Chapter Eight: Trials and Confessions
After School
Neji sighed and raked a hand through his obsidian locks, rearranging a few stubborn, traitorous strands of hair. He unlocked his apartment and was about to enter when a hand came down upon his shoulder and he turned, startled, only to find that Hizashi was staring at him with what looked like a faintly remorseful glimmer in his snow-white eyes.
"He is waiting for you in your apartment." The older man said in a soft, rueful voice, then gently pushed Neji through the open door to his apartment and closed it with a click. The younger Hyuuga shot a brief backward glance of mystification towards the door, then proceeded warily into the living room.
"I am glad you could make it."
Pale eyes snapped to the squashy chintz couch upon which sat an imposing, regal figure. Hiashi sat with his arms and legs crossed, staring intently at Neji's stunned figure. His hair was pulled up into a high, immaculate ponytail that somehow managed to make his angled face even more harsh than usual. Hiashi had a certain ruthless, unsympathetic look about him that accented his brusque features.
Neji sank into a bow, trickles of midnight spilling over his sloping shoulders.
"How do you do, Hiashi-sama?"
"I am well. Yourself?" The responding comment was more out of formality than anything else.
"I am in good health." A extensive, awkward silence ensued. Hiashi's stoic countenance remained expressionless as usual, revealing nothing about the subject matter.
"Why have you come?" Neji said, desperate to ease the suffocating tension. Hiashi shrugged; the supposedly casual movement only served to make the strain more overpowering.
"I merely wished to check up on you." He said in a sick parody of an offhand voice. Neji suppressed the shudder that threatened to surface.
"Hizashi-san makes frequent reports. You have no reason to come here. I don't wish you to waste your time. You are monitoring me through Hizashi-san, so you will be able to make your observations and tests in peace, correct?" He blurted out. Hiashi idly tilted his head to the side, his mouth widening in a smile that didn't melt the deadpanned lack of emotion in his cold, pale eyes.
"Why Neji, you sound almost as if you'd like me to leave." Neji recoiled at this comment.
"N-no—"
"Have you perhaps forgotten our little agreement? I'd give you free will as long as you did as I wished? I did bring you into this world, you know, so I expect the highest of gratitude." Hiashi chided, unsmiling.
Why indeed was he suddenly so apprehensive about having Hiashi in his presence? The man hadn't done anything to wrong him…but then again, Hiashi was his creator, which only reminded Neji that he wasn't a normal human being, birthed into the world the way a normal human being would have been birthed. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Hiashi was his creator, and it was entirely Hiashi's fault that he came into the world the way he did come. There was a little bit of resentment there…but then again, Hiashi had given him life, so he had to feel a little grateful…
So engrossed in his mental battle was he that Neji almost missed what Hiashi spoke.
"Pardon?" The older man graced the younger Hyuuga with a look bordering on condescendence.
"You look positively troubled, Neji. Do tell me what's wrong." The fatherly tone in his voice drove the younger Hyuuga to the verge of insanity. Neji looked away, hair obscuring his eyes.
"There's nothing wrong. Nothing at all, Hiashi-sama." He mumbled.
"I only wish for your supreme and utter happiness, Neji. If there's anything at all that you need, I would be most happy if you'd let me know." He said, his voice soft and concerned. The comment was no less painful to Neji than as if Hiashi had raked claws across a blackboard. He bit his lip and ground it painfully, desperate for the conversation to be over. Hiashi, however, seemed to have no intention of leaving.
"So, how goes life? Have you made any friends? Any girls you have your eye on? Do tell." Hiashi said lightly. Neji hastily licked his lower lip clean of the blood from his teeth, pressing his mouth shut to keep the bite-marks from showing.
"Why do you need to know, Hiashi-sama? You do have Hizashi-san to report on me." He said, a defensive flicker in his snow-white eyes. Hiashi tilted his head to the side, amused.
"Please, I do wish to hear your point of view."
What the hell. If it would make Hiashi get out of his life all the sooner, Neji would be more than happy to talk.
"I have what could be considered as a best friend, by the name of Naruto. He's blonde and blue-eyed, and he has three scars across his cheeks. I also have another friend whom I met recently. Her name is Tenten. She has brown hair and brown eyes and is always constantly cheerful. School is well. My teachers are nice to me." He shot out the short, choppy sentences at full gallop. Hiashi looked mockingly disappointed.
"Dear dear, I would have preferred a little more detail, but if that's the best answer you can give me, then I don't believe I shall ask any more of you." He said unsmiling, then stood and crossed to the door. Neji let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and visibly slumped against the wall.
A hand came down upon him in an iron-clad grasp, squeezing the tendons in Neji's shoulder.
"Don't forget who you're loyal to now." Hiashi made no attempt to mask the frost that laced his voice.
His hand lingered on Neji's shoulder for what seemed like an eternity. The young Hyuuga sucked in his breath through his teeth as the searing ice of the hand burned an imprint into his shoulder. So cold…so cold…Hiashi's hand was so goddamned cold against his skin. It seemed to burn a tattoo into his skin, through his skin, into his very spirit, cruelly dampening the small flame, the tiny flame that both Naruto and himself had unconsciously worked so hard to cultivate.
At long last, just when Neji thought he'd go insane with the pressure, Hiashi removed the offending object.
"Do be good, will you not?" He murmured sibilantly, then melted out of the room.
Neji leant against the wall, eyes wide and staring in terror. Just now…why did he feel such fear towards his creator? Hiashi was to be loved. It was only natural, seeing that Hiashi was the one who allowed Neji to exist in the first place. So then why was it, why was it that Neji felt such terror when within a three-foot radius of the man? He didn't know…or perhaps he did not want to know.
A black mark caught at the edges of his peripheral vision and he turned, only to see the date and time of Tenten's party circled in black on his calendar.
Biting out a phrase of highly explicit yet colorful vocabulary (he supposed he either learned it from one particularly foul-mouthed teacher by the name of Anko, or from Naruto himself, who frequently exhibited a vastly expansive repertoire of fine-polished invective when exchanging pleasantries with said sensei), the Hyuuga turned and rummaged around in his closet for a spare suit. Hizashi had given him one a long time ago, but he seemed to have misplaced it; how he could misplace something that large was beyond any sane reason.
He finally located the troublesome article, which was lurking in the back of the closet with the dust. Suppressing a sneeze, Neji pulled off the protective covering (it saved him quite a lot of cleaning, fortunately) and spread out the suit on the nearby coffee table. It was immaculately tailored, a suit of the impeccable Armani brand. Hizashi had even provided a complimentary tie, a marvelously-sewn indigo-black silk tie with speckles of white scattered most tastefully to connote a twilight sky. A matching hair-ribbon was also wisely provided, which matched the tie sans stars.
Sending silent thanks to his guardian, Neji crossed to the bathroom and stripped down to the bare. Folding his clothes neatly on the counter, he loosed his hair from its customary tie and shook out his locks, smiling as they cascaded down his back like a silk, midnight curtain. He liked the feel of hair on his back; if there was one thing he had to praise Hiashi for, it was for giving him his absurdly long hair. Rather ironic, Neji thought, for there was a certain memory that toggled his mind, a memory of a morning not so long ago when he was quite frustrated with his hair until a certain blonde intervened…
The small smile still lingering on his mouth, Neji stepped into the shower and turned on the water, hissing slightly as the cold beat down on his back. The water warmed, however, and the Hyuuga was left to relish the bliss of the hot liquid flowing in rivulets over his body, loosening muscle and relaxing tendon. He tilted his head back to let the water slick down his hair, then on an impulse, tilted back even more and caught some liquid in his mouth, letting the water run down his chin. It was a very Naruto-like action, but as long as no one was watching, Neji didn't particularly care.
Most of the time, provided he was in a fairly normal mood, Neji tended to have a rather mild affinity (more or less) towards his outlandishly long tresses. They did provide him with quite an accurate sense of wind-direction, for one, though he wasn't quite sure that was a plausible reason. He'd never considered cutting his hair; he'd surmised he'd look somewhat strange in short hair and he much preferred the comfortable weight of his tresses. Granted, they did take close to a day to blow-dry, but then again, Neji was perfectly comfortable with running a comb through the strands of black and letting them dry on their own. The tangles though…it took him a while to get over the fact that once his hair was hopelessly snarled, it'd take a steel-clad comb to unravel the knots. Unraveling knots used to drive him to the point of insanity until a certain blonde showed him how to do it…
And there was the greatest, most valid reason he could think of for having such impossibly long hair. Naruto loved to play with his hair; the blonde would frequently plunge both hands into the silken threads and incessantly finger-comb for hours at a time. Though one of the Hyuuga's great annoyances was when random people (typically girls) would feel up his tresses, he minded not when Naruto played with his hair, as long as he didn't tie it up in flashy, bright ribbons. Then again, while most foreign paws that were brave enough to swipe at his hair were often rough and coarse, painful as they sometimes caught in a renegade snarl, Naruto's fingers were deft and gentle, never pulling by force, always patient, always tender.
Naruto had an affinity to toy with Neji's hair whenever provided the chance, which was very frequently given that the two had six classes together. He'd sit beside the Hyuuga and fidget with random strands during classes. It had become almost of a habit of his; Neji would feel a gentle tug at his hair and find the blonde absently twirling a loose piece around his finger. Naruto himself, unless it was intentionally, never seemed to realize that he had been fingering Neji's hair, and the knowledge seemed to provoke vociferous apologies. Neji didn't mind, really; he rather liked the comprehension that it gave the elusive blonde pleasure to wind hair through his fingers.
With a jolt, Neji realized that he'd drifted off in thought in the middle of his shower, and that his water was starting to get cold. Increasing the temperature controller, he lathered soap into his hair and down his body, quickly rinsing and drying off. Mentally smiting himself for thinking too much about Naruto, he swiftly dressed and tied his hair into a low ponytail, the ribbon tied a third of the way down his back. He slicked back dark silk hastily tied his tie, and promptly set off towards the garage and his car, a thoroughly magnificent figure in his tall regality.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, a serene expression upon his finely chiseled countenance. His back was perfectly straight, his legs comfortably crossed with his arms resting gently upon them. Gilded lashes rested, closed, as his breathing evened out and his mind shut down.
He called upon it then. Delving deep inside of himself, he located the single flame, the tiny spark that was his soul. He did not stop, he did waver, he pushed onward until he stood tall in front of a blazing bonfire, lit bright with energy. It pulsed and writhed chaotically, ever-changing, ever-shifting. The crimson-bright light convulsed and pulsed spastically, and as he sent it a silent, pleading request, a small portion of the fire detached itself and confronted him in the form of a fox. He looked at it silently, giving thanks to the core of the energy, then turned and walked away, knowing it would follow. Follow it did, and when he opened his eyes, it was still there, a tiny, burning flame in the middle of his palm.
It was the scarlet silhouette of a fox that he held in the palm of his hand. He looked at it; it seemed to stare back at him.
"Go. Find him…seek him out. Let me see what you see… may you have a swift journey."
It seemed to consider the information, and then vanished in a wisp of blood-red vapor.
I don' wanna go home from caaaaampppp...TT
