Title: Still I Rise -- #1: 2 a.m.
Characters/Pairings: Neji, Hinata
Rating: Upped! T for this one. Language, Neji, language.
Notes: Same universe as the "murmur". Also, these happen in Chicago because it is one of my hometowns and I love this city to death, suckish weather and all. Also, Neji is a grad student at the University of Chicago (program as of yet undecided, but I'm leaning towards Master's in physics or biochem) because he's masochistic enough to enjoy it. Enjoy!
It's 2 a.m. in the morning, and Hinata is standing outside her cousin's apartment building. The fierce Chicago wind cuts across her cheeks and through her flimsy pea coat but her hands are clamped too tightly around the handle of her suitcase to tremble. She's going to need steady hands, even if the rest of her is quivering.
She cannot stand out here forever. It is freezing and it is the south side of Chicago, and there is nothing left for her back home. She squints at the listing of names besides the doorbells in the dim light cast by the nearest streetlight. Neji's name is there, the third from the bottom. The sight of his sure, square handwriting gives her the final push she needs to disentangle her hand from the suitcase handle and push the button next to his name.
She waits. The seconds feel like years with nothing but the howling wind for company.
Finally, the intercom buzzes to life. "Lee," says Neji's voice, garbled by static, but it is wonderfully, amazingly, Neji's voice, and her knees knock together and her throat closes. "I swear, if that's you and you're drunk, you can just stay down there and freeze to death."
There are words she needs to say, and quickly. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
"It's 2 fucking a.m. in the morning," Neji's voice says. "And if you don't say something right now, I'm—"
"N-Neji!" she exclaims, her voice finally returning. Her hands fly to the old brass intercom frantically, as though she could reach him through it. "N-Neji-nii-san, it's me."
The crackling stops for a moment. "Hinata-san?" He sounds surprised, but before she can say anything, the door buzzes. She yanks it open, but her suitcase is large and cumbersome and her hands are frozen, and she struggles to maneuver it through the narrow door. It keeps knocking into the side of the doorway and she's making an awful racket and it's so cold—
There are hurried footsteps behind her and there are hands on her shoulders and Neji is pulling her back into the narrow entranceway. He slips passed her and begins to wrestle with her suitcase in her stead. She gazes at his back while he works to slide the weighty bag over the threshold: he is as tall and as sleek as she remembers, his hair longer and falling in a glossy waterfall over his shoulders and back. She drinks the sight in, and, for the first time in many, many years, she leans against a wall and simply breathes.