Author: Rayneken PM
Naruto is the "Guy's-guy" type. Hinata is the 'Classic-girl' type. Together, they're a type all their own.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - Naruto U. & Hinata H. - Words: 2,731 - Reviews: 77 - Favs: 196 - Follows: 17 - Published: 07-31-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6195348
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I wish.
AN: So soon after posting a NaruSaku, I post a NaruHina. And it's even longer.
What is wrong with me? No idea.
My only warning is this: I choked on my own fluff, try not to be suffocated by it.
He's the type to leave his underwear lying willy-nilly around the house and develop a beer belly when he gets older. He's the type that stacks up empty ramen cups on a counter until none of them fit anymore before he considers a trashcan, and laundry seems beyond him. Vacuuming and dusting are just laughable, and he listens to every type of music except classical, opera, or anything else 'fruity'.
She's the type who blushes at the sight of underwear, and folds them before she puts them in her drawer—everything matching and neat and arranged in little stacks. She's the type that will be jogging five miles a day when she's eighty, and wouldn't consider leaving something for later that could be done now. Her entire apartment is clean as a whistle, not a hair out of place, and going to a ballet is her ideal way to spend an afternoon.
He likes sports, and girl's mud/jell-o/any type wrestling.
She likes reading, and changes the channel off WWC because violence makes her a little sick.
He's the type to date supermodels. Blond, brunette, red, with green, brown, or blue eyes—something exotic, that all have stick-like bodies and can't say much that's not about hair. He thinks smart girls find him shallow.
She's the type that finds boys like him shallow, and picks men for their brains and their good heart. Abs are nice, nice forearms are better, but she doesn't care whether they're going prematurely bald or not if they'll hold open the door and discuss Dickinson. Both Dickinsons actually.
He can't think about the name 'Dickinson' without laughing at the first four letters and turning on the game.
She can't watch the game without rolling her eyes and finding a good book.
He's the type whose closet is filled with little more than jeans and T-shirts and other things that makes him look hawt.
She's the type who wears slacks and sweaters and sensible heels, and blushes at short skirts and tank-tops.
But elevators have been responsible for more heinous crimes in the past than forcing opposites to attract.
He stuffs out his hand without thinking and introduces himself. "Hi. I'm Naruto. Uzumaki. Naruto Uzumaki. I work here. Sometimes. And eat here. Um. Who are you?"
She takes his hand, and smiles. "Hinata. Hyuuga. Hinata Hyuuga. I-I eat here too."
His mind is a blank, because she's obviously smart, classically pretty, and he's never dealt with this type of woman before. He says the first thing that pops into his head. "The salads are good."
"Yes," she agrees. "They are."
She doesn't talk much anyway, and even less when she's talking to someone new, and her mind is just as blank as his. They're still holding hands.
The elevator dings.
"Are you alone?" He blurts out, and she nods. "Would you like to have dinner with me? It's always nicer with company and we could talk and… stuff, but if you're busy I totally understand and-"
"Dinner," she interrupts, blushing. "Would be lovely."
"Great." He breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm really not usually this stupid."
"I'm really not usually either," she says, and they forget they're holding hands until they get to their table and drop them with a blush.
At first, they can't find much to talk about.
She shoots down his topic of sports, and he shoots down her topic of books. She shoots down his wrestling, he shoots down her ballet. This continues over the state of their apartments to their views on health issues, and eventually ploughs through their work, their love life, and their pasts.
Then they stare at each other blankly with nothing else to say.
It's going horribly.
They both know it, and an awkward kind of silence follows when they can find nothing else to say. They finish their meal.
The waiter comes by with the check, and Naruto hands him his credit card without a second thought. He holds open the door for her and walks her to her car. He laughs off the awkwardness.
"I'd like to see you again," she admits suddenly.
He stares at her blankly. "You do?"
"You said…" she hesitates, ploughs on. "That I would like basketball, if I gave it a shot. If I knew the rules. There's a game this Saturday. …Isn't there?"
"It's Friday," he says with a grin, seeing where she's taking this. "And you want me to read The Dragon Book?"
Her face is going to explode if it gets any more red. "You like dragons."
"I do like dragons." He agrees, and finds he can't stop smiling. "The game starts at eight, at the downtown stadium. I'll get the tickets and meet you at the south entrance?"
She smiles. "Okay."
He kisses her hand, shuts the door for her, and goes home whistling.
He has no idea why.
Basketball goes really, really well, and he's even got her cheering for the right team and at the right intervals by the end. (Mostly she just starts clapping whenever he does.) The only rocky bit was when she clapped politely when the other team scored, and he gave her a look like she is a traitor to America, the Geneva Convention, and Barney all in one.
On the way out, they get hot dogs, and talk about the book.
He seems genuinely surprised he liked it, and she laughs. He decides he likes her laugh.
The laugh stops when her phone goes off with the Mount Doom ringtone, and she winces when yelling comes from the speaker.
"Yes," she says, bright red, as Naruto watches curiously. "I'm sorry. I didn't—yes, I know. I'm sorry. I'll try not to cancel next ti—of course I don't. No, it wasn't sarcastic, I'm sorry. I—yes, Sir. Of course I will. Yes, thank you. No. Alright. Good bye."
Her face is calm, but her grip on her phone is white-knuckled.
"Sorry," she says.
"Hey, no prob," he says. "Your boss?"
"And my father," she says unhappily. "Rolled into one big, controlling package and-"
She releases a deep breath. "I'm really sorry, but I have to go."
He's wracking his brain to try to salvage the situation, because for some reason he already really, really likes her, despite the fact that he has no idea why.
"I could drive you home," he offers.
"That's okay, we drove here separately."
"Right." Now he feels like an idiot, and finally just ends up with: "Let me walk you to your car?"
She's obviously drawn herself into a bubble, and she keeps glancing at him like he's going to attack her any second and be really upset. He smiles, and grabs her hand with all the bravery he has.
All the knots in his stomach loosen when she gives it a grateful squeeze.
"I had a really good time tonight," he says. "You were funny."
"I had a lot of fun too," she says, shyly, because she's the shy type. He grins confidently, because he's the cocky type.
He opens her car door and leans against it. "So," he says. "What are you doing for breakfast tomorrow?"
Breakfast goes splendidly, as most of the time is taking up in a staring/smiling/blushing contest as they play footsie beneath the table. Afterwards, they go to her place (where Naruto is surprised at just how clean everything is) and watch movies. He kisses her before he goes, gently, and Hinata (for once) isn't worried about things moving too fast.
"What have you got going next week?" he asks, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
"How does dinner on Monday sound?" she asks.
"Perfect. Where, when, and can I please pick you up?"
She giggles. "Yes, you can—wait, no, because I'll be at the studio until eight."
"I… dance. Badly, not well, and, um, it's just a hobby really."
He dares a glance down at her legs, and decides dancing does make sense for her.
"Give me the address, and I'll pick you up at eight," he offers.
He shows up at the studio hugely early, and looks like the cat in the cream when she stumbles as he settles himself into the corner to watch.
At first, she's so flustered she can't move properly, and then she forces herself to push him aside for the moment and her moves become sinuous enough his mouth goes dry.
"You are really good," he says, guzzling almost as much water as she is.
She smiles brilliantly, says thanks, and goes off to shower.
This time, dinner ends with a kiss not half as gentle.
It's been three months, and this is their first really big fight. He didn't even know she could scream.
And, yes, he realizes it is over something stupid, and something he should probably even be thanking her for, but he just had a bad day at work, he didn't sleep well last night, his best friend is having issues, and everything just boiled over when he came home to a clean apartment.
"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND ANYTHING?"
"WELL MAYBE IF YOU CLEANED MORE OFTEN IT WOULDN'T BE A PROBLEM!"
She had a bad day at work too, and she's crushed that he's being so mean after she's tried to do something nice.
"I DON'T HAVE A PROBLEM WITH IT DIRTY!"
"WELL IT'S NOT YOUR APARTMENT YOU FRACKING NEAT-NICK!"
"I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE NICE!"
"WELL THIS ISN'T NICE!"
"FINE!" Hinata finishes with a screech, and throws his lamp at the wall. "Obviously, we are too different to make this work and I'm leaving."
"Fine!" Naruto shouts back, and over the din of the door closing adds: "You have to pay for that lamp!"
He's the type to explode and bounce back quickly. Mutter and slam around for a few hours, then feel guilty and forgive and forget. By the end of the evening he's already past it, and planning to see her again tomorrow.
She's the type to hold back and hold back and hold back and when she explodes, she explodes, and can't forget for weeks. She cries into her pillow that night, swearing never to see him again.
Naturally, he's off-put when he knocks on the door the next day and she slams it in his face.
He tries again, hoping it's a mistake (knowing it's not) and she doesn't answer. He, being the persistent type, keeps knocking and calling her name for the next twenty minutes.
She, being the stubborn type, goes to the other side of her apartment, pops in earphones, turns the T.V. up, and opens a book.
He realizes he's going to have to do something drastic.
He's never worked this hard for a girl in his life.
Flowers, candies, apologies, explanations, cards—she throws them all in the trash without a glance. She's gone through this before, she knows how to make her heart harden up.
Naruto squares his shoulders, and manages to get a copy of her home key by enlisting the help of her cousin (which while not easy, was doable). He breaks in, sets the table for dinner, dims the light, scatters rose-petals, the whole nine yards.
Then, he waits.
She comes home and looks terrified at seeing him there. She has spent the last three weeks making sure this wouldn't happen, because she knew she would crumble, and she wrote down a list of all the reasons that would be bad and she has it around here somewhere because, honestly, this is never going to work—
He shuts her up very effectively and swears it will work if she'll just believe it. They'll make it work.
It hasn't help that she has hated every second of the last three weeks without him.
"So," he says with a grin, plopping down next to her on the couch and scooching to get into Prime Cuddling Position. "What are we watching?"
"You can pick between Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, and Emma."
"I pick the fourth option."
"There wasn't a fourth option."
"Of course there was, you also said Indiana Jones."
"I don't own Indiana Jones."
"Star Wars then."
"You do. You have them stuffed under your bed you little guilty-pleasurer you."
She blushes. "I do not."
He kisses her nose. "You do."
They eventually settle on Princess Bride, and about halfway into quoting "My name is Inigo Montoya" together, he has managed to lay down on the couch with her tucked against him, pretending he can't feel her heartbeat.
"You know," he says, running his thumb against her rib. "We don't kiss half as often as Westley and Buttercup do."
"They haven't seen each other in five years."
"Just last week I didn't see you for five minutes."
"Can't you just enjoy the movie?"
"Of course I can, Darling. I just like kissing mor-"
"What did I tell you about the nicknames?"
"Sugar-pie? Sweetie-bear? My pearl? My diamond? My star? My love?"
"Stop it!" She orders, but his hand is on her lung and he can feel her breath coming faster.
He puts his mouth by her ear. "Pumpkin?"
It is not even an enraged squeal, and he realizes he definitely has the upper hand here.
"Hmm," he asks, running his lips around the soft shell. "What would you prefer? Mrs. Uzumaki?"
"You've made me sit through Pride and Prejudice before," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the skin just below her ear, and he can feel her shiver a little. "Mrs. Uzumaki."
"You don't mean that," she says, staring straight at the T.V., and he runs his fingers through her hair.
"Don't mean what?"
"What if I did?"
Her heart stops, speeds up. "H-H-Huh?"
"I said," he murmurs, running his hand up her side. "What if I did?"
"Um," she is thoroughly distracted by blocking his hand. "I—I mean, you don't."
"I guess that would be…" she swallows. "Good."
The good comes out as a squeak when she forgets to block his hand.
"Just good?" he asks, pouting, and kissing her cheek.
"Really good," she admits, tilting her back to kiss him.
He grins, and jumps up off the couch. "Stay."
She stays, only half-watching Westley explain how R.O.U.S' don't exist and fast-forwarding through the part where he kills one.
He comes back and drags her up, turns off the T.V., and gets down on one knee.
He brings out the box, and smiles winningly.
"I already took that 'really good' as a 'yes'," he says, and slides the ring on her finger.
They are the type to find a balance quickly. He learns to put his ramen cups in the trash and she learns to leave her clothes on the floor. She finds a sport she likes and he finds a book.
She still can't stand wrestling, he still can't stand ballet, but he comes to watch her whenever she's in a recital and she leaves the room when he wants to watch.
He buys her a pair of jeans, she buys him a polo.
And they become a type all to themselves.
AN: I told you the fluff was bad.
Tell me what you think!