Chapter Text
The first thing Hinata felt that morning was the absence beside her. The sheets were cool, as though he hadn’t slept there at all. Her fingers lingered against the linen, searching for warmth that didn’t exist, before she finally pushed herself up.
She slipped into her robe, the fabric whispering around her ankles as she padded down the hallway. The house was too quiet... so quiet it hummed in her ears. When she reached the living room, she found him exactly where she expected: sitting on the edge of the sofa, hunched forward, a steaming cup of coffee between his hands.
The curtains were drawn, holding the daylight at bay. Without it, the room was a hollow, gray space. Sasuke didn’t move when she entered, his profile cut sharp against the dim light, eyes fixed on the floor as if he could read something hidden there.
“Good morning,” Hinata said softly, her voice catching in the stillness.
He turned his head just enough to glance at her. “Good morning.”
She crossed to the windows, pulled the curtains wide, and let the sun flood in. Dust motes came alive, spinning in the brightness, but the sudden light didn’t touch him. He just squinted against it, as though it was an intrusion.
Hinata settled beside him, folding her legs beneath her robe. “Did you sleep at all?” she asked, her words careful, like stepping barefoot on glass.
“Yeah,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Enough.”
She swallowed, feeling the lie sting her throat. She had lain awake most of the night, listening to his restless shifting, the muffled sounds in his sleep... half sighs, half broken murmurs. Every turn of his body had carried the echo of nightmares he never spoke about.
Her hand reached out, tentative, until her fingers brushed the back of his. His skin was warm but unresponsive. “What was it yesterday?” she asked. Her voice trembled, though she tried to steady it. “You seemed… restless.”
For a moment, his dark eyes lifted to hers. Something flickered there... something raw, too quick for her to catch. Then it was gone.
“It’s nothing,” he said flatly. “Just the usual.”
He set the cup down and rose, his movement abrupt, like the end of a conversation.
Hinata stood as well, almost by instinct, trying to follow. “Where are you going? It’s still early.”
“I have a lot of meetings today.”
Her fingers twisted into the fabric of her robe. “But… you didn’t have breakfast. At least let me fix something for you to take.”
“It’s fine.” He reached for his jacket draped across the back of a chair. “I’m not hungry.”
She stepped closer, her words spilling out faster than she intended. “But...”
“See you later,” he cut in, already moving toward the door.
The slam of it closing echoed through the house, louder than it should have been. Hinata stayed rooted in place, staring at the spot where he had just been.
The silence pressed in again, heavier now. She turned slowly, her eyes wandering over the living room. The walls were crowded with decorations, shelves lined with trinkets, frames of pressed flowers, ornaments she had once chosen with care.
Now they felt like strangers in her home. She hated them... their cheerfulness, their forced beauty, their promise of warmth that never existed. She remembered standing in shops, carefully picking them one by one, imagining how they would brighten this space, how they would make it theirs.
But the room was still cold. No amount of fabric or color or decoration could soften the truth that lingered in every corner: emptiness.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the hollow there. Why had she bought such ridiculous things? What had she been trying to cover up?
Her knees bent, and she sank onto the couch where he had been sitting minutes before. The coffee cup sat abandoned on the table, still half full, steam curling into the air before vanishing. She stared at it as though it held an answer, but it offered nothing.
Hinata wrapped her arms around herself. Her house was filled with things, yet it felt like nothing.
And in that moment, with sunlight streaming across the floorboards and the door closed firmly behind him, she felt the sharp truth settle inside her chest... she was not okay.
---
Hinata moved slowly that morning, dragging herself through the rituals of getting ready as if she were made of stone. Her robe slipped away, replaced by a pale blouse and fitted skirt, her hair brushed into the neat style she always wore when she stepped into the company building. It was the armor she’d learned to put on... measured, polished, professional.
By the time she grabbed her bag and slid into her car, she was already late. The city moved around her in a blur of stoplights and horns. She kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other clutching her phone in her lap, checking the time again and again. Her chest tightened with every minute that slipped away.
She pulled into the lot, hurried inside, and reached the heavy doors of the boardroom just as the meeting was already underway. The voices inside buzzed low and steady, like bees around a hive.
The long table stretched out before her, polished to a perfect gleam. At its head sat her father, Hiashi Hyuga, his expression severe even in stillness. His presence alone ruled the room. Beside him, Neji sat with his usual composure, sharp posture, calm eyes, every inch the model heir.
Hinata slid quietly into her chair, across from them, offering a polite nod to the men already seated. She smoothed her skirt under the table, adjusting her pen and notepad as though the orderliness might steady her thoughts.
The discussion swirled around her. Charts, percentages, reports. One of the managers spoke about projections for the coming quarter, another about construction delays. Hinata wrote words on her pad, her handwriting neat but empty, her ears catching phrases without meaning. Urban development. North district. Expansion. They floated over her, unanchored.
Her mind wandered, back to the morning. To the closed curtains and the bitter smell of coffee, to Sasuke’s voice, clipped and distant, to the sound of the door closing like an ending. She wondered where he was now. If he was already sitting in some other office, wearing that same unreadable face. If he was eating nothing, as usual.
“Hinata.”
The first call of her name slid past her, muffled.
“Hinata.”
She startled, blinking up to see her father’s eyes fixed on her. Hiashi’s gaze was sharp, his tone sharper. Around the table, the low hum of voices had ceased.
“I... I’m sorry,” she said quickly, sitting straighter. Heat crept into her cheeks.
Her father exhaled slowly, with a faint shake of his head. He didn’t raise his voice but the silence after his sigh was louder than reprimand.
“What do you think about the north region suggestion?” he asked, each word precise.
Hinata’s fingers tightened around her pen. She hadn’t been listening, not really. The words replayed in her mind... north region... but they were nothing more than syllables. Still, she forced her voice to sound steady.
“I think… it’s a strong opportunity,” she said, nodding once. “I’m in favor of pursuing it.”
For a second, no one moved.
Her father’s expression didn’t shift much, but she saw the flicker in his eyes. A sigh left him, long and measured, as though he had expected nothing else. He turned his head slightly, directing the conversation back to the others at the table. Neji picked up the thread seamlessly, elaborating on logistics.
Hinata lowered her gaze to her notepad. Her pen hovered over the paper, the ink bleeding slightly where it touched. She felt the weight of her father’s exhale still pressing against her chest.
She wanted to focus. She wanted to belong in this room filled with people who never seemed to doubt, who never seemed to falter. But her mind kept breaking away, unraveling back toward the life she had left behind on her way here.
Her house. Her empty bed. Her husband’s silence.
And the terrible, suffocating question that would not let her go: what am I even doing?
---
The meeting dissolved slowly, the scrape of chairs against the polished floor, the shuffle of papers, the murmured farewells as one by one the members filed out. Hinata remained seated a moment longer, gathering her notes with deliberate care, as if the measured movement could delay the heaviness pressing down on her chest.
Hiashi stood, his presence looming even when he didn’t speak. Before leaving the room, his eyes lingered briefly on Neji. The look was wordless. A flick of his gaze was enough, See what’s going on with Hinata.
Neji inclined his head almost imperceptibly, understanding without needing a word.
Hinata tucked her pen into her folder, lifted her bag, and rose to leave. She walked with her usual composure, back straight, steps quiet. But Neji’s voice halted her at the doorway.
“Hinata.”
She turned, her hand still on the doorframe. His expression was calm as always, but there was something softened in his eyes, a flicker of concern that only family would notice.
“Can we talk for a moment?”
She hesitated. Her instinct was to nod. Still, her stomach knotted. She knew what this was about, and the last thing she wanted was to lay her private misery bare again. But she gave a small nod and followed him down the hall, away from the boardroom, until they reached the quieter corner near her office.
Neji leaned lightly against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He looked at her steadily, his voice low but not unkind.
“Are you alright?”
Hinata shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, the strap cutting into her palm. “Yes,” she said too quickly. “I’m okay.”
But her voice betrayed her. It wavered, fragile, carrying none of the conviction her words demanded.
Neji’s brows drew together slightly. He didn’t press, not right away. “Is it… Sasuke?”
The name lodged in her throat. She bit her lip, hard enough to sting. For months now, she had confided in them... her cousin, her father... about the silence at home, the distance growing wider no matter how hard she tried to bridge it. She had spoken of her helplessness, her fear, her frustration at Sasuke’s refusal to let her in. And every time she did, she felt like she was betraying him, peeling back a curtain he never wanted opened.
“Yes,” she whispered at last. Her fingers twisted the strap of her bag. “It’s… the usual.”
Neji’s hand lifted, hesitated, then settled on her shoulder. His grip was firm, steady. “He went through a lot,” he said. His voice had the weight of someone who knew pain intimately. “It’s not easy for him.”
“I know,” Hinata breathed. Her eyes burned, her lashes damp. “I know he’s been through hell and back. And that’s what makes me feel worse.” Her chest rose and fell with a shaky breath. “I feel guilty for even thinking this way. For wanting more. For being tired. But Neji…” She finally met his eyes, her own glassy. “I don’t feel like I’m with him anymore. It’s like he’s… gone. Even when he’s right beside me.”
Neji exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze slid to the side, away from her, as though the truth of her words was too heavy to face directly. He had known Sasuke since childhood... just as Hinata had. They’d seen him grow, live, lose, survive. And they had watched, powerless, as the years after survival seemed to hollow him out instead of heal him.
Finally, Neji said quietly, “He will get better.”
Hinata blinked, her vision blurring with the tears she refused to let fall.
“I’ve been where he is,” Neji continued. “I know it's not exactly the same, but i know how it feels. It’s dark, it’s suffocating… but it doesn’t last forever. It will always get better.”
She swallowed hard, tilting her chin up slightly so the tears would not betray her. Her throat ached with the effort of holding them back.
“I hope things will be like that,” she said, her voice fragile, threaded with longing. “I really do, Neji.”
He gave her shoulder a final squeeze before letting his hand fall away. The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t cold either. It was the silence of two people standing on the edges of a wound too big for either of them to close.
Hinata turned then, walking into her office. The door clicked shut softly behind her, leaving Neji in the quiet hall, his eyes fixed on the floor, his jaw tense.
And alone in her office, Hinata pressed her palms against the desk, her head bowing forward. A single tear slipped free despite her efforts, dotting the page of her notes like ink.
---
By the time Hinata left the office that evening, the sky had already begun to soften into amber and violet. Her shoulders ached from the weight of the day, but she didn’t go straight home. Instead, she stopped at the market, weaving slowly through the aisles with a basket hooked in her arm.
She chose each item carefully, vegetables firm and fresh, rice polished and fine. Sasuke had not been eating well for months, his appetite shrinking with his silence, and tonight she wanted to coax him, even just a little. He had always loved rice made the way his mother once prepared it, each grain tender, seasoned with the simplest touch of care.
At home, Hinata changed out of her work clothes. She slipped into something softer, more homey... a cotton dress in pale tones, sleeves loose, the fabric familiar against her skin. She tied her hair back, then paused, her hands lingering at the pins. She remembered the way Sasuke’s eyes softened, barely perceptible, whenever she wore it a certain way. So she fixed it like that, exactly how he always liked.
The kitchen filled with sound and warmth as she began cooking. She chopped and stirred with practiced rhythm, her movements patient, meticulous. She tested the broth again and again, adjusting the seasoning, wanting it to be perfect. Every motion was a small prayer... please eat, please stay, please remember there is warmth here with me.
The house around her remained quiet, but Hinata filled it with her own hums, a soft tune under her breath as she moved between stove and counter. She set the table simply but thoughtfully, laying out their dishes with care. Not dramatic, not forced... just clean lines, a vase of fresh flowers at the center, the kind of table that said: this is ours, this is home.
Before she sat down to wait, she walked around the room and began quietly removing some of the decorations that had weighed on her earlier that morning. A porcelain figure, a gilded frame... things that once seemed meaningful but now only mocked her with their emptiness. She set them aside, leaving the table clear, the space warmer in its simplicity.
When everything was ready, she took a breath and sat down, smoothing the folds of her dress. The clock ticked softly in the background. The rice steamed. She waited.
The sound of the front door opening broke the silence at last. Sasuke entered with the same muted presence he carried everywhere, closing the door quietly behind him. The air seemed to shift with him, darker, heavier.
Hinata rose quickly, crossing the room to greet him. She reached for his jacket as he shrugged it off, holding it gently, careful not to intrude on his space.
“How was your day?” she asked, her voice calm, steady.
He set his shoes aside, his eyes flicking toward her only briefly. “Full of meetings,” he said. His tone was flat, tired, as though the words themselves cost too much effort. “What about yours?”
Hinata smiled faintly. “Mine too. Father wants to push out this project as fast as he could.”
“He mentioned it earlier this week,” Sasuke said. He paused, a small grunt of acknowledgment. “That’s good.”
He turned, starting toward the hallway. “I’ll go shower.”
But before he could take another step, his eyes caught the table. The food spread neatly, steam rising, plates waiting. His gaze lingered there, then shifted back to her.
“You didn’t… have a long day at work?” he asked. There was only a faint, puzzled edge.
Hinata’s smile deepened, fragile but sincere. “I did,” she admitted. “But I wanted us to have something nice to eat.”
For a moment, he just looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, without another word, he moved toward the table.
He sat down, his movements slow, deliberate, and reached for his chopsticks. Hinata joined him, settling into the seat across, her hands folded in her lap for a moment before she picked up her own.
The meal began in silence, only the quiet sound of rice being lifted from bowl to mouth, the clink of porcelain against wood.
Hinata watched as he lifted his chopsticks, took a measured bite of rice, chewed slowly, swallowed. Then another. And another.
But she could see it...the way he wasn’t tasting anything. The way each bite was a courtesy, not desire. The small pause between mouthfuls where he hesitated, as though pushing himself to keep going. The faint shadow that crossed his face when he glanced at his bowl.
He wasn’t eating because he wanted to. He was eating so he wouldn’t be rude.
Hinata’s heart sank, but she forced her lips into a small smile, as though the pretense could hold her together. She reached for her own food, keeping her eyes down, pretending she didn’t notice.
The silence pressed in, broken only by the soft clink of chopsticks. She tried to think of something light, something easy, something that might lift the heaviness from the air.
“My friend mentioned a new resort she went to,” Hinata said softly. Her voice was too careful. “She said it was beautiful. The gardens there are supposed to be… really peaceful. It would be nice if we could go, just for a weekend.”
Sasuke didn’t look at her. He placed another bite of rice into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then set his chopsticks down momentarily.
“Yeah,” he said, his tone flat, noncommittal. “We’ll see if we can fix the working schedules.”
And then he went back to silence, as though the words themselves had been an interruption he regretted.
Hinata’s smile faltered. She lowered her gaze to her bowl, forcing herself to lift a bite of food to her lips. The rice, the vegetables... flavors she had so carefully coaxed together... tasted like nothing. They dissolved against her tongue without warmth.
She set her chopsticks down, her fingers trembling faintly.
Her eyes flicked to him again, searching, pleading without words. “Did you… like it?” she asked quietly.
Sasuke looked at her then, his eyes softening for just a breath. “Yeah,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “It’s delicious.”
But the words rang hollow, because his bowl was still mostly full. He had barely eaten. The praise was only another courtesy, one more kindness that cut like a blade.
Hinata swallowed hard. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to pretend his appetite was just small, that the shadows under his eyes were just from work, that his silence wasn’t a wall between them. But the truth was there, laid bare in the untouched food.
Sasuke lifted his chopsticks once more, took a final small bite, and set them down. He rose from the table, moving with the quiet grace that always seemed to put distance between himself and the world.
He leaned down, brushing his lips against her temple. The gesture was fleeting, light, almost mechanical. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Then he turned away, vanishing down the hall toward the bathroom.
Hinata sat frozen, her body rigid, her hands resting on her lap. She could hear the faint creak of the bathroom door closing, the muted sound of water running, but she couldn’t move.
The table stretched before her, filled with food she had poured herself into, food that still steamed with all the love and effort she’d tried to give. The plates and bowls gleamed in the lamplight, beautiful, untouched.
It mocked her.
All the care she had put into chopping, stirring, seasoning. All the small rituals of love, undone in the span of a quiet dinner. It wasn’t just the meal he had rejected... it was her.
Her eyes dropped, her hair falling like a curtain to shield her face. She stared at her untouched bowl, the grains of rice blurred through her tears.
One slipped free, hitting the table. Then another. And another.
Her shoulders shook as she tried to keep them in, biting her lip to stay silent. She couldn’t break, not even here, not even now. But the tears betrayed her anyway, sliding down her cheeks one by one.
Hinata pressed her palms into her lap, her nails digging into her skin as though the sting could anchor her. She told herself she had to endure. That it wasn’t his fault. That he was suffering more than she could possibly understand.
But sitting there, in front of the table she had prepared with such hope, the weight of it all pressed down until she felt she might collapse.
Hinata really, truly couldn’t take this anymore.
---
The water struck his shoulders in relentless sheets, scalding at first, then settling into something numb. He stood beneath it without moving, his head bowed, the steam curling around him like smoke.
He wasn’t here.
Not in this house.
Not in this moment.
Not with the wife who had set a table he could barely bring himself to touch.
He was somewhere else entirely.
Sasuke was back four years ago.
The shower’s hiss blurred into the rumble of an engine, steady, familiar, rocking him into that half drowsy state where the world feels safe. He could almost feel the leather of the backseat beneath his palms, warm from the sun.
And he could hear her... his mother’s laugh, rich and unrestrained, spilling into the space like music. It was that kind of laugh that made you laugh even if you didn’t know why. He remembered the way her hand had reached for the back of the seat, her wedding band catching the light as she swatted playfully at his brother.
“Stop teasing him,” she’d said, but she was laughing too hard to sound convincing.
His father had only shaken his head from the driver’s seat, his profile carved in quiet patience, though Sasuke had seen the faint curl of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
And Itachi leaned back in the seat beside him, lips curved in that infuriatingly calm smirk. Teasing his brother to death.
Sasuke had flushed, snapping his head toward the window, trying to mask it with scowling silence. But his ears had burned, his heart thudding with the sharp, stupid awareness of being young and vulnerable.
His mother had turned in her seat, eyes soft but mischievous. “Soon you’ll be married, Sasuke. Then what will you do when your brother teases you?”
Sasuke had wanted to disappear, bury his face, pretend he wasn’t there. But beneath the flush, beneath the indignation, there had been something else... a fragile warmth. A sense of belonging so absolute it filled every corner of him.
The kind of warmth he didn’t know could vanish.
In the shower, his breath hitched. He pressed his forehead to the tile, eyes squeezed shut, as though the water could wash the images away. But the memories clung to him stubbornly, vivid and merciless.
The rhythm of the tires on the road.
The golden wash of sunlight across the windshield.
The scent of his mother’s perfume mingling with the faint leather of the car.
They were all there, whole and alive.
Sasuke swallowed hard, his throat tightening against something he refused to name. He hadn’t been here for years... not really. His body walked through meetings, signed papers, came home to a wife who deserved more than his silence. But his soul… his soul was still in that car.
Still hearing his mother’s laughter.
Still feeling Itachi’s elbow nudge his side.
Still burning with embarrassment at the thought of a future that would never come the way he imagined.
Four years ago.
And he hadn’t left.
The water cascaded over him, hotter, harsher now, searing his skin until it almost hurt. But it wasn’t enough to drag him out. Nothing was.
Because he wasn’t in the shower.
He wasn’t in his house.
He wasn’t with his wife.
He was still there... back in the backseat, with his family alive around him.
---