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Chapter Text

The Age of Eight

“One day, I shall m-marry you,” she declared, her small voice carrying clearly across the table for all to hear.

For a brief moment, the company fell into stunned silence, taken aback by the boldness of her proclamation. Then, quite suddenly, laughter broke out from every corner.

Standing atop her chair, she pointed her tiny finger directly at the young gentleman who had so thoroughly captured her affections that very afternoon, a coy smile playing across her rosy lips.

“Now, now,” her father chuckled, noting the poor boy’s complexion reddening all the way to the tips of his ears. As the merriment settled and calm gradually returned to the gathering, he added, with a teasing raise of the brow, “Isn’t it a bit early, sweet-pea, to be thinking of marriage?”

Too early?

How funny her Papa could be! She had just made the most important discovery of her life—her one true love—and yet here he was, treating her as though she were still a baby. With an exaggerated huff, Hinata plopped back down upon her seat, arms crossed tightly over her chest, sulking at the thought that no one was taking her seriously. Still, she managed a quick sideways glance at her future husband, who had yet to recover from the shock of her declaration.

And she had been so romantic!

From the very instant she had laid eyes upon him, little Hinata Hyūga knew—knew with every fibre of her young heart—that the tall, golden-haired boy with the sky-coloured eyes was meant to be hers. His smile had nearly knocked her senseless—it shone with such brilliance! He had even presented her with a bouquet of lilies upon his arrival, and if that did not qualify as true love, then she no longer knew what could.

All around them, the servants moved like fairies.

Her favourite among them, of course, was Kō.

Gentle and ever attentive, he had cared for her for as long as she could remember. Hinata adored him even more than Natsu—who, although loving in her own way, could be far stricter than dear Kō.

Catching sight of the faint tears of embarrassment beginning to well in her pale eyes, Kō made his way swiftly to her side.

“Would you care to help me check on the kittens the Nara family brought us, Lady Hinata?” he asked gently.

Hinata shrugged, feigning indifference though inside her heart skipped a beat of delight. Holding a kitten was precisely the kind of comfort she needed.

Her Mama had warned her that they were fragile creatures and ought not be disturbed, lest they behave like Lady Hanabi when roused from an afternoon nap.

She slipped down from her chair and wove between guests already enjoying their fourth glass of champagne. Her cousin Neji had once explained to her that such drink made ladies feel light and cheerful, using the word tipsy. She had loved the sound of it instantly especially since Papa always called her sweet pea, and Mama, honeybee. 

And just then, Hinata felt tipsy too for something wonderful was surely about to happen.

But she would be even more tipsy if Naruto came with her.

So she tugged Kō along toward the corner where the boy stood. Upon seeing her, he had already forgotten the earlier embarrassment and bent to one knee, smiling with that radiant warmth that made her head spin.

He was so handsome.

So dreadfully handsome, in fact, that Hinata quite forgot her prepared words. Suddenly bashful, she turned her shy eyes toward Kō in silent appeal. He understood at once.

“Lady Hinata would like to know,” he said with a slight smile, “if the gentleman would accompany her to visit the kittens.”

Hinata nodded quickly. Yes, precisely that.

“If Miss Hinata desires my company,” Naruto replied with a bow, “then how could I possibly refuse?”

And just like that, with her heart fluttering and butterflies dancing in her stomach, Hinata released Kō’s hand and took Naruto’s instead. He allowed her to lead him to the hearth, where the kittens lay curled in a soft basket.

“That one is Blanca,” she said proudly, when he asked her to introduce them. “Because she’s white.”

Naruto nodded with exaggerated seriousness, as though this were the most logical and important explanation he had ever heard. Encouraged, Hinata continued.

“And that one is Filou.”

“Filou?” he repeated. “Why that name?”

“Because he is one!” she exclaimed. “He steals everyone’s toys. So… he’s Filou.”

“And what about the little one over there?”

“That’s Baby. Because she’s still a baby.”

“But aren’t they all babies?” he teased.

“Well, y-yes,” she admitted, “but she’s the smallest.” She hesitated, brow furrowing. “What name would you give her?”

“Baby suits her,” he replied at last. “Now that you mention it, she really is quite tiny.”

He reached out to ruffle her hair gently, and when she looked up at him, her eyes gleamed like stars.

She loved him.

She really, truly loved him.

And she knew—with the deep, unwavering conviction only a child could possess—that one day, they would be married.

The Age of Nine

“Where is N-Naruto?”

The pitch in her tone tested Neji’s patience. Now that his cousin had reached the grand age of nine, she insisted upon being regarded as a grown young lady, though rarely, in his view, did she conduct herself accordingly. And this incessant question, repeated with unwavering determination, had grown tiresome. How, pray tell, was he expected to know the precise whereabouts of that fool at any given hour?

“He told me,” Neji drawled, “that he was in desperate need of a respite from your company.”

Truthfully, Neji required one as well.

What had become of the days when she would hurl herself into his arms, peppering his cheeks with kisses until she could scarcely breathe simply because she had missed her most beloved cousin? Where, indeed, was his reward for having endured her whims for so long?

Now, it was Naruto this, Naruto that, Naruto here, Naruto there—Naruto, Naruto, Naruto!

He had grown quite thoroughly sick of that name.

“Y-you are lying,” she stammered, her little voice quivering as doubt crept into her heart. Already, tears were forming in her large, luminous eyes, a sure sign that he had wounded her.

He sighed. He knew precisely what was to follow.

Yet, as she swallowed back her sobs and raised her chin with icy resolve, she declared, with far more conviction than she felt:

“Naruto would n-never say such a thing! He is far too kind! Unlike you, Neji!”

He shrugged. “It is true, he did not say it. But can you truly fault me for being jealous of the absurd quantity of attention you bestow upon that imbecile?”

Just like that, her fury softened, and sympathy glimmered in her eyes once more.

“You ought t-to have told me!” she exclaimed, drawing near. “No one could ever take your place, Neji.”

He opened his arms, and she folded herself against him.

“I am sorry if I made you feel forgotten. I truly did not m-mean to!”

He rolled his eyes. She played him like a fiddle and she knew it.

“So,” she said, voice bright once more, “where is he?”

“Where is who?”

And off she went again.

In the blink of an eye, she had wriggled from his embrace and flung herself at the young man in question, who laughed as she tackled him with her unbridled enthusiasm.

“Were you speaking of me?” he asked, ruffling her hair.

“Always,” Neji sighed with theatrical exasperation. “She has scarcely uttered any other name since breakfast…”

“N-Neji!” Hinata whined, scarlet in the cheeks.

“Well, I am glad to know you have been thinking of me,” Naruto grinned. “Because I have been thinking of you as well, princess.”

Hinata’s eyes widened with wonder, as though her soul might lift straight out of her body.

“Of m-me?” she repeated breathlessly.

“Exactly—” he began, only to be interrupted by Neji.

“I shall leave her to you, since she is quite evidently yours. I believe I shall stretch my legs… if you take my meaning.”

With that, he cleared his throat and strode away toward a cluster of young people, one young lady in particular drawing his interest.

Naruto’s gaze followed briefly, distracted, until a gentle tug on his hand brought his attention back to the little girl at his side.

“You said you were thinking of m-me,” she reminded him with solemn sweetness. “Does that mean… you have a surprise for me?”

Perhaps he did. But she was not getting it just yet.

“And what makes you believe that?”

She only shrugged, her gaze already drifting toward the stalls teeming with sweets and delights.

“Would you a-accompany me to the pastry stand over there?” she asked, pointing toward old Missus Chiyo’s familiar booth.

Naruto acquiesced at once, allowing himself to be led.

“You did not come with us to Mr. Taki’s orchard to pick apples, as you had promised,” she said, half-distracted by the colours and sounds of the bustling market. “And I must admit... I was gravely disappointed.”

She shot him a wounded glance, though before he could offer apology, she pressed on:

“We made applesauce afterward with Kō and the chef. It was very good! We had so much of it, we gave a few jars to old Farmer Ikeda. He was thrilled and his wife made us a mirabelle tart.”

She looked up at Naruto then, pleased that he always gave her stories the full weight of his attention.

“But it wasn’t very good… Too sour. You wouldn’t have liked it, Naruto.”

“No, I dare say I wouldn’t. And did you eat it anyway?”

“Of course. Otherwise Mama would’ve pulled my ears.”

“And what of Lady Ino? Has she visited again?”

“Oh yes! Two weeks ago, she came bearing all sorts of pretty gifts. A bracelet, two dresses, and a card game. We played all afternoon, and I won every match, except one, but only because I was distracted by my snack.”

Naruto chuckled. A perfectly valid excuse, in his opinion.

“Was Neji upset?”

“Very. He begged me to let him win once, just to soothe his pride. But I reminded him that Papa always says cheaters go to hell, so he didn’t ask again.”

“The Marquess of Hyuga is a wise man, then. I suppose I’m bound for hell... I always cheat.”

“Do not say that!” she cried, aghast. “Cheating is lying, and lying is a s-sin. You must stop at once and ask God’s forgiveness.”

She halted in her tracks and turned to face him, her expression so fierce in its innocence that Naruto had to suppress a laugh.

“Promise me, Naruto. You must.”

“Well,” he said with a grin, “since you’re asking so sweetly… I promise.”

He offered her a wink. She frowned.

“I mean it. Cheating is wrong. And you would know that if you came to church more often.”

With that, she dropped his hand, crossed her arms, and marched ahead, quite scandalised.

She truly could get cross so quickly.

But with her little pout, she was hardly fearsome. And Naruto had no wish to upset her, not when her heart was so good and generous. 

“Very well,” he called after her. “Tomorrow, you shall see me at church. I promise.”

“And you will confess to Father.”

This was not a suggestion.

“If he’ll listen to me, I shall.”

Heaven knew Naruto had more than cheating to confess.

“He will listen. He listens to everyone. Last time, I tripped Miss Misaki. It wasn’t quite on purpose, but I did not regret it either, because she spent the entire lesson yelling at me for not standing straight!”

Naruto raised a brow, waiting for her to continue but she had become momentarily entranced by the sight of a cotton candy cart, newly arrived in town.

“May we have some?” she asked, her eyes wide and bright as spring violets.

He nodded, and she resumed her tale.

“My back had been aching from the day before. I fell off Mireille, you know.”

Mireille—her little grey pony, a recent gift from her Uncle Hisashi, who had made his fortune training racehorses.

“Were you hurt badly?” Naruto asked, concern flickering in his voice.

“I’m big now, you know.” she replied airily, as if that explained everything.

He took that to mean she had not broken any bones.

“And that woman truly frightens me, Naruto. So I promise you, it wasn’t really my fault. But I was so very cross…”

She gripped his hand tightly, cheeks puffed with indignation.

“Then suddenly, my leg flew out and boom!”

She flung her arms wide to mimic the explosion. “She went flying!”

Naruto burst out laughing, recalling all too well the torment that same woman had subjected him to during his own dance lessons.

“It is not funny! Naruto!”

But she was giggling too, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

No, she was not very sorry.

“So of course, Mama was terribly disappointed. She said she had not raised me to behave like that. I had to apologise to Miss Misaki for injuring her and to God, for harbouring such cruel thoughts.”

She laid a hand upon her chest, proud and righteous. “And now, my conscience is clear.”

“No more wicked thoughts, then?” Naruto teased.

“N–Not a single one! Promise!”

He arched a brow. “Truly?”

“Cross my heart,” she beamed, already plotting to spend every last coin he had on sweets and treasures.

No more wicked thoughts, indeed.

“Did you see Mr. Anoki’s selling sweets from the Land of Lightning?”

He was going to be quite thoroughly broke by the day’s end.

The Age of Ten

Today marked Naruto’s seventeenth birthday. He was nearly a man. And though it was a special occasion for the young gentleman himself, it was no less momentous for Lady Hinata Hyūga for it represented, in her mind, her final opportunity to convince her beloved that she was the one destined for him. That, with just a few years more, she would be of an age suitable for courtship.

In another year, Naruto would be expected to begin the search for a prospective bride and Hinata was fully aware the competition would be fierce. Not always the most dignified sort, perhaps, but numerous all the same.

First, there was Lady Sara, whose chief amusement lay in humiliating Hinata and mocking her tender affections, especially in Naruto’s presence. Hinata could not deny the girl’s outward charms, red hair of considerable length and a smile that came easily, yet no prettiness could conceal the pettiness of her character. Even her laugh was dreadful: sharp, shrill, and more befitting a cackling witch than any well-bred young lady.

Happily, Naruto did not appear particularly fond of her. He would often frown when she spoke too loudly, and had already, on more than one occasion, requested she lower her voice and behave with greater decorum.

Oh, how Hinata’s heart soared whenever he did! As though he might read her very soul. What further proof of their unspoken bond?

Then there was Lady Karui, a stunning dark-skinned redhead. She gave the impression of wishing to be elsewhere whenever attending such gatherings, though Hinata had noticed her casting the occasional glance toward Lord Chōji, who, as ever, remained blissfully unaware. For now, at least, Lady Karui did not seem a true threat.

But a greater danger loomed—Lady Sakura. Though unaware of it, she remained Hinata’s chief rival. Her affections were hopelessly fixed upon Lord Sasuke, who seldom granted her so much as a kind word, though she was easily one of the most admired young ladies in the entire region, if not the whole of the Fire Country. This, in fact, rendered her the greatest threat of all, for Hinata had, on more than one occasion, seen Naruto’s eyes scanning a crowd until they landed upon a certain soft pink head.

Yes, Lady Sakura was tall and graceful, possessed of brilliant green eyes and clever conversation. But truly, what did she offer that Hinata did not?

One tearful evening, as she lay in her bed, Hinata reached a revelation: she lacked nothing beside Lady Sakura, save age. Her dear father often assured her that she would one day walk arm-in-arm with a prince for she possessed both beauty and a noble heart. And Hinata would always reply that her prince needed no title. He already had a name—Naruto.

Thus resolved, Hinata made a solemn vow to herself: she would ask him to wait. To delay his pursuit of a bride until she, too, reached the age of seventeen. With her father’s blessing, who was ever so tender when she applied herself to her lessons and ate all her meals, perhaps such a dream might one day come true.

What were seven years of waiting beside a lifetime of happiness? “Nothing at all,” her mother might say, if she weren’t preoccupied tending to Lady Hanabi, who had, true to her nature, caught a dreadful cold after running barefoot through the garden during a rainstorm. Hinata had not been surprised. Hanabi was a true tempest in petticoats.

But today, there were far greater matters at stake. Hinata had donned her loveliest white gown, adorned with tiny lavender flowers and sleeves edged in lace. Though her hair was still short, Natsu had skillfully threaded a lilac ribbon through it, and her shoes had a modest little heel, the kind Lady Ino would surely call chic.

She had decided not to stray from Naruto’s side for the entirety of the day. Wherever he went, she would follow. He always gave her his full attention, whether by choice or by necessity was not something Hinata allowed herself to ponder. To her, it was evident: he preferred her company to all others. Even to Lady Sakura’s.

With this conviction burning in her small chest, the young lady stepped down from the carriage and immediately began scanning the garden for him. Her father called after her to wait, reminding her that he was no longer twenty years old, but she paid him no heed. Her beloved was near.

And there he was, already smiling in her direction, visibly pleased by the sight of her rushing towards him.

“Happy birthday, Naruto!” she cried, flinging herself into his arms. He caught her, though not without effort. It struck him, in that instant, just how much she had grown.

“Look how p-pretty I am for you!” she said, breathless.

He tried to inspect her, but she clung to him like a small koala, arms tight about his neck. So he gently set her down and adopted a most serious expression as he examined her appearance from head to toe. Hinata spun in place, letting the skirt of her dress twirl about her, and he finally smiled.

“Beautiful. A true princess.”

“Mama gave me this dress because it’s your special day,” she whispered, fingers tapping together.

“For my special day?” he asked, touched. She nodded shyly, now avoiding his gaze.

“She chose well, Lady Hyūga,” he said, and lifted her into his arms once more. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, watching the golden leaves of the autumn garden flutter about them.

“Come now,” he added, “the others are eager to see your outfit. They are as excited as I was.”

Indeed, Lord Sasuke and his elder brother, Lord Itachi, the Earl of Uchiha, stood conversing with Viscount Kakashi near the terrace. Lord Chōji and Lord Shikamaru lounged nearby, each with a cigar in hand. Lord Kiba and Lord Shino were, as usual, locked in a mild quarrel, which Hinata found rather amusing.

And there, not far off, stood Lady Sara, her lips pursed, her cheeks unusually red. Was it rouge? Or had jealousy flushed her complexion?

“Lady Hinata,” she said, her voice smooth as satin and twice as artificial.

Hinata, ever the well-bred young lady, inclined her chin gracefully and offered a polite nod. She might be the youngest present, but none here doubted her affections for Naruto, and most found her devotion charming, even if the object of her affections occasionally looked faintly embarrassed.

Still, when she declared to new acquaintances that Naruto was already spoken for, he rarely corrected her. Indeed, it often seemed he used her innocent possessiveness as a means of warding off more eager admirers.

The day unfolded in laughter and warmth. Lady Kushina, Marchioness Namikaze, even invited Hinata into the grand kitchen to assist with the birthday candles, a privilege the child accepted with breathless delight.

She adored Lady Namikaze for her elegance, her spirit, and the tales she told of the distant land she once called home. A kingdom where the entire village was invited to celebrate Christmas at the palace, and where the finest confections were sent abroad to faraway lands like the Land of Fire.

Sometimes, Kushina’s voice grew wistful, and once, Hinata had asked gently why she never returned.

The answer was simple: she had given up her title, her homeland, and all its privileges when she married the Marquess.

“So… you were a real princess?” Hinata asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“I was, my dear,” Kushina said with a smile. “But I gave it up quite happily. My life would be terribly dull without Minato and Naruto.”

She cut the cake herself and Hinata watched her, utterly enraptured.

“Perhaps I’m no longer a princess,” Kushina added, “but Naruto still has royal blood.”

Hinata’s heart leapt. A prince! Her father had been right all along. And now she was more convinced than ever: one day, she would marry him.

Later, once the candles had been extinguished and the celebratory song sung, came the moment of gifts. There were so many, Naruto hardly knew where to begin. And so he turned to Hinata with a smile and asked her to assist him in unwrapping them. She obliged with joy, her small hands moving deftly, though her father, observing from a distance, soon noted that she had not left Naruto’s side once.

Lord Hiashi decided it was time. Surely the poor boy would wish to enjoy his own fête without a small girl clinging to him like ivy to a garden wall. Gently, yet with firm authority, he beckoned his daughter to him and instructed her to thank Naruto for the invitation and to take her leave.

At once, tears welled in her eyes. Lord Hiashi sighed softly, glancing toward Lord Minato, who stood nearby, his expression unreadable, though one corner of his mouth was curled in quiet amusement.

Hinata, for her part, did not wish to make a scene. Her father was right. She was too young to stay with Naruto and the older youths. But what distressed her most was that she had neither presented him with her gift, nor said the one thing she had promised herself she would.

And now—now he was laughing with Lady Sakura, as though he had already forgotten her entirely.

Determined not to be defeated, Hinata turned to her father and begged for but a few more minutes. He relented, on the condition that she not delay.

She marched straight back to Naruto, who received her with delight, sweeping her up once more. Yet even then, his gaze drifted toward Lady Sakura, and something hot and unhappy stirred in Hinata’s chest.

“Naruto,” she whispered into his ear.

He turned immediately, concern dawning on his face at the sight of her cheeks, still blotched from nearly-spilled tears.

“You want to tell me something?” he asked gently.

She nodded. He turned to Lady Sakura. “May we have a moment?”

Lady Sakura offered a smile and stepped away. Hinata, seizing her opportunity, raised a small fist in victory, a silent, triumphant gesture.

Hand in hand, she led him behind the hedge, where Kō waited with the basket she and her mother had prepared.

Inside were little things: handmade soap, candies, fine chocolate, a brooch, and a bracelet that Hinata had woven herself with silver and pale violet thread.

Naruto opened it slowly, touched. “Did you make this?” he asked, lifting the bracelet.

She nodded. “Tie it on, please,” she said softly. “With a d-double knot, so it won’t fall off.”

He did as asked, and when it was secure, he took her hand in his.

“This is the best gift I’ve received today, princess,” he said. It was not entirely true, but it was a lovely lie, and therefore forgivable.

Hinata’s fingers tightened in his. She looked up at him with wide, bashful eyes.

“Naruto… d-do you love me?”

He nodded. He did love her, though not as she meant it. More like a brother. But he would never say so in those exact words.

“Then you have to promise me something,” she whispered.

He smiled faintly. Neji had warned him this moment would come.

“And since I’m your princess—” she took a deep breath, summoning courage, “—well… I must marry a prince.”

He nodded solemnly. That was sound logic.

“And soooo,” she faltered, growing flustered, “so… you’re the only prince I know. So we have to get m-married.”

Naruto laughed and instantly regretted it when he saw her face. Her lips were pressed into a little pout, her eyes narrowed in wounded pride.

He caught himself. “But you’re too young to get married.”

“Yes, now,” she huffed. “But when I turn seventeen, I shall be ready.”

Naruto did not like to imagine such a day—a day when she might give her heart to another. He doubted any boy would deserve her.

“So… y-you have to wait for me,” she concluded, voice trembling.

He fell silent. Her tears always undid him.

She loved him, that much was clear. Perhaps she saw in him a kind older brother, one who never scolded like Neji, one who gave generously without asking anything in return. She did not yet know the difference between admiration and love. And so, the fairy tale had blossomed in her mind, all on its own.

He was prepared to tell her the truth… but he couldn’t. Not yet. Her little heart could not bear it and neither could his.

“You promise?” she asked again, when his silence lingered.

He hesitated. “What if…” he said at last, “what if you became my precious friend instead?”

“Lord Sasuke is already your best friend and you’re not allowed to have two!” she snapped.

“That’s true,” he conceded. “But I don’t have a precious friend yet.”

She eyed him, suspicious. “Precious friend?”

He nodded. “Would you like to be that?”

She pondered this with care, as though weighing sweets at a shop window.

“And you promise not to have any others? Not even Lady Sakura?”

“No one else,” he said solemnly. “Not even Lady Sakura.”

She leaned into him, resting her head once more against his shoulder.

“Just… wait a bit longer before m-marrying her, okay?” she murmured.

For someone so small, Naruto thought, she perceived far more than she let on.

“My heart wouldn’t survive seeing you with her all the time.”

The Age of Eleven

“Why is Naruto not here today?”

Her tone, though soft, bore the unmistakable sting of disappointment. His parents had both arrived at the Hyūga estate for tea. Why, then, had he not come?

“Honeybee…” Her mother knelt before her, a gentle hand upon Hinata’s knee, a wistful smile curving her lips. The purity of a child’s affection could be a most tender thing.

“Does he not love me any longer?”

Only two months had passed since he’d last visited, yet in Hinata’s world of long days and longings, it felt an eternity. He had promised. And if Neji had once more spirited him away to other amusements, she would not—could not—forgive it this time.

“Darling, Lord Naruto…”

How was one to explain to a child that a young gentleman of eighteen finds more delight in company more akin to his own? 

“… Lord Naruto must pass time with his other companions as well,” her mother said softly. “Otherwise, they may feel neglected.”

“But he told me I was his most precious friend!”

At that, Hitomi cast a glance toward her husband, who had just entered. The master of the house stood at the threshold, taking in the scene: their oldest daughter sprawled across the carpet, limbs arranged like the spokes of a wheel. She was, in her own shy and well-mannered way, remarkably theatrical. He allowed himself the faintest smile.

“Will you not greet our guests, my dear?”

She responded only with a shake of the head, one arm draped across her brow in a pose of practiced despair. The display was so absurdly melodramatic he nearly laughed. Yes, it was settled: the child must be enrolled in theatre.

“And the pianoforte? Have you forgotten?” he asked, approaching her. “Did you not promise Lady Yamanaka she might hear your newest piece?”

At the mention of it, one pearly eye crept open.

“I cannot,” she replied flatly.

Both parents exchanged a glance. Hinata, declining to perform? Such an occurrence was almost unheard of.

“You cannot?” Hitomi repeated, gently, as though uncertain she had heard alright.

“That is correct,” the girl affirmed, her tone resolute.

“Come now, Hinata,” her father sighed, striving for patience. “You must not disappoint our friends.”

His wife touched his arm, urging restraint.

“Have you forgotten the notes?” her mother asked. “You might always play another piece.”

“No,” Hinata said, “I cannot because my muse is not here!”

With that, she collapsed into tears.

Hiashi blinked. Muse? Who, pray, had taught her that word? Who was filling her head with such nonsense?

“I shall be your muse, if that is what it takes,” his voice exasperated. “But this must cease. You are coming downstairs. Now.”

One eye opened again.

“Oh, Papa, you are not my muse,” she sighed, as though it were plainly evident.

He felt the smallest pang. A king dethroned in the eyes of his daughter.

“And your gown,” her mother added, attempting a different approach. “Will you not show everyone how charming you look in it, darling?”

At that, Hinata’s features softened, though her lower lip remained firmly pushed forward.

Hitomi exhaled. There was hope yet.

“Very well,” the girl muttered. It was more an exasperated concession than consent.

“Thank heavens,” said her father. “Call Natsu to see to her.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple and rose. As he left, he could not help but think: Heaven help us when she turns sixteen.

Natsu arrived shortly, and her mere presence was enough to bring Hinata to her feet and into her chair. The maid had a fearsome reputation for discipline: her punishments, though never cruel, were always perfectly memorable.

She brushed Hinata’s short hair and tied it with a pale pink ribbon to match the delicate folds of her gown.

“There,” she said. “Lady Hinata is ready to dazzle the salon. But do not forget to greet the guests first,” she added, lifting one brow. “And smile. You’re not in prison—yet. Chop, chop.”

Hinata obeyed, albeit with theatrical reluctance. She descended to the drawing room and greeted the assembled company.

“You look radiant, my darling!” cried Lady Ino Yamanaka, sweeping her into a perfumed embrace.

Lady Ino was dazzling—tall, golden-haired, with a figure fit for every ballroom in the land. Her gowns came directly from Madame Samui’s workshop, her jewels from the finest Suna artisans. Men adored her, but Hinata only had eyes for the way Naruto had never adored her.

“Oh, Lady Ino! I’ve missed you so terribly!” she declared.

“And you, my lady, made us miss you, as well.”

Hinata flushed, momentarily recalling her earlier rebellion.

“A lady may arrive fashionably late,” Ino teased, “but one full hour? I was beginning to fear you’d been abducted!”

Hinata buried her face in the woman’s shoulder, hoping to conceal her grin. Perhaps Ino would mistake her silence for regret, but of course, Ino was far too clever for that.

“Oh no, madam. Not with me,” she warned.

And with that, she tickled the girl mercilessly until she could no longer contain her laughter.

An hour later, Hinata sat at the pianoforte, hands poised with grace. The piece was one her instructor had laboured over with her for weeks. She liked music, though she considered herself merely adequate. But when the final chord resounded through the salon, the room erupted in applause, and Hinata rose to curtsy, cheeks flushed.

It was then that she saw him—Toneri.

He was her age, maybe a year older, and for reasons unfathomable, had taken great pleasure in tormenting her.

Her mother, perceiving the direction of her daughter’s gaze, sent her a discreet warning glance. Be civil. His father had only recently entered into partnership with hers.

So Hinata sighed, adopted the manner of a martyr, and crossed the room.

“You missed a note at the end,” Toneri said, smiling far too sweetly, when she approached.

Of course he did.

“That so?” she replied, clicking her shoes together idly.

“Not that it matters. Not everyone is meant for the pianoforte,” he added with a shrug that pretended at kindness.

Her hands curled into fists. She would have gladly kicked his shins had it not been so very unladylike.

“And how fare your fencing lessons?” she asked with an innocence that masked her contempt.

Rumour had it he was dreadful. At least, according to her beloved, who, on occasion, had been obliged to instruct him.

“If my tutor possessed the slightest competence,” Toneri remarked airily, “I should be in the advanced group by now.”

That was quite enough.

Hinata, overcome by righteous indignation, abandoned all decorum and hurled herself at him in a flurry of silk and fury.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHN

Ten minutes later, she was confined to her room. Tears streaked her cheeks. Her father had scolded her sternly, and justly perhaps, but she harboured no regrets. Toneri had at last received his due.

To be sure, she had risked missing Naruto, should he make an appearance after all, but Lady Ino would undoubtedly recount her valiant stand in all its detail.

Toneri, for his part, had shown no particular restraint, either. He had pulled her hair, torn the pale pink ribbon Natsu had given her the year before, and left a narrow red scratch upon her cheek. Her first real battle wound. Yet Lady Ino had applied a cool compress and declared that she remained, without question, the loveliest lady in all Konoha. And when Lady Ino said such things, she meant them.

Naruto would not find her hideous, she assured herself. No—he would think her brave.

Time dragged. Her confinement felt eternal. And Natsu had insisted it was not a prison!

When a knock came at last, she refused to answer. Let them enter, if they must. No one respected her solitude anyway.

Footsteps crossed the room. The bed dipped beneath someone’s weight.

“Hinata?” came a raspy voice, low, familiar, unmistakable.

She knew it at once.

She threw off the blanket, then promptly remembered her grievance, and flopped back down in a flurry of pique, pulling the coverlet over her head once more.

Naruto could not help the smile tugging at his mouth. He had not been expected, nor, strictly speaking, invited into her room. But he had known full well that Hinata would never forgive him had he come to the estate and neglected to see her.

Social obligations could be wearisome, even for him. At eighteen, he preferred the company of his friends and of the girls who trailed them. Still, he had promised. And Hinata, he knew, likely watched for him at the gate every day.

She was a singular child—lovely, strange, and oddly dear to him. He could not return her affections as she gave them, but she occupied a gentle corner of his heart that he guarded rather closely.

“Are you cross with me, princess?” he asked lightly.

She made no reply.

He whistled softly.

At length, her head emerged. Her eyes glistened with tears, largely theatrical. He recognised the ploy, but humoured her nonetheless, drawing her close as she began to recount her evening’s many catastrophes.

His absence, her father’s failed attempt at inspiration, and, of course, her encounter with Toneri—all were told with the seriousness of a war memoir.

“I shall avenge you, princess. I promise.”

“Truly?” she murmured into his shoulder, her voice already thick with sleep.

She yawned, unbecomingly, and he tucked her in with a quiet care. Just as her lashes fluttered shut, she whispered: “I love you very much.”

He smiled.

He loved her, too. Not in the way she perhaps hoped, but sincerely, and in his own unchanging way.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

The following morning, as Hinata sat at her breakfast table, Natsu entered the room bearing a maid’s apron and a pair of heavy wooden clogs.

Her parents exchanged a glance, and could not help but laugh. Their daughter’s expression said it all.

Natsu, however, was not laughing.

And so, under her strict eye, Lady Hinata Hyūga spent the remainder of the morning cleaning out the pig pen.

The Age of Fourteen

Within the darkened interior of the carriage, Lady Hinata sat very straight, gloved hands folded in her lap, lips pressed together in a dignified, if slightly sulky, line. Neji, was beside her, calmly absorbed in a thick sheaf of documents.

“Do not make such a face,” he said at last, without looking up. “It will age you before your time.”

“I’m not making a face,” Hinata replied, voice high and faintly tremulous. “I’m simply... disappointed. A little.”

“To be deprived of sand and camels?”

“I wanted to go back to that market...” She sighed, defeated.

Neji only hummed in reply.

“And instead I must go to some dull dinner,” she continued, sighing, “with you and your colleagues. Who probably talk only of numbers.”

“It is true that the majority are of the accounting persuasion,” he said, amused. “You may yet learn something.”

Hinata gave a very soft huff. “I’d rather have stayed home with Lady Hanabi and counted clouds.”

“Alas, you are stuck with me. And Lord Toneri.”

Her entire little frame wilted. “He’s always there. Lurking. Like a curtain ghost.”

Neji chuckled. “I’m quite certain he’s a living boy, not a ghost.”

“He haunts me,” she insisted, primly.

“Well, he is the heir of an important house, and this is a farewell phase of sorts. The Ōtsutsuki contract is ending, but the boy still has feet.”

“Could he not put those feet elsewhere?”

“Natsu has asked you to be gracious.”

“Then Natsu should sit next to him.”

“She is otherwise occupied bringing a new soul into the world.”

Hinata glanced away, abashed. “That is very noble of her. I... I suppose I can manage dinner.”

“Besides,” Neji added idly, “you may find familiar faces. That girl—Fumi, was it?”

“We’re not f-friends anymore,” Hinata said in a rush.

“Oh?”

“She said I play chess like a grandpapa. A very old one. And that my cheeks are too round and my hair looks like a boy’s from the stables.”

Neji gave a long-suffering sigh. “Delightful child.”

“I don’t even play that slowly,” Hinata murmured. “I just like to think. And she loses every time. That’s why.”

“A jealous mind often hides behind insults.”

“She was jealous,” Hinata agreed, nodding. “I think. Anyway, I got back at her.”

Neji looked up. “Did you?”

She nodded solemnly. “Not with words. But with a little joke. A memorable one.”

“I dare not ask.”

She clasped her gloved hands tighter in her lap, barely containing a small smile.

“You Hyūga girls are terrifying,” Neji said mildly, returning to his reading.

She tilted her head. “D-do you think my hair looks better now? I’ve been growing it. Just a little.”

He glanced. “Ah. I see.”

She fiddled with a loose curl near her temple. “Just in case someone noticed...”

“Someone named Naruto?”

Her cheeks turned an alarming shade of pink.

Neji smirked. “It’s longer. More graceful.”

“D-do you think he’ll be there tonight?”

“He will. But likely busy.”

“I-I didn’t mean to monopolise him,” she said quickly. “I know he has important things to do. He’s a busy gentleman.”

“You shall have me instead.”

She slipped her hand through his arm with a tiny giggle. “That’s almost as good.”

Neji chuckled. “Almost?”

The carriage slowed. The Nara estate loomed, stately and secluded.

“Please let them serve potatoes this time,” she murmured.

“I suspect venison.”

“If they serve another deer I named, I shall faint.”

“Then try not to name them in the first place.”

“I-I didn’t mean to! He just had kind eyes!”

They entered the hall. As expected, Hinata was placed at the children’s table. And of course, her name card sat beside one in silver script: Lord Toneri Ōtsutsuki.

She very nearly groaned aloud.

He was already there, flanked by two unknown guests. One, a broad-shouldered boy who looked like he lifted barrels for fun. The other, a girl with gleaming blonde hair and a smile far too measured for someone so young.

“Lady Hinata,” Toneri said with exaggerated courtesy. “May I introduce Lady Shion and Lord Kenzo?”

“Delighted,” Hinata said, giving her best court smile..

“She was wondering what we were discussing,” Toneri said to the others. A blunt lie. “And I told them you’re terribly entertaining.”

Hinata blinked. “Always talking about me, Toneri? You ought to be careful. People might think you’re in love with me.” She giggled. Toneri didn’t.

The Lord’s ears turned scarlet.

Shion perked up. “Oh? Are you?”

“N-no! Not w-with her! She’s a... a toad!”

Hinata drew back, scandalised. “A what?!”

Shion tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe if you kissed her, she’d become a princess.”

Toneri hesitated. “Do you think I should?”

“Don’t you dare!” Hinata shrieked.

He lunged.

She ran.

He gave chase.

Neji, observing from across the lawn, did not so much as twitch an eyebrow.

“She still doesn’t realise,” he stated to no one in particular, “that the boy is hopelessly in love with her.”

He sighed. And returned to looking for someone who did appreciate intelligent conversation.

On the far end of the balcony, Lord Naruto was conversing with Lady Sakura. Though the young lord had long taken a certain pleasure in pursuing her attentions, his thoughts were elsewhere this evening. For only moments prior, he had glimpsed a scene in the gardens below that unsettled him deeply: Lady Hinata, his precious friend, being pursued by none other than Lord Toneri, the very boy she despised with a fury matched only, perhaps, by the ire she reserved for Lady Sakura.

Naruto had never feigned the slightest affection for that dreadful Ōtsutsuki child. Insolent, overindulged, and utterly without grace, this despite years of fencing instruction at Naruto’s own hand, the boy was little more than a pest.

“She runs as though her life depended upon it,” remarked Sakura lightly, the edge of her fan concealing a smile.

Naruto did not respond. His gaze remained fixed on the scene below, his shoulders drawn with quiet tension.

“A lively exchange,” Sakura added, her voice barely above the breeze. “And yet, she does not seem so very distressed.”

He allowed himself the faintest nod. Indeed, Hinata had turned now, flushed but resolute, and appeared to be making her sentiments known with unusual clarity. Even from this height, her indignation had a certain charm.

Sakura tilted her head, studying him rather than the spectacle below. “You observe her very closely.”

“She is my friend,” he replied, tone even.

“Just so,” said Sakura, with a smile too polished to read. “It is a rare thing, friendship of that kind.”

He made no reply.

A quiet settled between them. Below, Lady Hinata had seized Toneri quite decisively. A murmur of amusement rippled through the garden guests.

“She manages him rather well,” Sakura said. “One might almost pity him.”

“Almost,” Naruto said dryly.

Sakura let out a soft laugh, more breath than sound. Her eyes remained on the lawn. “I often wonder if young ladies are aware of the impression they make.”

Naruto’s brow furrowed faintly. “You think she was imprudent?”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Not at all. Merely... luminous.”

There was something about the word that unsettled him. He said nothing.

“She has a way of drawing the eye, even without intending to.”

“She always has,” he said.

Sakura folded her fan. “And yet, the eye of society is not so gentle as yours.”

Naruto’s jaw tightened.

“I imagine it is difficult,” she continued softly, “being watched so closely, when one has known only freedom.”

He glanced at her. “Who is watched?”

“Why, we all are, at some point or another.”

There was a pause.

“She is a child,” he said quietly.

Sakura inclined her head. “With age, the world changes.”

Below, Hinata was laughing now, her face alight, her quarrel with Toneri evidently resolved, or at least dismissed.

“She is beautiful,” Sakura murmured. “It is not a fault. But it is a risk.”

He said nothing. Her words echoed, uncomfortably, in the spaces between them.

“I have always admired your loyalty,” Sakura said, after a time. “It speaks well of you. But loyalty, too, may be misread.”

At last, he turned to her. “What are you implying?”

“Only that you be mindful,” she replied, with a faint smile. “There is a kind of protection that demands a careful distance.”

He did not respond. But he no longer looked down at the garden.

And Sakura, for her part, said nothing more.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

Summer, 1842—Namikaze Estate by the Sea

"Let us take a walk, Naruto."

Lady Hinata had taken his hand before he could object. He had no choice but to follow her.

"Hinata..." he began, clearly disinclined. Yet she kept her eyes fixed ahead, her small fingers wrapped around his, tugging him gently but firmly toward the distant shore. The sea lay just beyond the old garden wall, no more than fifty yards from the Namikaze family's summer home.

"Please," she whispered, when she felt his pace begin to falter, more and more with every step.

"No, Hinata."

He stopped abruptly, and she with him. When she turned to face him, she froze.

His eyes, once bright and full of mirth, were now cool, stern, almost sharp. That familiar azure gaze, which had always softened at the sight of her, now held her at a distance. Was he… angry?

"N-Naruto?" she breathed. She was not accustomed to such severity from him, never directed at her.

"We were in the middle of a conversation with—"

But that name—that girl—was enough to stir something hot and unmanageable in Hinata.

"I do not like her!" she declared.

"That is unkind."

"It is not," she said quickly, with unusual firmness. It was, in fact, the truth, and Hinata had always been taught that truth was no sin.

Why then was he so vexed with her?

Her grip on his hand tightened, though his warning stare did not ease.

"You w-were ignoring me," she said in a small voice, trying to make sense of the ache within her. It had grown unbearable, this slow rejection.

Naruto had scarcely spoken to her since the beginning of their stay, and today—today had been worst of all, with Lady Sara fluttering about, uninvited but not unwelcome.

He said nothing. But something in his face shifted ever so slightly.

"You do not love me anymore. You hate me," she added, her voice breaking as tears threatened her pale eyes.

"That is not true. And you know it," he replied after a long pause, but his voice was strange, burdened with something she could not yet name.

"Then say it."

"Hinata..."

Why was it so difficult for him to say it? He used to say it often. She told him all the time. Because it mattered. Her mother had said so, and she believed her. She had seen how he softened when she told him she loved him, for he might not hear it often anymore.

"Say it," she insisted again. She needed to hear it.

He cast a glance toward the garden terrace, where the Namikaze guests sat conversing in the afternoon shade. That single glance, so brief, yet so heavy, cut her deeper than he could have known.

"I love you. All right?" he said at last, voice low and quick.

He knelt before her, so their eyes might meet again. But she turned away, unwilling and unable to meet his gaze.

"What is happening with you? Why do you think such things?"

"I... I do not know..." she murmured, and suddenly her jealousy seemed foolish, unfounded.

"Lady Hinata, you must try to understand. I am not here merely to rest and play as the others are. I must work, even here."

Of course she knew that. But it didn’t make the distance hurt less. She had imagined this trip would bring them closer, not drive them further apart.

"I was not even meant to come," he added.

"But you are here now. And you work too much. And then there is Lady Sara..."

"Lady Sara is married now, Hinata. What do you imagine she must think, when you glare at her so?"

"I do not like her."

"I know," he said with a small sigh, and she could not help but smile through her sulking.

"Perhaps you might make a small effort? A truce, at least?"

Just as she was about to refuse, his hand remained warm in hers, his eyes kinder than before. It disarmed her.

"Mmmh..."

"Please? For me?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically, then threw herself into his arms with theatrical flair.

"Only because it is y-you," she murmured, her heart already lighter.

"I suppose you wish to go to the beach now?" he asked.

"I am not permitted to go alone."

"There is a reason for that."

"But I do know how to swim, don’t I?"

"That does not make the sea any less dangerous," he replied, more serious now. Then, with a half-smile, he added, "You are no better than Miss Hanabi when it comes to mischief. She must have inherited it from someone..."

He was teasing, and she knew it. She tried to pull her hand away, but he would not release her. He was far too entertained by her noble little pout.

"At least I never ended up at the police station for my mistakes," she retorted, turning her face toward the beach. "Do you think they shall let me swim later?"

Naruto smiled faintly.

"Perhaps. If someone offers to accompany you."

"Why did you not invite me sooner? I love Kumo. It is so small but so very alive."

She looked up at him, eager for a real answer.

"Have you seen your schedule? The dance lessons alone—"

"Miss Misaki could survive two weeks without me. She is surviving now, isn’t she?" She paused, then added, with a bitter softness, "She hates me so much..."

That startled him. How fragile her confidence still was, despite all her progress.

"She likes you far more than you imagine," he said gently.

But she only shook her head, frowning.

"Do you think she would still teach you if she did not? The woman could retire at any moment."

"I do not wish to speak of her today. Let us speak instead of Lady Ino’s upcoming wedding!"

Her smile returned with full radiance, and her eyes sparkled like twin pearls caught in sunlight.

"The Duchess of Shimura, it seems?"

"So it seems," she said dreamily.

"And does she love him?"

"'Love' is too small a word. Lady Ino told me she never imagined it possible to find one’s best friend, one’s love, and one’s soul’s twin in a single person."

"That is rare indeed."

"If it is so rare," Hinata said quietly, "perhaps I ought to feel fortunate. I believe I have already found it."

Her eyes were on him then. He looked away.

They had danced around this matter before. And yet, it never became easier.

Should he speak plainly? Or protect her?

Hinata was sensitive. Rejection would break her.

She had always struggled to form bonds. And yet she gave everything to the people she cared for. He had seen it too many times. How often she was left behind, gossiped about, or misunderstood. And he did not understand why.

If only she had been born in his time, his generation...

But she had not been. And that was that.

Still. He would never hurt her. If the world cast her out, he would remain. Always.

Hinata was family. His precious friend. His little sister.

And he would rather lose his good name than wound her pride.

He laughed nervously. "Have you?"

She nodded. Then whispered so softly he could scarcely hear it.

"You."

"One day, you shall replace me," he said lightly, not quite meeting her eyes.

"I do not think so," she replied, as though she had already considered the possibility, and dismissed it.

"Why are you so certain?"

"Someone once told me," she said slowly, "that when a girl has loved a boy for a long time... she cannot forget him. No matter how hard she tries."

Silence. But his heart pounded. Who had told her that? And why did it feel like he had once heard those very words himself?

She would grow. Be presented to society. Perhaps married off.

Would he be to blame if she never truly loved anyone else?

Was he the reason she would not see the other suitors clearly?

Perhaps the future Duchess had been right to accuse him.

Perhaps even Sakura had been right, when she warned him of what people said.

But then, why? Why did it feel so good to know that she would always love him?

Why did he need that love?

Why was he so terribly selfish with the one soul who deserved nothing but happiness?

What, indeed, was wrong with him?

The Age of Sixteen

Sixteen was certainly not an easy age, least of all for the father of a daughter entangled in the throes of her adolescent tempest.

And yet, the Marquess of Hyūga held the conviction that he had thus far borne his paternal duties with a certain dignified composure. He was not, by nature, a man of infinite patience. Nor could one readily describe him as tender-hearted. He had never sought to become his daughters’ confidant or indulger. And yet, until this very day, he had found a certain pride in the father he had become.

Of course, much of the credit, if not all, belonged to his wife, the gentle soul whose presence tempers his stern spirit. Without her, he might well have resigned himself long ago to the bitter path walked by his own father, cold, harsh, and cruel. He did not permit himself to dwell long upon such a prospect.

And yet, as he stood now, face to face with his eldest child, he could no longer deny what stared at him with such aching clarity: Hinata was growing. Far too swiftly. And he was wholly unequipped for the new battles that arose with alarming frequency between them.

Especially not this one.

“The matter is settled, Hinata,” he declared, his tone final. Not even the silent pleading in her eyes—those eyes which had always, always softened him—could move his resolve this time.

“Why do you punish me so, Papa?” she cried. “What have I committed, that you should hate me with such cruelty?”

A dramatist, this girl. He ought to have enrolled her in the theatre.

“Go to your room,” he snapped, wearied by her performance. “At once. I do not wish to see you again until evening.”

She turned on her heel without a word, not even glancing back.

Lord, grant me strength, he thought, collapsing into his chair, a fresh pain pressing at his temples.

Meanwhile, Hinata retreated to the refuge of her chamber, her heart splintering beneath the weight of anguish she could scarcely comprehend. How could her father be so pitiless, so indifferent to her suffering?

Naruto was leaving.

He was to abandon her, to pursue his destiny far beyond the borders of Konoha and thus far beyond her reach. How was she to endure such separation? How was one expected to find joy in a world that no longer contained the face of the one she loved?

Of course, she understood his reasons. She knew what greatness awaited him, what legacy he hoped to fulfill. He wished to become a man worthy of his father’s name. But to her, he was already worthy. More than worthy.

And if only the others could see what she saw in him, perhaps they would not have urged him to depart so readily. At that thought, Hinata cursed, quietly and with all the decorum expected of a proper young lady, each and every adult who had whispered words of encouragement into his ear.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

Days passed, and still she remained imprisoned in sorrow.

She emerged only to bathe or nibble a dry crust of bread, returning promptly to the solitude of her room. Such behaviour, Ino declared, was unbecoming of a young lady of noble standing.

It was thus that Lady Ino arrived uninvited at the Hyūga estate, politely thanking the faithful Kō for escorting her to the girl’s chamber, and entering without the slightest hesitation.

She discovered Hinata slouched in a chair by the window, a book open in her lap, though it was clear she had not read a word. Her face was pale, her eyes hollowed by sleepless nights. Her hair, once immaculately tied with a favourite ribbon, now fell in unruly locks about her shoulders.

At least she’s not in a dressing gown, Ino thought, with a spark of optimism. She could work with this. All was not yet lost.

“Have we abandoned the art of greeting one’s guests?” she asked with a theatrical sigh, her eyes sweeping the dim room. “I was beginning to believe you’d vanished from the face of the earth. It is not like you to miss an old friend’s visit.”

“Oh, Lady Ino... if only you knew...”

And then Hinata collapsed into her arms, her composure shattering. Between trembling sobs and shallow breaths, she confessed all: her father had forbidden her from accompanying Naruto, and now her very world teetered upon the edge of ruin.

“I speak only to God, these days,” she whispered. “I beg Him to forgive me, if I have somehow erred. I ask if this is my punishment... but He does not answer...”

And she wept, as though the world itself had ended.

Ino’s heart broke.

What Hinata felt, this was no mere girlish affection. It was not the innocent infatuation of youth. It was the heart of a woman awakening to love, and to the agony it could bear.

She wanted to tell her the truth. Wanted to spare her further suffering. For she had watched Hinata grow, had come to love her like a sister. And to feed her delusions with empty reassurances would be an unpardonable cruelty.

She blamed Lord Naruto. Even if he did not comprehend the depth of his own negligence, even if he had only intended kindness, his silence was a wound in itself.

She had seen him do this before. Captivate a girl’s heart with gentle words and thoughtless promises, only to depart without a second glance. He was not cruel, no, but careless. As careless as boys often are when entrusted with things as delicate as a young girl’s heart.

And what of Lord Sasuke? What of Lord Neji? Each of them played at affection, and left behind only shattered hopes.

How, then, was she to tell Hinata that her Naruto did not love her. At least, not as she loved him?

For years, Hinata had worshipped him, placed him upon an altar so high no mortal could ascend it. At eight, it had been sweet. At ten, endearing. But now? Now, Ino feared she would learn the truth far too late.

Still, she said nothing. She swallowed the truth, for to speak it was a betrayal. And in her silence, she knew she was no better than the boy she silently condemned.

So she would wait. Wait for the day Hinata would see him for what he truly was.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

The day of departure came at last.

“You’ll write to me, won’t you? Promise?”

Hinata had vowed not to cry. She had already wept a thousand tears and feared she possessed no more.

Naruto had spent the greater part of the afternoon taking leave of the Hyūga family, but in truth, of Hinata.

“You never believe me when I promise things,” he muttered, flipping through a book carelessly, his body languidly sprawled across a chaise.

She tried to imprint the moment into her memory. His voice, the exact angle of his shoulders, the way the light hit his whiskered cheeks. Anything to sustain her through the long days ahead.

He was right. She no longer believed in his promises. He rarely kept them.

“So... you will not write to me?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

He looked up at last. “Of course I will. Just... don’t be angry if I take some time.”

Some time. That could mean a week, a month, a year.

“You know I’m not very good at that sort of thing,” he added, as if it excused everything.

That was precisely why she had asked.

“But you would do it for me, would you not?”

He sighed, finally setting the book aside and meeting her gaze. “Hinata…”

She froze. There was something unfamiliar in his eyes. Fatigue, perhaps, or annoyance. Had she overstepped again?

“Do you not love me any longer?” she whispered, every syllable a dagger.

“Why would you say such a thing?”

Because you cannot even say no, she thought. Because the way you look at me has changed.

She turned away, desperate to conceal her shame. Her hands trembled as she poured tea neither of them would drink.

“Hinata.”

She did not answer.

“Hinata.”

Still, she would not look. She feared what her eyes might reveal. Or what his might conceal.

His fingers, suddenly gentle beneath her chin, lifted her face. And in his gaze, she found not coldness but pity. And something softer, something kinder.

“I am not crying,” she murmured, though her lips trembled.

And she was not. And she was proud of that.

He studied her for a long moment, then leaned back once more, staring at the chandelier above.

Minutes passed. Endless, aching minutes.

He would forget her. She knew it. He would marry another. Perhaps a princess. And the dream she had once held would belong to someone else.

“What thoughts linger behind that face?” he asked.

She only shrugged. To speak them would make them real.

“Will you not tell me?”

She shook her head.

“Are you angry with me?”

She ought to be. She was.

“No.”

“I know that is a lie,” he said, smiling faintly. “Come here, princess. Cease your sulking. I shall write. I promise.”

And he made her smile again.

She sat on the floor beside him, too old for childish embraces, too young for courtship. Ridiculous.

But Naruto had always been her friend.

So she did what she wished and threw herself into his arms.

He stiffened, then softened, cradling her against him, pressing a kiss to her brow.

“I love you, Naruto,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, holding her tighter.

And so they remained, entangled in a fragile embrace, until time pried them apart.

“Come back to me. Promise?”

But he never answered.

He never promised anything.

The Age of Seventeen

July 23, 1845

My dearest friend,

How I miss you! Never could I have imagined your departure would weigh on me so. I do believe I might die of boredom here without you.

In any case, I must tell you what happened to me yesterday! I had mentioned before that Fumi and I are no longer friends for various reasons, chief among them, apparently, her jealousy of me (not my words, but Neji’s and yours too, if memory serves me right!).

I had not yet quite recovered from the end of our brief but intense friendship, when my sweet mother insisted I accompany her to the Kuro residence. As the dutiful daughter I am (not that I had much choice under Natsu’s stern gaze), I obeyed.

Once we arrived, I braced myself to face Fumi, who could not possibly be thrilled to see me again after that strange ‘incident’ two years ago.

Still, I believed I had matured since then. And Heaven only knows what seized me in the moment but I decided to raise the white flag and set our grievances aside. Naturally, I knew this would be no small feat, judging by Fumi’s expression upon our arrival. (She now wears her hair in a blunt bob, which, if you ask me, adds twenty years to her face.)

So we all sat on the terrace, which overlooks a truly splendid flower garden, and I thought, despite the frosty greetings, there was no real reason to remain cross.

Oh, what a grand mistake, Naruto.

As I sipped my tea in perfect composure, I did not notice that a little earthworm had made its way into my cup—and the shriek I let out was among the most piercing Konoha has ever heard.

My teacup fell to the ground, and three worms, still squirming despite being half-boiled, lay writhing on the floor, battling for their lives.

Lady Kuro immediately offered her apologies to my mother, who stared in horror, wide-eyed. But the apology should have been directed at me, don’t you think? That’s what I thought. So I decided not to let this humiliation go unanswered.

Once I had regained my composure from the tremendous shock, I made up my mind to finally teach Fumi a lesson. She had remained a silent spectator until now, but I would not allow her to escape so easily.

So I gathered the worms. I must admit, it was rather disgusting, but the rage that had overtaken me clouded all hesitation.

What followed was most certainly not befitting of a proper young lady in our society, but I dare say, you would have been proud of me.

Without a word, I stepped toward Fumi, who was being scolded by her mother (who in turn was being glared at by mine ), and with everyone’s attention far from me, I chose my moment. The very instant she opened her mouth to protest and plop! In went her little snack.

Ten minutes later, Mama and I were seated in the carriage in utter silence.

That silence unnerved me greatly, but I told myself that what I had done was an act of legitimate self-defense.

That evening, my darling mother came to sit at the foot of my bed. She said nothing for a long while, making me sweat in anticipation of the punishment to come. But what she eventually said will stay with me forever.

She turned toward me, her face unreadable, then broke into a grin as mischievous as Hanabi’s, and whispered, ever so calmly:

"I may have left them a little surprise as well."

Then she kissed my forehead and left the room without another word, leaving me since then to imagine a thousand possible scenarios.

Now I know where Hanabi inherited her flair for vengeance.

But I write and write and don’t even ask how you are! I want to know everything. Even the smallest details.

Did you find Mr. Huso’s Oddities Shop? If so, I do hope you’ve bought me something wonderfully strange!

I miss you dreadfully. I feel like I’m wasting away without you.

I love you, Naruto.

Your princess,
Hinata

P.S. Madame Chiyo passed away in her sleep the day before yesterday. She and her sweets will live on forever in our memories. May her soul rest in peace.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

January 23, 1846

My precious friend,

It has now been six months since you left us, and with you, the sunshine. All it does lately is snow, but not the beautiful kind that blankets the forest in softness. No, this is the sort of snow that turns to rain the moment it touches the earth.

Could it be because you are no longer here? I fear it may be so.

Still, I cannot blame you. This journey is your duty, after all.

And so, I would rather write to you about the good things, the ones that make me smile, the ones that help me forget, if only for a moment, how much I miss you.

Christmas was bleak without you. My birthday, even more so. But New Year’s Eve... Now that was magical. Lady Ino hired someone for the fireworks, and they were enchanted. You truly missed something that night!

Lady Shion appears to be quite taken with my greatest nemesis. At his birthday celebration, she was among the many guests in attendance.

As you well know, I never managed to befriend her, though it is a shame. But after the cruelties she inflicted on me, how could I?

Still, I do not hold grudges, and when I saw her crying alone in the corner, I could not simply turn my back on a sister in distress.

After a long talk, I finally came to understand the reasons behind her past behavior toward me and I must admit, I was deeply surprised. As much as I would like to share the details with you, I promised I would not, and I intend to keep my word. I do hope you’ll understand.

And then there was that incident with Hanabi, though I insist on my innocence, for I was a poor victim of fate! That little girl truly despises the word no, and it is nearly impossible to deny her anything. She had it in her head to ride Uncle’s new stallion. A horse so beautiful I cannot find words to describe him.

His name is Anis, and though he is glorious, he is still young and very much unruly. Uncle Hisashi confessed how difficult he has been to train.

As you may have guessed, Hanabi was convinced she could speak to animals, and so, if Uncle failed, she alone would succeed in taming the beast.

I will not elaborate further. The events are still too recent. I will only say that things ended… very badly.

I do hope you’re doing well, eating well, and not working yourself too hard. You’ll need your strength to reach your goals.

I miss you terribly, and I hope you’ll return soon. Konoha simply isn’t the same without your smile and boundless energy.

I love you,

Your devoted friend,
Hinata

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

May 13, 1846

My beloved Naruto,

How I miss you in these trying times. Where are you now, that you might find the time to write to me? Your last letter came three months ago, yet it feels like an eternity since I last heard from you.

The days seem endless without you, as if night itself refuses to fall and let me retreat into dreams where you might appear.

When will you return? I am not the only one who wonders. Each day without your laughter makes me want to set off in search of you and bring you home. But imagine the heartbreak I would cause my parents! They would surely not rejoice at my disappearance.

The only one who might feel relieved would be Neji, who now wakes each morning with a headache from my incessant questions about your whereabouts and well-being.

Will you not save your lifelong friend from this suffering? I simply cannot help asking about you.

As for me, nothing extraordinary has happened lately. I continue to attend my lessons, though Miss Misaki grows more exasperating by the day. But what must be done, must be done, if I am to become a proper lady someday.

I have found a new passion: knitting. Though I am still a novice, my fingers are hard at work creating a scarf for winter. I hope it will be ready before the first frost.

Of course, Toneri found it necessary to mock me, saying my scarf would be better suited for drying dishes.
How I loathe him at times! He will not leave me be, and I cannot for the life of me understand why. I thought I had made it quite clear that I have no interest in his constant provocations. He turned eighteen this past January but still behaves like a boy of eight.

And I, seventeen, am far more mature, am I not?

Then again, he is a boy. That is what I try to tell myself, so I won’t have to imagine he might be something worse. A little demon, perhaps.

I long for your reply. And though I do not mean to trouble you, I beg you to send me a sign of life, so I might know you are well, wherever you may be.

I also hope you haven’t found a princess to marry, for there is only one who was meant for you, and she is waiting at home. (And no, it isn’t Lady Sakura, for she is not a princess!)

I love you as deeply as I did the day you left. If not more.

Yours, always,
Hinata

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

April 2, 1847

Naruto,

Six months have passed without a single word from you, and the longer the silence lasts, the more I wonder if you are angry with me. If that is the case, I beg you, please tell me why, so I may properly apologize. I never intended to upset you.

This is not to punish you, but I believe this will be the last letter I send. My heart cannot bear this quiet rejection any longer.

It is not to make you feel guilty, I promise. I respect your choices, and if silence is what you’ve chosen, so be it. Even if it breaks my heart. Your life is an adventure, and I do not wish to be the one who holds you back from living it to the fullest.

I do not know where you are, nor how you fare, nor whether you will return one day, but I will wait for you. When you do come back, I will hand you the stack of letters that have gathered in my drawer over time, if you’ll still wish to receive them.

A final farewell to my dearest friend,

Hinata

P.S. Know that my love for you remains as strong as ever. And nothing will ever change that.

The Age of Eighteen

Naruto had returned.

And yet, it was not for a joyful occasion that he had undertaken the long journey back to Konoha. He had come to bury his godfather. A sorrowful day it was indeed, and the thunder rolling across the heavens seemed to echo the storm of emotion that had been unleashed by such grievous news.

Hinata’s heart had broken the instant she saw his face, so changed, so solemn, and the lifelessness that had crept into those usually radiant eyes.

A few quiet words of condolence were all they exchanged that day.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

He had not departed from their town since. Nearly two and a half months had passed, and it seemed he was here to stay.

She had not seen him again, though Neji assured her he was faring well.

That was all that mattered to Hinata.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

"She is ready," declared Miss Misaki one evening, just as they had concluded one of their weekly lessons.

"You mean to say..." Her mother, who had joined them, rose from her chair with one delicate hand lifted to her lips. Hinata looked on in confusion, uncertain of what had just been announced.

"She has come of age. At least, that is my humble opinion. She has mastered the art to perfection."

"Might it not be too soon to..." Her gentle mother crossed the room and took her daughter’s hands in hers, her expression too emotional to conceal the trepidation that overtook her youthful features.

"She is eighteen," replied her instructor, as if this alone were justification.

And at last, Hinata understood what they were speaking of.

The debutante’s ball.

Her very worst nightmare.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

"Lord Ōtsutsuki has come to call upon you, my lady."

The announcement, though somewhat unexpected, did not wholly surprise her, given the frequency of his uninvited visits throughout the past year. It was, however, undeniably disappointing, for there was only one guest she truly wished to receive.

"Tell him I have been overcome with a cough," she said dryly, unwilling to endure yet another tiresome quarrel with Toneri. Her heart had been heavy for weeks already; she had no desire to add to its burdens.

"Your father has already invited him to the drawing room," replied the maid, rather apologetically.

Of course he had.

So be it, then.

With a sigh of resignation, Hinata followed the maid to the parlour, where Toneri sat already, a cup of tea in hand as if he were lord of the house.

"I see you’ve made yourself comfortable, Lord Toneri," she remarked upon entering. He glanced up, feigning surprise, and gestured gallantly toward the chair opposite him.

Only Toneri would presume such liberties.

"I see you are awake."

"Naturally, I am awake. Have you looked at the hour?" For whom did he take her? She rolled her eyes, and the gesture did not go unnoticed; Toneri appeared rather amused by it.

"Do sit before you plot my downfall again. I bring news that may interest you."

Would he once more recount his supposed victories? Some recent tournament, no doubt. She could not have cared less. As for his downfall? That remained ever present on her list of aspirations.

She said nothing, instead fixing her gaze upon the clock.

Only two minutes had passed since his arrival.

"Are you not the least bit curious?"

She met his eyes with indifference, and he saw clearly what she thought of his news.

Nothing at all.

Minutes passed in silence, Hinata, weary; Toneri, almost certainly devising some new scheme.

"You bore me," she said at last.

"You might find me less so if you would set aside your pride for a moment and inquire why I am here."

He had no business being here in the first place. He invited himself as though they were old companions, though they were, at best, lifelong adversaries with not a single thing to confide.

"Why are you here, then?"

If asking would make him leave, then she would ask!

"The Yamanaka family are hosting their annual masquerade."

Nothing he said was news to her. Of course she had received an invitation. Delivered personally by the Duchess of Shimura herself, who was overseeing the event this year.

Hinata, nearly having reached the appropriate age of eighteen, was now permitted to attend such gatherings.

The invitation lay upon her bedside table, her name written in delicate script.

"I imagine the Duchess has already sent yours."

She inclined her head slightly, remaining ever wary of what might follow.

"You have likely heard as well that there shall be a prize awarded to the most inspired costumes. It is precisely for that reason that—"

"No," she interrupted firmly. Never, under any circumstance!

"You did not even allow me to finish!" he protested, rising indignantly.

She turned her head, arms crossed, nose lifted.

"No, no, no, and once again, no."

"But Hinata—!"

"Toneri, what are you thinking? It is absurd."

"What I am thinking? Only imagine the looks upon their faces when they behold us together—"

"They shall laugh at us, that is what!"

"How can you believe such nonsense? We would make the perfect pair."

"I’d sooner have my toe cut off than be paraded about beside you, Toneri."

She sighed then, picturing an entirely different scene. One in which a tall blond stood at her side. That would be an entirely different matter altogether.

"You are impossible, Hinata!" he exclaimed, exasperated. His angelic façade gave way to petulance as he pinched the bridge of his nose in mock despair.

"Why not ask one of your many admirers? I’m sure they would be delighted to accompany you."

"But none of those girls are you," he said as though it were the most obvious truth in the world.

Hinata blushed faintly. Of course, he spoke only to sway her. The rascal!

"What a silver tongue you have."

Still, she was a little intrigued by the idea, though she would never admit as much aloud.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked at last, refusing to meet his gaze.

From the corner of her eye, she could see his triumphant smile. He believed he had won. Hinata would dash his hopes soon enough.

"I knew you’d come to your senses!"

Fool. This was precisely why she could not abide him. So insufferably pleased with himself!

"What do you think of Greek mythology?"

"Is that your newest obsession this week?" she retorted, not even attempting to hide her amusement.

"Do try to be serious for once. Do you not wish to win this contest? With or without me?"

Now he had piqued her curiosity. She was no great competitor, but if it meant besting Toneri and wiping that smug smile from his face, Hinata would never shy from the challenge.

"If you paid better attention in Mr. Okiwa’s lessons, you would know that Greek mythology is among the most fascinating of subjects."

"Then enlighten me."

And with that, he offered her one of his sweetest smiles, the kind that charmed the entire world.

Everyone, that is, except Hinata.

"I’ve neither the time nor the patience to guide you through the mythic pantheon. You’ll have to do your own research. Naturally, I’ll be available should your small brain fail to comprehend something."

So full of himself. Hinata could only glare at him icily.

"At any rate, I must be going. I shall return sometime next week, and we may discuss the matter further."

Toneri summoned a footman, who brought him his coat and gloves. Once dressed, he turned back to her.

"How delightful to know we are in agreement for once."

"Who says I’ve agreed to anything? I still do as I please."

"That’s what you think," he replied, far too self-assured.

He took her hand and, before she could recoil, pressed a wet kiss upon it. Deliberately so.

"Disgusting! Toneri!" she shrieked, rubbing her damp hand upon the settee. "I detest you!"

"The sentiment is mutual, my lady," he called over his shoulder as he vanished through the door, laughter echoing through the halls.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

“Is he in attendance this evening?” inquired Hinata softly.

Kō looked at her with a gentle smile, though there lingered in his expression a certain shade of regret, as though he bore unwelcome news. What could that mean?

“He is.” Yet something in his tone suggested concealment. Why else deliver such a confirmation with the solemnity of a death knell?

“Accompanied by Lady Sakura,” he added, under the inquisitive gaze of the young lady.

“Lady Sakura?” she echoed in astonishment.

So then, all this time, while Hinata had imagined he merely required solitude to mourn the death of his godfather, to grieve in peace amongst kin, Naruto had, in truth, found solace in the rose?

He had found time to invite her tonight… yet not to reply to Hinata’s letter of condolence?

No doubt that letter had joined the rest. Those sent over the years, to which he had never responded. Misplaced. Forgotten.

“I see,” she murmured, swallowing back the image conjured so vividly in her mind, of the rose and the golden-haired gentleman, arm in arm, and with it, the ache of betrayal that pierced her chest.

She would forgive him, as she always did. Perhaps he had his reasons. Who was she to know? Perhaps it had been Lady Sakura who had taken the initiative to remain near him during those difficult days, and this evening was but a token of gratitude.

Hinata had longed to be that comfort. She had wished nothing more than to be his emotional refuge.

But she had believed he required time. Time to rebuild himself. To begin anew in Konoha.

She had been quite mistaken.

So it was, with chin lifted and posture straight, that she resolved she would no longer hide away in her chamber, but descend and greet the guests assembled for her mother’s thirty-seventh birthday.

With a knot of dread tightening in her belly, she descended the stairs, where she encountered Neji, already awaiting her.

“Why must we always wait on you?” he asked, half-chiding.

She had no prepared excuse to evade her cousin’s disapproval. Of course, she might have told him the truth, but Hinata intended to feign cheerfulness this evening, and speaking of her torment would hardly aid that cause.

“A lady’s arrival is always the proper hour, whatever the clock may say,” she replied with studied indifference, brushing past him without glancing back.

She heard his muttered comment, something about her being far from a true lady, but she paid him no mind.

Her heart beat wildly at the thought of seeing Naruto again after so many years apart. Casting her gaze across the garden, where some two hundred guests appeared to enjoy the festivities, she searched for a familiar silhouette.

And there, beneath the drooping limbs of the weeping willow, stood her precious friend, a glass of wine in one hand, the other resting against the tree.

As expected, Lady Sakura stood beside him, and they appeared closer than ever.

Hinata froze.

For a fleeting moment, she could do naught but watch them laugh together, wholly absorbed in one another, unaware of all else.

And then Naruto raised his azure eyes and found hers, as though he had felt the soft weight of her opalescent gaze settle upon him. Surprise flickered across his features, and whatever Lady Sakura had been saying seemed to fall away. He brought his glass to his lips… then turned around and resumed the conversation.

Hinata had dreamed of embraces, of eyes filled with tears, and whispers of “I have missed you so terribly.” Yet none of that came to pass.

A smile. That was all she received. A smile so ordinary he might have offered it to any passerby.

Not a smile as she had once known.

Was that to be all she would receive from him? Would he not come to greet her? Would he not take her into his arms and tell her how glad he was to see her again after so long?

“Lady Hinata?”

A hesitant hand settled upon her shoulder, but she scarcely acknowledged it.

“Is everything all right?” Kō inquired, but she could not answer. She remained there, rooted to the spot, transfixed by the sight before her.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

She had changed.

Where had gone the little girl he had once known? For a moment, he could scarcely believe it was truly her. He might have sworn that Marchioness of Hyuga herself had stepped onto the balcony in her youth, long tresses the colour of midnight cascading over her shoulders, her face now softened, the last trace of childhood roundness vanished.

It was as though his heart had ceased its rhythm upon meeting her gaze, those eyes more luminous than memory had preserved, like rare pearls adrift in the vast ocean of her stare.

He felt himself drawn to her, helplessly.

Naruto longed to walk up to the balcony, to be near her, to discover what else might have changed during the two years they had spent apart.

He was so absorbed in these musings that Sakura’s words barely registered, dissolving into the evening air like the melody of a forgotten song.

“She’s a young lady now,” Sakura remarked quietly, following his mesmerised gaze with a knowing smile.

Indeed, he was surprised, and she could not fault him for it. Who would not be? Though tempted to leave Naruto within his little reverie, it had been some time since she had last seen Hinata herself. And, truth be told, it was far too amusing not to tease him, just as she had done in days past.

“Shall I go and introduce you?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Naruto seemed to start at this suggestion, his entire frame momentarily stilling before he brought the wine to his lips once more.

His gaze fell back upon Sakura, as though recalling that he was presently in the company of another lady, and that such notions were, at the very least, ill-timed.

“Forgive me, Sakura. I’m simply…”

He faltered. Words eluded him, but the rose came to his aid.

“…Taken by Lady Hinata, is it?” she finished, her tone sly. At his look of rebuke, she laughed, the soft, mischievous sound of a childhood companion relishing her triumph.

“You’ve lost your senses,” he muttered into his glass. “I was merely surprised, that is all. It has been a long time, and…”

“She was present at the funeral, was she not?”

“I…” Was she? He could no longer be certain. The grief—the overwhelming grief of Jiraiya’s passing—had rendered those days a blur of shadows. It was entirely possible she had been there, and yet he bore no memory of it.

“Most certainly. I assure you she was,” Sakura said gently. “She wept for your loss. And for your family’s too.”

It did not surprise him. Hinata had always been tender-hearted, sensitive to the sorrows of others since childhood. He felt strangely comforted to know that had not changed.

“She is a nice girl,” he murmured, eyes distant. What he wouldn’t give to speak with her again… Not a day had passed during his travels when he hadn’t thought of her. Hinata occupied a far greater space in his heart than propriety allowed.

“That she is,” Sakura agreed softly.

“Does she still hate you as thoroughly as before?” he asked, half-smiling.

He supposed she must. If her letters were any indication, her resentment still ran deep. She would hate Sakura with quiet devotion until her affections at last settled elsewhere. Aand judging by her correspondence, that day was unlikely ever to arrive.

“To my great surprise, Ino confessed that Lady Hinata seems to tolerate my company far more kindly since I gifted her my old writing quills,” Sakura replied, unable to hide her faint, foolish pride at the admission.

Naruto looked positively stunned. Utterly taken aback, if he were honest with himself. “Truly?”

“Indeed. I was as surprised as you are at this very moment.”

“At the very least,” he said with a wry smile, “she has matured in that regard.”

“Oh, Naruto….. As I said, she is become a young lady. She is to make her formal debut soon. All the signs are present.” Sakura watched him carefully, curious to see what he would make of this. "She's very anticipated."

What she did not expect was for him to look at her as though she had just declared war.

“What?” he demanded under his breath, scandalised. “Her debut? Anticipated? By whom?”

“By everyone, to speak truthfully. Across the region she is known as the Pearl-Eyed Maiden.”

“How…!?” Naruto’s tone was strained, a mixture of disbelief and vexation. Sakura found it amusing, though she could not quite decide if he sounded protective as a brother might, or possessive as an admirer would.

“As I once predicted,” she continued, “Lady Hinata has become a beauty admired throughout the Land of Fire. People are drawn to what is lovely, especially when it gleams. And her eyes do gleam, Naruto. They shine.”

Was that it then? Was that the feeling that had just passed through him? A sentiment others shared. Nothing more than surprise, an instinctive draw to beauty long unseen?

It soothed him somewhat, to know she had such effect on many, for he must not forget who she truly was.

She would always be his Hinata. His princess. His almost-sister.

And if he longed to find her again, it was precisely because of that. Because she had always meant something very dear to him.

“When is she to be presented?”

“Oh, it is uncertain still. Hinata has expressed reluctance. She fears that once she enters society, a marriage will be pressed upon her. For now, her request has been respected, though Ino wishes dearly to see her spread her wings. Nothing obliges her to select a husband immediately.”

The Duchess of Shimura.

Of course.

Of course it would be her who would encourage such a thing. And he had believed, foolishly, that even if they could not abide one another, he and Lady Ino might at least be united in this sentiment.

He had been sorely mistaken.

And the more he considered it, the less surprised he was. The Duchess must have been overjoyed at his departure two years prior.

Words failed him.

He had been away too long. Had he remained, he never would have allowed Hinata’s childhood to be put aside so soon. And now, it was too late. He had no say in the matter.

Who was he, after all?

No one.

Yet… he could not deny it. Her letters, even the last, written in April of the previous year, still bore the voice of a child. A dreamer.

“Rumour has it Lady Hinata still dreams of a certain someone,” Sakura added, her voice sly, her lips curled in mischief.

And though Naruto had hoped that such childish affections might have faded, he found himself strangely comforted to hear they had not.

If her love for him preserved her innocence and held her from rushing into society… then so be it. He could not resent her for it.

“I see you smiling,” Sakura laughed. Naruto frowned instinctively.

“Is that good news, then?”

“Strangely… it is,” he admitted after some hesitation, unsure whether he could entrust Sakura with the weight of such confession. She remained, after all, Ino’s friend.

“She is far too young to concern herself with marriage.”

“Dear Naruto, how naïve you are. Do you not see that it is all she likely thinks of? It is all we are taught to think of, growing up. Groomed to please our future husbands. Trained to serve them like slaves!”

Sakura gave an incredulous little laugh.

“It is the fate of every young lady, brimming with dreams, to be told she belongs to a man. And yet your kind, your sex, deems itself fit to govern our lives as though they were your own.”

Her words struck him. And rightly so.

That could be Hinata’s fate. Should she fall into the wrong hands, the wrong match… her kindness, her gentle mischief, her light would be crushed.

And if he could help it, he would not allow such a fate to claim her.

“Precisely for that reason,” Naruto said at length, voice low, “I hope she shall not make her entrance until she has learned to be cautious with her heart. Imagine if she were to fall for the first fool who offered her compliments and—”

“She has but one fool in mind, Naruto,” Sakura interrupted flatly, turning her head as though she had not just delivered the blow.

“I see you have not lost your tongue,” he muttered, though he could not help the laugh that followed. That, after all, was part of what he had always admired in her.

“What I mean,” Sakura said more gently, “is that marriage is very likely a constant thought for her. God knows it was for me at her age. Every hour of the day.”

“And is it still?” he asked softly, unable to hide his curiosity.

There was a pause. Her emerald eyes flickered, lit with the ghost of someone else's name, and Naruto knew, without needing to ask, precisely who it was.

Though it struck his heart like a silent ache, he could admit to himself that she and he were not meant to be. He was too whimsical yet, too unready to promise his future to another. Marriage, to him, was sacred. Something to be entered with the utmost conviction. One day, he hoped, a woman might make him see the world differently, as his mother had done for his father. For her, he would fight.

But it would not be Sakura.

And she, he knew, had given her heart long ago.

“As much as I’d like to deny it,” Sakura murmured, “yes. Far more than I wish it did.” Then, catching herself, she raised a hand lightly, as though brushing away the heaviness of the thought. “But never mind me. I was not the subject of this conversation.”

“Perhaps not,” Naruto said with a faint smile, “but in the end, we all seem to return to the same thoughts, if not with the same intensity.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Naruto.” Her smile was warm, and he returned it. A comfortable silence settled between them for a time, each lost in the quiet gravity of their reflections.

“You should go to her,” Sakura said at last, scanning the crowd. “She’s missed you.”

Naruto knew it. The ache in his chest told him so. And he missed her too. More than words could capture.

And yet…

“I do not believe it wise,” he said slowly. He knew it would only bring pain. How could he face her now, after all this time, after never once replying to her final letters? How could he endure the sight of those opalescent eyes glistening with tears, the silent disappointment on her delicate features?

She would not understand. How could she? He barely understood it himself. Only that one day, the words he longed to write had refused to come. The sound of her voice in his mind, pleading with him to return, had grown too heavy to bear.

He had stopped counting the times he had come close to doing exactly that.

“You’re mistaken, my friend,” Sakura said gently. “She waits for you still.”

“If she truly wished to see me, she would have come,” he murmured. If she still longed for him, wouldn’t she have run to him, regardless of Sakura’s presence? But she had not. And perhaps he deserved no more than that. He had failed her. He had failed himself.

And he must not forget why he had left.

“Go to her,” Sakura repeated, her voice firm now. “Trust me.”

He turned to her, startled by the sudden conviction in her words. She, who once urged him to keep his distance, now spoke with the voice of persuasion. How strange… how contradictory. And yet, that contradiction was what unsettled him most. For it stirred in him something wild and aching.

A desire to surrender.

To follow his heart, no matter the cost.

To find her.

To hear her voice again, see her smile, listen for hours as she told him of everything and nothing, just as she had when they weren’t apart.

And before he quite realised what had happened, his feet began to move of their own accord, carrying him inside the Hyūga manor.

He did not know where exactly he was going. Perhaps nowhere. Or perhaps toward the place where he could, at last, gather his thoughts.

When he had been away, it had been easy to silence such longings. Life abroad had been full of new people, unfamiliar places, distractions. And whenever nostalgia crept too close, he had only to close the door on it. To press it down.

But now that he had returned… now that he had seen her… everything came back with a rush.

Jiraiya’s absence cast a shadow over his days, and in the darkest hours, it was Hinata’s voice that echoed in his mind. 

And with that memory came guilt.

What must she think of him now? Did she still idealise him as she had once done? Or did she finally see the truth? That he was nothing more than a coward?

The thought hollowed his chest.

He had wounded her deeply by ignoring her. As though she were but one of many admirers, not the girl who had stood by him all those years. 

He had become what Lady Ino had always accused him of being.

And before he could comprehend whether his legs had borne him, Naruto found himself before the threshold of the drawing-room. His gaze fell instantly upon the two adolescents seated at the pianoforte, their backs turned to him. One bore hair of a blue as dark as night, the other as white and luminous as snow.

They appeared so entirely removed from the world, so enclosed within their own fragile sphere, that it seemed impossible to pierce the sanctity of their little bubble. Something within Naruto stirred. An instinct, perhaps. That he ought to depart, and yet his feet disobeyed.

Since when had those two forged a friendship? Why had she never spoken of this in any of her long, elaborate letters?

Unwilling to declare his presence, he remained rooted to the spot, a silent observer of a scene not meant for his eyes.

"May I be candid with you, Hinata?" asked Toneri, his voice hoarse and somewhat broken. Adolescence had not favoured him in that regard.

“No,” she replied curtly, after a long silence, her chin lifted in that proud manner she had always possessed. Naruto had to suppress a laugh that nearly escaped him. Some things, it seemed, would never change.

“I inquired only out of politeness, Hinata, but in truth, your assent matters little. Someone must speak the truth, and I am best suited for it,” he said, and Naruto could only roll his eyes.

“Must you always talk, Toneri? You are tiresome.”

“I tire you, always, but have you considered that you may also weary me? Speaking with you is like conversing with a stone wall. One would scarcely believe we’ve been friends for ages.”

He lifted his hands as though exasperated, and Hinata only heaved a long sigh.

“We are not friends, Toneri.” And thus Naruto’s earlier question was answered. “Enemies of long acquaintance, rather,” she added, though their closeness rather contradicted such a statement. What enemies, indeed, behaved so familiarly?

“I am probably your only friend, Hinata.”

“If that notion allows you to sleep at night, Toneri…” Her laughter was as gentle and sweet as a lullaby.

“More seriously, Hinata. Lady Sakura and Lord Naruto make a fine cou—”

But before he could finish, Hinata began to hum quite loudly, placing her hands over her ears in a deliberate effort to block out his words.

Toneri, now visibly at the end of his patience, drew her hands away. A gesture so intimate that Naruto was compelled to look directly, to ensure he had truly seen what he thought he had.

That boy had ever been far too familiar with Hinata, as though unaware of the impropriety of laying hands upon a young lady in such fashion.

Hinata’s burning gaze met Toneri’s pale one, neither willing to yield.

“Viscount Namikaze loves her, and you stand in the way of their romance,” Toneri announced solemnly, still holding her hands in his own.

Why would he say such a thing, Naruto wondered, when he knew nothing of the nature of their hearts?

A single look at Hinata’s face revealed the devastation such words wrought. Every fine feature of hers seemed to collapse; Naruto observed how her chest rose and fell rapidly, almost as if seized by panic.

“You love him, do you not?” But Hinata said nothing, her large opalescent eyes fixed upon Toneri as though he were not truly before her.

“When one loves, one must sacrifice. For the other’s happiness,” Toneri now murmured more gently, tightening his hold as if to offer comfort. And Naruto, strangely, found truth in that sentiment.

He too had sacrificed something when he left.

For the happiness of someone dear to him.

Out of love.

“But…” she swallowed hard, her gaze finally dropping to her knees, “My l-lady is in love with Lord Sasuke.”

“Lord Sasuke shall likely never return her affections. Just as Lord Naruto shall likely never return yours.”

Naruto very nearly intervened. He longed to seize Toneri by the collar, to shout at him to be silent, to cease wounding Hinata so carelessly. Every fibre of his body tensed with the impulse.

“I-I know he does not love me in that way, b-but…”

“You are but a child in his eyes, Hinata. He has lost all interest in you. Did you not confide in me as much? That he never once replied? Not even to your final letter.”

At that, Naruto’s heart clenched, and he found he could scarcely draw breath.

“You seemed content, these past months. You even formed a friendship with Lady Sakura. And now, upon seeing them together, you appear utterly undone.”

Toneri sighed and let go of her hands at last, as if only now becoming aware he still held them.

“Why can you not release these feelings that poison your heart?” he asked softly, his voice threaded with an unfamiliar pity. The sincerity of such a simple question struck Naruto like a blow.

And to think he had taken solace in the thought that her love had endured through all these years, never once considering what, in truth, such love might signify: poison.

“Do you not believe,” Toneri continued, “that it is time you began to heal? That it deserves a rest?”

“You cannot understand what I feel, Toneri,” she whispered, her voice faint and hollow, stripped of the fire it once held. “You have never truly known love. At least not as I do.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “And truthfully? I would rather not. I would not wish to feel what you feel. You are making yourself ill.”

“You think so?” she whispered with a flicker of sarcasm, which drew a faint smile from both of them.

All save Naruto.

“If your face is any indication…”

“How charming of you, Toneri.”

“Take care, else your heart shall become mine.”

“It is in no danger. It has developed an immunity.” She laughed, a real laugh, and then exhaled, as though steadying herself.

“To return to your rather indiscreet question: love cannot be explained. It appears one day without warning and lays claim to all that you are. One cannot escape it.”

Was that truly what she believed? Naruto found he could not accept it, but in Hinata’s case, what other explanation was there? He had never done anything to warrant such boundless affection. And yet, that little girl of eight had seen something in him worth cherishing.

Someone worth loving.

“Hinata.”

Her name escaped his lips before he even realised he had spoken.

She turned. Her eyes, so wide, so luminous, shone more brightly than he remembered. Thick lashes framed them, her cheeks were as rosy as he had known them, and her hair, long to her waist, was braided and adorned with pearls that paled in comparison to those within her opalescent gaze. The title bestowed upon her by the Land of Fire had never rung more true.

He swallowed, overwhelmed by the sudden tide of emotions that rendered his thoughts incoherent. So many memories resurfaced that he could scarcely distinguish the girl before him from the one he had once known.

More than two years had come between them.

Had she truly changed, as Sakura had claimed?

Or would he find again that same lively spirit from before his long departure?

God above, had he wounded her so deeply? Her expression seemed to say as much: furrowed brows, tightened lips, and sorrowful eyes. Not a single smile offered. Not a word. Only a gaze, shocked and quietly devastated.

What had he done?

He scarcely noticed Toneri brush past him, his shoulder grazing Naruto’s, so clouded was his vision by the tumult within.

“It has been some time,” he said at last, striving to break the oppressive silence that clung to the drawing-room like a chill. A nervous laugh escaped him.

She did not reply in words, only gave a slight nod. As though speech itself eluded her.

And so he resolved at last to step over the threshold and enter the room proper, though nothing within seemed as he remembered. Only the pianoforte upon which she sat remained unmoved.

“I like the new tapestry,” he said, hoping to elicit some reaction from his precious friend, if he still had the right to call her such. Her gaze drifted briefly from his before she murmured, distantly, “It is lovely.”

He ought to say something more, something that might dispel the frost between them. But what words could mend the silence he had imposed upon them for so long?

Never had he imagined feeling out of place in her presence. But he had fashioned this coldness with his own hands.

How did one speak to a young lady with whom one had once shared easy laughter, but who now seemed altogether changed? Was he to avoid certain subjects? Would she be bold as he had once been at her age? He had not the slightest notion, though he had himself been but a boy not long ago.

In former times, he had often imagined this very moment during his travels: had dreamed that she would fall into his arms as she once had, whispering you’ve been missed and recounting tales of all she had endured without him.

But he came now to the sad realisation that he could blame no one but himself for the way things had turned out.

Thus Naruto chose to speak of the matter Neji had mentioned concerning her. He would coax her from this silence, sooner or later. She had never stayed angry for long, not in the past. But he supposed she had grown, and it would not be so easy this time.

“Neji told me you’ve taken up cookery?”

“Confectionery,” she corrected softly, with a touch of embarrassment.

As though the entire exchange were unbearably awkward. And perhaps it was. Yet it was his only chance at redemption.

“Ah yes, confectionery,” he echoed, clearing his throat and chiding himself inwardly for the error. She must think him entirely indifferent to her life. “With Miss Shouza, is that right?” he ventured, hoping this time he had not misspoken.

A nod was her only reply, and Naruto had to strain to think of anything that might keep their conversation alive.

“And do you enjoy it?”

Another nod.

What she would not say was that he might have known as much, had he read even one of her recent letters. Instead, he simply confirmed what she already ought to have known.

Her letters had gone unopened.

“I’m glad. Truly,” he said. “One must be passionate to master such an art. You must allow me to taste one of your creations someday.”

He smiled in earnest, hoping to ease her discomfort, but the effect was quite the opposite. She looked upon him with such mingled sorrow and disdain that he found himself compelled to ask:

“Are you angry with me?”

He already knew the answer. Had known it from the beginning, but he wished to hear it from her lips.

To know without doubt that he had earned her scorn.

She answered first with a long sigh, then a no, spoken so gently he asked her to repeat it.

“No,” she said more firmly this time. But the falsehood rang clearer than ever.

“You never could lie,” he chuckled, recalling a time he had asked her this same question, and received the same reply. Only then, it had been endearing. Now, he alone found it amusing, for Hinata merely furrowed her brows.

“It’s true. I cannot lie,” she admitted. “But it seems you’ve grown rather skilled at it, have you not?”

And for the first time, Naruto perceived a change in her.

“When have I ever lied to you?” he asked, his voice firmer now. But she simply turned her face away, as though whatever courage she possessed had abandoned her. And not having her eyes upon him, those soft, honest eyes, struck him more deeply than any rebuke. It felt, in some irrevocable way, as though he had lost her twice over.

“If you speak of the letters,” he began, “then I am sorry. Truly, I—”

“You what, Naruto…?” she murmured now, a faint glimmer of hope in her voice that silenced him at once. His name, spoken in her voice, sent a tremor through him. How long had it been since he had last heard her pronounce it?

And in that moment, he realised: this charade could not go on. He must let her go. Truly go, and this time not by vanishing, but by speaking with honesty. He must do what he ought to have done long ago, the moment he understood that the love she bore him had ceased to be innocent.

And perhaps then, she might find at last the freedom to unfold her wings.

“I do not return the feelings you hold for me.” He exhaled, turning away, unable to face what her expression might reveal. A dreadful weight settled in his stomach as he pressed on. “I shall never return them.”

He had said it. After all these years, the words he had most dreaded to utter had finally left his mouth. And he regretted them the instant the silence swallowed them whole.

His gaze returned to her. There she sat, small, still, her face empty of expression. Never had he seen her so quiet, so composed, and it terrified him. He whispered her name again, those three syllables, so familiar, yet now unbearably heavy.

He dared not approach her. Dared not take her in his arms, though his very soul cried out to retract his words. To undo the pain.

“I love you, but—” She rose before he could finish, interrupting what he meant to say in an attempt at atonement.

Naruto watched her smooth the folds of her gown and adjust the long braid resting over her shoulder. He could not tear his gaze from her if his life depended upon it.

With steady steps, Hinata walked to the door, her back turned to him.

This was not how he had imagined their reunion. This was not what he had meant to cause. Why had he said such things?

“Hinata!” he called, desperate to repair what had been broken, yet utterly unable to move.

She halted, but did not look back. She waited in silence, composed, expectant.

“I…” But the words deserted him.

“D-do not apologise for what you feel,” she said, so calmly it turned his stomach. “Love cannot be forced. That is one thing I have learned over the years.” She sighed softly, then at last turned her face toward him. And she smiled.

A gracious smile.
A beautiful smile.
But not a real one.
It was the kind of smile one might offer a stranger in passing, not the boy she had loved since she was eight.

“Deep down, I always knew,” she said. “Your heart does not belong to me. You never promised it would. I have no right to r-resent you…”

“But you do resent me, do you not?” he asked. And he saw her shake her head.

“I c-could never resent you.” She stood straight, hands folded before her, a picture of composure and elegance. She looked every bit the young lady society expected her to be. More beautiful than she ought, more poised than her years should allow, and, above all, more mature than he had ever realised.

She was no longer the child he had known.

Sakura had spoken the truth once again: Hinata was becoming a woman.

A woman who had just had her heart broken by her first, great love.

And perhaps this was the first time he truly saw her. Not as the girl from his memories, but as she now was.

“Lady Sakura and you, you…” She drew in a long breath, as though voicing this thought for the first time cost her dearly. But Naruto could not bear to let her continue. Not if it would wound her further. He had already done enough.

“Hina—”

“I must say it, Naruto. For myself. Then I shall cease to be selfish. Lady Sakura deserves to be loved. You two… though my opinion counts for little and was never asked, you suit one another. You are a-alike.”

“I do not love—” He didn’t love Sakura. He never had. He knew that Sasuke, in his quiet way, held something for her, though it had never been spoken aloud. Naruto himself… 

He wasn’t sure whom he loved. But it was not Sakura.

Still, she interrupted him once more, this time by turning her back, and for fear that she might leave then and there, he held his tongue.

“I never truly gave you a choice, did I?” She gave a soft, humourless laugh. “You were kind to me. You tolerated my presence without complaint, perhaps only for the sake of your friendship with Neji. You never wished to hurt me, I know. But more than that, you did not wish to offend your friend. And I drove you away, because I was selfish again. And I failed to see that you were suffering. I am sorry I ever placed you in such a position.”

Was that what she believed? That he had merely endured her company for Neji’s sake?

“Hina—”

“Goodbye, Naruto.”

And then she vanished, without once looking back.

That damned smile would haunt him to the end of his days.

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

“You told her at last?”

 A short nod was his only reply.

 “Perhaps for the best.” Sasuke raised his glass, an unspoken invitation to toast.

Naruto did not feel the inclination, but as if under some quiet enchantment, he mirrored his old friend’s movement.

 And so, they drank.

“To a new chapter.”

NHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH

A large envelope lay atop his writing desk, his name written in that exquisite hand he knew all too well. 

It was late; night had long since fallen. Work was piled high about him, yet Naruto welcomed it with open arms. Any distraction was a welcome one.

A glass of whisky in hand, he sipped from the amber drink he kept hidden away for evenings such as this. His eyes lingered upon the thick bundle of letters, tied neatly with a lovely ribbon. A ribbon he recognised. Orange, his favourite colour.

The alcohol had begun to cloud his judgement; of that, he was keenly aware. What he was about to do would not be counted among his wiser decisions. A distraction, perhaps. But beneath it all, an ever-pressing need.

Months had passed since that day. There was no sensible reason to reopen a wound barely closed, and far from healed.

His fingers trembled as he reached for the bundle. A dozen letters, perhaps more, had arrived by post nine weeks prior.

Had sending them brought her closure? Had it allowed her to step forward, freed from a burden too long borne? Was this her way of bidding him farewell? One final time?

And before he could truly comprehend what he meant to do, Naruto retrieved a letter opener from the drawer. 

With the utmost care, he unsealed the first and he read:

"Dear precious friend…"