AN: This is the result of insomnia, a Java Monster ('cause that helped the insomnia), way too many Gaasaku vids and fics, and my damnable inability to just let go of an idea. It's my first fanfiction, and I wrote it at, like, one in the morning. Please, please, PLEASE, review. Constructive criticism is fine, actually it's preferable, but it should be constructive. Ok… done talking now, to the Gaasaku awesomeness!!
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any of the other characters. They belong to the genius Kishimoto. Which is a good thing because if I owned them, they never would have been made into manga/anime goodness.
Gaara Subaku was the weird kid who sat in the back of the class, wore all black, got into fights, and always had his headphones around his neck.
Sakura Haruno was the pretty, popular girl who sat in the front row, wore bright colors, was in almost every club, and made straight A's.
They were total opposites…and, well, you know what they say about opposites…
Gaara is sitting in the last chair in the row farthest from the door. He's wearing black trip pants, outlined in red, a black tee-shirt with the Three Days Grace quote "If you feel so angry, if you feel so ripped off, so stepped on, you're not the only one. Refusing to back down, you're not the only one. So get up. Let's start a riot!" scrawled in blood red, and a black sleeveless hoodie. His hood is pulled up, hiding the black headphones covering his ears and blaring Korn into his brain.
Absently bobbing his head to the beat only he could hear he begins to sketch. He doesn't know what he's drawing at first, he never does. It's as if his hand has a mind of its own, deciding what images to pull from his mind and put on paper. It isn't until his very blonde, very loud, very annoying best friend leans over and taps his elbow to let him know that Iruka-sensei is coming down his isle that Gaara even looks at his sketch.
Gaara sees the beginnings of a very familiar and painful picture forming on the paper and, forgetting he is in the middle of Government, he tears it violently from his sketch pad. The resulting ripping sound echoes through the silent classroom. As he tries to crumple the paper into a meaningless ball of garbage, Iruka swiftly grabs it from his grasp. Iruka glares sternly at Gaara before tapping at his headphones.
"Off." is his simple command. Gaara sighs and complies, stopping the beautiful rhythms and eddies of explicit lyrics before slipping the headset from his ears, letting it rest comfortably around his neck. "Gaara, you will stay after class so we can discuss the times it is appropriate for you to listen to you music. Again."
"Yes, sir,"
"Good, now start the assigned four page essay on the economic repercussions of Hitler's invasion of Poland. It's due Monday." Iruka instructs him before moving away. Gaara bends over his black messenger's bag and pulls out ten sheets of lined paper. Because four pages just wouldn't be enough.
Ten minutes and four paragraphs later, the aforementioned best friend tosses a folded sheet of paper onto Gaara's desk. Written in the large block letters of a third grader, Naruto wrote: Yo, we meeting at the dojo or what? Gaara takes fifteen seconds to scribble a response: Can't. My father's coming home tonight. Me and the sibs, have to be there to welcome him home like a real family. Naruto sighs disappointedly.
"Sorry." Gaara whispers quietly. Naruto is his only real friend and he doesn't want him angry with him. No matter how annoying he sometimes is.
"It's okay." He whispers back before breaking into one of his trademark grins. "I'll put a beat down on pretty boy Sasuke instead."
Gaara raises a brow, "You say that like you could put a beat down on me."
Naruto shrugs, "It could happen…" Gaara just snorts and goes back to his essay. Two pages later the bell rings. The class slowly files out and Naruto follows, stopping at the doorway to shoot Gaara another of his grins.
"Gaara, would it kill you to actually listen to one of my lectures?" Iruka asks exasperated.
"Probably not," Gaara says with a shrug.
"But you won't." Iruka's staring at him, looking him right in the eyes. Gaara doesn't like it; it feels like he can see straight through him, straight into his darkest secrets and carefully constructed facades. "Tell me about your picture." He says pulling you Gaara's half crumpled paper. Depicted with an acute accuracy is a young boy with dark rings around his eyes and messy hair staring down a pistol into the eyes of a man with hatred etched into every line of his face. Written in the top corner is the phrase he knows so well: In the end, it doesn't matter how much you love them. All that matters is how much they hate you.
Gaara almost groans. He actually wrote it down. The sketch was bad enough, but the words, too. He closes his eyes for a second, willfully forcing the memory away, before answering his waiting sensei, "It's just a sketch. I don't like the proportions though." He lies easily.
"The boy looks a bit like you…" Iruka hints.
"I do that sometimes. When I'm not sure how I want a figure to look, I substitute myself so I can work on the rest of the picture and get a better feel for the character." The lies flow easily from Gaara's lips. He's told variations of them all his life.
"I see…" Iruka states and Gaara is fearful, yet hopeful, that he really does see. Part of him is hoping fervently that Iruka has somehow bypassed all his defenses, cut through all his lies, and found the terrible truth. And, maybe he has. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Gaara? Anything at all?" At the very thought of being found out, Gaara's fear quickly overruns his hope and he lies once more.
"If you don't write me a note, Sensei, I'm going to get another tardy in gym." Iruka sighs and begins to write a brief note admitting Gaara to gym. Gaara takes it quickly, trying to avoid looking Iruka in the eyes. He can't stand the feeling of Iruka's eyes on his. They make him feel both hopeful and afraid, and Gaara doesn't like feeling either.
Readjusting his bag on his shoulder, Gaara walks rapidly from the room. Despite his hasty departure from the classroom, Gaara ambles down the hallways. Not three steps from the door he slides the headphones back over his ears. Lost in the melodies pouring into his ears he almost walks straight into Suigetsu.
Suigetsu is the school's tall and lean captain of the swim team. He is also one of the most arrogant and annoying people in the world, in Gaara's opinion. Suigetsu smirks at Gaara. Suigetsu absolutely hates Gaara. The feeling is absolutely mutual. Gaara's hand eases down to his iPod, shutting the machine off. He does not want to fight right now. His bruised ribs are throbbing. Suigetsu grins, showing off his oddly pointed teeth.
"Late again, Gaara? Been having another little episode in the boy's restroom? 'No, please, not now! Not here! Shukaku!'" Suigetsu mocks, clutching his head in feigned agony. "Who's Shukaku? Your boyfriend? Lover boy, planning an unwelcome visit?" he adds. Annoyed by Gaara's refusal to respond, Suigetsu swiftly plucks the now silent headphones from Gaara's head.
The fact that Gaara's ribs hurt means nothing. The fact that he really doesn't want to fight means nothing, he no longer as any choice in the matter. Gaara has three unbreakable rules: 1. Do not ask him about the scars on his back, 2. Never mention Shukaku, and 3. Never, ever, touch his headphones. Suigetsu has just broken two of them. Gaara glares harshly at Suigetsu. Rage contorts his features, shifting into something nearly inhuman. Suigetsu, momentarily startled by Gaara's transformation from passive victim to fearsome foe, stumbles back two steps. Then, he remembers who he's supposed to be.
"Bring it, little man." He taunts, though Gaara is only an inch or two shorter than him. Gaara's only response is a snarling growl that starts somewhere deep in his throat and reverberates through his entire being. His lips pull back to reveal abnormally sharp canines as his body lowers into an animalistic crouch. Putting on a false show of bravado, though no one is there to see it, Suigetsu takes an advanced defensive position with an arrogant grin plastered across his face. The headphones clatter to the ground.
Gaara launches himself at Suigetsu with a roar that explodes from his throat. Suigetsu moves to meet the attack, but Gaara is faster than perceived and he cuts through Suigetsu's defenses. His first punch makes solid contact with Suigetsu's nose. He can feel the bone shatter under the impact. His second strikes Suigetsu's thickly muscled abdomen. The surface is hard and resists before allowing Gaara's fist in sink deeply into the tense flesh. A small eruption of blood forces itself through Suigetsu's clenched teeth as he doubles over Gaara's fist. When Gaara pulls his fist free, Suigetsu crumples to the floor, conscious but unable to draw breath, unable to move.
Gaara kicks him viciously in the ribs. A small strangled sound escapes the beaten boy. He leans down and grabs hold of Suigetsu's pale white hair. Gaara lifts him by his hair until he is almost sitting up, the body weight only supported by his hair, before reversing his direction and slamming his head into the tile floor with a wet smack. Standing abruptly, Gaara looks down at the broken and bloody mess of a boy in front of him. They aren't called "unbreakable rules" for nothing.
Wordlessly he snatches his discarded headphones from the floor and returns them to their rightful position around his neck. Then, knowing that shame would keep Suigetsu from revealing his assailant, Gaara walks quickly to gym.