Adoration

Itachi loved watching Hinata cook.

The way she'd flit around the sterile tiles of his kitchen, faded red apron on and her hair tied into a high ponytail, exposing an elegant neck that he'd had the pleasure of ravishing the night before. He made a mental note to buy something more suitable for her to wear. Itachi rarely cooked, and the scant few times he did, he never bothered with an apron. Eggs and riceballs hardly required one. In fact, the ratty thing was only there at his mother's insistence. Itachi thought it was just an excuse for her to come over and cook more often, but of course he'd never say that out loud.

Still, he couldn't deny that the sight of his girlfriend in one stirred heat in his gut.

He leaned on the doorway, having just emerged from a shower. Shirtless with a towel around his neck, the menial task of drying his hair forgotten in the face of her culinary... prowess? No, that didn't sound right. But the word skills seemed too ordinary in comparison.

Itachi watched as she curved upward to grab plates and bent down for pans. Any other day, he would've entered, made his presence known by enveloping her in his arms, but simply watching her from afar held a different kind of pleasure—one that he found preferable this morning. His eyes lingered on her hips when she moved in time to the tune she was humming. It was a familiar one, he noted. Though not enough for him to distinctly recall how it went.

She looked good there.

As if she belonged. As if she had every right to look so utterly confident in his kitchen—technically, she did. But she wasn't his wife. Not yet.

Soon though.

Once her father conceded to his daughter's wishes and his own loosened his suffocating grip around his collar. But that was a thought for another day, in a different time when she wasn't in his kitchen and the air between them wasn't so comfortable.

He'd admitted to her, once, when they were out roaming the bustling streets of Konoha and a tea shop had caught both of their gazes, that it was her cooking that had attracted him to her in the first place. That day, when he'd gone to her family home for a marriage meeting—more for formality than actual interest, he was required to meet with many young women of courting age; and not meeting Hinata, who came from a family as prominent as the Hyuga, would be considered an insult—he had found her in the kitchen.

The Hyuga heiress... cooking of all things.

Something messy, too, judging by the streak of flour across her cheek. He could smell cinnamon in the air. Too much for her not to have been using it.

He knew who she was based from the pictures he'd been given. He even knew her personality based on the dozens of stories his little brother's best friend had to say about her. An uncomfortable number of them involved fainting. But none of that prepared him for the opalescent eyes that looked up at him, surprised, confused, and then embarrassed. Emotions flitted across her face. So quick that he wondered how she was even a ninja with eyes as easily readable as hers.

But then the moment passed. A practiced smile slipped on her face at the same time as her honest blush. Hinata had bowed politely to him, before he could even think about doing the same. Her bow was much lower than his own, well-mannered with none of the same hubris that kept most Hyuga from bending at the waist. In the first place, a heiress should never bow that low to anyone. But... he supposed he was an exception.

Only the ignorant and the overconfident didn't acknowledge Uchiha Itachi's existence. Neither lived very long to regret it.

She'd spoken softly to him afterwards. A diplomatic greeting that his trained ears almost failed to catch, followed by an apology for her appearance. Her remorse almost made him miss her invitation to join her. Almost.

Hinata had looked him in the eyes for the briefest of moments, waiting for his answer. He'd shaken his head—something he regretted to this day—and told her that he'd wait with her father in the formal meeting room.

She didn't touch him.

Didn't even step forward in an attempt to stop him from leaving.

Hinata just bowed her head once more in acceptance, waiting for him to leave the room, before slipping out herself to change. Itachi would've thought her unshakable, had he not lingered around the corner to watch the way she practically stumbled over her own two feet in a mad dash to get to her room to change. Her younger sister's laughter echoed throughout the halls.

... He didn't hate it.

Itachi smiled inwardly.

She had worn a red apron then, too. Except much finer and much, much smaller.

And before he knew it, his thoughts were broken by Hinata walking over to him with a disapproving look on her face and in her eyes. Her lower lip slightly jutted down out of habit.

"Itachi," she called, simultaneously surprised and concerned. Her black plastic spatula forgotten on a nearby plate.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You can't walk around like this," she scolded, grabbing the towel around his shoulders and standing on her tip toes in an attempt to dry his hair. He bent down obediently to allow her free reign. "It's snowing outside, and you don't have a heater right now. What are you going to do if you catch a cold?"

Itachi didn't answer, merely continued to observe the changes between the woman that now stood before him and the one he'd met all those years ago. She'd clearly gotten bolder after all the time they'd spent together.

He didn't hate that either.

"Hinata," he whispered, dropping his voice in a way that he knew she liked. Itachi kissed her temple, graceless. Conflicted. Anything to distract him from that ardent look in her eye. It was enough to make him feel unworthy.

"Y—Yes?"

Ah, there was that stutter.

He saw more than felt her shoulders tense. That wouldn't do. Still, it gave him pleasure to know that even after all this time she still shuddered in delight at his presence.

She was so...

"What are you making?" he asked, purposely distracting her from his fingers playing with the apron's tight knot around her waist.

"Hmm?" she paused, his words taking a moment to register. As soon as they did, her eyes lit up in glee. "Panca—"

He muffled her voice with a kiss.

Itachi loved watching Hinata cook... or rather, he loved her in red.