Written for Christmas, for JBMcDragon.

There's no lock on Neji's door. Instead, the door slides open easily, smooth on its tracks. Every night, just after the houses have quieted and the lights have gone out, Neji's door slides open. Footsteps cross the room, and Hinata sits on the edge of Neji's futon.

"Neji," she says, and he rolls over, facing her. She touches his forehead, fingers cool against his hot skin, and then she smiles. He can see a glint of her teeth, white in the room, just like her eyes and her face and her hair, because Hinata's grown old.

"Hinata-sama," he says, and she leans forward, a kiss on his forehead, on his temple. She brushes his hair back from his face, kisses the other side of his forehead, his other temple, and then she stands. She sighs when she's upright, touches her back with a careless hand, and Neji wonders when Hinata grew so certain of things.

"Goodnight, Neji-oniisan." And there're footsteps out of his room, and the door slides closed. It's tradition now, the kisses and the door and even though Neji doesn't like it, he never puts a lock on his door, because it'd do no good. After all, he can't lock out ghosts.

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