Chapter Text
Nothing was supposed to be dramatic about turning twenty – because, really, Hinata hates dramatics – but, somehow, that is exactly how it all came to be.
“Hey. Hey. Sakura, didn’t we pass it, like, five minutes ago?”
“For the last time, Kiba, I know where we’re going.”
It’s a freezing night in Konoha with the slow approach of the New Year just on the horizon, but the group has found themselves walking down streets and through throngs of misty breaths and crystallized vapors for the past twelve minutes. In any other circumstance, Hinata would feel every part of her body slowly lock up with ice; but right now, she feels positively seared. It’s expected, she supposes, with the amount of people around her, some grumbling, others blowing steamed breaths into their hands. Shikamaru is wrapped in nearly five layers and still looks frightfully cold. Choji, on the other hand, seems rather used to the cold, though his nose has already begun to turn rosy. Everyone looks ready to go into a nice, heat-blasted building, but it’s the two at the front of the group that keep everyone out, walking back and forth down the same three streets.
It was Hinata’s birthday yesterday.
No, not only that – it was her twentieth birthday yesterday, meaning that she was officially at Konoha’s drinking age. Being the youngest of all her friends, the past year has been spent in bars and karaoke rooms that served alcohol, sipping on an orange soda or tea while the others around her would partake in sake shots and entire glass mugs full of beer. Not that she had minded, of course. Drinking was never a passion of hers, and she was always happy to play the sober friend who helped everyone get home safely after a night out.
But now she is twenty, and after telling Ino that she only had a celebrational shot of nanbu bijin with her family, word quickly gathered among Konoha 12 that Hyuuga Hinata was in desperate (Ino’s words, not hers) need of a night out drinking.
And so, here they are, searching for the new and popular tachinomi bar that all the local papers have been advertising. Kiba, who already got a few shots in at another bar before joining the group, thinks every bar they pass is the one they’re looking for. Sakura, just off from a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, looks ready to pound in his skull if he so much as says another word to her.
“Fuck!” Kiba rubs his gloved hands up and down the side of his head, using friction to warm up his ears. “Who cares about some fancy bar! Let’s just go to the one we took Naruto to!”
Sakura stops in her tracks, and the group stops with her. Hinata almost bumps her nose into Shino’s shoulder, which he catches in the corner of his eye and offers a stabilizing hand. Most of his face is covered by a thick scarf or his dark glasses, but Hinata still sees the hints of annoyance caused by the bickering.
“That bar,” Sakura hisses, “is packed this time of year, and unless you want to drink in the cold, we —”
Hinata finds the right time to tug at Kiba’s sleeve, making both him and Sakura turn her way. “Should I ask someone?”
The streets around them are decently busy despite the freezing temperatures. It wouldn’t be too hard to get someone’s attention to ask them where this particular bar might be.
Ino beats her to it before anyone says a word. She asks a man passing by, smiling cutely and letting her soft eyes gleam so he wouldn’t be compelled to be annoyed by such a question. He tells her happily, using his hands to mark up directions and streets, and Ino’s ‘thank you’ is grateful and polite, cutting off any offer he may have to walk her to the bar and, perhaps, buy her a drink. Hinata has seen her in action many times and has yet to not be impressed and, maybe, a little jealous of her charisma. Never would she be able to do such a thing. Not with how she stumbles and fumbles with her words.
“Not very hard, now was that?” Ino grins cheekily at Sakura and Kiba, then takes the front and leads the group down the right path.
And there it is, in a small alleyway they must have passed a handful of times. A collection of sighs take over the group as everyone begins to peel off mittens and scarves. The bar is homely, large enough to not be claustrophobic, and it has an arrangement of tall tables all around for patrons to stand at and mingle as they drink. There is a long table in the back, snuggled close to the wall, that is able to fit all of Konoha 12.
The menu is simple, and everyone takes time to order their drinks and some dishes for the table. They decide on dassai sake for the toast, and the rest are up to individuals. Kiba coaxes Hinata to try a glass of asahi beer – but really, it doesn’t take much pursuing. Rather, she’s been wanting to drink something from those large, glass mugs for a while. Now she finally had the chance.
Around the table, everyone has found their spot. Sakura keeps everything tidy, moving dishes around to make sure everyone has easy access. Choji helps with carrying drinks over from the bar, and Naruto stands right across from her, positively golden in the subtle lights overhead. For a moment, Hinata’s heart stutters, and she wishes away that old crush of hers before it gets her in trouble again.
Looking away, she finally notices the quiet figure standing next to her. Of all the people to come to her twentieth’s celebration, she didn’t think Uchiha Sasuke likely to come. Not that he was hated, of course! Nothing like that. Nor were they strangers, though friends would be a stretch for the sort of soft acquaintanceship they’ve managed over the years since his return. They’ve had a mission or two together, and with mutual friends like Naruto and Sakura, they were bound to cross paths every now and then.
But Sasuke, as she understands, isn’t much for large gatherings. With all the birthday celebrations that have transpired this year, he has only shown up to one: his own. And even that was a hassle – or so Naruto describes it.
No. It’s not typical for Sasuke to go out for occasions such as this. But here he is, next to her, silently drinking at his jug of beer as he listens to the multiple conversations spread across the table. Hinata takes a sniff at her own drink. It smells strong. Does it taste that strong?
Oh dear. Perhaps she should have gone with something more subtle or fruity. Even the sake she had last night got her drinking down water quickly to get the taste out of her mouth.
In the corner of her eye, she watches Sasuke. It seems to go well with his palette. He drinks it in the same way he would tea or water. Hinata swallows, heats up, shifts a little. She ought to talk to him. It’d be rude if she didn’t. He came out for her celebration, after all – though, she suspects, not willingly.
It would be good to talk. He’s not scary, though he is a bit intimidating in casual circumstances like drinking together at a bar. When they’re mission partners, that strong, overpowering aura of his is expected and a little comforting; here, however, it can put her a bit on edge.
“Sasuke,” she says, and because her voice sounds muffled under the cacophony around them, she turns most of her body his way. “Um, Sasuke.”
He must hear her. He doesn’t exactly look at her, but he stops in his drinking.
“Do . . . do you, um, drink often?” Is that a stupid question? Hinata’s not sure, though the warmth collecting on the backs of her ears make her think it is. “I mean – just, um, it looks normal, I guess, when you drink. Like maybe you’ve grown a taste for it.”
That could have come out smoother. The last thing Sasuke wants, probably, is some girl with an old stutter she’s still fighting against talking to him. Dread starts to form in Hinata’s throat as, slowly, his dark gaze turns her way, peering down at her. He’s got at least fifteen centimeters on her. Maybe even twenty. Is he annoyed? He won’t yell, she knows. Uchiha Sasuke doesn’t yell.
But he’s not saying anything either. He just, kinda, looks at her. He doesn’t exactly look happy. He doesn’t look furious, either, but that doesn’t cool down any of her anxieties. She must have done something wrong. Does he think she’s calling him an alcoholic? Or maybe – oh dear – he’s interpreting her weak conversation starter as flirting? Maybe the start of a suggestive invitation: ‘If you come to my place, you can show me how to build up my alcohol tolerance.’ Is that how she’s coming off? Like one of the many girls in the Academy who would make up any excuse to be alone with him?
Hinata starts to apologize, then bites into it before it leaves her mouth.
Kiba slides next to her and asks, “Ready to try that beer, Hinata?”
She turns around to him, smiling, hoping her fried nerves aren’t reflecting in her eyes. He taps his glass to hers, and when she gets through the foam to that first sip of beer, it rusts into her tongue and slides down her throat, and the taste makes her shiver.
When food and drinks come and everyone’s shot glass is full of sake, they toast her birthday and clink glasses with her. It scorches down her throat, unlike the beer, and makes her squirm. Kiba laughs, and Naruto says she’s cute, and Ino already starts to pour her another shot.
Hinata feels warm. The heat, and so many other things, make her entire body light up. In the corner of her eye, she watches Sasuke again; watches how he takes the whole shot down in one swing and how nothing changes in his face. A cool, distant expression that earns her glances every so often . . . when she’s sure he wouldn’t notice.
…
It’s a bit after midnight when they all leave. Mostly everyone is drunk – or, at the very least, tipsy. Kiba, of course, is the worst off, stumbling out of the bar and barely able to leave the alleyway before he trips over himself. Naruto is howling – ‘you’re smashed, you bastard!’ – and gets his shoulder under one of Kiba’s arms, but he’s just about as drunk, and soon enough they’re both fumbling around. Shino manages to get a hold of both of them, and Choji and Shikamaru, slightly tipsy, make sure to walk Ino and Sakura home.
“Wait. Wait!” Sakura flings her arms around Hinata, laughing lightly. “Happy birthday. Did you enjoy it? You didn’t feel forced, did you?”
Hinata laughs with her, shaking her head, which feels light and fuzzy. “No, of course not. It was wonderful.”
Sakura balances both hands on Hinata’s shoulder, looking her in the eye despite her sway.
“Are you good to get home? Do you need . . . .” Something beyond her makes Sakura pause, blink, then start again. “Oh, oh! Okay, well, I’ll see you another time, alright? Don’t be a stranger.”
Sakura goes back with her group, and Hinata watches them turn the corner. It’s cold beyond belief, which does not settle with her warm belly full of alcohol and yakitori. Hinata secures her scarf closer to her chin, mapping out the way home in her head. The Hyuuga complex isn’t very far, and she isn’t very drunk, just . . . fuzzy. Foggy, maybe.
A steaming bath would do her good. She wouldn’t want to catch a cold. With that to look forward to, she turns and almost immediately runs into Sasuke standing a bit behind her. His long coat reaches his mid calf with deep pockets to protect his hand from the chill. He looks rather casual and not at all concerned about the cold biting at his skin.
“O-Oh!” The alcohol must have made her senses dull. She had thought he had parted from the group long ago. “Hello, Sasuke – or, um, maybe good night is better. Or . . . good morning?”
She stops herself there. Any more, and she’ll just embarrass herself. She’s already embarrassed enough as is from the potential misunderstanding earlier. A steady stream of steam leaves him in an exhale, and Hinata watches it disappear into the dark night. He’s not talking again. Is he ignoring her? Or, perhaps, he’s rather drunk. Hinata scans him, not seeing any signs of obvious intoxication – but then again, Sasuke masks a lot of what he feels.
“Do I – should I . . . .” She wills her mouth to slow down, to wait for the words to form before she starts talking. “If you’re drunk, I can walk you home.”
Hinata waits, and she waits, and she moves her weight from one leg to the other and tries to ignore the cold bearing into her.
Sasuke pulls his arm from his pocket, adjusts his scarf, and finally, he says, “I’m walking you home.”
Oh.
Oh!
Well . . . that’s kind. Not that Uchiha Sasuke can’t be kind.
“It’s cold,” she says, which is obvious. “You’ll get sick.”
His reply is to start in the direction of her home. Hinata matches his pace at his side, watching her feet, then the sky, trying to get a grasp of things with her cloudy, confused mind.
…
Halfway to the Hyuuga compound, Hinata starts suddenly.
“About, um – about what happened earlier.” She’s been thinking about it. Actually, she hasn’t been able to think about anything but what happened at the bar. A lot of things happened, but for some reason, Sasuke brushing her off is what keeps sticking, what keeps replaying in her head. Somehow, she must have messed up. Uchiha Sasuke doesn’t just brush people off for no reason. Well, true, he used to. But he was young then, and now he . . . is different. Grounded, maybe? Matured. He’s not the kind to straight up ignore someone unless he really, really hates them, and the last Hinata remembers, they’ve been on good terms for a while. Not friendly terms, but good ones. So she must have done something. She must have come off in a way she didn’t mean. “I didn’t – I wasn’t trying . . . if you thought, um . . . .”
Admittedly, being a little tipsy isn’t helping with her in trying to find her words. Hinata stops herself again. She doesn’t dare look at his face, scared that a cut of annoyance will be found in his gaze. He’s probably thinking ‘I wish this girl would just stop talking to me.’ All he’s trying to do is be gentlemanly and walk a kinda-tipsy sorta-acquaintance home. Her half-sentences are not needed.
So she stops all the way to the Hyuuga. The normal guards at the gate are inside, away from the cold.
Sasuke pushes the gate open for her, which makes her heart throb with guilt. Before he can put it back in its pocket, Hinata grabs his hand and rubs it between her palms in an attempt to warm it up some. It’s cold and big. She makes sure to reach all the skin she can.
“You should hurry,” she tells him, “and drink something warm when you get home. Take a shower, maybe. Really. I don’t want you to get sick.”
He doesn’t snap his hand away, which makes her feel like he isn’t totally annoyed by her. He lets her take a few more seconds to warm his hand, and then she slips past the gate.
“G-Good night, Sasuke.”
He slowly puts his hand into his pocket and says, lowly, “Night.”
And he leaves, and she hurries into a sleeping compound and starts a bath, strips, sinks into the warm water with a sigh. Her cloudy mind has turned sleepy, and when she goes to bed, she can still feel Sasuke’s hand between her palms.