his brother say, which is quickly pursued by the muffled sound of her boot playfully knocking into his shin.

“I’m sure you’d have been devastated if I had.”

“Crying my eyes out. Eating ice cream and watching one of Mom’s soaps.”

“Sasuke, you’re supposed to do that when you break up with something.”

His brother hums in a noncommittal manner. “I switch it. Can’t leave people thinkin’ they have me figured out. Ruins the whole point of that mysterious aura around me, don’tcha think?”

Itachi snorts and tries to hurry up with sweeping the floor of the breakroom. It was the last thing on his checklist before he’d allow himself to go home. Over the brush of bristles on tile, he hears Hinata laugh.

“If you switch it, then that would mean you’d go to a funeral when someone breaks up with you.”

“Makes sense to me. Only reason anyone would break up with me is if they’re dead.”

“Right! Not because of that ego of yours.”

Their back and forth is typical for them. Itachi doesn’t remember a time in their life where Sasuke didn’t pick on Hinata, and she likewise met it with stride. His mother sometimes mused about that suspicion that little boys picked on the girls they liked and wondered if that applied to her youngest, and there had been a short and temporary period of time where Itachi wondered the same.

He didn’t wonder about that anymore.

With the floor swept and everything in place, Itachi pushes his shoulder into the door and enters the front entrance of the station. Sasuke has himself sat on the front counter with the heels of his hands planted on the edges, fingers drumming into the wood. Hinata’s got herself huddled on one of the small, leather chairs across the way, ankles pressed together and hands on her lap, like she’s expecting their mother to walk through those glass doors at any minute and judge her on her posture. When her eyes find him over Sasuke’s shoulder, she smiles first, stands to greet him, then stops when he rounds the counter and fits next to his brother. Her eyes are wide, and the faded color of her face turns vivid in the cold, winter light.

This is why Itachi does not worry about his brother.

Because whenever she comes to the station, something about him always gets her attention.

And the best part?

He knows exactly what it is.

“You look well,” he says, and he smiles and speaks like everything is normal, like she isn’t actively staring at his shoes or at the new potted plant Ino Yamanaka brought them the other day.

She doesn’t talk for a while. She just nods. In these situations, it always takes her a while to find her voice. Itachi pulls back the long sleeves of his uniform top to look at his watch, quietly keeping time. A few months ago, he found that she wouldn’t talk to him for four minutes exactly. He wonders if she’ll break that record today.

“It was just the flu,” Sasuke cuts in, hopping off the counter.

“I’m fine,” Hinata whispers.

Eleven seconds. Damn. She must feel brave today.

“You start moving tomorrow,” Itachi notes, now curious about when she’ll have the confidence to look him in the eye.

Sasuke whistles low as he makes his way behind the counter, purposefully knocking over a cup of pens so that he has something to do with his hands. “Mom’s been walking through the neighborhood, trying to figure out which one you’re moving into.”

“She has a list,” Itachi adds.

“Two, actually.” Sasuke drops a pen into the metal cup, letting the hollow bonk bounce through the air. “One of homes she thinks you’ll like —”

“The other of homes that won’t fit your —” Itachi pauses for a second, trying to recall the exact word his mother used just yesterday, “ tastes.”

Hinata laughs, and her eyes lift to the glass door, but they still do not turn to him. “That’s just like Mikoto.”

Feeling that strange sense of impatience only Hinata can make him feel, Itachi turns his head and nods to his coat hanging over the chair behind the counter. “Hand that to me, Sasuke.”

His brother gives him a nasty look. “Am I your secretary?”

“Hinata.” Itachi turns back to her, smile charming and perfect. “I’ll help you move in.”

This makes her look up, startled, seeing all of him. Sasuke throws him his coat, which he catches with ease, and Itachi pushes off the counter.

“I’m also walking you home,” he says.

Sasuke knocks the metal cup of pens over again, this time to punctuate his annoyance. “Right,” he mutters, “because the Hyuuga needs protection from all the big, bad monsters out there.”

They both ignore him as Itachi drops his coat over her shoulders and pushes his back into the door, opening it for her. It gets stuck halfway like it always does, and Itachi makes a mental note to talk with his father about contacting the company that are set to replace it next week. For now, however, all his attention is aimed toward a certain someone who still has a rather noticeable tint to her face.

“It’s freezing out there,” Sasuke barks at him just before the front door shuts. “Wear a fuckin’ jacket once in your life!”

Itachi gives his brother a cheeky grin before taking Hinata’s shoulder and leading her down the street that will take her home.  Like him, Sasuke also knows quite well why Hinata always gets star-eyed and tongue-tied at the station; but unlike Itachi, he finds it the most annoying thing in the world.

Because, apparently, Hinata has a thing for uniforms.

And while Itachi finds this absolutely pleasing and amusing . . . .

Sasuke wishes, for once, his older brother would stop showing off and flirting with her right in front of him.

Chapter Text

Hinata’s little home is three houses away from the station; the one with the strange, yellow door and high outer walls covered in vines. Itachi remembers when an older, widowed lady lived there. Because of her bad back, she’d have someone from the station come by every other day to help with lifting anything particularly heavy. Itachi, himself, has been in the house a few times to help pull something from the attic or clean the gutters.

He’s familiar with the house.

But, somehow, when he knocks his knuckles into the front door, announcing that he’s arrived, the sound is different. It’s less hollow, like he’s knocking on the trunk of an oak tree. He can hear Hinata’s slippered feet slipping across the floor inside, so distinctly different from the hobbled, out-of-beat steps of Mrs. Watanabe he had once been prone to listen for carefully in case she suddenly slipped or collapsed.

When she opens that yellow door, her hair is a mess, and her cheeks are colored with life and vigor and excitement.

“You’re here —” Her arms snaps up, getting in between him and his only way in. “Oh! It’s dreadful in there, Itachi. Maybe come back in a —”

“I’m here to help,” he reminds her.

“I don’t even have the guest slippers out.”

He just smiles and tips his head, not forcing his way past her, but not backing away, either. She takes a weary peek behind her shoulder, shifts, and her hand slowly slips down the length of the door’s frame to hit the side of her leg. Giving in, she lets him in, and he takes his shoes off like he’s done many times before and places them against the door.

Boxes fill the house.

The entry leads into a small living room that shares a half wall with the kitchen, and there’s a door that he knows leads into the only bedroom in the house. On the other side of the living room is a small, circle hatch that’s connected to the attic, and Itachi gives it a look as he passes by, noting that he should check it before leaving for the day. From what he remembers, the last time he was up there, he was sure he found some mold growing. He didn’t like the idea of Hinata moving into a place with mold.

Hinata moves like a hamster, skittering around the towers of boxes and larger furniture, moving things this way and that. It all seems to make sense to her, but Itachi finds he has no clue what she is aiming for as she plops a box down onto her small coffee table.

“What can I do?” he asks.

She wipes her forehead and thinks. “Can you organize the kitchen?”

His chest squeezes, though he knows it shouldn’t. There’s a saying in their clan that the kitchen is where the family begins. There are countless memories of his mother organizing and reorganizing their own kitchen, and there was something powerful and meaningful to it. The idea of knowing where the tools of a family lay, knowing exactly where to look . . .

“You want me to?” he asks, just in case she realizes exactly what she’s asking of him.

He’s not sure if she does. Her smile is peaceful. “I trust you.”

So he walks into that small kitchen, pressing his fingers into the smooth laminate countertops. He feels like he could mold it. He feels he could shape this entire home to make it his — hers — theirs.

Coming here was dangerous, he realizes now.

But Itachi has never been the kind to shy away from the sort.

...

Around one that afternoon, Hinata pulls out ramen packets from a quick lunch break.

When she asks where the pots are, he slips behind her and opens the cabinet without hesitation, and she looks pleased that he knows his way around her kitchen better than she does.

He hopes, quietly, that she’ll ask him to organize her room next.

...

“Can you help me with this, Itachi?”

He’s plugging in all her lamps and extension cords in the living room when she calls for him from her bedroom — the one place in the house he has yet to step foot into. Like coming here in general, Hinata’s bedroom is a dangerous place that fills him with an unbalanced mixture of exhilaration and unease. She felt the same way, he could tell, for she would busy herself with moving things around in there while he was given tasks around the other parts of the house.

He wonders if she grew brave or if she no longer cared what happened — what could happen — if he stepped foot into that room. He’s not sure if he cares, himself, as he stands and pushes the back of his wrist against the door, opening it. Hinata is standing on a box with her arms stretched straight over her head, trying her best to loop her curtains over the rod at the top of the window. Itachi almost has the mind to stand and watch, enjoying how she jumps on the tips of her feet and wiggles her shoulders, as if they might extend a few centimeters if she does so.

“Look at that,” he muses from the doorway.

Hinata gives him a look over her shoulder. “I’m not asking you to look. I’m asking you to help.”

He grins and comes over and, with ease, takes the curtain from her hands and loops it over the rod. They work on straightening the thin fabric before pushing it to the sides so that sunlight may still filter in.

“You’d be helpless without me,” he tells her.

Hinata nudges his side. “I’m getting a ladder. At least it won’t talk back.”

When he turns, he gets a good look at her purple sheets and white pillows. There’s a cream, oval rug leading to the bathroom, and her closet has stylish doors that slide to the side. He recognizes most of the books on her shelf and most of the pens and photos on her desk, and he tries to tell himself — really — it’s nothing new. He’s been in her room plenty of times. Thousands of times.

But this is different.

This is her home.

She’s alone.

“You’ve been a big help.”

He barely hears her. He’s watching the sun stretch over purple sheets. He’s imagining her there, sun warming the pale skin of her stomach, the hills of her knees, the untouched lands of her thighs.

“Is there anything I can do to thank you?” she asks him.

This, Itachi hears — oh, it sets sirens and trumpets and flashing, green lights off in his head, and he is sure that’s supposed to be an invitation. A go ahead.

She says it in a way that makes him feel like his answer should be “Kiss me.”

He thinks about being the sun, pressing his mouth against stomach, thigh, knee; he thinks about twisting himself up in her sheets and warming up her bed and inviting her in. Seventeen years of friendship, of platonic gestures and words turning into something different, something on a very thin line; if he takes that step, what will happen to all those years?

Her body is at his side. He can feel her stare.

When he looks back, her face is exposed to yellow light, and he sees everything.

Chapter Text

All throughout the weekend, Itachi spends every second of free time at the station. When he is home, his father asks him about applications and his mother asks him about Hinata. He’s tired of it all. He doesn’t want to think about being next in line for the position of chief of the military police force. He doesn’t want to think about ANBU missions. He doesn’t want to think about Hinata.

Well. That last one’s a lie.

But it’s been two days since that day; two days since she pulled him into her secluded room and tempted him with something he now understands they’ve both wanted for a long time. He’d nearly done it, too. He’d nearly taken her up on that offer and thrown everything else into the wind.

But he didn’t.

He had left, saying he was needed at the station. He didn’t run, because Itachi did not run — especially not from Hinata. He left because when he had just craned his head ever so slightly to feel her warm breath on his mouth, her eyes had lit up with fear, and he knew that instant she’d taken a leap without really thinking about it. It was a spur of the moment. It was sunlight and clean sheets and a new home in the middle of a neighborhood vacated mostly by Uchihas that got her head all foggy. She hadn’t been ready, so he left to give her time to think and pause and realize that she could do something so simple as ask and he would willingly give everything to her.

He’s been working hour after hour at the station, taking calls and filling out paperwork and overlooking evaluations and team assessments and last month’s documentation and reports. He comes home feeling like he hasn’t lived in two days. He eats, and showers, and then he falls into a six-hour sleep plagued with — with everything one could imagine if you’ve been ANBU since you were twelve, if you’ve been working fifteen-hour shifts at the station since you were fifteen, if you work a hard, tiresome, traumatizing job — and when you come home, your own clan looks at you like a God, treats you as something beyond human, demanding that you take this job and this position because you’re perfect, you’re a genius, you can do anything!

When Monday afternoon comes to a drag, he finds himself walking the street, counting how many steps it takes for him to reach Hinata’s home.

Forty-nine.

She is forty-nine steps away, and when he’s there at the gate, noting that she’s trimmed the vines some, he sees that her yellow door is wide open. The invitation is clear.

He pulls off his scarf before he reaches the front step, takes in the warm air of the entrance, and steps inside.

Hinata is at her counter, cutting vegetables. She hums a song they learned in the Academy, a happy tune by itself, but Itachi remembers the lyrics well. Don’t be afraid / Soon comes the day / Little warriors march to keep their village strong. Her knife slices through bright tomatoes and celery and cucumber. Itachi finds the guest slippers she left for him, slips them on, and joins her at her side.

“You’ve been recluse,” she says, never looking away from her dicing. “I was hoping lunch would bring you.”

The lull of the kitchen makes him feel every grueling second of the past two days. The red tomatoes make him think of Uchiha fans and Sasuke. The celery makes him think of bamboo in Sound. The cucumber is fresh and green; it smells like spring, and he thinks about March, about marching children, about war —

“Itachi.”

Her hands touch both sides of his face, pulling his gaze to her.

“Sasuke said it’s rare to have you come home in a good mood nowadays,” she says. “Is this the kind of mood you’re usually in?”

The touch of her fingers are rough. Yesterday, he helped a woman who had gotten her leg trapped in a manhole, and when he took her hand to help her stand, it had been smooth and small, like it never knew the sharp edge of a kunai or the burn of chakra against joints and skin. Hinata has ninja hands. Her hands are aged with years of training and rescue missions and scars.

He tries not to think about it.

He tries to think about how she cuts vegetables, how her fingers curl at the ends, how the backs of her hands slope with bone and moving, working muscle. There’s a sort of art to dicing, he thinks. There’s music in the blade hitting the cutting board, the smells of nature filling the air, the glow of tomato skin and cucumber seeds sprinkled along the counter.

Itachi finds the world is an easier place to live in when he thinks about Hinata. She smiles at sunflowers like they’re her aunts. She watches hawks and clouds and the sky turning from one shade of blue to the other. There’s life and beauty in everything Konoha ignores, but she sees it, and she helps Itachi see it, too.

So with cut vegetables to the side and her hands keeping his face up, Itachi says what he’s been keeping to himself for years.

“I want to quit.”

Chapter Text

His father would balk. “Quit!? What gave you that idea?”

His mother would worry. “Did something happen, Itachi? This isn’t like you.”

He . . . doesn’t know what Sasuke would say. Maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe he would, but he’d keep it to himself like they’ve both learned to do over the decades.

But Hinata is not Uchiha ( not yet ). She doesn’t scoff. She doesn’t worry.

Her hands remain on his face, and she says, simply, “When?”

And it’s silly — because Hinata is Hinata, and they have been friends for years , and she is nothing but supporting and thoughtful and understanding and kind and beautiful — but her reaction throws him completely off. His mind sizzles out, and all he can do is stare and sputter, “I . . . don’t know . . . .”

She smiles a Hinata smile that is patient and considerate, and her hands slide down his face, his neck, pat his shoulders in an encouraging manner, and then leave him completely. She turns back to her vegetables, plopping a piece of celery into her mouth.

“I think it’s a good idea,” she says.

Itachi still feels his mind is electrified. “You do?”

“I think people should pursue things that make them happy.” Hyuuga eyes that see all peek up at him. “What makes you happy, Itachi?”

He immediately thinks about this home. The soft, oval carpet in her room. The kitchen that he organized. The yellow door and the attic stuffed with ninja equipment and tools.

“Lots of things,” he says. “Warm mornings. Mint tea. Pan flutes.”

Hinata laughs. “That’s strange. I didn’t hear anything about paperwork or week-long missions or clan affairs.”

“So you want me to quit.”

“I want you to be happy, Itachi.”

That faraway dream suddenly seems touchable, but Itachi’s unsure. He’s used to being confident in many things and going through life with complete trust in himself. But this is unknown territory. This is a land of doubt because — for so long — he’s done everything for his clan. He’s that perfect symbol of Uchiha power that they can flaunt, that they take pride in; he has nephews and second cousins that look up to him. He’s a hero to them.

Heroes don’t just quit.

“They won’t be pleased.” He doesn’t have to be any more specific. Hinata knows well who they are.

“That’s true,” she muses.

And she would understand, being the Hyuuga heiress. This isn’t something you can just step down from. This is something far beyond Itachi Uchiha. This is all Uchiha. This is the police force. This is the Konoha ANBU. People will be affected.

“Do you want to know what I think?” She offers him a few slices of cucumber, and he chews them slowly as he listens. “I think if the whole system relies on the shoulder of one man, it’s a flawed system that is bound to fall in the end. The Uchiha are strong. The ANBU survived long before both of us. The police force has your father and your brother. They’ll figure things out without you.”

Hinata scrapes the cut vegetables into a bowl, sprinkling in salt and chili flakes and lemon juice before she starts to smash it all together to make a salsa. When she’s done, she clips a plastic top to the bowl and sets it in the fridge, wiping her hands down her apron before regarding him completely.

“Invite me over for dinner soon,” she says with a grin. “I think I’ll be able to help convince your family.”

Itachi can’t help but smile back.

...

They laze in her living room, the open front door letting wind come in to cool their faces.

Itachi still worries, but it’s not an unclimbable mountain. He’s carefully considering Hinata’s offer and wonders if he’s really going to quit. The temptation is almost tangible.

“Still unsure?” she asks.

He sighs and hums. “It’s not an easy decision.”

She nods, her smile turning a little sad. “I know. It’s hard when you’ve spent all your life trying to be the perfect child, the perfect role model, the perfect ninja.”

Once again, he comes to the realization that they have so much in common that it’s really not a shock at all that they understand each other so well. Her head tips to her ceiling, hair falling down the dip of her back, and Itachi stares at her, mesmerized, taking all of her in.

“You’re not perfect, Itachi,” she says. “I don’t find perfect men very attractive, you see.”

He’s surprised — not because it’s a shock she finds him attractive, but because she said it so easily. Her eyes snap open, and her face turns pink, and she laughs awkwardly and bends her neck and gives him a sideways look.

“But . . . that’s a secret,” she whispers.

He grins and comes closer to her, pressing his shoulder against hers. “My lips are sealed.”

Chapter Text

The Uchiha are on the engawa, acting like dragons, when Hinata comes for dinner. Fugake sits between cousins, flipping through a small book detailing Uchiha history, but he hardly pays it any attention with talk about politics and clan affairs and many more exciting things. When Mikoto comes around with a tray of cigars, the Uchiha men pause to pick from the assortment and suck them between their lips. Fugaku presses the butt of the cigar against his lips and blows just enough fire to light it, and then he rolls it into the corner of his mouth and falls back into the drone of conversation.

Itachi spies Shisui swiping two cigars from the tray, sneaking one to Sasuke when their mother is not looking. He gives his brother a disapproving look from across the way, which Sasuke ignores with finesse, copying their father’s actions, though not with nearly as much success as a puff of smoke pushes into his face. Shisui cackles, slapping his back, while Sasuke grumbles and bites the unlit end of his cigar.

It’s a relatively warm evening, despite it being early March, and the Uchiha blow smoke and talk, legs hanging over the sides of the engawa, kimonos and yukata robes loose around their shoulders. They are a clad of blacks and navys, and when Hinata comes, she looks like she could match them. She waits at the gate, and when Itachi lets her in, he’s surprised how Uchiha she looks. Her smile is coy and sly, reminding him of her goal for the evening, and he can’t help but be impressed by how prepared she is for everything.

When she spots the Uchihas on the engawa, a bright smile takes over her face, and she calls, “Papa!”

Itachi sees his father turn, noting how the aged wrinkles around his grimace lift just slightly. It is no secret at all that Fugaku Uchiha has a soft spot for Hinata, and she trots over to him and captures his hand in hers and goes on about her move, about her new home, about how nice privacy and independence feels.

“You’ll have to come by one day,” she says. “I’ll make you tea.”

Fugaku blows his smoke away from her. “I’ll think about it.”

Hearing the fuss, Mikoto comes from the kitchen, dipping over her husband’s shoulder to kiss the crown of Hinata’s head. Sasuke makes sure to hide his cigar behind his back when his mother is around.

“Please do invite us!” Mikoto chirps. “Itachi has told us some, but I’d still like to see for myself.”

“You’re next to the station, I’ve heard,” Fugaku muses.

Hinata nods. “To spy, of course. My clan simply loves to know everything going in and out of there.”

Fugaku snorts, a rare smile on his face, and Hinata gives Itachi a look, telling him that her plan is going absolutely smoothly.

...

They eat on the engawa, watching the sky turn dark. The Uchiha are not Hyuuga. They do not enjoy the stuffiness of a long table surrounded by four walls. They eat their food and drink their sake with the breeze against their faces and the fresh smell of pine in the air.

Hinata sits next to Fugaku, telling stories about her last few missions, showing off a scar on her shoulder like it’s a trophy. Shisui has to tip his head to get a good look at it, and Sasuke blanches. Mikoto sighs with worry, but (of course) Fugaku looks pleased, and his expression stays content and calm throughout the meal.

Itachi sits at the far end of the line of Uchiha, next to his mother. He picks at grains of rice with his chopsticks and listens closely to the atmosphere of conversation, waiting for the right time to speak.

Thankfully, his time comes soon.

Hinata manages to segue to conversation from missions to recent happenings at the station.

“I hear the new door is coming soon,” she says against the lip of her tokkuri, voice even and simple, though her gaze flashes Itachi’s way.

Fugaku hums low in his chest. “I’ve left Itachi to it. He’ll be chief soon, after all.”

That’s his cue. Itachi places his food to the side before speaking.

“Actually, Father. I don’t think I will be.”

The entire clan goes quiet. Even the world seems to go still. His father’s face slowly falls into cold realization, and his mother blinks, looking up at him.

“What do you mean, Itachi?” she asks.

“I mean I’m quitting the force.” He doesn’t allow his voice to be anything but hard confidence that will not be broken or wavered. Still, he avoids looking in Sasuke’s direction, unsure if he’ll want to know what kind of expression his little brother is sporting.

Fugaku’s frown is deep as he pours himself more sake into his tokkuri. “Itachi —”

“Well, that’s good.” Now the whole clan stares at Hinata's, gawking. She steadies the bottle in Fugaku’s hold, helping him pour it without spilling. “Congratulations, Sasuke. You’ll do great.”

Itachi finds the will to look at his brother, who is standing straight, an obvious shine of bewilderment to his gaze as he snaps between him and Hinata. “What —”

“I think it’s terrible when clan birthright gets in between siblings.” Hinata’s smile is gentle as she looks at Fugaku only. “Don’t you think so, Papa?”

He sneers. “Sasuke is a child, and Itachi is not quitting —”

“I am,” Itachi drones.

“Child!?” Sasuke barks. “I’m twenty-one! The only reason you see me as such is because you treat me like one.” Throwing caution in the wind, Sasuke shoves his cigar into his mouth, which earns an angry hiss from their mother. “I’m good enough to be chief, too! It’s always Itachi this and Itachi that. I’m just as good at the station as he is! You’ve seen my performance evaluations.”

Fugaku regards his youngest with a tired glare, but Hinata grabs his attention by standing next to him.

“See? There's already tension between them,” she says. “It’s horrible. They’re brothers, not enemies.”

Sasuke’s growing irritation is clear, and he doesn’t look at all pleased that she’s sticking her nose in family affairs. But a pointed look from Itachi makes him frown and keep to himself.

“Hinata,” Fugaku sighs, “I understand your concern, but —”

“Let Sasuke prove himself to you.” She grins at him. “He’s a brilliant ninja I’ve had the pleasure of being partnered with time and time again. He’ll lead the force to greatness. Trust me, Papa, and trust me.”

There’s a long period of silence as her words sink into Uchiha skin. Sasuke’s irritation is completely wiped from his face, and he stares at his feet, uncharacteristically sheepish. Fugake closes his eyes in thought, frown still prominent, while Mikoto twists her hands in her skirt. Itachi stays quiet, knowing that if he says anything, it could ruin Hinata’s hard work. He keeps his gaze on her, watching the determined look shaping her face.

“And,” she says, “when Sasuke becomes chief, I’d like to support his efforts and join the force.”

This was not something they discussed at all. Itachi’s surprise is genuine, along with the rest of the Uchiha.

Fugaku doesn’t move, still. He thinks long and hard, and when he finally regards Hinata’s, it’s the same expression he has when he regards his own sons.

“That’s a serious responsibility,” he says.

Hinata nods. “I’m a serious person.”

“I will not allow any signs of hesitation or regret if you take this path.”

“Papa,” she says, smiling, “do you really expect that from me?”

Fugaku’s grimace softens — just a tad.

“And,” he continues, “it’s noteworthy to point out that the majority of the force is Uchiha.”

Hinata is practically glowing in the sunset. “Then I guess I’m Uchiha from now on.”

Fugaku's scoff sounds like he's hiding a laugh as he drinks his sake, and Hinata is quick to pour him some more. The deal is made, and Itachi . . . feels free.

...

He finds his mother twenty minutes later in the kitchen, washing dishes to the point of fatigue. She does this when she’s anxious, and he touches her shoulder when he comes to her side.

When she looks at him, her eyes are aged. “Tell me what’s happened, Itachi,” she says. “Why are you quitting? Let me fix it.”

He kisses her cheeks, hoping to ease some of her stress. “It’s nothing you can fix, Mother,” he tells her. “I’m tired of this way of life. I want something different.”

Her hands lift from soapy water to dry against her apron. “Then what do you want, Itachi?”

The first image that comes to his mind is Hinata’s cozy home. The small kitchen. The thin curtains in her bedroom.

“I want to cut vegetables,” he whispers, “and do laundry on Sundays.”

The dark of her eyes turns bright with understanding, because she would know that kind of life. She used to thirst for it, herself, when he was still a child.

Her dry, warm hand pats his jaw, and he holds her hand and kisses her knuckles, making her laugh and slap his shoulder playfully.

When he leaves, he goes to the back engawa where Hinata and Sasuke’s chakras flicker. He can hear Sasuke’s quiet thank yous that sound so strange from his brother’s mouth, and Hinata stays quiet. When his brother leaves, Itachi rounds the corner and sees her standing in the moonlight. Her cheeks are pink from glee and the taste of alcohol still on her tongue. When she looks at him, she looks proud, and she looks relieved, and she looks content.

“That went well,” she says.

In response, he cranes his neck and kisses her.

Chapter Text

Hinata sighs when he kisses her.

Her eyes hang between bright, wide bliss and fluttering eyelashes falling shut. Spine arched just slightly, the brush of her thigh against his, she doesn't seem at all distressed or startled by the sudden touch of his mouth against hers. Still, Itachi is the first to pull away after a few seconds, swaying on his two feet, feeling the turn of the globe, the pull and push of gravity, the change in the wind.

“Sorry,” tumbles from his mouth first, which is an awful thing to say after you’ve just kissed someone. He’s quick to add, “I meant to ask first.”

The crescent of her eyes does not narrow in displeasure. She watches his mouth when he talks, which simply ignites an already burning fire into an inferno within him. Her lips are rosy, caused by him. Heat overtakes her face, again caused by him. She has the look of a very happy woman, and Itachi thinks she’s the most beautiful thing in the world, and he had just kissed her.

And she liked it.

So he dips down as her hands rise to find his face in the cool night, and he kisses her like he loves her — because he does. And she kisses him back; she matches his movements, she dips against his mouth, and her nails slide along his jaw and coax him closer. Her tongue is warm with sake, and he thinks he can taste Uchiha fire; he thinks he’s the one that put it there, that she already tastes like him, and he’s starting to forget how to control his excitement.

When his hands press against her hips, he adds enough pressure to lead her backwards, and she takes one step after another. Sometimes, their mouths part, and they drink in the cool, night air before one of them leans back in to bite a bottom lip teasingly or persuade a mouth to open just a little more. He steers her to the paper door. When her shoulders touch it, she arches against him, knee to knee, chest to chest. When his hands find the backs of her thighs, her arms land on his shoulders, and he lifts her up and leans her just enough against the door. Her ankles cross at the small of his back, her hair streams in strands over her face, and her hands get trapped in his hair as she balances between his hold and the push of the paper door. It’s a tricky thing to stay so keenly against him; too much pressure on the door, and they could absolutely tear it. Part of Itachi wants that to happen, to have an excuse to see her tumble to the floor with him on top of her; the other part remains pleased with how she holds herself so close to him.

They part, breathe, and he captures her lips again. Her body rolls in pleasure, which makes his own react in kind, lowering her just enough so he can grind himself against her. Hinata’s moan is small and quiet, a secret in the back of the Uchiha estate. She tries to do the same, shaking her hips, digging her ankles into his back to get enough leverage to meet his slow, methodical thrusts. With the lack of support from the paper door, there’s nothing to stop her body from being pushed back with every move of his own, so all Itachi can do is grab her thighs and pull her closer, and Hinata gasps against his mouth and sinks her teeth into his shoulder, rumbling, rolling.

It’s hard to see through the haze of lust covering them. The slide of ecstasy sliding and trembling down his back is something Itachi does not want to pull away from; but he does.

“Hinata, ” he whispers in warning, surrounded by the heat of her body, the tickle of her breath against skin, the smell of her shampoo.

Her bites turn to kisses, then mere presses of lips against collarbone, neck, ear; her legs loosen around his hips, and his fingers relax against her thighs. They try to calm their nerves and their racing hearts and the roar of hormones and desire. Slowly, he lowers her to the floor, and she wobbles on her feet and leans into him, panting.

One of his hands cups the back of her skull. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he admits.

They don’t pull away enough to look at each other, but he can imagine the panic rising in her gaze. He can feel it in her body, limbs fidgeting. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He kisses her cheek, then the side of her nose, then her mouth, which is thankfully smiling by the time he reaches it. “I just imagined I’d . . . take you for dinner first . . . or something.”

“Dinner would be nice,” she says, “but so is your family.”

“I’m being serious, Hinata.”

“So am I.” She leans back, and they finally see each other. She’s all red and glowing eyes and swollen lips. Arousal flashes through his body, and he fights the urge to kiss her again. “I don’t care, Itachi. Um. I like this . . . too.”

His hand circles around from skull to face, tracing her forehead, the curve of her brow, and plush, warm hill of her cheek.

“I’ll walk you home,” he says, smiling, unable to remember a time in his life when he ever felt more content than right now.

Hinata adjusts the front of her blouse, which had somehow gotten out of place during their make-out session. “I should say goodbye to your family.”

Itachi does not like the idea of anyone seeing her the way she is at all.

“No.”

“Itachi. ”

“Come by in the morning.”

As expected, his invitation turns her displeasure into a giggling fit and wide smiles and a nod of agreement, and he takes her hands and leads her out the backway of the Uchiha estate.

Chapter Text

Itachi feels his energy drain almost unnaturally as they walk down the quiet streets of Konoha, passing the station and three, slumbering homes until they come upon Hinata’s home. It seems he’d been a lot more tense about announcing his plans of quitting to his family than he originally thought, and with all stress and worries out of his body, he felt the effects of all his spent energy.

When they come to her porch and Hinata is digging for her keys, Itachi suspects that this is where he kisses her good night and says something like “I’ll be thinking about you when I get home”, which will make her turn pink. She’ll hit him for his teasing, but in his head, he knows he wouldn’t be. There’s no way he’ll be able to get through the night without thinking about her, her mouth; firm fingers in his hair, body rolling with his, the grip of her legs on his hips. He’s going to be awake all night, he thinks. When Hinata comes over in the morning, he will be nothing but a tired, sleep-deprived, desperate man who is madly in love with her.

The door clicks unlocked, and Itachi tries to find the moment to swoop in, but Hinata holds the door open for him.

So he comes in.

She drops her purse on a table by the door, hangs her coat on a rack, and shuffles into her slippers. When she moves around the house, it’s like she’s lived there all her life. It just looks natural. She looks like she belongs, and there’s a stir in his chest when he steps further inside.

Hinata offers him a glass of water, and he drinks half of it down as she busies herself, pulling clips from her hair and undoing the intricate knots that kept her blouse in place. When she slips into her room, she keeps the door open; Itachi tries not to look that way, but his curiosity is a strong beast, so he’s quick to give in. She pulls a set of pajamas from her closet, pauses, looks his way, then digs through a small chest that sits under her only bedroom window.

Returning to his side, she holds out a shirt and pants that are way too big for her.

Itachi takes them, suspicious. “Whose are these?”

“Neji’s,” she says, which makes his short bout of jealousy turns into a simmering pile of embarrassment. “In case he sleeps over. I have something for Hanabi, too.”

Itachi wonders if his own pair of overnight clothes will ever be held in that chest of hers.

“Why are you giving these to me?”

He has a suspicion, but he doesn’t feel like it’s right to jump to conclusions. The blush overtaking her face makes him realize his original guess was right, however.

She wants him to stay the night.

And if what he remembers from a talk a few days ago is true, she hasn’t had the time to buy any extra cots yet.

“. . . Are you sure?” he asks.

Her hands press together. “You’re exhausted, Itachi.”

Not tired enough to walk the six-minute journey home or do a simple body flicker jutsu, but Itachi has no bone in his body that’s willing to fight. He nods, giving in, and she whispers that she’ll be changing in her bathroom, so he’s free to do the same. He listens to her footsteps leading her into her bedroom, then the adjoined bathroom, the door clicking shut. Then, he sets his glass aside and pulls off his own clothes, finding Neji’s set fits him well enough, though he can’t help but snort at the Hyuuga emblem adorning his sleeve. Perhaps, somehow, this was Neji’s way of payback. Perhaps he suspected this would happen. He was a genius, after all.

When he’s done, he drinks the rest of his water, cleans the glass in the sink, and waits another minute for Hinata to be finished. She’s taking a while, and he suspects it’s half because of nerves and half because she’s giving him as much time as possible to either get into his new clothes or run the hell away.

But as previously noted, Itachi does not run.

Especially not from Hinata.

...

She knocks on her wall and asks if he’s good, and he says he’s fine.

When she peeks around the frame of her bedroom doorway, she tells him she has an extra toothbrush for him.

They stand in the bathroom together, brushing their teeth, sometimes wondering if meeting each other’s eye in the reflection of the mirror is really that bad a thing to do. When Hinata reaches for the toothpaste, he snatches it before she can and squeezes a rather large and unnecessary glob onto her toothbrush, which earns a startled look from her. She pushes his body, and he pushes back, snickering — and this feels normal, for a while. This feels like how it was for seventeen years. It’s nice, and he notes that her hands have stopped shaking for the moment.

When they’re done, they stand in her bedroom. Hinata stares at the wall. Itachi stares at the two pillows she left on the bed.

“Are you really sure?” he asks again, just in case.

Her fingers twitch, but her face is firm and determined.

“I’ve been sure for a long time,” she says, “but I’ve never acted on it. I’m tired of hesitating, Itachi.”

He smiles and rests his hand on her head and presses his forehead against hers. “So am I.”

So she turns off the lights, and he pulls back the sheets and quilt and slips into the left side of the bed. He’s so unused to hearing her breaths and movements in the pitch black of a room. A long time ago, when they were younger, this used to be normal for them. She had been seven back then.

She’s not a kid anymore.

The mattress moves as she slips in next to him. She adjusts, pulls the covers to her shoulders, and tries to settle down.

He can hardly see her through the night.

His hand searches the space between them, and eventually, her own comes to meet his. He traces lines down her fingers and kanji in her palm, and she laughs, then sighs, then falls quiet. He doesn’t know if she’s asleep or if she’s concentrating, trying to figure out what he’s writing against her skin. He doesn’t mind either way.

...

Eventually, he falls asleep; and, eventually, he wakes up hours later, when the sky is just barely bright enough for him to see her outline.

He wakes up because she is moving, and she’s gasping out from the clutches of a nightmare.

Her torso curls as a leg stretches out, knocking into his own. His arms hoist his body up so that he looks down at her, squinting through the dark to see her expression, searching for the signs of terror in her expression. He sees the squeeze of her eyes, but that’s all he can really make out.

Her body turns. Sheets twist around her.

His hand is centimeters away from her shoulder, aiming to wake her from her dream, when —

When he hears it.

A moan. And it’s not an agonizing moan of fear, either.

And Itachi realizes then that this isn’t a nightmare at all.

Chapter Text

Temptation is in the air.

A swarm of it, whispering all kinds of things, tugging at the strings carefully tied around his self-control. It is lingering in her catching breaths and quiet, little exhales, and Itachi fights everything in his body to just lay there. He watches the move of her face, subtle expressions turning obvious and eye-catching and hypnotizing; the blink of white teeth between parted lips, the ocean of hair spread out like fingers, fluttering and grasping for dear life as this dream — this very special, very erotic dreams — takes Hinata for a ride.

Beyond no stretch of the mind, Itachi is many things at that moment.

Aroused, perhaps, being the most noteworthy; and those little noises of hers are definitely not helping, either.

Guilty, as well. Because this is not something he should be witnessing. He should leave, but he doesn’t —

Because, despite it all, Itachi is devastatingly curious. When her spine curls just a tad so that her chest lifts into the air, and the back of her skull falls deep into the hold of her pillow, chin tipping, cheeks flaring up, bangs sweeping back to reveal every centimeter of her perfect face — Itachi has to wonder what she is dreaming of, exactly. What could possibly be creating such a reaction out of her that her body moves to the ways of her dream, caressed (perhaps) by those invisible fingers . . . or invisible lips . . . or an invisible tongue . . . ?

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t exactly have a guess, but he has a hope. A yearn.

Her voice picks up in an airy moan, and he sits up a little more, staring at the smooth lines of her outline, the tremble of her shadow through the night.

Her body freezes, her legs stretch out, and she sighs his name.

“Itachi . . . “

Adrenaline and ecstasy and arousal and everything else out there shoots straight to his gut, lighting his body up, and it almost hurts. It aches. He aches. He’s hard within the second, and Itachi rolls over and sits on the floor on his side of the bed, panting along with her, like they’re having the same dream.

Is he?

Dreaming, that is.

Will he wake up, and Hinata will be hovering next to him, watching him like he watches her? Is she as aroused by the idea of him dreaming about her as he is?

God, what is happening!?

Resting his forehead against his knee, Itachi tries very hard to control his pulse and calm all parts of his body. Hinata hums, gasps a little, and slowly falls quiet. He doesn’t move immediately. He’s still telling himself he’ll leave for the living room, he won’t look back, and when morning comes, he’ll pretend nothing happened. He’ll tell her he must have been sleepwalking if she asks. It’s a lie, and she’ll know it is because she’s known him for so long and he’s never had an issue with sleepwalking before — but that’s an issue for the future.

In the present, he has to calm down, and he has to leave.

The mattress shifts, bumping into the back of his skull.

Sheets slide, and without even thinking, he looks. He looks back at Hinata.

And she looks back.

...

Hyuuga eyes, despite their color and abilities, do not tend to glow in the dark.

But Hinata’s do. At that very moment, in the dark of her bedroom, they glow.

They are stuck-in-dreamland eyes, with foggy irises and dipped eyelids and a smooth expression tinged with bright pinks. They are I-was-dreaming-about-you eyes, lashes thick and heavy and coaxing. They are come-hither eyes, and Itachi almost does exactly that. If it weren’t so obvious that Hinata was still out of it, he’d be back on that bed within the millisecond.

Hinata has dreamy, sinful, tempting eyes, and when Itachi finally finds the strength to look away, he’s taken by the sight of her hand sliding down. The hill of her knuckles beneath the cover goes down her waist, her hip, between her legs —

Her breathing flaps like dove wings, and so do her lashes as pleasure spills over her face.

There’s a slight hiss of skin on skin, skin against sheets.

And Hyuuga eyes stay on him. They do not leave. They’re stuck, and so is Itachi.

He is absolutely stuck in place.

...

She’s trying hard to not sink into herself. Her eyes struggle to stay open. Her head struggles to stay leaning to the side.

Her shoulders tremble.

The hand between her legs dips deeper below the surface of the covers, and there is no hill to watch sliding this way and that. Itachi has to go off the tempo of her breaths and the back and forth of her elbow. Hinata moves slowly, in circles; when she picks up the pace, her legs spread out a little farther, and her eyes are nearly slits.

Itachi has his body turned, his arms resting on the mattress, and shoulders arched like a wild cat on the attack. All attempts of calming down are gone from his mind. 

Slowly, he slinks on top of the mattress. Hands first, followed by torso, legs, feet; he carefully avoids her outstretched leg as he comes to her side, and her face turns with him.

She’s so beautiful.

Her breathing picks up, airy, almost silent. Her blush has dipped down the collar of her shirt; it paints ears and shoulders and the tops of her breasts, which lift, fall, lift, fall — quick — then quicker —

Her moan is vaguely his name, and her neck cranes, portraying her mouth, the plump of her lip.

Temptation.

It is a swarm. It is buzzing nerves and hot air and the rapid building of an orgasm. It is her eyes never looking away. She’s getting off from his image alone, and Itachi takes the bait.

He swoops down. He does not kiss her. He rests his mouth above hers, breathing in her moans, her desperation. She arches just a little more, shivers, then stops.

Hinata comes with her top lip brushing the corner of his mouth, her breasts still, her lungs unable to suck in oxygen as her body shuts down — blinking lights, electricity, shooting stars, the roar of ecstasy in her ears. She comes with her fingers still between her legs and her eyes still wide and finding whatever part of his body she can see.

The room is quiet.

Itachi whispers against her lips, “Breathe, Hinata.”

So she does.

Her chest rocks. Her lungs jog into action.

This is when he kisses her. She’s breathless, so he keeps it short, and then he cups her face with his hands and watches her eyes fall shut, her expression slip away, her mind going back to dreamland.

Chapter Text

She’s hardly asleep for two minutes.

When she wakes up, he’s still looming over her. All kinds of things spring to her eyes that Itachi can’t keep up with, but there is a lasting phantom of curiosity in the corners of her gaze when she looks around, recognizing her room, recognizing him in her room. Perhaps the burn of her orgasm still lingers in her mind, for her legs twitch, then clamp together, and that curiosity morphs into horror.

“That was a dream,” she tells herself, but the desperate stare she gives him makes it feel like she’s trying to convince him, as well.

But this is not something Itachi can just forget and pretend never happened.

With a smile, he leans down and kisses the edge of her mouth. “What was your dream about?”

The waft of heat from her face touches his, and he has to bite back a groan.

“You,” she whispers, eventually.

She actually said it. Good girl.

“What about me, exactly?” He moves to kiss her jaw next.

Hinata shivers, and he tastes salt and sweetness on her skin.

“You were watching me.”

Hearing it said out loud brings a gallon of pleasure to his chest, and it expands, reaching out to every part of his body. “Yes, I was.”

“But that was just a dream,” she whispers.

“Of course it was.” He decides to play along — for now. His mouth travels down her neck, and he feels the push of her breasts against his shoulder. “If it were real, I wouldn’t just sit aside and watch.” His right hand skims the hem of her shirt, then dips to palm her stomach, slowly moving down to feel more of her smooth, warm skin. When his fingertips find the hill of her hip bone, which rises to his touch, he pulls away to kiss her open mouth again. “I’d help you.”

Her kiss is awake and startling, pushing hard against his mouth, opening it along with her own. Her hands play in her hair and bring him closer, and Itachi knows he’s got the go-ahead. His hand sneaks under the waistline of her pants, under her underwear. She’s hot, and she’s extremely wet, and her hips jut out when his palm slides over her clit. She whispers something he doesn’t quite catch, head falling back. He positions himself between her knees, careful to keep his hand between her legs. He stays still because he likes how she moves and wiggles, rolling, creating that friction she’s thirsty for.

With his free hand, he pulls the sheets from her body, and the dim, gray glow of sunrise makes her skin glow. He wants to bite the flat canvas of her stomach. He wants to explore the curve of her hips with his hands. Her chest rises and falls, and he can hear the race of her heart — or maybe that’s his own.

Itachi thought, a time ago, that this would be a sight he’d never bear witness to; that it would only be an image in his dreams, something he’d think about late at night, when he’s the only one awake and thinking about her. But she’s here, legs spread out around him, hips lifting to the firm touch of his hand. She’s whispering his name between moans, and he’s breathless. The tightness of his pants is unbearable.

“Hinata,” he says, and he says it like she says his name, because he’s just as turned on as she is — maybe more. “Hinata, it wasn’t a dream.” He sinks his middle finger into her, and she arches and moans. “You were fingering yourself, and I watched you. I watched you the whole time.”

Her eyes are wide and sparkling. Both hands clamp over her mouth, muffling her moans and cries of pleasure. Itachi doesn’t like this as all, so he lifts her right leg as he moves his finger in and out at an even pace, kissing the side of her knee before leaving a trail of bites along her thigh. This makes her hands abandon her mouth to sink into her pillow, and she gasps and chokes and sighs.

“Good girl.”

Her insides spasm, then tighten. She’s sucking him in. He gasps against the skin of her lifted leg, which is trembling.

Her hips rise to meet his tempo. When she reaches her high, her mouth is wide, and her body is pink and rolling. Her first breath is choked; her second is greedy and long. Eventually, her body relaxes against the mattress, spent and overwhelmed. Itachi pulls his hand away, and she shivers.

He lets her gather her energy and come down from ecstasy, and then he taps her shoulder.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s clean you up.”

Hinata does not rise from the bed. Her eyes search his, then dip down the line of his body.

He knows where she’s looking, and he grins. “You’re tired, Hinata.”

She is, and it’s obvious, but she still lifts her leg, and her calf touches the stiff length of his cock. Itachi moans, losing some strength in his upper body. His hands land on the mattress, keeping him up. Her leg lifts, moving up, then down, and he rocks to her movements, distracted by how good it feels.

Because this is Hinata. Hinata is touching him.

His chest is tight. His cock pulses.

He rocks a little longer, and then he leans over and grabs her shoulder, lifting her into a sitting position.

“Shower,” he tells her — barely. It’s a miracle he has enough brain power to say anything.

Eventually, she gives in, dropping her leg back to the bed. He helps her to her feet and takes her to the bathroom, where he starts the shower and makes sure the water is a good temperature.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks.

Her right hand tugs at his shirt. “Please.”

Chapter Text

After a shower made purposefully short and quick to keep libidos at bay, Hinata finds enough energy to not fall directly back into bed. Dawn lights up her home as her feet pad around the floor. She dries her hair, arms angled back to rub her towel along the back of her skull, as she opens up her front door to let the stirring noise of Konoha bring her exhaustion to a rest.

Itachi finishes changing into his clothes, adoring the sight of her from the bedroom doorway. He thinks the way the soft, morning glow hits her side profile makes everything fit together, like this is right, like this is exactly how things should be. Satisfaction is sweet in his mouth.

When she’s done drying her hair, she returns to her room to scout for something to wear for breakfast with the Uchiha. Hinata stands with both doors to her closet wide open, and she stares at her options, carefully assessing them. Itachi wonders out of all the things that could be making her hesitate to just choose anything, which reason it is at present: because he’s here, watching her; because she always puts a little more effort when meeting with the Uchiha; or because this time, she won’t be meeting them simply at Hinata Hyuuga, childhood friend of their prodigy. Friend is a skewed line now, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look at her without seeing that image of her in bed, hair fanned out like her legs, mouth shaping the whisper of his name.

It’s hard to pull away from that thought, but when he does, she is still searching.

“What’s the problem?” he asks, coming to her side to assess the line of clothes neatly kept in her closet.

Hinata hums, “I want to look more Uchiha.”

This makes his heart jump and a spike of arousal dive straight into his groin. He nearly chokes on his next set of words. “Is that so?”

“What would be considered more Uchiha?” Her left arm reaches out to touch the sleeve of one of her dark blouses. “It’s not just dark clothes.” She finds his eye. “I thought about cutting my hair like Sakura, but I think Uchihas have a thing for longer hair, as well.”

To prove her point, her hand lifts to comb through his untouched hair that falls along the hill of his shoulders. He hadn’t gotten along to tying it back like he usually did, and he’s glad now he kept it loose, enjoying the feeling of her fingers sinking through his strands.

“Long looks good on you,” he agrees.

Hinata laughs. “So what should I do? How do I come off more Uchiha?”

He pinches her cheek, if just to distract himself from the second shot of arousal currently slipping through his veins, and steps away. “Let me take you to the estate,” Itachi tells her. “I believe the first step is getting you into something with our fan.”

The way her face lights up makes Itachi feel like he’s saying all the right things. Her hand falls from his hair, down his shoulder, to trace the fan on his sleeve. Her nail runs gently along the fabric, and it feels like he’s being tattooed, like it will live with him forever.

...

After she dresses, they leave to make their way to the estate.

The fresh sky makes the station look inviting as they pass by, like a second home. Inside, Itachi thinks he can see the shadows of Uchiha talking with the people who will be working on the door. If yesterday had not happened, he’s sure he’d force himself to step in and talk with them, to play that role of a good, little prodigy. But they pass by without stopping, and he’s reintroduced to the aspect of his new future — no police force, no ANBU — just . . .

“Hinata.” His hand finds hers at her side, and he takes it, her fingers between his. “When we arrive, multiple things could play out.” She nods, and he’s sure she was already thinking about everything that could happen when they show up — together, with him still in his clothes from the night before, coming back from her home. “Sasuke might say something.”

“Where were you?” Hinata pitches her voice to mock his, though it’s a bit boyish and rough, causing Itachi to smirk. “Don’t tell me you were at Hinata’s all night!”

“Mom might worry, too.”

“Did something happen?” This voice is a little more realistic. “You two were gone the entire night!”

Itachi looks down at her from the corner of his eye. “What do you think Father will say?”

She crosses her arms, thinking. “I’m not sure,” she says. “I don’t think he’ll say anything. He’s kind of like you, Itachi. He just knows things.”

“Do you know what I’ll say?”

His voice is low, like it’s a secret.

Hinata’s face turns bashful, bowing slightly. “What will you say?”

“That I was at my girlfriend’s house.” He pauses when her grip on his hand turns hard. Itachi is careful to watch her face for any unpleasant expressions. “Is that okay?”

Her other hand comes around to squeeze his. Both hands are holding his, trapping him in her rough, ninja calluses and prominent knuckles. Scars and dents decorate her fingertips.

But her fingernails are small and round, manicured. A hint of Hinata in the vast lands of kunoichi, and Itachi thinks even if that lifestyle no longer fits him, it fits her beautifully.

“Yes,” she says. “That’s okay.”

So he kisses her knuckles and fingertips, and she laughs at the tickle of his lips against her skin.

Chapter Text

The day Itachi signs his title of Chief of the Military Police Force to his brother and folds his uniform away into the drawers kept in the back room, the new front door is installed. Six hours of constant work, and it was finally done.

From their spot against the front desk, Sasuke gives a low whistle as Itachi tips his head, admiring the clean shine of the glass. This is a new type of door not often seen in Konoha. Instead of the typical kind with one end hinged to the frame so that it swings back and forth, this door spins. Four panes of glass connect to a center pole with bars on each section, and when someone pushes against it, it turns and allows them entrance.

For a while, the both of them just stare at the door, musing in wonder as a coworker or installer comes through and sends the whole thing spinning.

Scratching the underside of his jaw, Sasuke says, “It’s kinda flashy.”

Itachi agrees, elbows resting on the counter behind them. “It’s definitely new.”

“Y’know people are gonna get stuck in there,” his brother points out.

Itachi smirks and drops his hand on his shoulder. “Good thing you’re trained in the art of saving people.”

The frown on his brother’s mouth is telling, but before Sasuke can lift an arm to punch his side, a glimmer of white shines through the swirling door. Hinata stops in front of the station. She spots them through the window and waves at them, but upon sighting the new door, pauses and gapes in disbelief.

“She’s lookin’ at it like it’ll eat her,” Sasuke grumbles; then, in a louder voice: “Hurry it up, Hyuuga! We ain’t got all day!”

Jumping into action, Hinata struts up to the door, falters, then presses both palms on the metal, horizontal pole. She steps into the circle as the door moves with her push, and she squeaks just a bit when the glass behind her hits her back, prompting her to move along with it. Itachi grins when she misses her chance to step out into the station, circling back to the outside sidewalk.

“Lord, help us,” Sasuke sighs, turning away to find one of the heavy, yellow-paged books they used sometimes to prompt the old door open during the summer. Itachi could tell he had the mind to shove it between door and wall to stop the spin, but his brother was stopped at the wild sound of Hinata’s laughter.

She pushes more, and the door spins faster, and she’s laughing with her head back and her hands gripping the bar. She’s almost dashing in circles. The sun catches different parts of the glass, and she’s flashed with the gleam of sunshine every now and then. Hinata’s almost moving fast enough to be a blur. Itachi can only catch hints of her smile, of her flushed face, of the fan adorning her sleeves —

“I ain’t helpin’ her,” Sasuke mutters, dropping the book on the desk. “That’s all you, Itachi.”

Chuckling, Itachi pushes himself off the desk and waits by the revolving door, a bit of wind pushing against his face. He waits until Hinata’s section is open, and then he quickly jumps inside, grabbing her by the hips and lifting her into the air. Shrieking in glee, Hinata wraps her legs around him and snorts with laughter, and he enjoys how her hair falls around her face as he catches the glass panel with his foot, stopping it completely.

He drops her a bit so he can reach her mouth, and she kisses him back, her giggles still vibrating on her tongue. Itachi carefully pushes his back into the bar, turning the door until he can safely step into the entryway of the station. He nips her lips. She cradles his jaw with both hands.

Sasuke grimaces from the side. “Oi. Not in the workplace.”

Itachi pulls away just enough to smirk at his brother. “I no longer work here.”

“No, but she does. And I’m her boss now.”

Realizing the position she was in, Hinata pulls away and taps Itachi’s shoulder, persuading him to let her down on her two feet.

“Sorry,” she says, grinning, swiping her hands down her front. “Nice door.”

“Uh-huh.” Sasuke jutts his shoulder to the break room. “Your uniform came in. Make sure it fits.”

“Yes —” She stops before she passes him, her grin turning slightly devilish, “ sir.”

His twisted expression of displeasure makes her howl as she enters the back.

“I swear,” Sasuke says, “if she calls me that again, I’m firing her.”

Itachi snorts. “She hasn’t even had her first day.”

“What an imp! Y’know, she’s never had respect for me. And I’m older than her.”

“By six months!” Hinata twitters from the back, followed by the swipe of clothes falling to the tile and the click of hangers against the metal lockers.

“Still older!” Sasuke yells back.

“Shouting at the new girl,” Itachi muses. “Already on the road to being a great boss, little brother.”

“Bah.” That sounds so much like their father that they both stop, blinking. Sasuke even turns his head to make sure their old man hadn’t slipped in without them noticing. “Shit. It’s already gettin’ to my head.”

Itachi’s grin is easy and a little playful as he flicks his brother’s forehead. “Better you than me.”

The echo of her shoes on tile makes them both turn to the door. When she comes out in her uniform, hair tied up so it swishes in a ponytail along her neck, Itachi thinks his heart has forgotten how to beat. Even Sasuke seems pensive, squinting at her as she tightens the belt around her waist, making her top fit closer to her chest.

After a while, Sasuke breaks the silence. “You look like Mom.”

Itachi forces himself to look away. Despite the cold of March, he’s already feeling hot and bothered — somehow. “ Shit.”

Turns out — Hinata’s isn’t the only one with a thing for uniforms.

Chapter Text

Mother has been insistent that the clan does a bit of spring cleaning later that week. Sasuke’s been grumbling all day through the hallways as he hauls cleaning supplies in and out of his room. Shisui has the stench of bleach wafting around him, and all the children plug their noses when he walks by.

Itachi keeps it to himself, but he rather enjoys the act of purging, of starting fresh and clean. It’s almost therapeutic, he thinks, so he does not grumble like his brother. He leaves his bedroom window wide open, and then he sorts through his closet, tossing what he’ll keep in the hamper while placing what he plans to get rid of to the side of his bed. Outside, the songs of birds and windchimes soothes his soul, and he falls into motion, content.

In the back of his head, he feels the cooling touch of Hinata’s chakra, but he doesn’t realize she’s sitting on the sill of his open window until her shadow moves across his vision.

“Sasuke wasn’t lying,” she marvels. “The whole clan’s scrubbing this place clean.”

Itachi pats the spot of floor next to him in an invitation she accepts. Her legs bend down to the floorboards, sweeping her to his side, and she daintily sits next to him, watching him categorize his clothes into different piles.

“I’m sure you also noticed how many of them aren’t too pleased about it,” he notes.

Hinata huffs with an air of amusement. “You seem to be doing fine.”

He playfully knocks his knee into hers, and they fall into sorting together. Sometimes, she’ll try to convince him to keep or ditch a shirt depending on how she likes it, and to amuse her, he follows her advice after a bit of teasing. He can always buy more clothes, after all — or purposefully ruin ones he no longer needs.

They’re nearly through the pile he’s gathered when Hinata stands, searching the corners of his closet, making sure they haven’t left anything to be unsorted. She kisses the backs of her teeth upon sighting something, reaching in to drag it out. Itachi recognizes the muted color, but Hinata has to fold it out before she understands what she’s holding.

His uniform.

They were given multiple, and he supposes he forgot about this stuffed in the back of his closet.

“Looks like I missed it,” he says, holding up a hand for it. “I’ll give it to Sasuke before he heads back to the station.”

Hinata hesitates to hand it over. She holds the vest in front of her eyes, tracing the pockets, the bare spot on the breast for his badge, the fan on the shoulders. Then her gaze turns to the dark undershirt, the belt, the sleek pants.

In an unusually quiet voice, she says, “You didn’t . . . wear your uniform on your last day.”

He hadn’t. There had been no reason to, since he spent most of his last day cooped up in the office, arched over paperwork and finalizing this and that. But that isn’t what this is about. Itachi knows this. It’s clear as day with how Hinata looks at that uniform, lashes thick and low along the curve of her eyes, remembering and imagining.

He pushes his hands on his thighs as he stands, tugging his old uniform from her grasp.

“Maybe,” he says, smirking, “you can convince me to wear it one more time before I hand it over to the force.”

Her eyes are wide and hopeful. “Now?”

“No.” He grins down at her. “And you haven’t convinced me yet, Hinata.”

The invitation is obvious, and like the smart thing she is, Hinata catches on quickly. So she takes it like she takes all his invitations, releasing the uniform so that her hands can find the back of his skull and pull his mouth onto hers. Her warm tongue caresses his bottom lip, coaxing him, as she molds herself against his front. Itachi follows her lead, dropping the uniform to momentarily be forgotten on the floor, using his free hands to push her against the wall and rub the curve of her hip. Her tongue rolls against his. His teeth brush against her mouth. Nails slide down his neck, his pecks, his abdomen. When she pulls away, breathless, desire bright along her eyes and the swollen red of her lips, she tugs at the hem of his shirt.

“Now?” she asks.

Itachi can say he’s fully convinced, but being in the middle of the Uchiha estate makes him a little weary.

“Not here.” Her disappointed frown makes several parts of him spring to life, so he trails a few kisses down her neck. “Later, when you take me home.”

That seems to be a good enough answer for her.

However, when he tries to turn back to his sorting, Hinata swipes his uniform from the ground before she grabs his hand and tugs him in the direction of the door.

“What?” he asks, laughing.

“We’re leaving,” she says. “I’m taking you home.”

“Hinata, I —”

She pulls him along, managing to get him into the hallway. He gives a little resistance, mostly to humor himself, but follows her though the halls of the estate, surrounded by the chemical smells of cleaners and the cacophony of sweeping brooms and clinking silverware and scrubbing brushes.

When they get to the front, Mikoto spots them.

“Itachi,” she calls, “where are you —”

“We’re off to get supplies!” Hinata’s lie falls from her lips without hesitation, and Itachi’s a little impressed that it comes from her so easily. “I’ll bring him back later, I promise!”

He shoots his mother a cheeky grin before they leave through the gate.

Later, indeed.

...

They don’t bother to even reach Hinata’s bedroom, for it’s much too far away.

They hardly get the front door shut behind them before Hinata spins around, kissing him, tugging impatiently at his shirt once again. He laughs low in his throat, biting her lip playfully before pulling away.

“Alright,” he says, “I’m changing.”

He pulls his shirt over his shoulder. Hinata has herself against the wall, watching him, analyzing every centimeter of skin he reveals. Her fingers play together as he kicks off his pants next, pulling on his uniform slacks in a way that seems all too familiar, and yet — at the same time — it’s far from normal. The belt slides through the loops with ease, and the leather snaps when he yanks it at his front before buckling it with careful, smooth fingers. This uniform is for warmer weather; while the collar still reaches the skin under his jaw, the sleeves are short and barely reach past his biceps. The undershirt fits snug against his torso. The way Hinata looks at him makes his skin feel hot.

Finally, he fits on the vest, leaving it unbuckled as he lifts his arms to tighten his ponytail.

Hinata has yet to look away. Her shoulders are hills around her neck, and she lifts a foot to rub against her calf.

Itachi smirks. “You look pleased.”

Not saying a word (Itachi happily believes he’s left her utterly speechless) , Hinata lifts a hand and rests it against his chest, feeling the smooth fabric and the heat of his skin beneath. Her palm rests against his pectorals, then it slips down to dance along the lean muscles in his abdomen. His cock stirs, pushing against the front of his dark slacks, and he feels a tad breathless.

“Well.” His voice comes from the depths of his throat, and Hinata’s eyes light up with desire. “What do you want me to do now? Handcuff you?”

It was meant to tease her, mostly. He was expecting her to go absolutely red and fall into a slew of sputters like she used to when she was younger.

But she doesn’t.

She looks like she’s considering his offer, and then she looks like she could eat him — or maybe like she wants him to eat her.

The fine ribbon keeping his patience intact loosens, falling to the ground beneath them.

When her hand finally drops to grind into his erection, this time it’s Hinata who is inviting him — and Itachi is happy to take it.

Chapter Text

“Turn around.”

Hinata’s blouse is making friends with his clothes on the floorboards, her pants, unbuttoned and loose, hanging around the dip of her hips. Her hands are pulled back, undoing the fastening of her bra, when he tells her to turn around. Her hands stay put, and her eyes gauge him, picking through his mind to find what, exactly, he’s planning to do. No matter if she finds out or not, Hinata turns so that she faces the wall, and Itachi’s hands meet her, undoing that last hook before helping her slide the straps down the round of her shoulders and the length of her arms.

With her upper half completely bare, he swipes of finger up her spine, enjoying the tremble that racks her body as he leans in.

“Put your hands on the wall,” he murmurs against her ear, then sweeps her hair to one side so he can kiss the back of her neck. She puts them at head level, fingers spread out, palm molding against the off-white paint. When Itachi presses his own hands against hers, he realizes how small they are, how he can absolutely trap them in his own grasp. The skin of her palm is rough and worn, but the backs of her hands are smooth, soft, and coaxing. His chest touches her back, and her hips lift. “If you remove them, I’ll stop.”

“Please don’t,” she whispers. He imagines her mouth is against the plaster. For some reason, that turns him on even more.

He nips the edges of her shoulder blades. “You think I want to?”

She doesn’t respond. Small noises escape her mouth with every touch he puts on her body. Hinata squirms when his hands slide from her, tickling her rib cage, leaving teasing, little touches along the swell of her breasts before he turns his focus on her hips. The angle of her body is pure seduction. The line of her spine curls, leading her hips to be pushed back; her upper thigh is crammed against his erection, and if he moves just slightly, he’d have himself against the fervent heat between her legs.

Itachi traces shapes along her back, admiring her lean muscles, the pale canvas of skin she presents so willingly to him. When his left hand rests on her hip, his right snakes around to her front, touching the prairie of her stomach before lowering. Her body is a map in his mind. He recognizes this part of her well, and it feels natural and right when his hand fits between her legs, finding her clit with ease.

The underside of his knuckle touches it; taps it, really.

It’s enough to send Hinata careening, an open-mouthed moan tumbling from her lips. Her hips wriggle and involuntarily grind against him. Itachi chokes, head falling back.

He rolls his knuckle against her clit again. Her hips jut and writhe again, and his cock strains against the tightness of his uniform slacks as she rubs herself against him.

Again and again, he teases her aching clit. Hinata’s moves turn a bit sporadic and desperate as she gets closer to the edge. Her fingers curl against the wall as her head falls, drapes of hair hiding any section of her face from his view. Her shoulders shake as she pushes her lower body more against him, tipping on the ends of her toes to get that perfect leverage against his cock.

Between soft moans turning breathless, she says, “C-Come on, Itachi.”

He’s able to pull away from the immense pleasure she’s giving him, though her plead sends a whole separate kind of arousal straight to his groin.

Leaning over, his hips still grinding into the backs of her thighs, he kisses the valley between her shoulder blades. “Yes, Hinata?”

Her forehead pushes against the wall. “I want you,” she breathes.

His body sways — or maybe the house sways — or maybe the world sways. His erection aches and begs with the rest of his body. His teeth find the curve of her ear.

“So do I,” he groans. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you?”

The flexing muscles in her arms tell him she’s fighting against herself, forcing her hands to stay on the wall. He grins against her hair, removes himself from her back, and works on his belt. Hinata cranes her neck to watch him, eyes unabashed as they watch him drop his belt to the floor, undoing the front of his slacks and sliding them and his boxers down.

The head of his cock is dripping.

A bit of fuzz leaves his brain, and he looks at her.

“Condom,” he says.

She lifts her leg, presenting her pants, which had slid down to her ankles some time ago. “Pocket.”

He kneels down to pull it out, teeth ripping the wrapper open so he can remove it with ease. “You come prepared.”

From his angle, he can see her rosy face and eyes of temptation. “You’re not the only one who’s been waiting for a long time.”

He turns his body to the side and lifts his chin to kiss her; then, Itachi gets back into his original position, sliding on the condom with ease.

“Is this okay?” he asks, because he feels like he should.

Over her shoulder, Hinata gives him a look. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He grins. “No — I mean here. Let me take you to the bedroom.”

Before his arms can circle around her body to lift her, Hinata pushes herself further against the wall.

“You said —” She stops for a second, taking in a shaky, excited breath, “that if I remove my hands, you’d stop.”

And Itachi has no mind to argue. His hand slides between her legs, making sure she’s wet and ready, and then he grabs himself and slowly sinks himself into her.

For a second, his mind goes blank. It flickers and buzzes, like the other end of a walkie-talkie. It’s just tightness and heat and a pleasure he’s never felt before — filling his veins — morphing reality — squeezing air out of his lungs until he can do nothing but wheeze and groan. His legs go numb — or maybe he can’t really think about anything aside from his pulsing cock buried inside of Hinata, so everything else feels numb, or separated from him, or just not there.

Like his heart. It feels like it jumped from his throat and left.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to push through the ecstasy he’s bathing in, but when he does, Itachi takes in Hinata.

Her body is a little stiff, though not to a concerning point. The even in-out of her breaths tells him that she’s not in pain, just experiencing a little discomfort. He waits, though he’s a little lost on how long he should stay still and give her time to adjust. Despite it all, this isn’t something he’s done before, and he doesn’t like the idea that his inexperience causes any harm to her.

Thankfully, he’s given a pretty clear go-ahead when Hinata lifts her hips just a tad, coaxing him to move. It’s enough to send his mind swirling, so he pulls back and thrusts back in — trying with all his might to not drown in the strong waves of pleasure to make sure she’s still doing alright.

Hinata’s body is still a tad tense, but after the fourth, careful thrust, she seems to relax. On the fifth thrust, she moans, and Itachi happily picks up the pace. Both hands clutching her hips, he finds a tempo that makes her body quake with every thrust. Through the blur of it all, the heaviness of sex weighing down his eyelids, Itachi sees her body slipping, her hands desperately pressed against the wall as her torso bends. She’s nearly at a right angle, head bowed, hair swinging along the floorboards.

“O-Oh God,” she gasps.

He’s not sure how she’s able to get him more and more aroused.

Well . . . actually, he does know.

It’s pretty obvious, actually.

And that sends him into a hungry, greedy state. He thinks there’s too much space between them, so he buries himself deep inside of her, enjoying the gravelly gasp that pushes out of her lungs, and forces her up against the wall. His right hand curls around her thigh and lifts it, making her balance on one foot. When he thrusts into her again, he hits a spot previously untouched, and her walls clamp and spasm, and he sticks himself against her back, kissing every part of skin he can reach — shoulder, neck, jaw.

“I love you.” His moan is met with her own. His movements lose tempo, racing into a frenzy, chasing that high. “Hinata. God — I love you.”

She cranes her neck, finding his lips, kissing him without a hint of control. They’re both wildly breathless, but they don’t dare to pull away, molding mouths and nipping lips. She’s flat against the wall, and he’s against her, and they’re both panting and moaning and trembling — begging each other — telling each other their close — gasping their name like its a mantra, a prayer — worship —

When she comes, his hands are squeezing hers, and her head falls back, skull against his clavicle. She gasps in his ear, his name jumbled in starry eyes and swollen lips. He drinks in every centimeter of glowing satisfaction on her face, he thrusts into her three more times, and he joins her in ecstasy. His legs almost give in. He drops his mouth to her neck, groaning, high on pleasure and pride and absolute glee.

They slide down to the floor, panting. When he’s got some grasp on reality, he pulls her hands from the wall and lavishes her palms with kisses, and Hinata presses her face against his chest, resting against his uniform front.

Itachi wonders, in the back of his head, if he could get away with keeping it.

Sasuke probably wouldn’t care.

It’s just one uniform, after all.