While watching the Bikōchū Search Mission arc I suddenly found myself loving KibaHina.

Standard disclaimers apply. Unbeta'd. Title taken from the lyrics of "Glory and Gore" by Lorde. Thank you for reading.

There's a word for what Kiba feels for the former Hyūga heiress.

Well—okay. He's sure there's a word; there has to be, but, for the life of him, he hasn't quite figured out what it is. But it's there. Sitting in his chest, it lies dormant when he's away from his team, when he's at home, when he's off with Neji, Naruto, Chōji, and Shikamaru. Sometimes, when he dreams in his own bed, or in the hospital, it will try to burst from him, without warning: in a haze, upon waking, he'll remember her face, and his ears will burn for days. But when he's with her—

It threatens to choke him, to crush his lungs into dust. To leave him breathless.

Whatever it's called, Akamaru can sense it. Smell it on him, maybe, or else the little guy knows him too well. He is doomed to repeat the same scene, time and time again: outside the gates of the village, Kurenai and her team will stand, relieved to be home at the end of the day after a mission; Kurenai will congratulate them and then prescribe training regiments or advice accordingly; Hinata will leave first. And his eyes, sharp as they are, will get caught on her; they follow her she waves goodbye over her shoulder as she returns to her family's compound. And Akamaru will yip sharply at him, catching him off guard.

Not that he'll ever admit that Akamaru could do that—because it's not the action alone that startles him. It's the fact that he doesn't realize he's doing it until Akamaru points it out that surprises him, time and time again.

Once—only once—does he consider sharing this. But it's immediately ground into dirt under his heel an instant later, as he remembers that, should anyone open their big mouth, someone like Naruto—or, worse, Ino—would find out, and then the whole village would know before sunset.

And he would never, ever, live it down if his sister found out.

She'd never let him hear the end of it.

So Akamaru is the only one who knows—who really, truly knows.

As they grow over the years, the word stays stuck in his chest. And it grows with them. Things change: Sakura gets over Sasuke, even if it takes her three years; Ino, bit by bit, becomes a permanent fixture in Sai's orbit; Shizune and Genma, too—

But it stays. The whole way through. From genin to chūnin. It stays and stays and stays. And he doesn't know what to do with it. He's watched the others, his fellow graduates from the academy, and yet—he's stuck.

He has learned to grin, sharp as Hinata's kunai, in the light of the setting sun, as Hinata waves goodbye, all the while wishing to go with her. All the way to the door of her family's house, and farther, should they permit him entry.

Even more than that—he wants to take her home. To his mother, his sister, his dogs. To his room—

In the end, death is the thing that makes him speak of it: they are sent on a mission, southbound for a rogue-nin fleeing for the border, and he almost dies. The rogue-nin is too fast; feinting to the right, his assailant, with a sudden burst of seat, twists, spinning, kunai whirling—plunging into his throat.

He chokes. Blood pours out of him, gurgling like a stream, and he clutches at his throat as he hits the ground, out for the count.

Hinata screams his name. Shino is on the ground, too. Kurenai is trying to deliver the finishing blow.

And Kiba is scared. Scared, because Akamaru is snarling in the trap the rogue-nin set, helpless with his back left paw cripples, becoming infected with the smell of his friend's blood in the air; scared, because he knows he's losing too much blood too fast; scared, because Sakura, Tsunadu, and Shizune are days away. Scared, because—

He does not want to die.

He refuses to die.

He won't die out here, not out in the woods, away from home, with his heart in Hinata's careful hands when she doesn't even know it.

Well—he hopes she doesn't, or else he's been making a fool out of himself this whole time.

Shino kills the rogue-nin. Kurenai whirls and starts toward him, but Kiba shakes his head, bearing his teeth, trying to say, go to Akamaru, free him, and she understands. Hinata, however, is at his side in an instant, pressing her hand against the wound in his throat. He is painfully aware of her pale eyes on him, of how cold her fingers are, of how silent he's been for all this time—and for what? For what?

He would kick himself if he wasn't already down; he knows he's been a fool.

But he won't die one. No, not if he can help it.

The return journey to the village is a blur, but Kiba knows Hinata and Kurenai took turns carrying him while Shino helped Akamaru. If he buried his face in her neck on the way, she didn't say anything. Or he doesn't remember her saying anything about it.

When he comes to in the hospital, he wakes up to pink hair and scathing green eyes. He turns his head and sees Akamaru on a bed next to his, dosing.

Hinata, Kurenai, and Shino aren't here.

Sakura tells him he should have been more careful, that he knows better, but tells him he'll live to fight another day. He's only relieved when she mentions that his mother and sister already came by and checked up on Akamaru, detailing his injuries but noting that, in time, he would recover, just as Kiba would.

Sakura warns him not to put too much strain on his body before leaving him to his own devices.

And that's fine. That's fair.

Kiba's mind, however, is spinning, so much that it tires him to think of almost dying.

He doesn't mean to nod off, but when he blinks awake next, it's dark out, and Hinata is sitting next to him, hands folded in her lap, smiling as their eyes meet.

"Kiba," she says, exhaling—he sees her shoulders droop with relief, and he wants to reach out to her. He wants to tell her that what he did was stupid, and careless, but he's alright now. More than anything, he wants to take her hand in his.

"Kurenai and Shino are with the Hokage," Hinata says, and Kiba catches himself thinking he doesn't care—that's not what the look on his face is about.

His chest feels close to bursting; the feeling is going to drown him, if he doesn't spit the truth out.

"Hinata," he says, wincing as he turns to face her. The pain in his throat—and his ribs, his shoulders, his right leg—has been dulled by the attending nurses and their treatments, reduced to a mere throbbing that's of no concern to him in this moment.

"We were afraid you wouldn't make it." Quiet—she's always so quiet. But she lifts her chin, smiling, looking determined. Something she had learned from Naruto. "But we knew we couldn't give up on you." Her eyes glitter. Like blood. Like stars.

Kiba's mouth is dry; whatever words he was going to say, whether he knew them or not, have died in his throat.

Impulsively, refusing to think it through—something he also learned from Naruto—he holds out his hand. Reaching. Hoping. Not sure if he's asking for her to bump his fist or intertwine their fingers or both.

Hinata looks at his face, then his hand, then his face again; then the realization dawns on her face. Cheeks burning, she murmurs, "Kiba," and his name sounds like a prayer on her lips. His heart is thump, thump, thumping away in his chest.

Her eyes are shining. Shimmering.

Hinata takes Kiba's hand.

He thinks: this is actually gonna kill me, and finds he doesn't particularly mind.