Reborn as Sakura and Hinata: Lost in the Wind (Part 2)

Like Father Like Daughter

I scratched behind Akamaru's ears from my perch on his back. It wasn't often that I'd ride on the frighteningly massive canine, but I had some sympathy for the poor guy as he hadn't received much attention this week, too many events with 'no dogs allowed' rules. Akamaru seemed happy enough with the current arrangement though.

Wish I could say the same for Kiba. He usually carried himself with a sort of calm confidence, like he simply didn't have a care in the world, and when we walked we usually had some form of contact. This time, and it wasn't because I was petting Akamaru, we weren't holding hands, Kiba's locked with his arms over his chest.

"Stop, you look like Neji." I commented: arms over the chest, way too rigid posture, and a frown that seemed permanently etched into his brow, Kiba was currently the spitting image. That being said, he looked a tad more angry then Neji usually did, which made him more reminiscent of his mom at the same time, but I wasn't going to verbally make that comparison.

With a put off sigh, he dropped his arms, but his hands stayed balled into fists, none of his tension actually gone. I should have expected this, to be honest, he'd been out of his mind nervous to the point where my main goal this morning was making sure he didn't puke again. I'd learned that if he did so he'd become useless for the whole day, irreparably tired and just wanting to cuddle, and, while normally I was okay with that minus the puking part, we couldn't afford it today.

Because my father had returned to the village.

He needed to make the best impression possible, and I needed him functioning, "Calm. Down."

The glare he gave me was somewhere between indignant and frustrated, "You'd be freaking out if you were in my position."

Nudging Akamaru to move a little closer, I laid my hand on his back, "Amor, listen to me, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you."

"You can't promise that." he argued, "What if he, I dunno, forbids us from seeing each other or something? Or-"

"Kiba," I interrupted firmly, "First, to get this out of the way, nobody else is going to hurt you because of this, not that I think my father would try attacking you, and, second, I don't care what the fuck he says, we'll do it anyway."

"But..." his eyes lost some of their anger, "I don't want him to hate me."

"And I don't think he will," I soothed, "I'm happy, and that's what matters most to him, that and I have a lot more room to work with him than you do with your parents."

To say I felt bad about what happened last week was an understatement, I felt fucking dreadful. I don't know how I'd convinced myself that his mom wouldn't get violent, but maybe that was because I was expecting her to act like a rational and civilized person, especially at such a formal event. Frankly, I was as mad at her as I was at myself, though most of the guilt I felt was over downplaying his fears which were in actuality quite valid.

It was an odd experience with him, learning that most of his anxiety came from actual events. Most of what I experienced was self-generated, semi-rational to completely irrational fears built up around my own perceptions of myself. I guess this was why he didn't seem so anxious when he was younger, because he had a brain that needed actual proof before it'd worry about something. It was just sad to think about how much proof he'd apparently gotten.

"Yeah, but," he frowned, "I don't know what kind of impression your dad has of me now, and it's probably going to only get worse after today."

"My dad isn't like your mom," I argued, "he's grown a surprising amount of tolerance and leniency over the years, and, yeah, he might be miffed about the situation, but he'll come around."