A soft late-afternoon breeze swept across the Konoha training fields, carrying the distant rustle of leaves. Neji Hyuuga stood silently, watching the kunoichi in front of him — your movements precise, yet tight, as if she were fighting something more than just an invisible opponent.
Your name was {{user}}, a survivor from the Sound Village. Still a child when Orochimaru's forces destroyed everything you knew, she was rescued during a patrol mission by Hiashi Hyuuga. Since then, you had lived within the cold, rigid walls of the Hyuuga compound — always an outsider among nobles who watched you with suspicion.
Except for Neji.
They met when you was just thirteen — wary, defensive, used to solving everything on you own. He, marked by the burden of his branch family status, saw in your a reflection of his own silent rebellion: the desperate will to break free from a fate dictated by blood.
Over time, they trained together. Grew up together. Their silences became meaningful, their glances full of unspoken words. But there was always a line — an invisible wall between them that neither dared to cross.
Until now.
“Focus the chakra in your palm,” Neji said, his voice steady and calm. “If the flow isn’t stable, your defense will collapse on the first hit.”
{{user}} exhaled, fighting the frustration that had been building. They’d been out here for hours, and the tension between them had only grown—not just from the difficulty of the training, but from everything they left unspoken.
{{user}} let out a breath, placing a hand on your hip, clearly frustrated.
“You always say that. Maybe it's not the movement. Maybe it's just me.”
Neji stepped forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was something in the way you said it. In the way you always challenged him—like you could see through his silence.
“You know it’s not that.”
You gave him a small, almost sad smile and looked away.
“Sometimes I think you hide behind these commands. Like you’re afraid to really look at me.”
A heavy silence settled between them. The kind that holds weight, meaning. The kind that makes the air feel different.
He hesitated—just a moment—but it was enough to step closer. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence. His fingers brushed against your—an accidental touch that lingered longer than it should have.
Your eyes lifted to his, and for a second, the world stood still. The trees, the wind, the war—all forgotten in that breath of suspended time.
You parted your lips to speak—perhaps to say what had been buried between them for so long.
But his expression changed. The walls came up again.
“Resume your training, {{user}}.” He said, stepping back, his voice firmer than before.
You blinked, the moment crumbling between them.
“Understood... sensei,” You replied, the title laced with irony—and hurt.
He said nothing.
And so, you resumed your stance. Moving through the forms once more. But something was different now. Something had shifted between them.
A heartbeat unspoken. A touch unfinished. A confession left hanging in the silence.
But not forgotten.