Prologue.
The pavement beneath his feet was riddled with cracks and old gum, worn by the elements over time. It was all he looked at as he trudged home. Cars whizzed by on his left side, and houses stood like sentinels on his right. The sky was scattered with clouds, the sun somewhere overhead. People who walked past him took no notice of him in his worn, exhausted appearance. He saw none of this. He saw only the cracked pavement beneath his feet.
His hair fanned out on either side of his downturned face, the glint of an earring barely visible beneath it. He hadn't washed it for days. He had worn the same outfit for a week, now. Home had been far from him, but it was looming closer every lumbering step he took. Home was near. Home was wanted. And so was the person who sometimes shared it with him.
He turned as required at corners that looked the same, and looked up only when the need arose to avoid a speeding cyclist, or a dog bounding recklessly in his direction, unheeding, uncaring. Unlike him. The soles of his shoes were wearing thin, and he could almost feel the hot, grainy pavement as he walked upon it. His long coat stifled him in the heat, constricted him painfully, but he did not shift to remove it.
He was almost home, now.
He quickened his pace a little, anxious to arrive. His hair now fanned behind him, streaming and fluttering in the wind as he began to run. He no longer looked at the pavement. He no longer cared. His eyes were fixed upon the small house that sprawled lazily over two blocks of land, old and luxurious, a sanctuary from harm. And he had reached the front door.
Hand shaking as he reached up to knock, breath quickening even though he was standing still, he waited. And when the door opened, and that familiar face, drenched with concern upon recognising him appeared, he flung himself forward and into his best friends' arms.
Home.
Neji was home.
--
"He's been hitting you again, hasn't he?" the usually rowdy young man stated flatly, after having held a sobbing Neji for a matter of time, "He's been hitting you, and you didn't feel the need to say anything?"
Neji averted his eyes from the others' blazing ones, and went to sit on the familiar couch. They'd had this conversation before, countless times. Now his friend would say, You shouldn't stay with him! He's no-
"…good for you! You know you have a home here, and-"
…you know there's no way I'm letting you go back there. I'm-
"…serious this time, Neji! I mean it. Stay here, with me and I'll take care of that son of a bitch! He doesn't deserve you, and you're perfectly goddamn aware of it. I'm sick of you-"
…letting
him abuse you, it's just not right, Nej. Please…
"…make
this your home. For good. It damn well might as well be,
anyway."
And then he would sigh.
His friend sighed, his anger dissolved almost as quickly as it had emerged, and sat down beside a solemn Neji. Calmed by his presence, Neji leaned into the warm body beside him, and rested his pounding head on a comfortable shoulder, and was embraced in a one armed hug almost as soon as he had set his head down.
And, like always, he said, "You're going back to him, aren't you?"
And as a hundred times before, Neji would answer with a hushed, "…yes."
This time was different. When his friend didn't receive an answer, he looked around at Neji with shock reverberating throughout his soul. Could it be? Could Neji actually be denying that prick his sadistic happiness? Could Neji be saying…
"No."
--