Hyuuga Neji sleeps in a very precise manner. The pillow must be in the exact center of the bed, his head in the direct center of said pillow, his hands gently rested just under his sternum, and his legs laid at a forty-five degree angle. It's a habit, it's muscle memory, Neji can sleep no other way.

The problem begins when the Hyuuga decorating staff (yes, they have one) decides that the compound needs a bit of a facelift. Among other things, one widespread change is that all blinds are discarded and replaced with drapes or curtains. Neji notices it duly as he enters his bedroom after a long day of training, but he doesn't think twice about it. Blinds, curtains, really, what's the difference?

Two hours later as Neji lies in bed there is a deep frown etched on his features and a crack on moonlight shining directly onto his face. This is the difference.

The Hyuuga sits up and glares at the gap between the two curtains that allows the light to shine through. Then he looks down and glares and the shred of moonlight itself. Honestly, the gall of that moonbeam to keep him awake when he had been looking forward to a good nights' sleep.

Neji tries pinning the two curtain panels together but the moonlight is forever visible through the diaphanous material. On all the days for there to be a cloudless night…

As soon as that thought enters his head, the moonbeam is gone. Peeking out, Neji can see a large gray cloud obscuring the moonlight. Nature has literally rearranged itself to meet Neji's needs, just as it damn well should. The Hyuuga falls asleep with a smirk on his face.

promt was: smirk.