Chapter Text
Neji sat up with a jolt, his heart pounding in his ears. He was grossly aware of the sweat running down his back and clinging to his skin, and, with the cool night breeze coming through the open window at his side, goosebumps pricked his skin. He suppressed a shiver.
Another nightmare.
He leaned back with a sigh, resting against the cushy headboard and wiping his hands over his face. It was grounding, but he knew it would take more than a few deep breaths to curb the shaking in his hands and regulate the erratic beat of his heart. It was also frustrating—there was something uniquely humbling about your past traumas haunting your dreams. It wasn’t enough that the war left little reminders he hated he had to get used to throughout his day-to-day— a muscle spasm in his right arm here or a hollow ache in his chest there—but over the past few years, Hyūga Neji had become intimately acquainted with detailed playbacks of his near-death experience showing up in his sleep. It used to be a lot worse, in those months right after the war, so really, he thought he should be thankful that this wasn’t that common of an occurrence anymore.
…But still. He hated that he saw it all so clearly. Sometimes, it felt like he was a bystander, watching everything unfold from the outside; other times, he was himself. Honestly, he didn’t know which he hated more. Was it better, easier, to watch himself be impaled from the outside looking in? Or did he prefer experiencing it all over again, like some Genjutsu he could try as he might to break, ultimately to no avail? And I mean, he was sure his mind was taking some liberties with the whole thing. After all, he didn’t actually remember much of those moments right after getting hit, but that didn’t seem to matter.
Was it selfish to want to move on? To forget? Well, as best as he could, anyway, what with his permanent injuries that altered his movements forever and the jagged scars on his chest—
“Neji?”
His head whipped to the right, angled down to look at the source of the voice and throbbing. “Sorry,” he murmured, reaching a hand to stroke Tenten’s hair as she sat up. “Did I wake you?”
She shook her head, kindly dismissing his apology. “Bad dream?” she asked softly, instinctively leaning into him and rubbing a hand up and down his bare arm. This was another thing to get used to post-war, he mused, though he supposed this one was much more pleasant. Tenten… being there.
He didn’t have any other way to describe it. It wasn’t necessarily the fact that they were dating, per se, since that seemed like a silly way to define what they were to each other (plus, they’d technically started dating before the war), but it was more the stability of her presence. Now that there was no impending war and international relations weren’t hanging by a thread, things between them felt… gentler. Slower and more languid. They had the luxury of time and slowness and indulgence. It was something he wouldn’t trade for the world, he thought.
“Mhm,” he confirmed. Her eyes softened like she’d already known the answer.
She crawled in front of him and took his face in her hands. “Are you alright?” She stroked his cheek, sitting up on her knees and inspecting his face. He looked tired, she thought, but that much was obvious. He’d been sleeping a lot better lately, but she could still see the purple rings under his eyes. His skin felt clammy under her touch. “Do you want water, or something?”
“Thank you,” he said, voice still scratchy, and leaned into her palm, kissing it, “but I’m fine, really.”
She pressed her lips into a flat line, leveling him with a look.
“Well, I’m a little nauseous,” he conceded, lips tugging into a half-grin, “but I really am okay, darling.”
She sighed, softly tilting her head. “If you say so.” She still looked unconvinced when she pushed his hair out of his face and ran her hands through it. It was silent for a few beats before she spoke again.
“...You sure? Do you wanna talk about it, at least?”
He didn’t immediately answer, just looked at her with this patient, mildly amused/endeared look that she didn’t quite know how to puzzle out.
“Or we can talk about… other things, also?” she continued, moving her hands down to his neck and shoulders.
Neji burst out laughing and dropped his head on her shoulder. He didn’t say anything, only pulled her into his lap and slid his arms around her back.
“Why are you laughing?” she admonished half-seriously, a laugh escaping despite herself. The sleeve of her shirt—a loose, white button-up she’d stolen from his closet, of which she only had a few buttons in the middle done up—tickled his jaw when she grasped his face again. “This is serious, Neji—”
He pushed the soft fabric to reveal her shoulder and kissed her there before sobering up. “No, you’re right, of course,” he cleared his throat, feigning seriousness. “Thank you for fussing over me. It’s much appreciated.”
Tenten rolled her eyes and playfully swatted him on the arm. “Just freaking lay down and cuddle with me, will you?”