Darn it! I wish Gaara could sleep! It would make the whole thing better!

I don't own Naruto. God, that was an uncreative disclaimer. Grrr.

Okay, I told come-by-chance I would finish this last night, but the ending didn't seem right and I fell asleep (there was originally only one section). This morning, I added the other two sections, and now I'm sort of happy with it. ! I really want people to review this one! Why? I'm scared! I haven't tried anything this…cuddly-ish…in a while, not counting cuddly-ish-ness accompanied by any slight form of angst. So I like it, but I'm not sure if it's got the feeling I was going for: no humor or angst, just pure family-rific mush.

The good thing about living with Kankuro was Kankuro himself. He was fun and witty (sometimes) and adorably clumsy. Even in Gaara's shadow, he worked his seven-year-old butt off trying to get recognition once more. It was no secret that he'd liked the few years when father thought he'd become the Kazekage, but he seemed none the worse for wear after so much disappointment. It was even loveable the way he made fun of her—although no one would ever know she thought that.

The bad thing about living with Kankuro was that he hogged the bed.

No one that size was supposed to take up as much room as him, but he did it. He stretched sideways, arms folded above his head, lying on his stomach with saliva dripping from his open mouth. Temari reached out one hand and carefully prodded him in the back, making sure she made no contact with any other part of his body—or the liquid pouring from it.

"Wake up, baka!" She hissed.

"Mmmrph," he moaned into his pillow.

She slapped the back of his head.

"Orrrmp!" He cried, bolting upright. Temari cringed as saliva detached itself from his chin and trickled to the bed.

"I don't have enough room," the blonde girl complained. Her response was an annoyed grunt. "Would it kill you to make words?"

"Huh," he mumbled. Probably a yes.

"Well, you've got all the bed."

"You've got plenty," he whined, although it sounded more like "yuhh gah plnnmy" once it got past his fat tongue and half-closed mouth.

"Only if I get really close to you, and you're icky. So move it."

"No way." His sleepiness was beginning to disappear, making his words much clearer.

"Yes!"

"Fine," he grumbled, sliding his legs over the side of the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"Downstairs. I'm hungry."

"Whatever." Temari turned onto her back, trying to enjoy the comfort of an empty bed. She rolled into the warm space her brother left behind, watching him leave.

"Baka," he breathed. "Baka, baka, idiot Temari. Dad's the Kazekage…he could at least get me my own bed…" He hated waking up in the middle of the night. It either meant he was hungry—never pleasant—or being picked on by Temari.

Or both.

It took five minutes to walk from the bedroom to the kitchen in the huge, dark house, and by the time his small hand reached for the refrigerator he knew exactly what he wanted—last night's barbecued pork ramen with extra noodles. He was in a very noodle-y mood. A square spotlight grew as the fridge's door opened, revealing a yellowish beam of light. He reached for the bowl, shoved between a stack of cheese and a misplaced box of crayons, and pulled it back eagerly, waiting to taste th—

A few pieces of pork floated in a pond of broth.

Someone. Ate. His. Noodles.

He stared at the noodle-less bowl in amazement, his trance only broken by a small voice:

"I was hungry."

Gaara stood a few feet away, his five-year-old face apologetic.

"Y-you! You ate my noodles?" Kankuro accused the younger boy. His response was a small nod.

"But I'm hungry, too!"

The younger boy just stared ahead. Sighing, his brother put the bowl back in the fridge and closed it, the light disappearing from the room, save for the faint glow of the moon wafting through the window.

"Oh, well," he sighed, frowning. What am I supposed to eat now? He wondered.

"Yashamaru bought some ice cream today," Gaara whispered, as if reading his thoughts. "He said it was for me..."

Kankuro grinned. "I'll get the spoons!"

-----

The darkness behind Temari's eyes lessened, finally disappearing as they were forced them open. She checked the clock—it was only a little after one AM. The bed was strangely cold, and as her tiredness drained away she realized Kankuro wasn't there. She slowly remembered that he'd left during the night, but she couldn't think of any reason for why he hadn't come back. Sighing, she got out of bed, wincing as the cold floor met her toes. She carefully tiptoed downstairs, making sure she didn't wake up Yashamaru or Kazekage-sama—"daddy," as she used to call him.

Kankuro wasn't in his uncle's room, nor was he in his father's or brother's. As she checked the empty kitchen, her young brain began to fill with fearful, unreasonable questions—had she hurt him more than she thought? Had he actually ran away?

Panicked, she raced through the living room, skidding to a stop in front of the overstuffed couch. Her irrational worry disolved as she spotted an empty carton of chocolate ice cream, accompanied by two spoons, lying on a table next to the poor peice of furniture. Its arm was decorated with sticky, brown stains, and a few napkins were gathered on it. The mess, however, wasn't what drew her attention.

Slouched by the edge of the couch were two figures, one asleep and one in a happy, half-asleep state. Temari sighed, suddenly realizing how tired she was.

-----

The next morning, as Kankuro flickered into consciousness, he felt an unexpected warmth. After a few minutes, realization crept over him, and he noticed the extra arms wrapped around his waist. He decided breakfast could wait, and with a sleepy smile, he closed his dark eyes again.

"I think I can wait to get my own bed," he murmured before drifting back into dreamland, this time secured by the embraces of his two siblings.