Disclaimer: Do I really need to keep clarifying to you all that I don't own Naruto in any way, shape, or form?

A/N: Written for sharingank, who apparently has a secret kink for ZetsuHina. This thing was hell to write, dear. I better get goodies for this.

Mute

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The flytrap was open still...

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The wind around her sighed and exhaled, whispering breathy nothings and weaving in and out of her long, dark mauve hair. Raindrops still lingered from a brief morning shower, drooping weightily amongst the gossamer strands of spiderwebs and pooling in the spectral, brittle foiliage at her feet. The air was ripe and heady with moisture and her eyes closed halfway in irritation as she felt her heavy jacket dampen and the strands of her hair curl in.

It had been engrained in Hinata's mind, from infancy to this very hour, that for all occasions, for all moments, there was a time to speak and a time to leave things unsaid. If the lifestyle of the shinobi was a heavenly body, then subtlety was its axis. It revolved around hints and gestures as opposed to outright announcements. Silence was as much a necessity as communication, and Hinata, doubtless, had the art of vocal suppresion down to a science.

Right now, as she knelt before the foreign, strange formation seemingly rooted to the forest floor, Hinata was silent, but it was not because she felt the need to guard her tongue, to keep any valueable secret safe.

It was because she didn't know what to say.

The torso of this thing --somewhat man, somewhat not, wholly unheard of-- sprouted forth from the moss that molded under her knees, pectorals slightly tucked from the pressure of his slouched, broad shoulders --even though his eerie golden eyes were wide open, his posture and his quiet, slow breaths revealed him to be far from awareness. Unruly, ivy hair wisped against his brow daintily, swaying hither and tither with the mid-April breeze. His arms were still and hanging at his sides, everything from his elbows down obscured from sight by the flytrap formation that jutted out from his shoulders and cast wretched shadows over pallid white and sloe black skin, gnarled, vine-like fangs open in wait.

Hinata stared.

When she was younger, she remembered slipping far from the arid, colorless halls of the Hyuuga compounds, away from the tended, clipped grass, and into the untouched, virginal wilderness sequestered within the borders of the clan's property. It was only once in her hermitic, sheltered youth that she ever had the strange fortune of stumbling across a Venus flytrap.

It was an awkward specimen, true, with no distinct or noteable hue, no frills or petals meant to catch anyone's attention. If not for its alien nature and structure, it would be easily dismissed.

Hinata remembers staying in place, watching it fervently until sundown called her back home. To her, the flytrap was more than an out-of-place species of plant.

It was patience in its oldest, rawest, most tangible form, ancient even when the concept of patience was first birthed.

It would wait, unyielding in its intent, for its prey to relent, to succumb to its wonder. Slowly --painfully so-- the miniscule insect, or some other critter, would eek forward cautiously, taking in the formation before it with a keen observance. Hinata never tore her eyes away from the spectacle even once, bewildered as the unknowing bug gave in, let its walls crumble at the sight of shimmering, honey-like wax within the plant's gaping mouth.

One leg in. And another. And another step. And another push forward.

And it ended.

With a resolute clamp, the flytrap shut itself, encompassing his prey, a victim of its own curiosity. No more waiting. No more patience to exhaust. In the most silent of ways, the flytrap had consumed what it yearned for, ending its vigil as though it had never begun at all.

And Hinata never forgot that. Especially right now.

One leg shifted. And another. And another inch. And another movement. She eeked forward, hands on the forest floor, pushing her weight towards him while she remained on her knees. Her fingers reached up, reached out, fingertips twitching to immerse themselves in the feel of his deep green hair.

She stopped. Completely. Her mind muddled with panicky questions.

Was he being patient?

Had he been waiting this whole time, unyielding in his intent? Was he waiting for her to relent and succumb to her wonder, for her to inch just a little closer? If she reached for him, would his jaws snap shut? Would she be silent and let him take her in, let him encompass her and swallow her whole just for the sake of her naive fascination?

Would she be the victim of her own curiosity?

Hands shaking, she reached for a lock of his hair, trapping it between her thumb and pointer finger.

He was still.

Hinata took this as her cue to start breathing again.

An eternity fluttered by before she dared to move her fingers, her anything, again. Spellbound, she twirled the ochre strand beneath her fingertips, her skin breathing in its feathery texture.

The sun broke through the dismal rainclouds, light pouring into the gaps in the forest rooftop. Patches of warm light littered his mismatched skin and planted transparent kisses over his unmoving face and open chest.

The flytrap was open still, so the bug grew bolder.

Hinata carefully raised her inactive hand, the fingers of her other still studying his hair ardently. Her eyes lingered on his face and without even thinking, her hand moved, all fingers but her index clenched tighly against her palm. She wetted her lips in nervousness.

One trimmed, smooth fingernail glided quietly over his face, tracing up and down the border between his light and dark halves. The line that kept him split apart, two parts of an unjoined whole. The margin that contrasted black from white, cruel from benign, loud from silent.

Though he made no movement, she swore she could see the corners of his thin lips folding into a small grin.

Hinata smiled.

She was silent, but it was not because she felt the need to guard her tongue, to keep any valueable secret safe.

It was because she knew there was nothing that needed to be said.

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... so the bug grew bolder.

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Comments, flames, wisecracks? I'll take 'em all!