Dreams of Blue Sky (dreamsofbluesky) wrote in nejiten,
Dreams of Blue Sky
dreamsofbluesky
nejiten

Heya~

Sappy drabble, written during Economics class to stop the decaying of my poor brain cells from boredom. 


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Unexpectedly, he caught himself thinking of slim fingers and small, secretive smiles – a scattering of freckles and dark lashes against tanned skin as she slept – the warm hazel of her eyes, the way she’d go perfectly, breathlessly still when he traced a finger over her lips.

 

Neji paused, brush poised and wetted with black ink over the scroll.  The mission report was dull, a standard account that had to be sent from his post in Tea Country every week.  He glanced down, frowning slightly, and re-read the last few lines:

 

Ironically, the long period of peace has left the local shinobi restless.  The landlord Isame Takehiro organized an archery contest, ostensibly to raise morale within the ranks but also, I suspect, with the intention of demonstrating to the Leaf – via me – their fighters’ capabilities.  ..........Naturally, none of the competitors had her skill or natural grace.  They held themselves too stiffly, unlike her suppleness, her ability to adapt and -

 

A single lantern sent shadows rippling across the lacquered wood of the low desk; he thought of the way her hair had been flung back from her face as she flew high above him, twin dragons surging up from the dusty smoke.  A drop of ink converged at the tip of the brush, fell and immediately spread in a soft-rimmed circle across the rice paper; he was reminded of the pink that had stained her cheeks when he kissed her goodbye.  Neji sighed, setting down the brush and standing up slowly.  The thin paper door rasped when he slid it open, revealing a vast expanse of dark sky and the pale arc of a moon. 

 

Hyuuga Neji was a hard worker but he could never keep working on nights like these, when his thoughts drifted and tangled into the place she occupied in his mind (heart, but he was much too pragmatic to ever admit it.)  And he watched the foreign moon in the darkness of a stranger’s courtyard because perhaps she was doing the same, curled up on her bed by the window; when he closed his eyes he could almost see the way the moonlight would wash thinly over her skin, would accentuate the soft curve of a cheek.   

 

Tenten, he thought.   The moon is not bright enough to remember you by.
.
.
.
.
.
.
 

Because she is the Sun.  


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