I've become a drabble/one-shot mad(wo)man. Centering on Neji and Hinata, inspired by Sintari's Rosemarty for Remembrance. Grawr.
"Neji-niisan." Her voice is a faint, terrible whisper, a brief caress on his cheek like the kiss of midnight air. He shivers imperceptibly; tries not to look at her, but his eyes are drawn to hers anyway.
It's nighttime, and they're in the garden; her garden. He isn't sure why Hinata has asked him to meet her outside tonight; she's rarely asked anything of him, or him of her, so there's a prick of subtle suspicion and unease running through him. The scent of lilac and thyme hangs thick in the air, and he suspects that the strong scent is emanating from the thick bushes tumbling all around like a comfortable framework of life grown by her hands.
"Hinata-sama," he acknowledges her quietly with a slight bow of his head.
"I—"she begins, then stops, her fingers fidgeting with the fringe of her sleeves in a well-worn habit, eyes shifting first to the left, then back to him. She's nervous, he notes. But then she always is. She swallows a little, her throat bobbing up and down with the motion. Her feet shuffle as she toes the dirt, a picture swirling into existence in the dust before her. She takes a deep breath and then looks straight into his clear eyes. The darkness makes her face appear even paler than usual, and gaunter, too.
"I have something to tell you," she says, and surprisingly she doesn't stutter, doesn't blush. He doesn't reply, only waits patiently for her to continue, gazing steadily at her. She's prepared for this, he observes with vague curiosity.
"I—"she stops again, abruptly. And then her hands clench into small fists in front of her and she breathes out into the purple-scented air, "I'm pregnant."
For a moment all he can do is stare at her.
Pregnant.
"I—Naruto—"she starts, and suddenly Neji's eyes narrow and he cuts her off brusquely for what may be only the second time in his life.
"Naruto?" he repeats lowly, dangerously. "Naruto?"
There's a hint of disbelief in his voice, but it's choked out by the sudden,barely suppressed anger clouding his voice. His jaw is tense, his whole face composed of hard lines and cold white marked with trembling shadows.
She looks at him; unable to speak, then bows her head, bangs shadowing her milky eyes.
"Tell me what this has to do with Naruto," he grinds out, like rocks between his teeth, eyes boring into her pale face. He's not sure whether this feeling crawling and gnawing inside of him is disgust or shame or –
"Tell me what you being pregnant has to do with Naruto," he intones flatly, betraying nothing. Self-control, self-control. Always have self-control, the voice inside of his head rants tirelessly, and right now he wants to strangle the warbling voice.
"I love him," she murmurs softly to the plants blooming at her feet, and the plants perk up their slumbering leaves, dainty green ears, to listen as her quiet words fall down on them like whispering rain.
He doesn't speak, his stomach wrenching and coiling, but he resists the urge to clench his hands into livid white-knuckled fists. Self-control, self-control, the voice sings.
"Naruto—is the father," she finishes firmly, her voice as quiet as ever but the words so loud he thinks he's going deaf, because they are screaming themselves over and over in his ears. "Neji-nii—"
He cuts her off again for the third time, feeling dimly ashamed of himself, but too angry to care. "Why are you telling me this?"
She blinks, taken aback by his question.
"Why are you telling me this?" he repeats, almost savagely, his words stinging briskly. "Aren't you at least faintly aware of the consequences when Hyuuga-sama finds out the truth? Do you know what would happen if I told him? Do you?"
There's a note of rising panic in his voice that he immediately tries to douse, but it's still there, quivering, smothered beneath his voice.
"Yes," she says, so softly he can barely hear it, and in the way that only she can. He's wishing she would scream at him right now, but of course, she doesn't. It dawns on him that he's never heard her scream before, and he wonders what it sounds like.
"Don't you realize what you've done by telling me this? You've endangered yourself," he says again, and right now he wants to rip out a wall because of the placid, peaceful look on her face.
"Neji," she says, and she doesn't add the 'nii-san' this time. It scares him how empty and different it sounds without it, so cold. "I already know. You don't have to tell me."
"Then why?" he asks again, more angry than he'd like to sound. Self-control, the voice chants gleefully, jeering.
"I already told you," she explains patiently, and he hates how much she sounds like a mother reprimanding an ignorant child. Then he remembers that she is going to be a mother soon, and the fact turns his mind numb. "I love him."
"Love? Do you even realize what you are saying?" he asks, quivering calm, blazing calm. "Do you even know what love is, Hinata-sama?" He emphasizes the suffix on her name because she hadn't added the suffix to his. He convinces himself that it's not because he's trying to fill up the emptiness of the space between them.
"I do," she says, and it has the dreadful, hollow ring of a wedding vow. "But you don't, Neji-niisan."
He's angry and glad all at the same time. Angry because of what she's just said; glad because she hasn't left out the 'nii-san' this time.
He doesn't know what to say to this, just gazes sharply at her, his white eyes hard and unforgiving.
"You don't know what love is, Neji-niisan," she repeats to herself and to him and to the eavesdropping garden, a little sadly as she looks down at the picture she's formed from the dust beneath her toes. "I'm sorry."
Then she is shuffling carefully towards him, her ghostly hands reaching up to his face. He can't move; wants to push her away but can't, because he's suddenly and inexplicably paralyzed. Her hands rest momentarily on the band around his forehead, like a silver moth, and then gently, oh so gently, she unties it. The cool night air crowds around the newly exposed skin, tickling it with sly caresses. Her fingers lightly graze the mark, the curse, and it burns hot where her fingers touch it.
And then she leans forward, on her tiptoes, and kisses it with her lips.
His head is on fire.
She presses the white band back into his frozen hands, offers him one last small smile, and then turns and leaves, the sound of her sandals scraping against the ground ringing in the chorus of crickets.
When the mad tingling on his forehead has finally subsided, he awakes, realizes that she is gone and that he is alone in this tender garden of hers. He looks at the plants and they stare warily back at him, silhouettes swaying melodically in the faint breeze.
He looks down at the ground where she had been standing before, his eyes latching onto the picture painted in the dust by her toes.
It's a heart.
When he leaves the garden, he makes sure he steps on it extra hard.
Um...a little odd (when is it not?), but satisfied my drabbling euphoria for the moment. This seems a little too cliche for my taste...but it can't be helped. -.-;
Oh, and just as a note. Since this is my drabble-basket, if anyone has any requests, I'll be glad to try it out. Sometimes I want to write and don't know what to write - any suggestions are more than welcome. :D