Originally Written: January 9th 2010
Inspired by: Claire de Lune by Debussy

He walks into the silent house after a week away with the expectations of it being empty; his cousin, his wife, appointed to him by her father, should be watching her younger sister train, should be in the garden catching cherry blossoms between words and pages. The fact that she is expecting him is off putting but then, Neji realises, Hinata never does what he expects of her. Though she is timid, he never thought she would continue to fight him as long as she did in the Chuunin exams; though she is fainthearted, he never thought she would go through with their marriage at the requests, the demands of the Council; though she is considerate, he never expected her to love him.

Though he was married to Hinata, Neji had yet to know her.

The foyer opens into the living room where the couch and table are pushed to the wall and the drapes are open, allowing rays of sun through the wall of glass that displays the tiny backyard. She is sitting on a mat in the middle of the room, back drawn up straight, her legs tucked beneath her, meditating as he taught her. She is wearing enough to cover herself but little enough to keep her cool in the direct sunlight. Her palms are pressed to each other in front of her chest as though in prayer and her breathing is so controlled that it is hard to tell if she is truly Hinata or a statue of a woman in reverie.

Neji has always admired the free form of light, but as it caresses her alabaster skin, the light pales. Lost in its brightness are the soft bruises beneath her eyes due to restless nights, scars from past battles, nicks from idle clumsiness. The shadows of her collar, her fingers, her wrists are deep beneath the protrusion of bone and Neji is afraid to call her name, to touch her or they may crumble into fine sand beneath the slightest touch of his fingers. Her hair gleams blue around her face, the colour jumping from her head like a faint halo and he wonders absently why she had kept it hidden from him until now.

He breathes again and she knows he's there. Her eyelashes, resting solemnly upon her cheeks, thick and made of down feathers, draw open as she turns her head towards him. In the sun, her eyes are truly white, pure and limitless.

And then she smiles.

-

That night, while they are lying down to sleep, which Hinata quickly does, he studies her body in the darkness. There's no need for Byakugan; it's as though she's caught the sun in her skin and that light is seeping out of her to illuminate the room as she sleeps. He can trace the training scars on her arm, the strands of her hair mingling with his, the tear stains on her cheek with his eyes or by hovering the tips of his fingers over her body.

And when he accidentally, or purposefully, strokes her cheek with the callous of his thumb, her heavy lids struggle open; she blindingly finds his forehead to trace the outline of the missing seal. He pulls her closer to bask in her radiating heat, to keep her as close to his heart as he can.

And against the crook of his neck, she smiles and the sun shines.