VI. Lie/Revelation
At age three and four, they were inseparable, two sets of moth-winged feet, cheeks aglow with a child's uncomplicated excitement, two pairs of wild, pale, shining eyes and a silence bursting at seams which give way to mirth.
They had a scheme-plan-training-game-agreement-of-trust, something Hinata and Neji shared joint credit for inventing. Lie, they would mouth, and run on silent feet to some deep-tucked corner room of the Main house grounds.
There, they hide, or at least pretend the rest of the household could not see them. They lie, sprawled haphazardly, on the woven tatami. They face each other, bodies mirrored, and speak of secrets, eyes locked, and a mere breath apart for fear of being overheard. Fifth Aunt Hanai has a baby in her, Father said he saw, or, a Branch House guard gave me ocha dango today when Otousan was out; I saw him holding hands with a girl-stranger, he touched her face.
They do their best to out-surprise each other with the whispered secrets, her dark brow furrowed in concentration, his lips small and pressed in a child's determination not to let expressions of shock escape him. The one who gave in first to surprise endured whatever the victor would decide; that was the rule.
It was always Hinata who would emerge victorious; white doe eyes and soft mirthful voice delivering the most shocking of hidden truths-sometimes-lies; her triumph was ritually sealed by tracing curious fingertips over Neji's face, smooth forehead and ravensilk hair longer than her own.
The one time Neji managed to triumph was the day their scheme-plan-training-game-agreement-of-trust was breached.
They had faced each other, white eyes stubbornly locked, a smile of quiet mirth and mischief on Hinata's lips. Neji had noticed, stared defiantly back into her shining eyes, and scowled. Hinata had blinked, uncertainty creeping over delicate features, smile fading. Neji had widened white eyes, dismayed, wanting to restore the smile on her pale face. He had tilted his head forward, had whispered a definitive sentence. His reward was immediate and two-fold; Hinata's downcast eyes lifted and widened, a beam firmly back in place. Neji claimed victory, in a child's satisfaction of a job well done, by pressing his lips clumsily to the side of Hinata's cheek, and smiling in return.
Then Hizashi stepped into the room, extended a solemn hand to Neji, and led him away to be Sealed, leaving Hinata smiling and confused on the beech wood floor.
Fifteen years later they are separable; two sets of moth-winged feet, cheeks bloodless and blood-smeared in turn. The light from Neji's pale eyes is shuttered, wild and bone-white behind masks of painted porcelain; Hinata's eyes have no trace of wildness left, but shine, for more reasons than merely mirth.
They come face to face during Tanabata, both having withdrawn from Clan festivities with assorted excuses, and both having slowly traced their way to the corner-room. They step in without breaking gaze or distance, expressions guarded from surprise or shock. The air is cold and thick with dust, old ghosts and secrets.
Hinata's lips trace the word. Lie, she says, and Neji slowly takes her hand.
A/N: Tanabata, meaning "Evening of the seventh" is a Japanese star festival, derived from Obon traditions and the Chinese star festival, Qi Xi. The festival is usually held on July 7, and celebrates the meeting of Orihime and Hikoboshi. The Milky Way, a river made from stars that crosses the sky, separates these lovers, and they are allowed to meet only once a year. This special day is the seventh day of the seventh lunar month of the lunisolar calendar.
[Source taken from http://en.