Blood and nail polish.

Like a rusty knife, the grotesque visual continuously pierces through the air until our solace retreats and a chilling stillness returns.

I search with forced composure for any hidden meaning behind his words. Losing a loved one, blood-related or not, is an experience that I myself have underwent many times, enough to know that no matter how you choose to deal with it, be it acceptance or denial, death will crawl its way back into your thoughts and haunt you when you plead it not to, when you least expect it, and in forms you can't defy, such as hallucinations or unconscious figments of imaginations.

A logical explanation for Shikamaru's case would be a post-traumatic stress disorder or simply, a nightmare. However, there's a high margin of error for both possibilities. The discovery of nail polish on the weapon, a significant but dangerous piece of evidence that cannot be released to anybody outside detective relations until the case is solved or at least further deduced, is something Shikamaru should not be aware of. It would be highly unlikely for the detectives to inform the deceased Nara's older, blood-related family members of this detail, let alone his young and vulnerable stepson.

Furthermore, Shikamaru stayed at the hospital with his father last night, while the detectives occupied the crime scene. The two events were held hours and miles apart; the two never intersected paths. Who could've possibly leaked this piece of information to him? Hiashi couldn't have; he knows better than anyone when to seal and sew his lips, and at whom to release confidential material—Shikamaru definitely not being one of them.

Blood was understandable; the teen saw his stepfather drowned in a sick pool of it. But where did he derive the idea of nail polish from?

"Blood?" The morbid syllable cuts my contemplation. "Did h-he say…" Ah. Being that Lee's new, Hiashi probably didn't inform him of the crime scene's data either. "B-Blood…and nail polish?"

My eyes reluctantly fall to the floor, where the recently hired, once chaste man suffers his first mental breakdown. "I…" All signs of his early flamboyance's vanish as the man begins to crumble. "I'm…" Sprawled across the floor, head buried into the fallen pillow, and hands trembling by his sides, Lee tries. "Afraid." He can't say more, and pounds the floor twice in frustration.

Though I've lost count of how many times I've witnessed a bodyguard physically and mentally, helplessly and devastatingly, collapse right before my eyes, I can never get used to it. It's upsetting to know that any attempt to calm him down would only make the situation worse, for throughout all these years of involvement in this profession, I myself am still terrified to death, of death.

"I'm afraid," he repeats, hands clawing viciously at the pillow Shikamaru had discarded before.

Through years of practice, I've learned to stop my voice from quivering with a pinch to my wrist. "Lee." Another pinch. "Lee, get up."

"But," he whispers, directing it to the pillow rather than me. "But…"

"Lee," I try again. "You've entered this line of work knowing full well that—"

"But Nara—"

Our attempts to influence the other man fail and overlap. "And Hiashi-san had exceptionally high expectations for you—"

"But Nara-san!" He chokes on a sphere of fear.

I stop. "What about Nara-san?"

"Was right." An exhale. "The pillows!"

I furrow my eyebrows. "You're not making any sense, Lee. Get up and—"

"They really do—" He finally turns to me, with a look of horror on his face, and speaks with such alarming hoarseness that I almost want to believe him. "—smell like blood and nail polish."

Something snaps. "Lee." I trudge over to the withering man, remove the cushiony object from his clenched fists, and heave him to a standing position with unintentional aggressiveness. "I'll handle Nara-san. Go home." I shove Lee away from the couch, on which Shikamaru is somehow still sound asleep, and glare at him when his footsteps refuse to budge. "Leave," I snarl.

"Smell…" I watch with little patience as the man bends to retrieve the pillow. "Smell it." He hands it to me. "And I'll leave."

With visible annoyance, I snatch the pillow and bring it toward my nose, inhaling the fabric material for two seconds, wasting an extra to convince Lee completely. "There."

He swallows the lump in his throat. "…So?"

"Nothing." I toss the object to the floor. "Smells like absolutely nothing," I say, feeling more irked than ever, but managing to hold the rage in. "You're imagining things, Lee."

"Again." He's too determined, and reaches for the pillow once more.

"Nothing," I repeat, pushing Lee and his unwilling acceptance away again, and fortunately, because he finally gives it up, through the front door. "Good night, Lee." Before he's able to respond or change his mind, I slam the door with enough volume to make him breathe, turn and walk.

With two cold fingers pressed to my forehead, I return to the sleeping Shikamaru and his lurid delusions. "Nara-san," I call, quaking him awake, "allow me to show you to a guest room."

He opens his eyes groggily, grunts in agreement, and lets me hoist his drowsy form up. Taking the radiator in one hand and supporting the man with my other, I lead him upstairs to the room beside mine, deciding that less distance equals more safety. I secure the room's windows, set the radiator at its max, and quietly close the door.

I touch my temples again, rubbing them in exhaustion. What time is it now? Eleven? Twelve? I haven't had to chance to eat. But hunger's trivial compared to my other dilemmas.

To satisfy my greatest doubt, I step toward my own room. I leave the lights off and take small, silent steps toward my bed, searching with an extended hand.

One touch.

Just one touch and I'll know if she's still asleep, if she's still here, if she's still alive; just one touch and I'll go prepare dinner. Just one—

"Neji-san?"

—touch.

Icy hands hook themselves behind my neck, and I let out a breath of surprise as cold metal brushes across my skin, producing a soft clank, and then a shiver up my back. I watch my vision descend into utter darkness, and immediately pull away in protest, but a nimble leg from beneath the sheets nudges mine, robbing my knees of their balance.

…gifted with severe promiscuity, vulgarity, and slight anorexia…

The blanket separating my body from hers is gradually pushed and dropped to the floor, as the woman breathing beneath me continues to move with curious hands. Something deep within my gut ignites as I remain wordless and unmoving, my body pressed atop hers.

...just an animal in heat…

I nearly lose myself in a state of limbo, half confused and half immoral, devoid of reason but filled with everything else. Another rush of hot, unknown sensations stirs up my right arm, and coerces my doubtful conscience to accept the odd reactions and melt with them.

…reject each and every one of her sexual advances…

My mind finally registers the situation and perturbs the aura of desire surrounding us. Carefully, in the dark, I set a firm hand down on the wrinkled bed sheets and slowly remove myself from No.10.

... I'm very, very scared of you, Neji-san...

I struggle.

Clank.

"Stop."

Clank.

"Stop."

"But it's cold."

My eyes flicker.

As if on cue, she sneezes.

"…Cold?"

"Freezing, even." I feel her reach for the blanket, tugging it back to its original position, over her nearly naked flesh. "You took my radiator away after all." No.10 sniffs, and my confusion only deepens. "…What?"

"Nothing." I draw in an unsteady breath, wondering what had exactly overcome me during her search for mere warmth. It was just a simple means of exchanging body heat. "I just…"

No.10 remains calm and still under my towering posture over her. "Yes?"

"I just thought that my blanket would be enough."

"For you, probably." No.10 sneezes once more. "But I'm not as healthy as the almighty Hyuuga Neji-san," she chimes, and I can almost hear her trademark smile spreading.

I inwardly hark back to the woman's body conditions, chastising myself for forgetting her fear of the sun and lack of nutrition as a consequence. Though of miniscule relevance, I remember that No.10 hadn't eaten either, and quickly remove my arm from their fixated spot near her face. "…I'll go make dinner."

"Don't." With one light trace with her finger, she's able to pull me back down to my former stance. "I'd prefer to starve together than freeze alone."

"It won't take long." Nevertheless, I stay on the bed, shifting my body toward the right edge of the medium-sized bed, leaning on my side, eyes facing the concrete wall. "And I'm not exactly providing you with much body heat anyway."

In response, cold fingers snake their way around my elbow, tapping soothingly, gently, tactfully. "We should do something about that."

I keep my gaze plastered on the dark wallpaper before me, uncertain of what to say.

"Can you do it once more?"

Absentmindedly, I press my tongue against the inside of my cheek. "Do what?"

"Hug me like you did earlier today."

I'm unable to move for a long moment, only staring at the wall harder.

"Neji-san?"

Clang.

Good. A pretense. "What is that noise?"

Clang. "Your handcuffs."

I tear my gaze from the wall and turn around, my eyes traveling to the two arms No.10 holds up before me. Under the slight moonlight, the one bony wrist is illuminated as free while the other is trapped within a cuff, deeming the restriction as essentially useless. I stir at the revelation, recalling that Hiashi had found only one set, the thicker of the two, on the living room floor. "How did you—"

"Secret," she cuts in. "Hey, I'm sleepy." Then, on cue again, a little yawn. "Mind staying with me until I fall asleep, Neji-san?"

I sigh with an impartial tone, that's neither bothered nor agitated, and dig my mind from its deep state of doubt. I suppose secrets can wait a while.

"On second thought, stay with me until morning comes." I blink through the blackness. "I dislike waking up to the sun alone."

My eyes make a futile attempt to absorb the entire mass of black until nothing was left but her face; whatever expression that spread across No.10's face is either smothered with the room's obscurity or ebbed away a moment after her words. "…Alright." Hesitantly, I move closer toward No.10. I swing an arm around her smooth shoulders, pulling her into my chest, but then retreat. "My jacket—" My fingers trail down the buttons along my suit's tiny fastenings, until a forefinger stops mine.

"Just hold me already." There's a soft laugh. "I don't know what I'll do to you if you start stripping."

"Stripping? It was just an outer layer," I whisper into the palimpsest air.

"You and I both know it'll turn into something much more if we continue."

"Impossible," I say, returning my arms to her shoulders again.

"I'll overlook the fact that your actions just contradicted your very words." Another musical laugh. "Mainly because it's getting really warm now." The woman wriggles. "Your hug almost makes the four hours of waiting in the cold worthwhile."

"Four?" Four hours and you didn't escape? I nearly include.

"Four and a half, actually." No.10 then adds in an undertone, "Neji-san?"

"Yes?"

"It's a bit late but," she mumbles, "it's nice to meet you. I'm Number Ten." I feel her smile curve onto my chest. "Ten for short, I guess."

I feel her hand lightly nudge mine. "…Hyuuga Neji." I shake it. "Neji's fine." I open my mouth to ask for her birth name, but my thoughts flash back to Sasuke's claim that the detail didn't exist, and then toward a conversation with Lee. "What do you think of…Tenten?"

"Tenten?" she echoes curiously and thinks for a moment. "Hm." She clears her throat. "Sounds like a ridiculously attractive prostitute to me," she remarks in a tone so serious that I can almost see her deadpan expression. Before I can blink questioningly, she bursts out laughing. "God, that was awful sarcasm," she squeezes in between snorts.

"It was pretty good, actually."

Her noises come to an abrupt halt. "…Seriously?"

"Yeah," I say, keeping a straight face, though it was most likely concealed in the dark anyway. "Almost as good as mine."

"What—" Realization. "Damn it." Her giggles return.

I let out a small chuckle too at the odd exchange of bad wit. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Tenten," I murmur, unconsciously patting the back of her brunette head.

"Likewise. And what a strange gesture." She tries to return it, but finding difficulty in reaching my head, soon returns her hand to my open, awaiting one. "But then again, you are one strange man." A happy pause. "Not that I mind."

Strange?

"Ah, I'm hungry after all," I hear her faintly murmur, but my train of thought wanders elsewhere.

Strange.

Yes, I certainly have been acting strange today.

What's a logical explanation for my behavior?

"Neji?"

Perhaps…

Perhaps I'm hungry too, because I missed dinner,

and my desire grew an appetite.

Perhaps I'm cold too, because the radiator's with someone else,

and No.10's with me.

Or perhaps I'm afraid too, because I lied—

and the pillows really did smell like blood and nail polish.