It's a silly argument. A stupid one even. However, [Name] can't help but feel betrayed. Her own brother, who knows of her rocky past, who knows about the deaths she witnesses, thinks she needs to just let it go. It assumes she hasn't tried before. It assumes she has a weak will. It assumes that it's so easy to rid her brain of the lifeless bodies of their loved ones and the nightmares that come with it.

These things remind her that he's selfish. That he's always thought of himself. That he had it easier growing up. He never had to clean their mother's room while she wasted away. He never tried to make their mother smile or their grandmother proud. He sat on his laurels, waiting for the day for a job to hire him to prove he's the man of the house.

[Name's] jaw tightens. From her couch, she watches men heft out her brother's things, all tidy in boxes. For the most part, Luke stays outside. She assumes because he wants nothing to do with their childhood home or herself anymore---that he'll throw all of it aside for a measly promotion at his job. She can only speculate the reason as she glares holes into the side of his head through the window. When he meets her eye, she turns away. She wonders if she hates him, then back pedals, knowing she doesn't.

As two men carry out his mattress, Luke slips through the cracks of them, finally entering their home.

"Hey," he says, lifting a meek hand. When [Name] doesn't respond, he sighs. "Right. I'm sorry."

There's a beat of silence. Only the man barking orders from inside of the truck cut through their palpable tension. That is until [Name] says, "Okay."

Luke deflates. His shoulders slouch as his face tightens. He isn't one to persevere through emotional conflict. He'd rather run and hide than push through it. But he can't leave this on the wrong foot despite [Name] wanting to hold a grudge. He huffs again.

"I didn't mean it," Luke says, watching the movers pick up boxes and load it into a truck. "I'm sorry. You know it gets hard for me too on... that day."

[Name] isn't moved by his words. She stares as men with pit stains on their shirts march through her house scaring Ace and tracking dirt into her home. She sucks her teeth, knowing she'll have to clean up this mess---her brother's mess.

Luke continues, "I couldn't be there for you when it happened. I couldn't be the man of the house like Grandma wanted me to be either." He presses his lips together in a thin line. "I just had to watch you take it all upon yourself. Mom would be happy to see you now."

Another beat of silence. He slices through it with, "I'm sorry, okay? Just... Know that, at least. I'm sorry I couldn't find another way to say it. You'd be better off without all of... This. I know Mom would agree."

She shakes her head. At his ignorance, at his stupidity, at the fact that he thinks it's so easy to do. Of course, her life would be better off without the images of her dead mother seared into her brain. If she could shed that stuff off like snake skin, she would've done it years ago. In all honesty, she wishes he'd stop using their mom against her.

"You couldn't be there for me because you didn't want to. You kept your distance. We were in it together, but you forgot somewhere along the line," she mutters, listening to the movers grunt, yell, and laugh at one another. "If I drop dead, you won't be the first one to find my body, Lucas. I'll be beneath a sheet by the time you get there."

Shock seizes his body. He stands there, at a loss for words. He wants to reach out to her and apologize again---let her know he really means it. She's his only living kin. His only family. His only big sister.

"We're ready to head out!" Yells one sweaty man from outside. Luke staggers his attention between his sister and the truck. He looks at the walls, the ceiling, and Ace. He looks at the windowpanes, the dining room, and the coffee table. He looks at his sister for the last time.

He loves this place, but this is his only way out of here. And he takes it. The door shuts behind him gently. He leaves his childhood home. He leaves his kitty cat and his bedroom. He leaves [Name], who sits there on a yellowing couch that smells of dusty childhood dreams.

...

[Name] stares at the bare room that Luke once lived in. Without the discoloring of the walls, and the pungent smell of men's cologne, she wouldn't even know he was there. Another metaphorical ghost presents itself in the form of her brother, and this room has become the shell of his tomb. Exhumed and hollow. The only pieces of himself left are whatever useless things he left behind.

She picks up stray trash. A tissue, a crumpled piece of paper, a clump of lint. The more she gathers, the more she thinks a deep clean is in order. Quickly, she finds a broom, dustpan, and a microfiber cloth. She dusts the windows and sweeps the floors. She comes back with a mop and a bucket of soapy water.

She cleans.

And cleans.

And cleans.

And cries.

And cries.

She stops. The house creaks ever louder without a second person making a racket. It groans and speaks, bemoaning its existence. Wind seeping through poorly insulated doors sounds like the quiet breaths of a ghost, tittering at her plight. The floorboards creak and teeter beneath her weight like joints popping and crackling. Perhaps his room is not a tomb, but the house is a graveyard, full of old ghouls and things that lurk in the shadows. And [Name] is the grave keeper, tending to the ancient thing that feeds on her misery.

Cleaning his room reminds her of when she cleaned her mother's room. There's less now than before, but it all feels the same. Her muscle memory is at work as she opens the windows to air out the room, sprays air freshener to eliminate that man smell, and dusts away cobwebs from the ceiling corners. With tears still sitting prettily on her bottom lashes, [Name] gazes at the discolored walls. She wants to repaint them, to cover up any inkling her brother was ever here, to remove his ghost entirely.

She weeps. The tears don't stop. She calls Reena and May. They're there in an instant. They don't ask questions and they don't try to comfort her in baby speak. They break out their dirty stained T-shirts and shorts and start painting. They work on separate walls, priming and painting the first coat. They know the drill by now. They were there when her mother passed, and they helped her out with packing away her things for storage. They were there when her grandmother passed, and helped [Name] redecorate the kitchen. And now they are here, helping repaint her brother's old bedroom.

They all agreed on a therapeutic sage green to color the walls. The color provides a bit of comfort in these trying times.

"You should paint a mural when you have the time," Reena says suddenly. Her voice breaks the staleness of the air and the chalky smell of paint. "You know, when we're done and all."

"You can turn it into your office! Since you're a big-shot artist now, ya know?" May chimes in cheerfully.

[Name] sniffs. "I'm not a big shot."

"Not yet!" May puffs out her cheeks. "You've told me about your clients, [Name]! Fifty-six thousand?! For one painting?!"

[Name] sniffs again, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She doesn't suppress the smile that crops up. It's small, but it's there. "Yeah. Kushina keeps sending people my way, so I'm taking on more clients than I think I can handle."

"Sounds like your skills are paying off," Reena says. "What are you gonna do with all that surplus of money?"

"I'm saving it for now, 'cause I wanna go on a long vacation when I have the time." [Name] pauses, staring at the new coat of paint and the off-white one from before. "I wanted to take Luke but---well, you see he's gone now."

The stale air returns. The conversation drops dead like a call without a signal. The painting continues in silence until their arms get tired. And when they do, they stop and call for takeout. The three women sit on [Name's] couch, chewing on oily carbs and sipping fizzy drinks.  As they pick what to watch while eating, [Name] selects a trashy TV show. The drama of the episode fills the atmosphere. The women chat with one another in peaceful bliss watching catty men fight over petty things like hair gel.

Once again, the topic of [Name's] artistry comes up. They discuss more ways [Name] can get her name out there. It's not enough to cater to the super-wealthy.

"Have you tried contacting a community center?" Reena asks. A slippery noddle wiggles its way out of her chopsticks again and again. "They looove supporting local artists. They can sell the stuff, too."

[Name] ponders it for a moment. "Oh, I didn't know that. I guess I can try it out."

"You can also volunteer at libraries, too. You already work at one, and I think they want an outside mural on the sidewall," May adds. 

One by one they continue to pelt [Name] with more information on becoming a household name. And little by little, [Name] sees how much her hobby consumes her life. She wonders if this is what she wants or what she aspires to do. Maybe at one point, she thought this was the pinnacle of her life, that this was how she wanted to spend her mornings, noons, and evenings. In hindsight, she had rose-tinted glasses for her future.

As the two talk her head off, [Name] thinks about the conversation she had with Naruto yesterday. How one life consumes another. How she doesn't have any other hobbies besides painting.

"I don't know if I want this anymore," [Name] interjects vaguely. She peers down at her food, mixing it around and pushing the yucky bits to the side.

"I'll eat it!" May snatches the food from her hands, yucky bits and all. [Name] allows it, for her appetite sours. The food sits in her stomach like stones, and she suddenly feels heavy and nauseous. 

"I meant the art, actually," she clarifies, watching May slurp down her food. They leave space for her to continue, but [Name] doesn't say anything further. An awkward air hangs around them until Reena breaks the silence.

"Then don't do it." She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't mean, like, quit. You're making good money. Don't ever quit good money, babe, but like, find something new."

"Oh! A new hobby! We can do something together!" May exclaims. She's excited about any new experiences with her friends.

"Pass," Reena grumbles.

"No thanks, you're kinda annoying," [Name] jokes which earns her a punch on the shoulder.

"Choose something mindful," Reena advises, wisely. "Try yoga or meditation. Or some hippie-dippie shit like that. Your life is chaotic as is. Take some drugs if you need to, I have a dealer---"

"I'm not taking drugs."

"Oh, poo," Reena deadpans.

"But, yoga, hmm," [Name] ponders. She thinks of Neji and searches her coffee table for his business card. She's sure she still has it. Beneath a pile of opened mail, sits the card given to her four months ago. After their one-night stand, she hasn't talked to Neji at all. His number rests hauntingly under her 'N' contacts as a reminder to contact him, but she never has. She flips the card over, seeing the name of his studio underneath all the business mumbo-jumbo. "I think I know a guy."

...

Gentle Teachings. [Name] stares hard at the sign. Nervousness creeps up her neck as she fiddles with the brand-new yoga mat under her arm. It's too early in the morning for Neji to begin any classes, but, it's also been four months since she's seen the man.

She stands awkwardly on the sidewalk. The studio stands proudly in the outer city, far away enough for the brunch moms to escape their families, but still close enough that they can pick their kids up at daycare on time. The streets aren't bustling with people at this time. The sun is barely up, and the cold air from the night stabs through her thin yoga pants. With a shiver, she grumbles, "I'll freeze to death if I stay out here."

Finally, [Name] knocks. She doesn't even know if Neji is here, but she's taking the gamble anyway. There's a delay and [Name] knocks again. Another delay, but then she hears the turning tumbler of the lock. The door opens and Neji peeks his head out. He's about to give his spiel about how the studio opens at seven until he sees who stands at his door.

"Oh," he exclaims. "It's you."

Meekly, [Name] waves. "Hey. Long time, no see."

Neji scans her outfit and smirks. He steps out fully, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "Taking me up on my offer, eh?"

"Trying out a new hobby."

There's a tangible sexual tension between them still. Just looking at him reminds her of that night when he had her gasping with each thrust. She pushes her thighs together.

Neji shrugs and [Name] can't help but notice the way his muscles flex in that tank top. "My morning class is pretty full."

"Neji, please." She steps closer to him, her eyes hopeful. "I brought my own yoga mat and everything. Look how ridiculous I look in these stupid yoga clothes."

She pokes out her chest, the cold has hardened her nipples enough for them to poke through her sports bra. Neji stares. His fingers twitch as he wants to drag his fingers across the hem of her yoga pants.

"You can at least show me something," she pleads innocently. She takes another step, nearly chest to chest with him. "I came all the way here."

"Are you asking for a private lesson?" Neji asks, with a quirk of his eyebrow. His hands find her waist, sending warmth through his fingertips to the surface of her skin. She shivers. "You know those cost more, right?"

She smirks, running her hands up his chest. His pectorals shift and flex under her touch. "Do I at least get a free trial?"

"God, woman, you're tempting," Neji sighs with sexual frustration.  "Come in."

[Name] does a little victory dance and slips through the front door. The lobby is completely open. A smoothie bar is closed to the left of her. A few couches sit to the right of her. In front is the lobby desk for sign-ins and sign-ups. Two hallways split, one for each activity---yoga or martial arts. The whole place is elegant, a fusion of Hyugan artistry and modern deco.

"We have an hour," Neji says taking the hallway to the right. "I can teach you something."

To the right is the yoga room. Neji slides open the door and [Name] follows him in. The room smells of incense, earthy and sweet. She watches him tie his hair up into a bun as she rolls out her mat. She sits comfortably on the mat. A vigor like no other courses through her body. It tingles the tips of her toes. Neji stands in front of her in all of his glory, taut muscles looking like polished marble. Some people get to see him like this every day. She wonders if he has many admirers and if his classes are full of women.

"So, you're trying something new?" Neji makes light conversation as he loosens his joints. She tries to follow him, but he moves fast and fluid. She can't keep up.

"Yeah. I'm taking a break from painting," she says, sticking to pointing and flexing her toes. "Trying to be more mindful."

"And fucking me at my job is gonna help you?"

[Name] smirks, her teeth gleaming in the natural light. "It's gonna help something."

He eyes her, his gaze turning sultry. "Well, like I said, we have an hour. We can do a thirty-thirty split. Sex, then yoga. Or yoga, then sex."

"How about a forty-five-fifteen split? Sex, first."

Neji chuckles. "Damn it, woman."

[Name] finds herself in the same situation as last time. So full of dick that she can hardly think straight. Neji puts her in new positions, explaining in yoga terms what they are. With her ass high in the air, and her arms flush against the floor, he pushes deep inside her.

"This is, ah," he moans. His thighs slap against her ass. Her fluids stick to him. A tingle runs up his spine as her vagina flutters around him. "Modified child's pose. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Feelsh sho goo'," she slurs. Her eyes flutter back until they close. Her body strains to stay in this resting position for too long, but the way he thrusts inside of her, she doesn't want it to stop. She melts into the mat that digs into her knees and calves. His hips never cease. The squishing noise of her cunt makes his spine shudder. 

He hits her sweet spot and a rush of pleasure spreads to her toes, curling them. [Name] reaches one arm back to clutch his thigh. "Oh, fuck. Ooh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!" She moans.

"Scream louder, darling, we're the only ones here," he instructs, slapping her ass with one hand.

"Oh, Neji! Oh! Neji!" She screams. Her climax nears. But he doesn't stop there. This is only within eight minutes. They still have another thirty-seven to go. [Name] finds herself fucked in multiple yoga positions. Downward doggy. Cat, cow, and tabletop. Cobra. And happy baby.

As before, his stamina is incredible and inexhaustible. Hers, however, depletes after the third round. The last fifteen minutes---the time slot promised for yoga strictly---[Name] lazes on her mat, recovering from the exercise. Her body feels like jelly, she can't even stand. She finds herself watching Neji stretch and ground himself flawlessly. She wishes she could do that.

"I don't expect sex every time," [Name] says, starting small talk. She makes circles on the floor with her finger. Neji balances on one foot, breathing deeply in and out. "I really want to get into this. So, maybe I can join your real classes next time."

"No," he speaks softly. "Come in the morning like you did today. We'll have an hour to ourselves."

"Seriously?"

"I promised private lessons, so, I'll make time for you," he says with a smile. "And, I like spending time with you, darling."

She laughs, stretching out on the mat, and letting her sweaty skin cool. "You've only known me for less than a day. Like actually? This is our second time meeting."

"I like fucking you, how's that?"

She barks out another laugh. "How sweet. I like fucking you, too."

...

A/N: just missed Sasuke's birthday by a day. But here you go. More Neji sex.
Love ya bye!