Naruto, his face a carefully constructed mask of apathy, placed the photo of the woman with black hair back on his desk and then set his phone to "do not disturb." He was done with phone calls for the day. The phantom band in the hallway had vanished with the click of the hang-up, leaving only the quiet hum of his own apartment.
He pushed off the desk and walked back into the living room. The smell of Hinata's cooking, something sweet and familiar, now mingled with the faint, lingering scent of sex from the bedroom. Hinata was indeed at the stove, stirring something in a pan, her back still mostly to him. Kiba was sprawled on the couch, beer in hand, his gaze fixed on the TV. Neither of them looked directly at Naruto.
He walked over to the fridge, pulled out another beer, and popped it open with a soft hiss. The cold aluminum felt good in his hand. He sat down on the opposite end of the couch from Kiba, not meeting anyone's eyes. The television blared, but Naruto heard none of it. The silence in the room, despite the TV, was deafening. He raised the beer to his lips, taking a long, slow drink. The bitterness settled on his tongue, matching the taste in his mouth.
He had walked into a mess last night, and this morning, he was just adding more layers to it. The rules were blurred, the lines were crossed, and the consequences of his actions were beginning to pile up.
Naruto sighed, closing his eyes, the recent phone call echoing in his mind like a chilling reprise. Kiba was on the couch beside him, a faint, almost nervous smirk on his face as he watched the news. Whether it was from his conquest last night or just something funny happening on the screen, Naruto couldn't fathom, nor could he bring himself to care. A part of him wanted to shatter the fragile peace, to shout, to demand answers, but the exhaustion was a heavy blanket.
The silence in the room was a thick, suffocating thing. Hinata was in the kitchen, and the soft clinking of plates, the methodical swish of a sponge against the counter, were the only sounds. Each movement was precise, almost too controlled, and Naruto could feel the tension radiating off her, a silent hum beneath his skin.
"Hey, Naruto," Kiba finally said, his voice a little too casual, a slight tremor under the forced cheer. He kept his eyes on the screen, avoiding Naruto's gaze. "How you been, man?"
Naruto took a slow breath, the metallic tang of his own blood in his mouth. "I'm fine, Kiba. How are you?" He tried to keep his voice calm, collected, but he felt the tremor in his own words. They made small talk, a ridiculous dance around the cobra in the room – not an elephant, he affirmed internally, because elephants were clumsy and obvious; cobras struck with silent, deadly precision. The semantics of the situation weren't quite what mattered, only the deed, and the piercing, agonizing 'why.' He could feel Hinata's presence in the kitchen, a phantom weight in his peripheral vision, knowing she was listening, assessing.
Hinata emerged then, carrying three plates of breakfast. The plates were loaded: toast, scrambled eggs, small pancakes. She moved with an unusual stiffness, her eyes darting between the two men before settling on a spot just above the TV. She handed Naruto his plate, their fingers brushing for a fraction of a second – a spark, or just nerves, he couldn't tell. She then settled on the opposite side of the couch from him, a deliberate, precise distance from Kiba, yet not quite close to Naruto either; a healthy, calculated middle ground. Was that her declaration of not picking sides, of the growing, undeniable chasm? He didn't know, and honestly, he was too tired to care. The wounds on his bandaged body were freshly opened for the world to see, each dull ache and sharp pain grounding him to the brutal reality of the morning. He needed this conversation to happen, yet dreaded every possible word.
Breakfast passed in a haze of forced normalcy, punctuated by the clinking of forks and the low drone of the news. Kiba cleared his throat several times, shifted his weight, glancing at Naruto, his usual easy bravado replaced by a palpable awkwardness. Finally, with a muttered excuse about needing to make a call, he stood. The unspoken words he wanted to say to Naruto were like ash in his mouth, refusing to come out. He paused at the door, a quick, uncertain glance at Naruto, before stepping out. Yet, as the door closed, Naruto knew Kiba still held a misplaced faith that he would be a man about the situation and talk to him privately.
The apartment fell silent, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly loud in the stillness. Hinata stayed at the kitchen counter, her back to Naruto, methodically wiping down surfaces that were already clean. Each swipe of the cloth was stiff, deliberate, a rhythm that grated on Naruto's frayed nerves. He watched her, the fragile tension in the air thicker than any morning fog. His beer sat forgotten on the coffee table, a film forming on its surface.
"So, had fun last night?" Naruto asked out loud, never taking his eyes off the television. He knew if he did, he'd look at her with rage, and he was too tired—in mind, body, and spirit—to muster up that kind of fury.
Hinata blanched, pausing mid-swipe in her cleaning of the kitchen. The repetitive task, usually so calming, now offered no solace. Is that really all he has to say? she thought to herself. For all the years she had known Naruto, for all the years they had dated, he was never one to beat around the bush. But lately—and she didn't know when it had started—he seemed to be pulling away, not just from her, but from the world itself, shutting down, ignoring everything and his own problems.
"I did," she said, the words slipping out with a bitterness she hadn't intended, a build-up of years of Naruto's coldness finally finding a voice. "Not like you cared anyway," she added under her breath. Naruto heard it, but he didn't feel like arguing. He chose peace over war, remaining silent.
"Good. I'm happy for you," Naruto said, almost absentmindedly. "Does he treat you okay, at least?"
Hinata stopped wiping down the counter completely, her hand frozen. It should be you, not him, she wanted to say, but the words refused to come out. Was this their life now? Passive-aggressive comments, and her doing everything she could to get Naruto to show some emotion, any emotion really?
"We've all been friends for years, Naruto. You know he will," she said, her voice strained. "I'm going out with the gals and guys after work. Why don't you join us like you used to?"
Naruto finally turned to look at her, his eyes weary. He shook his head. "Maybe next time."
That's what you said last time, Hinata thought to herself, a wave of familiar disappointment washing over her. cold and certain as the film on his untouched beer. It was always 'next time,' a never-ending deferral of connection.
Hinata stood at the counter, her back still mostly to Naruto, the faint scent of scrambled eggs fading, replaced by the heavy silence. That's what you said last time, she thought to herself, a wave of familiar disappointment washing over her, cold and certain as the film on his untouched beer. It was always 'next time,' a never-ending deferral of connection. She squeezed her eyes shut, a raw ache spreading through her chest. The apartment hummed with an unspoken tension, and in her mind, a powerful, dark melody began to swell, a ghostly band rising in the kitchen around her, unseen by the man on the couch.
(MUSIC CUE: "Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence begins, performed by Hinata. The piano and guitar intro build a haunting, melancholic atmosphere.)
Hinata turned slowly, her gaze finally locking on Naruto, who remained slumped on the couch, staring blankly at the TV screen. Her voice, though unheard by him, filled the apartment, a mournful, desperate plea.
HINATA (Singing, her voice soft at first, filled with a deep sorrow and yearning): How can you see into my eyes like open doors? Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb Without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold Until you find it there and lead it back home
Naruto didn't stir, his beer still untouched. He felt the weight of her gaze, a familiar presence, but remained locked in his own internal prison. Hinata's shoulders trembled. This wasn't just about Kiba; it was about the growing distance, the walls he kept building.
HINATA (Singing, her voice gaining power, a desperate frustration rising): Wake me up inside (I can't wake up) Wake me up inside (Save me) Call my name and save me from the dark (Wake me up)Bid my blood to run (I can't wake up)Before I come undone Save me from the nothing I've become
She took a step towards him, then another, the spectral band in the kitchen now seemingly surrounding her, amplifying her silent anguish. Her hands clenched at her sides, her knuckles white. She longed to reach out, to shake him, to force him to see her, to feel something.
HINATA (Singing, her voice raw with an almost painful clarity, directly confronting his emotional distance): Now that I know what I'm without You can't just leave me Breathe into me and make me realBring me to life
Naruto finally shifted, a slow, deliberate movement. He picked up his beer, took a long swallow, and then set it back down. He still didn't look at her, his eyes still fixed on the meaningless images flickering on the screen. He was a million miles away, lost in a landscape of his own making.
HINATA (Singing, her voice filled with a desperate, heartbreaking intensity): All this time I can't believe I couldn't see Kept in the dark but you were there in front of me I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems Got to open my eyes to everything Without a thought, without a voice, without a soulDon't let me die here There must be something more Bring me to life
She waited, her breath catching in her throat, her voice dying out as the last notes of the phantom music faded. The silence returned, heavy and suffocating. Naruto simply remained on the couch, staring. He never looked at her.